Salazar is being uncharacteristically quiet as we walk from my family’s home to the speech location at the center of the market.
I haven’t asked him what he did while I was with my mother, but we did discuss the mural I discovered, that it was all the talk between the guards. “Lots of speculation,” Salazar said. “Some are convinced it’s the Night. Others are completely confounded because of how it came up overnight and in the Dogio village where access is scarce.”
But he’s not said much since.
I glance at him from my periphery. Nothing seems out of place with his appearance. He’s as meticulously put together as usual: red pocket square folded to perfection, suit pressed, boots shined. His hair is parted just so.
“Everything all right?” I ask.
“Quite.” But now I notice there’s a barely there crooked grin torqueing his mouth. And he’s looking around in a strangely deliberate way.
I follow his eyes but don’t see anything at all suspicious until we turn the corner into the market piazza. There, lining the fence around the market, are new postings.
“You didn’t.”
“Oh, I did.”
“But when? How?”
He smiles. “There’s an advantage to being the one in charge of securing the area for the heir.” He side-eyes me scandalously. “No one’s around when I do it.”
Not wanting to make a scene, I wait until we’re closer to one and then stop, kneel down like I’m tightening my boots. When I glance up at the poster it’s a meticulous drawing of the Imperi crest over the island of Bellona, Sun blazing. But instead of light coming off the rays, it’s blood. And instead of blessed warmth shining down on the island, blood drip-drip-drips, covering the whole of Bellona. Beneath the drawing are the words: THE SUN PUNISHES HIGH REGENT RAEVALD FOR HIS WAR.
“My Sun,” I say. Because, truly, if this prompts people to believe the Sun isn’t pleased by this war, it’s as good as over.
Raevald can take on me and Veda, the Sindaco, even the Night as a whole, but there’s one thing he’s powerless against. One thing he cannot wage war on. One thing he cannot touch.
The Sun.
THE CROWD IS THICK, filling the usually open area and spilling into the alleyways off the market.
I can’t help but wonder if they’re truly here to hear me speak about joining the army or if they’re hoping I’ll address the very large message being passed around on postings.
Being whispered about as I stand next to the small stage waiting.
Murmurs of, “High Regent … Blood … The Sun … Punishment … War…”
“Is it true, Heir Denali?” A boy the age of nine or so runs up to me, his father a few steps behind him and trying to wrangle him in.
I put my hand up, let his father know it’s fine. I lean down to his eye level. “Is what true?”
“Did the High Regent kidnap all those Basso and blame it on the Night?”
And it’s as if, even amid so much chaos, the boy’s voice rings out. Everyone thinking the same thing and just waiting for someone to speak up. Both the guards who stand sentry to my post shift uncomfortably, watch me from the corners of their eyes, and wait for my answer.
It’s now or never.
I can deny it and carry on not making any progress, or I can call Raevald out like Veda and I planned.
Salazar walks around the corner. Stops and stares when he senses the tension. “Everything all right, my lord?”
I nod.
“Well, sir?” the boy urges, and his father halfheartedly tries to pull him away. “Did the High Regent kill Basso?”
This time the kid doesn’t mince words.
“Yes,” I say. I stand taller, address those within ear shot and staring at me. “It’s true. Raevald hasn’t been honest with his people. He’s betrayed all of you—Basso and Dogio alike.”
There’s mumbling.
A Dogio man a few rows back yells, “Liar! Traitor!”
Salazar stiffens, and the guards grip the hilts of their blades.
I step toward the crowd, put my hands up, wave off the guards. “It’s alarming. I didn’t want to believe it either, but there’s overwhelming proof.”
“The Offering medallions?” that same boy shouts, and I wonder whose son he is … one of the palace workers perhaps? The child of one of my mother’s friends?
I gaze down at him. “Yes,” I say. “The medallions.”
The boy leans up on his toes, motions with his hand for me to bend down. When I do, he leans into my ear and whispers, “I believe you.”
I pull back, and he’s proudly smiling.
I nod, then wink, and he tries to wink back.
I set my sights to the stage that stands several feet above the piazza tile grounds and before the mosaic fountain.
I know what I have to do.
ALL EYES ARE on me. These people, my people, are looking to me to guide them when they’re hearing and seeing things that go against everything they’ve ever known. Everything they’ve been conditioned to believe.
Here, they trusted their leader was protecting them when, in fact, he’s been doing the direct opposite.
And that’s where I’ll start.
I take one step up onto the stage but then stop. I’m not him. I’m not Raevald, and I’ll no longer mimic his actions. Instead of taking to the stage, I climb up onto the side of the fountain. Yes, I need to be seen, to be heard, but that stage is associated with the High Regent, and the High Regent is synonymous with power and control.
That’s not how I will ever lead.
The crowd hushes so not a babe or dog or even the whistling of the wind interrupts me.
I speak as loudly and clearly as I can, but I don’t shout. I command the truth; Veda’s truth, Bellona’s truth.
“Raevald has used you all. He’s used me. By now, I assume you’ve all heard whispers of his lies, seen the postings. The High Regent has deceived you, his loyal people, for years.” I look out over the crowd, pray to the Sun they believe what I’m saying and that my mother and Bronwyn and Salazar, those Veda told in the Night were able to get the word out. “It’s true, it was Raevald who demanded Imperi soldiers dress and pretend to be the Night. It’s true they abducted Basso.”
Several people boo and hiss.
They call for execution and revenge and the High Regent will get what’s coming!
That man who called me out earlier seems to have either disappeared or is staying silent now.
“I know … I feel your same anger and horrible, horrible betrayal.” They quiet down. “The level of his betrayal and cruelty is unfathomable. And I promise you, his time will come. The truth will prevail. Justice will be served.” I think of what my mother said a while ago, about playing to her audience. “The Sun will not allow this treason to go unpunished. The Sun will protect us.” But I’m not like my mother, and I’m not playing to these people, I’m protecting them, giving them the truth they very much deserve.
I’m about to close with “Blessed be the light,” but I will not repeat Raevald’s signature prayer.
Instead, I simply say, “Blessed be Bellona.”
When I look out at the crowd, it’s grown, some Bellonians even sitting atop the fence that surrounds the market. I’d guess nearly everyone from the surrounding villages and then some stares back at me.
Many repeat my new prayer in unison. “Blessed be Bellona.”
“I promise you—”
But my words are stolen by a low rumble. A groaning from within the earth far, far below where I currently stand.
Then the entire island quakes with a sharp tremor.
And another.
A powerful explosion sounds, followed by a louder, angrier growl as if belched straight from the earth’s core.
People scream, shout, everyone scatters.
A quick search of the horizon shows the cause.
The Crag, long dormant, has come back to life.