“Lady Beatriss,” Beatriss heard Tarah say gently from the door of her chamber. “Lady Beatriss, you have a guest.”

Tarah came to the bed and removed the blanket from around Beatriss and began laying out some clothing.

“Tell them I’m not myself today, Tarah,” Beatriss murmured.

It was what Tarah had told anyone who came to the house for the past week.

“But Lady Beatriss, it’s the queen.”

Beatriss did the best she could to look presentable, but nothing could be done about her limp hair and dull complexion. Tarah had chosen her favorite calico dress, but these days she resembled a scarecrow in it.

Beatriss was even more shamed to see the queen sitting in her kitchen.

“Come into the solar, my queen,” she said quietly. “My apologies that I was not here to meet you at the door.”

The queen embraced her, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and dismissed the idea of another room with the wave of a hand. “And when did you stop calling me Isaboe?”

Outside her kitchen window, Beatriss could see the Queen’s Guard, scattered to ensure Isaboe’s safety. Those who knew the land were running their fingers through dry dirt, shaking their heads.

“I can only stay awhile,” Isaboe said. “I have to get back to feed Jasmina.”

“Perhaps a mug of buttermilk and honey,” Beatriss said, making herself busy. “It’s Vestie’s favorite when the weather becomes cooler. I’m afraid it will be a short autumn, and next thing you know, we’ll all be confined indoors because of the cold.”

Despite her ridiculous chatter about weather and her refusal to look at the queen, Beatriss felt the younger girl’s eyes on her. When it was difficult to ignore her any longer, she turned to face Isaboe.

“Why do you look at me in such a way?” she asked huskily.

“Because I’m worried for you, Beatriss,” Isaboe said, not one to play with words. “So is Abian, but she says you won’t see her. And we don’t want to write to Tesadora. You’ll only end up living in that cursed valley, like every other woman or girl who comes in contact with her.”

They both managed a smile. “I miss her,” Beatriss said, searching for the sweets she had hidden from Vestie. “It’s an ache I feel. Who would have thought that Tesadora and I would form such a friendship?”

She placed the mug and sweets before the queen and sat opposite, fighting to keep back the tears. “She gave me purpose.”

Isaboe gripped both her hands. “You’ll always have purpose, Beatriss.”

“It shames me to think highly of those days . . . those awful, awful days,” Beatriss said, tears biting her eyes. “But . . . in the last five years of the curse, I knew who I was for the first time in my life. Not the daughter of a Flatland lord or even the woman loved by the captain of the Guard. I was Beatriss of the Flatlands.”

The tears did fall, and Beatriss despised her weakness.

“My people are scattered and miserable, Isaboe. I’ve failed them. I’ve failed everyone I love.”

The queen stood and led Beatriss to the window, pointing outside to the dead field.

“That is not failure, Beatriss. That is something beyond your control. Beyond any of our control. That land will not yield, and it’s not because of anything you did or didn’t do. Perhaps it will never yield, but you cannot stay here in ruin, waiting for that day.”

Beatriss shook her head. “I can’t leave this place, Isaboe. I can’t.”

“Why?” Isaboe asked, frustration in her voice. “For pride?”

Pride? Beatriss’s pride was long gone. It was smothered by the smugness in the expressions of the Flatland lords. It was shattered by the disappointment in Trevanion’s eyes.

“My daughter is buried here,” she said quietly, pained to say the words. “Down by the river. I can’t leave her spirit alone. I feel her every day, Isaboe. I can’t leave her behind.”

Beatriss saw a wince of regret in Isaboe’s eyes. In exile, the queen had taken the name of Beatriss and Trevanion’s first child to keep herself safe. Evanjalin had been the name of Trevanion’s mother, and Beatriss knew that each time the queen or Finnikin passed through Sennington, they visited the babe’s grave. She also knew that Trevanion didn’t.

“Forgive me, Beatriss. I beg of you. Idiot that I am,” Isaboe said.

“Nothing to forgive.”

Isaboe returned to the table, nursing her buttermilk. Once again, Beatriss felt the dark eyes studying her.

“Can I tell you of an idea I have?” the queen said. “I keep Finnikin awake with ideas, you know. I’ve been thinking of the tales Rafuel of Sebastabol has told Finnikin about Charyn during his interrogation up in the mountains. Even my idiot cousin Lucian is captivated. Our neighbors had schools of philosophy and art and studied the books of the Ancients. It wasn’t only Charyn. Belegonia is a place of learning too. The stories Celie comes back with fill Finnikin and me with envy. We can’t begin to think of the way they see us. Backwater cousins.”

“We’re no such thing,” Beatriss said firmly. “Our healers are gifted, taught by Tesadora. They’ve kept the fever out of this kingdom these past years, and we lose fewer women to birthing now than any other time.”

Isaboe shook her head. “But their talents are wasted. I can understand why Japhra followed Tesadora to the valley. It’s what you said, Beatriss. It’s all about purpose. And look at the priest-king. He manages to see the smartest of our kingdom in his overgrown garden. And for what? Where does a learned man or woman go in Lumatere? To quarry stone? To milk a cow?”

Isaboe looked around the sun-drenched room.

“This place, Beatriss,” she said, “this house could be a place of learning. Could you imagine the spirit of the first Evanjalin soaring here?”

Beatriss was stunned by what the queen was suggesting.

“The priest-king’s shrine house has gold and they’ll pay you well, and I know Augie has said many times he’d buy your southern paddock and we could sell your north paddock to whoever runs Fenton. Your villagers will be taken care of between Sayles and Fenton. Tarah and Samuel, of course, will come with you to the palace to live with us.”

“The palace?”

Isaboe nodded emphatically, traces of a smile on her face.

“I’m selfish, Beatriss,” she said. “I have a room of men to help me rule a kingdom, but I need good women to help me raise my children.”

A look passed between them. “You’re with child,” Beatriss said, reaching out to clutch Isaboe’s hand.

Isaboe nodded, biting her lip and looking toward the entrance before leaning forward.

“I need help with Jasmina, Beatriss,” Isaboe whispered. “Just between you and me, my beloved daughter is the worst-behaved child in Lumatere.”

Beatriss laughed.

“No, it’s true,” Isaboe said. “No one will admit it because they think I’ll have them imprisoned or beheaded or whatnot, but Jasmina’s tantrums can be heard from the Rock.”

“You try to do it all, beloved,” Beatriss said. “You can’t.”

“My mother did,” Isaboe said. “She raised five children and helped my father run this kingdom.”

Beatriss scoffed gently at the words. “Isaboe, I was there as a companion for your sisters. No one loved the dear queen as I did, but she had help. A lot of help. Your yata was with her every second week, as were your aunts. Get those Mont girls off the mountain and into the palace. Some of them are stifled up there. Why do you think they’re down in the valley with Tesadora? They would be a delight to have around. And dare I say it, perhaps it’s time to remove Jasmina from the breast.”

The young queen seemed stricken at the thought.

“You will not lose your bond with her, Isaboe.”

Beatriss looked at the queen tenderly. “When Vestie was born, I couldn’t feed her. Tesadora found one of the River girls who had just birthed a babe, and later we fed Vestie goat’s milk. Can you ever deny the bond I have with my child?”

The queen didn’t respond, but Beatriss could see the tears threatening to fall and so she embraced her.

“I was supposed to come here for you,” Isaboe said. “Yet you’re my strength today, Beatriss.”

“Then let’s be strength for each other.”

There was a knock at the door. Isaboe quickly wiped her eyes and stood, smoothing down her dress. Tarah was there with one of the Guard to take Isaboe back to the palace.

“Will you accompany me home this afternoon?” the queen said. “I’d enjoy more time to talk.”

When they reached the palace, Finnikin was arriving on horseback with Sir Topher. Beatriss watched as he kissed his queen and then whispered in her ear.

“Yes, she knows,” Isaboe said as Finnikin turned to embrace Beatriss.

“Isaboe’s convinced it’s a boy with the same certainty that she was convinced Jasmina was a girl,” he said to Beatriss.

“Oh, my beloveds,” Beatriss said, cupping a hand to both their faces.

“Mercy,” Finnikin said, grinning from ear to ear. “We’re going to have a bed full of children, and I’ll have to holler out to my wife, ‘Hello there! It’s been a long time since we last spoke!’”

Isaboe laughed. It had been some time since Beatriss had seen the two so relaxed.

“And she doesn’t bleed for nine whole months,” Finnikin said.

When the queen bled, she walked the sleep of all of Lumatere, and when she walked the sleep, she shared with Finnikin the fears and worries of their people. Vestie walked the sleep with her, and Beatriss remembered how carefree her daughter had been during the time when Isaboe carried Jasmina. The thought lifted her spirits even more.

Beatriss spent the rest of the afternoon in the main village at the toy-maker’s cottage, wanting to buy something special for Vestie. She had decided with Isaboe that it was time for her daughter to come home.

As she walked out of the cottage, she bumped into Genova, the wife of Makli. They ignored each other, and with her head down, Beatriss made her way to the bakery.

“Lady Beatriss,” Genova called out.

Beatriss stopped and turned back to the woman.

“I’m sorry about my husband’s behavior,” the woman said. “I can’t speak for my boy because he’s a child, but according to Kie, your daughter told him he had the face of a witch’s wart, which gave great offense.”

Beatriss had heard the term come from Vestie’s mouth once or twice. Her daughter had spent too much time with Tesadora, who loved nothing better than teaching Vestie new insults each time they saw each other.

“It’s hard for Makli, and that’s not to excuse his words at all, but we were in the camp with Lord Selric and his family. In Charyn. It was very fast, the way the plague took them.” The woman looked away.

Beatriss walked to her, reaching out a hand to Genova’s arm for comfort.

“The children went first and then his wife. The goddess was cruel in that way, for it should never be in that order.”

Beatriss nodded.

“One of the last things Lord Selric asked Makli was to ensure that Fenton stayed alive and united. Yet here we are with half of us gone, and in these past three years, no one has dared purchase the village, which is ridiculous, really. Could you imagine Lord Selric preferring that Fenton go to ruin rather than someone else raising it to its glory? I think Makli believes that he failed his lord, and he thinks those of you who were trapped inside don’t understand the pain of those in exile.”

Genova had a singsong way of speaking, cool and practical.

“The man I love suffered greatly in exile,” Beatriss said. “So strong is his pain that it drives us apart. I understand what you went through more than you can imagine.”

Genova nodded curtly. “My husband’s a good man. He’s too proud to say he regrets his words to you, so I’ll say it for him.”

“And I will speak to Vestie about the witch’s wart.”

When she returned to Sennington with Vestie by her side, Beatriss looked out at her land and thought of the priest-king and his school and of Tarah and Samuel and Makli and his family and Lord Selric. Two villages, both half of what they once were. But the queen was right. This land was dead, and she and Vestie could not continue dying with it. But could she live in the palace? So close to Trevanion and the memories of what took place there, both the good and the awful? Perhaps she’d be better off in the main village. Some said she had a gift with a needle and thread, and she had a good eye for fabrics. Isaboe had expressed that they were poor country cousins in more ways than one, especially in their dress. “When I see the Belegonians come with their finery and even those tedious Osterians with their fashions, I feel as if they return home and tell others of our dowdiness,” the queen had told her on their journey home. But would Beatriss feel stifled in the palace village without the Flatlands surrounding her?

Traveling toward them was the priest-king on his donkey and cart, and suddenly Beatriss found herself smiling as Vestie ran toward him, zigzagging from side to side, her arms outstretched as if they were the wings of a bird. Isaboe had said that the priest-king would come visit the moment he got word of Beatriss’s acknowledgment of his offer.

Sennington would be a place of learning, guided by a man who had journeyed step by step with their cursed people and managed to find his way again. Beatriss watched as Vestie reached him, and she already felt the spirit of the first Evanjalin soaring alongside them.