He pulled my arm until I dropped to my knees beside the bath. “Your heart is soft, and that is good and right, wife. But mine cannot be. More important than love, than grief, more important than anything is power. And to allow them to live would be to sacrifice it, and I cannot do that.”
His voice had a hard edge to it, and I nodded, biting my lip.
“Wash me,” he ordered.
I did as he asked, and when he was through, I helped him dress and left the room to ask the servants to bring supper.
As the door shut behind me, I saw Kairos, skulking in the darkness. His mouth lifted, and he waggled his eyebrows at me, but said nothing.
I pressed back the urge to cry again, giving him a tiny smile and going to find a servant.
My husband and I ate supper together in silence. Afterward, he stretched and said he was quite tired, and I stood. “Do you mind if I take the food back to the kitchens?” I asked him. “I’m so restless. I think a walk will help.”
He looked at the bed like he knew this was a ploy to shirk my duty, but he sighed. “Very well. I’m tired. I won’t be awake when you return.”
“I won’t disturb you,” I promised.
I brought the food back to the kitchens, swayed for a moment by the warm fire, but there were too many servants looking at me curiously there. I went out the first door I could find, emerging onto a wide expanse of grass fading into dark night where the lamplight ended. It was so cold outside, and I hugged my arms around myself, feeling the shaky tremors of unshed tears still stoppered inside me. My husband wasn’t there, but still I didn’t want to let them free.
Walking out to the edge of the light, I drew slow breaths, listening to the night birds rustling in the trees. I wondered if these strange places were governed by the same spirits we had in the desert. The stories I had heard of them mandated that spirits were in everything, everywhere, and they could not be destroyed or created, only remade. But it seemed strange that they could survive here, with no one to respect them or remember them.
But if that were true, wasn’t it possible that the powers of the islands could be found somewhere else too? They were not unlike spirits, from what I’d heard.
What would it even mean? I knew some of Kata’s power—she could control water, make it do her bidding. She had opened temples one at a time, releasing water, air, fire, and earth, like the breaking of a dam. If I had moved the rock—if, if—my element would be earth. I could manipulate the earth?
Despite knowing enough that I desperately wanted to hide such knowledge from my husband, I suddenly felt like I knew nothing about these powers—not really. Kata had said that anyone could have them now, but who did have them? Were there no ceremonies, no rites—how could such power just appear? I didn’t even know how common these powers were. When the powers still lived in the islanders, their people had been legendary—they could build palaces with nothing but their hands; they had the most mighty naval fleet in the world. They could re-form the earth to their will.
I looked down at the ground, dotted with small rocks, covered over with spiky grass. I held my hand out to it, frowning and squinting at it, willing it to move.
Nothing happened.
I tried again, feeling utterly foolish as I held my breath and tensed my muscles, acting like I could push the earth with just my will.
Nothing.
Curling my fingers into fists, I walked faster. Of course. I couldn’t be an Elementa. It wasn’t even possible, much less likely or probable or even reasonable.
And looking back to the large building, I was grateful that I was no Elementa. It had to be a lie, a trick, something—I couldn’t be that and be married to Calix.
I would not survive.
My hands were shivering by the time I came around to the front of the house, drawn by the sound of the burbling fountain. It sounded like the river that tripped through Jitra, but false and confined.
My skin prickled, scraped by the cold, and I nearly turned to go back into the house, but something caught my eye on the dark edge of the courtyard. I could see boots, just the very tips of them, and I walked closer.
My hand flew to my mouth, and I sank weakly to my knees as the tears I had fought for hours came rushing out.
Four men were lying there like they were asleep, their throats cut, their skin gray. I could only guess these were the failed soldiers, the ones my husband ordered killed.
The men Galen killed. How could he follow such an order? My husband ordered it so, but Galen was commander, powerful in his own right. And he just killed his men who had done their best.
But Galen hadn’t wanted to obey. It was easy to see in the way he defied his brother—I could not imagine what such a task must have cost him. What years of struggling under such orders must have cost him.
“Shalia?”
I turned and saw Galen on his horse, riding closer, his eyes sweeping back and forth like he was searching. “Where is Calix?” he said urgently.
But I couldn’t stop crying, covering my mouth to stop from making noise and drawing my husband out here to see my weakness, his softhearted wife.
“Shalia, three hells, stop crying,” Galen said. “Where is Calix? Has he seen these men?”
When I raised my head, I saw he was covered in blood, his hair mussed, his uniform ruined. But—I turned back to the bodies, and despite their throats being cut, there was very little blood on the wounds.
The tears shocked out of me, I looked behind him. He had been riding a horse, and on it was a prostrate body. “Great Skies,” I breathed.
“Shalia, has Calix seen this?” he demanded.
I struggled to stand, coming closer to him, but he shrank away.
“I’m covered in their blood, Shalia,” he warned. “You can’t touch me.”
“He’s asleep,” I told him, sniffing and wiping my face. “These men—how did they die?” It wasn’t here, by his hand—that I was certain of.
Galen swallowed. “In the attack. He won’t know these aren’t the men who guarded the gold.” His eyes watched me carefully. “Unless you tell him.”
Another secret, but this one felt more important than the others. It was deceiving my husband, directly undermining his orders.
And yet, not speaking this truth would save the men who were supposed to die—and possibly even Galen. And if there was even a chance I was an Elementa, I would need so much more practice in keeping things from Calix.
I wiped my cheeks again. “I would never.”
“You were crying for them?” he asked.
For everything, I thought. “Yes,” seemed like a safer answer. “And you,” I admitted, lowering my eyes.
“Me.”
I dared to look up at him, so pale and covered in blood it was as if he had been the one murdered. “They’re your men,” I said, my voice catching. “And I knew you didn’t want to do what he asked.”
His jaw worked, muscles slowly rolling and moving. “Neither did you, it seemed.”
Yet he had figured out a way to thwart his brother, and I had knelt at Calix’s feet like a dog, obeying him. The thought stung. “I’m happy you didn’t have to,” I told him honestly.
“I’m the commander of an army, and I hate death,” he said, his voice soft.