I’d just come up from the shipyard and was wandering the palace looking for this meeting place mentioned in Lia’s message when I heard the fanfare of her approach. Excellent timing, as I’d been close to asking a page to take me to the Sand Salon—whatever under Sawehl’s gaze that might be. Sounded like a beach. Knowing Calanthe, it could well be.
Lia rounded the corner, accompanied by all five of her ladies. Interesting. It was also surprisingly good to see her back to her usual pageantry—ironic, as I’d chafed over it so much before. But hearing the music, the people calling out salutations to their queen, and seeing Lia strolling elegantly through her palace, so clearly in her element … Well, it was good. It was how things should be.
She’d dressed up, kind of a combination of what she’d done before. The gown caught my eye first—it was hard to miss—as the skirt part fell around her like the closed wings of a butterfly. The uneven hem billowed around her slender legs, making her seem like she could take flight. It looked just like one of Calanthe’s giant butterflies, too, with the black lines that bordered panels of intense color. I’d seen butterflies like that in the gardens, with pinks and purples near the center, merging into deep blue, then pale blue, with green and a tinge of yellow at the tips.
The top part of the dress had the same colors and pattern, but wrapped around her slim waist and cupped her bosom with flares of black, leaving her shoulders bare, though her arms glittered. As she drew near, I saw that she wore sleeves of jewelry, strands of golden vines from her upper arms to her hands, with leaves made of green gems and jewelry butterflies seeming to flutter within, the orchid ring reigning supreme over them all.
“I’m guessing today’s theme is butterflies,” I said to her, bowing.
She smiled, amused. “It seemed apt. And yours is … brutal conqueror? So last season, Conrí.”
I grinned at her. “Never goes out of style.”
“Not while Anure rules,” she agreed, sobering.
“Shall we?” I offered her my arm, and she took it, the others falling back to follow us. They’d pulled her glorious hair into a loose braid that somehow made it look like a cascade of color studded with flowers. “I like the hairstyle.”
She slid me an opaque look, subtly guiding me down another hall. “And what have you been up to so early in the morning?”
“I wanted to check out the ships for myself, give Vesno a bit of a run.”
“Ah, I wondered where he was.”
“I left him with some of the carpenters. He gets bored in meetings.”
“As all good wolves do,” she replied mildly, her expression so bland I knew she was enjoying poking at me.
“Where are we going?” I asked, deciding not to take her bait.
“The Sand Salon. Didn’t you get My message?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I know what or where that is.”
“Just through here,” she said, then gave me a real smile. “I think you’ll like it.”
She looked so pleased with herself, almost mischievous, that I didn’t grumble about the needless mystery. We turned a corner, entering a large room. Open to the outside as most of them were in the palace, the salon held none of the tables, chairs and seating areas I’d expected of a salon. Instead, what looked like toys were stacked against the walls, and a large table took up the center of the room.
Everyone else awaited us—including Ambrose and Merle, which surprised me—eating pastries and sipping from pretty cups. Sondra and Kara stood together studying the table. The other members of the Defense Council, Percy, Brenda, Agatha, Dearsley, all bowed and exchanged greetings with Lia. Percy ignored me with a lift of his elegant nose. Unperturbed, I grabbed an almond pastry from a platter, went to the table, and peered at it, trying to figure out why the thing looked weird.
It wasn’t really a table at all—or not the normal sort—because there wasn’t a solid surface. It was more of a box, with a smooth, rounded rim and filled with fine, shifting …
“Sand,” I said.
“Thus the name,” Lia said, coming beside me, that pleased glint in her eyes. “I apologize that it’s so low. It’s built for children and there wasn’t time to raise it and still have it be stable enough, so we’ll have to make do.”
Children. That’s why the toys. “We’re in a playroom?” I asked, looking around for any kids.
“Don’t worry, Conrí. I asked that the children take their classes elsewhere this morning. None will pop out from under the table to gnaw on your ankles.”
“You think you’re funny,” I growled under my breath, and she smiled serenely. “And we’re looking at sand because why?”
“I thought it would be helpful, for planning.” She waved a hand over the table and the sand shifted and stirred, following along. Pinching her fingers, she drew her hand up and the sand followed, building itself into a tower. As it took shape, I recognized one of the towers at Yekpehr.
She waved a hand and began detailing a coastline, our companions bursting into excited chatter. “I don’t have magic, though,” I said, surprisingly disappointed that I couldn’t do it, too.
“You don’t need it. The sand is enchanted, so anyone can use it.” She put her hand over mine, the delicate jewel butterflies fluttering, the golden vines twining between her fingers, too. “Picture what you want it to look like,” she instructed, guiding my hand, showing me how my gestures shaped the sand.
I tried it, and the sand swirled, responding to my movements, building itself into that long wall around Yekpehr that seemed to grow out of the craggy rocks of the daunting coast. Feeling kind of like a kid again—but in the best way—I added details of the crenellations along the top, then grinned at Lia. She smiled, well satisfied with her surprise.
“It responds to the image you have in mind,” she explained loudly enough for everyone to hear, “so the more clearly you envision what you want to create, the more detailed it will be.”
“All right, people,” I said, “let’s re-create Yekpehr.”
“When we’re done, can we blow it up?” Sondra asked.
“Absolutely,” Lia replied with a lethal smile. “I’d expect nothing else.”
I consulted with Dearsley, the two of us settled at the teacher’s desk and going over lists while the others worked at the model. They spent hours at it, each taking a section and building it, then critiquing what others had wrought, adding details, making modifications. Being right there allowed me to watch some of the smartest, most talented and creative people I’d ever met play like a bunch of kids at the sand table.
For even though their intent was deadly, the planning critical, and their focus on executing a dangerous, if not impossible rescue, they were having fun. Uproarious laughter broke out now and again with exclamations of chagrin and consternation. They also argued vociferously, and I caught even Agatha’s usually quiet voice rising adamantly on some point or another. Ibolya joined in, too, and it was good to see her expressing herself.
Pages, messengers, and my other ladies came and went, casting curious glances at the strange sight of weapons propped among the toys, and adults arguing about towers. Dearsley and I had our own debates, sorting our own rescues around Calanthe into order of priority as more information came in, redistributing aid to the parts of Calanthe in most need, setting a schedule to rebuild. I kept another list, a private one, of land I’d go in and repair myself. Soon we’d have the memorials for those lost, which meant I should consider a real tour of the island—not a false one of distraction—to make the appropriate solemn speeches. I didn’t look forward to that duty of grief, especially as I’d have no Con to keep me company.
Every now and again, Con looked over to check on me, but mostly he remained absorbed in the exercise. Once they’d created the exterior of the citadel and immediate coastline, they’d divided into teams, building smaller models of various interior rooms.
I was deep into debate with Dearsley on whether I was favoring Cradysica’s rebuilding overmuch—I confess I carried a weight of guilt there, so he could be correct, but they’d also been damaged first—when Con came over and laid a hand on my shoulder.
I glanced up, my smile fading at his serious expression. “What’s wrong?” I scanned the room, looking for trouble, but everyone remained involved in their tasks—except Sondra, who stood by one corner of the table, giving me an apologetic grimace.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Con quickly assured me. “It’s just … Sondra could use your help remembering the throne room.”
The memory of pain welled up, accompanied by black nausea, and I had to swallow hard against it. Con’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “Never mind. It’s too much to ask. I can—”
“No,” I said, standing and smoothing my butterfly-bright skirts. I’d felt like a butterfly in the gorgeous dress, remade and renewed. But apparently my shadows chased me still, the cocoon of the corpse I’d been still waiting to be entirely shed. “Of course I can help.”
I went with him to the far end of the table, looking with interest at all they’d done so far. Much of it I didn’t recognize, as I’d been either unconscious or locked into one of two sets of rooms for much of our tenure there.
“Why do you need the throne room, in particular?”
“We might not,” Con said, so blandly that I knew he was lying, “which is why, if it’s too difficult for you to revisit in memory, we can—”
“I said it wasn’t,” I interrupted tersely. What was he up to?
“Don’t bite,” Con replied mildly, setting a hand on the small of my back as if he knew I needed the support. “We’re simply constructing every part of the citadel that we can, in case it’s helpful to our plan. You and Sondra are the only ones who’ve seen the throne room in years.”
“And my memory is shit,” Sondra explained, making a woeful face at the rudimentary model she’d started on. “I’m not embarrassed to admit I was more worried about seeing You get hacked to bits—sorry—than about where the throne was and how many people the room could hold.”
“Only two bits came off,” I corrected, producing a smile to cover the shudder of remembered horror. I didn’t see a model of the wizards’ workrooms where I’d been experimented upon. Though I didn’t particularly want to envision them, I asked Con if he needed those, too.
“No,” he replied immediately. “There’s no reason for us to need to go there again.”
“I thought you were constructing every part of the citadel that you can,” I pointed out, needling him to determine the boundaries of the lie.
“Not those. Still, if you don’t want to think about the throne room, we—”
“Stop.” I said it softly but looked up at him so he’d see the resolve in my face—and thus I glimpsed the relief in his. He wanted this more than he was saying. Ejarat take me, he better not be thinking about going after Anure still. But I’d give him the rope. If he hung himself with it, so be it. “Let’s do this. It will be therapeutic,” I said to Sondra, and she gave me a crookedly halfhearted smile. I examined what she’d done so far, and found it not at all close. “Fortunately—for this project if not for my peace of mind—I have a crystal-clear memory of that room.”
Con’s hand twitched on my back, and a sound like a low growl rose from deep inside him. “Lia, if—”
“Go supervise someone else,” I said, not happy with him. He grunted but moved away, going to Percy and Agatha who were arguing over some point.
Turning my attention to what Sondra had started, I curled my fingers and adjusted the proportions of the room, allowing my memories to build in the details. The orchid ring assisted, lending its magic to focus the extension of my thoughts, much as it had done with repairing Calanthe. I detailed Anure’s towering throne, trying to re-create its illusion of intimidating height while maintaining the correct dimensions. I even added the treasure hoard to the steps, and the figures of the wizards, arranged as they had been that day.
That was where I’d stood, where they’d brought out the block to lay my hand on, to sever first my finger, then my hand. Phantom pain throbbed in my wrist, and the orchid responded, soothing me. It helped to see my hand at the end of my arm, fully restored and myself still in possession of the ring. They’d done their worst to me, and I’d survived them. In a way, it helped to revisit that space, those dark memories. Con had once told me that if you spoke about nightmares aloud, the visions lost their haunting power. This seemed much the same.
When I finished, Sondra whistled low. “That’s amazing. It’s perfect—as far as I can tell.”
“Seared into My brain, apparently,” I replied drily, looking over what she’d been working on: an exact replica of the rooms we’d been kept in.
“Agatha thinks the odds are good that the royal captives are kept in similar rooms and towers,” Sondra explained. “They were before, and it makes sense that the citadel staff would’ve classified us as the same sort of prisoner. Any adjustments?”
“No.” So odd to see those walls that had contained us all those days, if only in miniature. “It looks exactly right to Me. I’m impressed.”
She shrugged that off, seeming slightly embarrassed at the praise. “I had a lot of time to stare at those walls while You slept.”
“I’m very sorry for that.”
She frowned. “For what, that You slept? I was glad of it. At least then I could see You. Now, when they would take You away…” She shook her head. “You think you’ve gone through the worst things possible, and then something new happens.”
“Are you going back?” I asked softly, so Con wouldn’t hear. He was participating in his own argument now, with Ambrose and Agatha, while Brenda and Percy had their heads together with Kara on something to do with the citadel walls.
“Not even a question,” Sondra replied with a frown. “Where Conrí goes, I go.”
“You could stay here. You’d be welcome.”
“It would make me crazy to stay behind, kicking my heels,” she answered with a wry grimace. I managed to conceal my wince that I would be doing exactly that. “Besides—if that is our Rhéiane there, she was my future queen. And, well, she was my friend. My first and best friend. That’s something special, you know? I owe it to her—oh shit, Lia, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me and—”
I held up a hand to stop her. “I know what that kind of friendship means, even if Mine turned out to be only an illusion.”
“Do You know that for sure?” Sondra asked, recovering enough to employ the honorific again.
“I don’t. I’d rather hoped for that closure, but I think I’ll never know. And then I wonder—which is worse? If she was truly the friend I thought and either turned on Me or was turned, or if she was false all along.”
“Yeah.” Sondra idly swirled some sand, not looking at me. “Some things we don’t need the answers to.”
“And some answers we simply can’t have. I’m making peace with that.” I gestured to the model of the throne room, glancing at Con to make sure he was still absorbed. “Here’s a question I’d like the answer to: Why does he really want a model of the throne room?”
She looked to Con, too, then back. Sondra wouldn’t lie to me. “Because that’s where he’s likely to find Anure.”
I nodded, unsurprised. “Then he still plans to kill Anure.”
Sondra gazed back steadily with regret and understanding. The short hair set off her elegant bone structure but ruthlessly revealed the stained and pitted skin of her face, particularly stark in the bright morning light. But her eyes, shades of blue with darker flecks and lavish gold lashes, retained all the beauty of her life before Anure. “Did You really think he’d be able to let that go?”
I’d hoped that it would be enough for him to destroy Anure’s hold on the land, to rip his empire out from under him. Foolish me. “What is he planning?”
“Maybe ask him?” Sondra sounded uncertain, as she almost never did.
“I’m asking you, as your queen,” I pressed, using that edge ruthlessly, even if I did stop short of royal command.
“That’s really unfair, You bitch,” Sondra muttered, eyes flashing with irritation.
I nearly laughed—only Sondra could call me a bitch while using the honorific—but I managed to keep a straight face, even narrowing my eyes in regal menace.
She blew out a breath. “I don’t know this from him, all right? But Brenda told me that when Con came to rescue us, he also brought a vurgsten weapon. Agatha made a trigger for it, so he could carry it around inert, then take it to the throne room and set it off personally. The only reason he didn’t do that was because he had to carry You out.”
That sounded so like Con. “I’m surprised he didn’t go back,” I murmured, studying the throne room model, “thinking Me dead.”
“He tried,” Sondra said bluntly. “He would have, but Ambrose stopped him. The trigger—maybe it’s changed, but I understand it’s pretty much suicide to use it.”
I processed that, unsurprised on some level, and also deeply disturbed. Imagine if I’d risen from the dead on the yacht to find Con had, in his grief thinking me lost forever, killed himself trying to take out Anure. It sounded like a tragic ballad.
“Thank you for telling Me.” And yet it seemed our story was doomed to tragedy regardless. Con planned to risk himself anyway, despite his protestations of love for me.
As if sensing my thoughts—or my gaze on him—he looked up and grinned wolfishly, violence and vengeance glinting in his golden eyes, that sparkling anticipation he got only when contemplating destroying his nemesis. Nothing else meant as much to him. I’d be a fool to delude myself otherwise.
“All right, everyone,” he called out, silencing the room. “I think we can solidify this plan.”
Lia asked Ibolya to have adult-sized chairs brought in. Ibolya stayed, apparently officially transferred to my service—which felt weird, but that was how Lia did things—and Dearsley begged off on the discussion, going to execute the plans he and Lia had been so intensely discussing. We pulled our chairs up to the sand table, which put the models of the citadel more on eye level. I don’t know about the rest of them, but I had a crick in my neck from bending over the thing. We still loomed too high, but it was better. I ended up pacing as I talked, anyway, noting Lia’s amused half smile as I did.
Caged wolf, I heard her say in my head. Yeah. That was me.
Now that we made real plans to return to Yekpehr, to finally and completely destroy Anure’s foul regime, victory seemed possible again. I thought I’d set aside the craving for revenge. I’d figured it crushed under the weight of my mistakes and failings. But no. Finally I saw a way to redeem myself, to live up to the promises I’d made to so many.
I would rescue Rhéiane, liberate the others, and rip Anure’s empire to shreds, and then I’d look into the false emperor’s eyes when he realized he’d lost everything that mattered to him. He’d know how it felt to have your world shattered, to be defeated and broken. Then I’d kill him, even if I had to kill everyone in the room with him. They were all complicit. Those courtiers had stood aside and watched the show when those wizards had butchered Lia. They all deserved to die. Every one.
And it would be sweet indeed. A real victory this time, all the sweeter for having been delayed.
“We’re agreed that we can’t go in by stealth again,” I said, laying the groundwork for the plan that had come to me. The one the prophecy predicted, I was sure. I had the key now. “They’ll have learned and will be checking anyone who tries to enter the citadel, even via the Slave Gates. That leaves either a full assault or some other kind of trickery.”
“A full assault is right out,” Kara put in, staring fiercely at the reproduction of the wall around the citadel. “Anure’s navy might be decimated, but he’s no doubt rebuilding at all speed, and his ground forces are largely intact. The fixed defenses on the outer wall and the walls of the citadel itself are formidable. Even if we had an unlimited supply of vurgsten—which we don’t—we don’t have enough people to place the charges, and neither weapons nor people to cover them while they do it. They’re in a position to dump anything they like on our heads and bring up soldiers behind us to pick us off. Against that wall, we’d be trapped.”
He paced over to the wall, pointing to the guard towers on the crenellations. “These are manned, night and day. Plus, every bit of all the walls—outer and inner—is lit by vurgsten. Any attempt to scale them would be instantly spotted, and the vurgsten probably exploded in our faces.”
“And here I thought the Imperial Toad was just showing off with that excess,” Lia murmured, shifting to cross her legs, one elegantly heeled foot kicking in the air, the only betrayal of her internal agitation. I’d like to tell her she didn’t need to be here for this, but she wouldn’t listen—especially if she thought I was trying to coddle her. Besides, it was important to her to feel like she had input on this plan. Whatever would help set her mind at ease was fine by me.
“His wizards,” Ambrose put in. He’d worn his court wizard of Calanthe robes and perched in his chair, Merle on his shoulder for the moment, wearing a decorative chain around his sleek black neck. “I feel it’s important to make the distinction,” Ambrose added when we all looked at him. “The wizards are keeping the vurgsten perpetually burning, not the man.”
“I don’t see why that’s important at—”
“No, Con,” Lia broke in, giving me a quelling look, her eyes like faceted jewels, cold and sharp. “Something I noticed during My … audience with Anure, and subsequent conversations with the four wizards, is that I don’t think the emperor is fully running the show.”
Merle croaked, bobbing his head, and I didn’t miss that Ambrose looked satisfied by Lia’s observation.
“What did you notice?” I asked.
She lifted a hand, fluttering her fingers dismissively. “It’s difficult to explain. As a person who’s spent many years sitting on a throne, holding court, making decisions, and guiding the flow of events, I have a feel for how a person in power behaves. One pays attention to the atmosphere of the room, to the important players. Minute details can betray what a petitioner’s true agenda might be. Some courtiers wield more influence than others, and there is constant jockeying to gain more power through information or other means.” Her gaze rested briefly on Percy, who fluttered his jeweled nails and simpered at her.
“Anure wasn’t doing that,” she continued. “He was … embroiled in his own thoughts and needs.”
“Not a leader in any way,” Agatha said, and Lia nodded.
“And the wizards?” Ambrose queried, an unusual tension in him. Rarely did the wizard seem invested in answers, but this one held something important to him. And that, I realized, was partly what Lia meant about observing a room.
“The wizards wanted the orchid ring,” Lia replied, fanning the fingers of that hand to display the lavish blossom, which had taken on tones that matched her butterfly gown today. “When I tried to bargain with them, to dissuade them from—” She took a breath and smiled, waving her hand in elegant dismissal, not fooling me for a moment. “That is, when I threatened them with the emperor’s displeasure should they … damage Me beyond recovery, they were unconcerned. I am quite convinced that the wizards hold Anure’s leash, rather than the other way around.”
“Or they wanted the orchid ring more than they feared Anure’s displeasure,” Sondra pointed out.
“The wizards want that ring badly,” Kara agreed, his dark gaze on me.
“We are not using Lia or the ring as bait,” I announced, glaring around the room severely enough that they would all know I wouldn’t discuss it. “Never again,” I added, this time to Lia, who smiled tremulously. Time to bring everyone around to the plan I had in mind. I braced myself for the arguments to come when they, inevitably, didn’t like it. “We don’t need to use Lia as bait, because I have something better than I can take to them. I will offer Anure Lia’s hand—with the orchid ring—in trade for my sister.”