Chapter Seven

IOANNA

 

Oredia was a peaceful community, a medium-sized town surrounded by farmlands located in the shadow of Irianthe’s estate. Though certainly not the glamorous setting most members of the court would expect a former empress to gravitate to, Ioanna understood why her grandmother had selected it to be her primary home.

Some people thought Grandmother Irianthe foolish for giving up her crown so quickly. But Ioanna knew her grandmother was exactly where she wanted to be and doing exactly what she wanted to be doing. How many people could say the same?

Oredia was home to a Temple of Inthi, and Grandmother Irianthe was known to support the artisans and inventors there. A Temple of Ethi, neutroi God of Knowledge, had also been built within walking distance of her home specifically at her request, so Ioanna never went without reading materials when she visited.

Grandmother Irianthe almost never came to Xyuluthe anymore, though she expected visits from her granddaughters at least twice a year. She hated court life and spoke candidly about the myriad ways her life had improved since passing the crown on to her son.

Grandmother Irianthe had no spouse, no consort, and no lovers. Ioanna understood it was certainly possible for someone to have no desire for such things though not very common. But she’d still managed to have a child. Ioanna’s father had no father of his own legally, and so Ioanna had no paternal grandfather. Nobody had ever come forward claiming to be Ionnes’s father, and on the family tree a single line was drawn from Irianthe to Ionnes as though she had been his sole progenitor. Perhaps this was odd, but Ioanna felt no compulsion to pry further into the matter.

“I hope she’s home,” commented Vitaliya as they made their way up the road to Grandmother Irianthe’s estate. They’d arrived just as the sun was setting, and Ioanna had been afraid they might not arrive before dark. “I mean, I hope she hasn’t gone to Xyuluthe. And maybe we passed her without realizing.”

Ioanna wondered if the news of her father’s death had reached her grandmother yet. Had her mother sent a courier? In that case, did her grandmother also know Ioanna had been forced to flee the capital?

She supposed she’d find out soon enough.

They reached the gate surrounding Grandmother Irianthe’s estate. As always, it was guarded, and Ioanna knew she did not come to Oredia often enough to expect the men stationed there to recognize her, especially dressed as she was and accompanied by a common priest.

“I’m here to see my grandmother,” she announced in the most level voice she could manage. Before either of the guards could retort with something incredulous, she added, “She isn’t expecting me. Please tell her Ioanna of Xytae is here, and Emperor Ionnes is dead.”

That cut off any arguments the guards might have offered. One of them left in the direction of the manor house immediately while the other remained behind.

Ioanna thought the guard might return with the groundskeeper, or another servant who would be familiar enough with Ioanna to identify an outright fraud. But when he returned, he was still alone.

“The empress mother wishes to see you immediately,” he said. “She insists you come now without delay.”

Otho volunteered to go and find lodging in town, but Ioanna insisted he remain for his own safety. It was unlikely he was in any real danger, but he had gone to a great deal of trouble to see them to Oredia, and she would never forgive herself if something happened to him. If nothing else, he deserved a hot meal and a reward for his efforts.

Otho’s humble wagon and donkey were absurdly out of place as they ascended the gradual incline of the road toward Grandmother Irianthe’s home. Unlike the Imperial Palace, her grandmother’s estate was pristine, and even the stones lining the path appeared to have been scrubbed. They passed tall healthy green hedges so neatly trimmed they might have been freshly cut that very morning as well as carefully arranged gardens that had not yet started to bloom.

Hostlers approached as they came to the front of the estate, taking the wagon from Otho and guiding it out of sight. Ioanna looked up at the front of her grandmother’s villa. It was an enormous home, as those in the countryside tended to be, with a large walled courtyard in the front that one had to pass through in order to reach the residential area.

They were less than midway through the courtyard when Ioanna caught sight of a figure moving toward them purposefully.

Grandmother Irianthe wore a simple white dress decorated with a wide gold collar and matching belt. Her face was exceptionally youthful, given her age, with only a few lines creasing through her skin, though her hair was finally beginning to turn silver. She had no attendants with her, and she did not smile or offer any kind of greeting as she approached.

“Ioanna,” said Grandmother Irianthe, sounding more tired than surprised. “So, it is true.”

“Father is dead,” Ioanna began. “We—”

But before she could say anything more, Grandmother Irianthe reached forward and took Ioanna by the arm. “Come with me. There are things I must tell you.”

“But—” Ioanna began, turning back toward Vitaliya and Otho.

“They can manage without you for an hour or two, can’t they?” asked Grandmother Irianthe. Then without waiting for a reply, she said, “We must talk. Now.”

“But—”

“Not here.”

Ioanna gave apologetic looks to Vitaliya and Otho, and they both shrugged helplessly in reply. Her grandmother pulled her away, and Ioanna allowed herself to be dragged further into the garden and toward the house. Once inside, Grandmother Irianthe steered her unceremoniously through the beautiful entrance hall and off to a side room, one Ioanna and her sisters had not been allowed to set foot in when they were children. Grandmother Irianthe pulled the door shut behind them.

“Sit down,” she commanded, and Ioanna did, sinking cautiously into an upholstered bench. “Tell me what happened. From the beginning.”

Ioanna had thought Grandmother Irianthe had wanted to tell her something, but she would not argue. “We received the news from a courier a few days ago. The letter said Father was killed in a duel with one of the Masimi commanders, and I couldn’t sense any lies on it. I think it is probably true.”

“Almost certainly,” agreed Grandmother Irianthe, nodding somberly. Ioanna wondered if she’d received a courier days ago. “What happened after that?”

“Netheia told me Father always intended for her to be his heir. She was not lying about that, but I don’t know if it’s true or merely her perception of things. In any case, he never announced it while he was alive. But she still managed to gather enough supporters that I had to flee the capital.”

“And what about your mother? Who is she supporting?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t seem impressed when Netheia announced she was the rightful heir. But just before I left, Netheia said something that suggested she knew about the coup and did nothing to stop it.” Ioanna sighed. “I suppose it hardly matters what Mother thinks. Even if she did support me, nearly everyone else is on Netheia’s side.”

Grandmother Irianthe did not react to this. Instead she sat down on a similar bench across from Ioanna. “Who have you been traveling with?”

“The girl is Princess Vitaliya of Vesolda. She was in the palace, visiting for an excursion, when we received word of Father’s death. She tried to warn me of Netheia’s plan and was forced to flee with me. The man is a priest of Cyne who has disguised us as his acolytes, to keep the priestesses of Reygmadra from bringing us back to Xyuluthe. They’ve been searching for us ever since we fled.”

“Yes, I am aware,” said Grandmother Irianthe. “I have twice ordered them escorted off my land. I suspect there may be some in Oredia still in disguise. But never mind them. They cannot overrule my orders.”

“She’ll send soldiers next,” murmured Ioanna, staring down at the intricate mosaic tiles on the floor. “The moment Mother allows it, I just know she will.”

“You mustn’t hate your sister, Ioanna,” Grandmother Irianthe said. “She’s only a little piece in a much larger game, being pushed about by a hand with very sharp fingernails.”

Ioanna looked up. “What do you mean?”

Grandmother Irianthe glanced back toward the door again, verifying she had remembered to close it behind her. Then she said in a considerably quieter voice, “In my experience, the worst thing about being empress was not the loud parties, the dreadful, tedious people, the poisonings, or the stabbings. It was the shouting.” Grandmother Irianthe touched two fingers to her forehead. “Imagine, if you will, a woman following you about all day long, yelling terrible advice in your ear. Kill him. Kill her. Invade Ibaia. Invade Ieflaria. Invade Masim. Raise taxes. Raise an army. Fight. Kill. Fight.”

Ioanna shook her head incredulously. “Reygmadra spoke to you?”

“At first,” said Grandmother Irianthe. “Before she realized I wouldn’t give her what she wanted, and then the speaking turned into screaming. At night when I dreamed, it was always of the battlefield. Of victories, of winning effortlessly, and people gathering around and praising me. I knew she meant for me to feel glorious and triumphant, but I couldn’t forget the sight of the mutilated soldiers. The visions were so vivid I made my guards take turns watching over me as I slept and ordered them to wake me if I became distressed.”

“You think they were visions?” asked Ioanna.

“I know they were,” Grandmother Irianthe said. “And I hardly needed to call upon a priestess to interpret them. I don’t deny I didn’t care to be empress in any case, but they made the decision to abdicate easier than it might have been otherwise.”

Did Netheia have those visions too? She’d never mentioned them—but then, of course, why would she speak of such things to Ioanna? Ioanna wondered if Netheia would find them disturbing or think them as thrilling and glorious as Reygmadra intended them to be.

Was Reygmadra already leaning over Netheia’s shoulder, invisible, murmuring that she ought to kill Ioanna? Convincing her it was for the best because it was the only way to ensure stability, and Enessa would forgive her sooner or later?

“After you abdicated, the shouting and dreams, they stopped?” asked Ioanna.

“Better yet. The day I left Xyuluthe was the day I lost my blessing.”

Ioanna’s mouth fell open, and she gaped like a hooked fish.

“I’ve never told anyone before this moment,” said Grandmother Irianthe. “Though I do frequently wonder if anyone has guessed. I suppose it hardly matters now at my age. Nobody is calling upon me to duel.”

“She truly was angry with you then,” marveled Ioanna.

“Like a little girl throwing a tantrum because she’s lost a favorite toy.” Grandmother Irianthe smiled fondly, her eyes pale and distant. “At the time, though, it was a rather devastating thing. You can probably imagine.”

Ioanna nodded. For a blessing to be rescinded was rare and deeply shameful. Stories that described such an event usually featured an act of great evil as the catalyst. The loss of a blessing was a sign to the audience that the subject had moved beyond the possibility for redemption.

“She got what she wanted in the end, of course. Your father was perfect for her. I doubt she ever had to shout in his ear or send him visions. Netheia will be just the same if she takes the throne.”

“I don’t see the sense in it,” said Ioanna. “Why should Xytae be at war with Masim, or anywhere else for that matter? None of those lands have done anything to trouble us, and there’s hardly any advantage to us taking them. The priestesses speak of valor and glory, but I mean practical things—our people cannot eat glory. Besides, the Masimi are honorable people even if their interpretation of the Ten is a little different from ours. It is not as though they venerate chaos gods or send monsters against us, so I do not believe there is any glory in their defeat.”

“What makes you so certain there must be sense in it?” asked Grandmother Irianthe. “She is the goddess of war, so she seeks war.”

“War for war’s sake?” Ioanna questioned.

“Can you blame her? It’s only her nature.”

“And when we’ve warred ourselves into extinction, and all her worshippers are dead on a battlefield? What does she intend to do then?”

“I do not know. Perhaps you ought to ask her if you believe you can reason her out of her own domain.”

Maybe I could, thought Ioanna. But then she thought of Netheia. Of how even the most well-reasoned arguments consistently failed to touch her heart or her mind. Of how she would resort to rage and violence whenever she knew she could not win through logic. Perhaps Reygmadra was like that too. Perhaps Reygmadra was a thousand times worse.

“Animals cannot help their natures,” said Ioanna. “But a goddess? It seems so wrong someone so powerful is no different than a mindless beast. Besides, doesn’t our ability to reason come from the gods? How could they bestow something that they themselves do not possess?”

Grandmother Irianthe did not appear to find this as compelling as Ioanna did. “Do not trouble yourselves with the nature of the gods,” she advised. “Your work is here.”

“You do not wish for me to become empress. I know that is true.”

“It was once,” agreed Grandmother Irianthe. “I will not deny it—when you were young, your blessing was a great shock to us all. And I did not believe one with Iolar’s light would be able to lead Xytae in the way her people were accustomed. But that was many years ago. Now I see what has become of our nation, and I realize you could hardly be worse than the rest of us.”

“Do you believe I ought to be empress, then?”

“I don’t believe anyone deserves such a terrible fate,” said Grandmother Irianthe. “Let alone a girl so soft as you. I’d hate to see you turned harsh and bitter. Nor do I wish to facilitate a war between you and your sister. But it is clear to me that Netheia will only continue along the path your father laid down, and it will lead to our ruin.”

Ioanna had come to her grandmother expecting little more than a luxurious exile, to only remain on the estate until she was thrown out for dragging political machinations into the former empress’s home. But now Grandmother Irianthe wanted to be her ally. She had never bothered to even hope for such a thing.

“But even if I am crowned empress, what good can I do if everyone at court hates me?” asked Ioanna. “If they all band together to work against me…”

“Well, the easiest solution is to execute the loudest of them and give their titles to your friends,” Grandmother Irianthe said. Ioanna cringed. “But I think you’ll soon see their religious convictions are not so firm as they claim. Oh, I am certain they make quite a show of their devotion to Reygmadra now, but their true allegiance is to their own comfort—their families, their lands, and their gold. Let them go on as they always have, and they’ll find it’s not worth the trouble to stand against you.”

Ioanna was not sure if she believed that.

“Now,” said Grandmother Irianthe. “There are some people who are waiting to speak with you.”

“With me?” Ioanna blinked. “Who—?”

“They arrived a few days ago.” Grandmother Irianthe got to her feet and moved toward the door. “Wait there. I’ll send for them. I’ll admit I wasn’t as hospitable to them as I might have been. I did not wish to believe they were telling the truth.”

Baffled, Ioanna remained in her seat and listened as her grandmother called to a servant out in the hallway. Who could possibly have come to see her? Her only guess was some friends or allies of Netheia’s—or maybe some priestesses of Reygmadra in disguise? She expected they’d come to warn her that the moment she took a step outside of Oredia, she’d be arrested. Or maybe they’d not bother with words. She flexed her fingers and prepared to summon a shield.

The door opened, and Grandmother Irianthe returned. Behind her stood a man who appeared to be about fifty. His clothing was simple but very fine in quality as though he was a nobleman who did not have to dress to receive visitors today. His hair was cut short in the style a soldier’s might be, but he did not give Ioanna the impression he was searching for a reason to fight unlike the way her sister and her friends always did.

Ioanna looked up at him curiously, and he stared down at her. There was wonder in his eyes. Perhaps Grandmother Irianthe had not told him she would be waiting for him?

“Ioanna,” said Grandmother Irianthe. “This is Knight-Commander Livius of the Order of the Sun. He arrived several days ago.”

In that moment, Ioanna was seven years old again, crouched over a page in the darkness and writing an awkward letter to a man she could not remember. Back then, the world had felt big and terrifying and impossible to navigate, but she’d always hoped she’d grow to match it.

Ioanna leapt to her feet, not caring for the furniture or the myriad breakable ornaments Grandmother Irianthe had decorated the room with.

“Knight-Commander Livius,” she gasped. She began to reach forward, to clasp his hands, but then stopped herself because surely that was too familiar a gesture. “What—how—it’s, it’s wonderful to see you. But how…?”

For Knight-Commander Livius had been exiled from Xytae along with the rest of the Order of the Sun. Ioanna had always supposed she would have to send for him sooner or later. She had certainly not expected him to come searching for her.

“I am glad to see you as well,” said Knight-Commander Livius. “I was going to be terribly embarrassed if you never turned up. Your grandmother has been extremely patient with us, considering I had no proof of my claim.”

“But if you arrived here days ago…” The journey from Ieflaria would have taken weeks. “How did you learn of my father’s death before we did?”

“A dream,” said Livius. “Or a vision, I suppose. The most intense, vivid one I have ever experienced. When I awoke, I knew I must go to Oredia immediately to meet you. I admit, I spent a great deal of time doubting myself and considered traveling to the capital instead. But now I am glad I did not.”

“I am as well,” said Ioanna. If Livius had been discovered in Xyuluthe, not even Ioanna could protect him from the consequences. The Order was not remembered kindly by most of the Xytan court. Still, she could not help but feel a bit neglected—why had he received a vision from Iolar while Ioanna had not? “Have you come alone? Or did you bring more paladins?”

“I have not come with an army,” admitted Livius. “I thought it best to move discreetly until I could determine what the situation here is. I’ve brought two paladins with me, both disguised as common guards, simply for protection on the roads. When the time comes, the rest will join me here.”

“I do not want a civil war,” said Ioanna. “I don’t want to see us turned against one another. I appreciate your aid, but there must be a way that doesn’t involve us becoming exactly like our enemies.”

“Iolar means for you to be empress,” said Livius firmly. “And therefore, it is my responsibility to ensure that happens. I respect your blessing, and your title, but I know you have little experience commanding soldiers. If we are to work together, I ask you to trust my judgment in these matters. Believe me when I say I will never order my soldiers—or your subjects—into an impossible battle. But in times such as this, there is no high path to be taken. The only choice is to fight or be trampled.”

Ioanna was not sure if she believed that. Even now, she felt certain there was some magical combination of words that, if she uttered them, would cause Netheia to finally see reason. She only had to discover what they were.

“What had you hoped to do?” she asked. “I do not have any sort of plan. In fact, I thought I might be forced to allow Netheia’s coronation to proceed.”

“I don’t propose we go directly to Xyuluthe,” said Livius. “I have been informed we still have three months before the coronation. I suggest we spend that time rallying more supporters for you.”

“You mean the rest of the Order?” asked Ioanna.

“No,” he said. “Though certainly more will come now that I’ve confirmed the situation here.”

“Ioanna, Xytae is in turmoil,” said Grandmother Irianthe. “We’ve painted a pretty glaze over it, but it is beginning to crack. Gather the people to your side by speaking of your plans for peace. It should not be difficult, given the condition of things.”

“I cannot ask farmers to stand against imperial soldiers!” cried Ioanna. “I’d be a murderer!”

“And what do you call standing back and allowing your sister to continue your father’s work?” asked Grandmother Irianthe. “One way or another, they will die—whether it’s on the end of a Masimi blade, or in their own villages when there’s no food left in the storehouses.”

“It cannot come to that,” said Ioanna, but even as she spoke, she remembered all she had seen between leaving Xyuluthe and the present. “Xytae is not that near to ruin.”

“These things can happen very quickly, Crown Princess,” said Livius. “Especially now that the empire is so weak. How much of your harvest is being sent to the soldiers? What do you suppose will happen if there’s a blight next summer?”

“I don’t know—”

“Besides, I think we can get some of the minor nobility to your side,” said Grandmother Irianthe. “The ones not wealthy enough to live at Xyuluthe year-round. I’ve no doubt they have felt the effects of the war far more keenly than anyone in the capital.”

“I, I’m tired,” murmured Ioanna. “Please…can we discuss this later? Tomorrow? I can’t think—I need to—”

Grandmother Irianthe opened her mouth, and Ioanna knew she was going to object, but Livius spoke first.

“Of course,” he said. “You’ve had a difficult journey, and I’ve given you quite a lot to think about.”

Ioanna was escorted to the room she had always stayed in on the rare occasion she visited her grandmother. It was among the largest of the guest rooms, second only to the one reserved for her parents. In an odd way, Ioanna was grateful she had not been moved up to that room. She was not ready for it. Perhaps Grandmother Irianthe had known this.

She had no things to unpack, but the wardrobe standing in the corner was full of anything she might need. Some of the clothes were too small, left over from childhood, but plenty would be acceptable to wear in the coming days.

“Hellooooo,” sang Vitaliya brightly, opening the door without knocking and making Ioanna jump. “This place is nice. Nicer than the palace, I think. Certainly cleaner—no offense meant. Are you doing all right?”

Ioanna did not reply, too taken aback to formulate an immediate response. By the time she managed a rather weak “You might have knocked—” Vitaliya was already chattering.

“They tried to send Otho into town, but I held my breath until they agreed he could stay. I don’t think he appreciated it. He kept saying he was happy to leave! But he deserves to sleep in a proper bed, don’t you think? Even if it’s only for one night. These servants had better not be rude to him, or I’ll be so difficult! You can’t imagine how difficult I can be!”

“Are you going home?” asked Ioanna, closing the wardrobe and turning away from it.

“What?” Vitaliya sounded confused. “Am I—what?”

“Or to Ibaia? You said you wanted to. There’s no reason for you to remain here. It may even be dangerous.”

“What?” Vitaliya shook her head. “What are you talking about? No. I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to stay here.”

“Why?” This isn’t a game, Ioanna wanted to say. This is not some petty diversion. If I handle this poorly, it might ignite a civil war. Men will die. I could die. You could die. Do you understand? Do you understand how serious this all is? Do you even understand that serious things exist?

“Well…” Vitaliya bit her lower lip. “I think I can do more good here than anywhere else. People are hungry, and I can make the plants grow. Maybe it’s small, but it helps. And besides, even if it didn’t…” Her voice trailed off.

“What?”

“You seem like you need someone to be your friend.”

It was not a lie, and so Ioanna was at a loss. Had anyone, in her entire life, spoken those words to her and meant them? Surely Vitaliya had an ulterior motive. Everyone did. Even the priests, though genuinely kind, hoped someday Ioanna would put a halt to the constant, excessive veneration of Reygmadra and restore Iolar’s worship.

“What else?” pressed Ioanna, stepping closer. “What do you want for yourself? For Vesolda?”

“Um…” Vitaliya shook her head again, more vigorously this time. “I’d like my things back. I mean, the dresses we had to leave behind in the palace. It’s not terrible if I don’t get them, but some of them I liked. And there’s some jewelry too, if it hasn’t been stolen already.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know!” Vitaliya sounded a little concerned. “Am I forgetting something? I feel like there’s something you want me to say, but I don’t know what it is.”

Ioanna turned away and went to go sit down on the foot of the bed. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

Vitaliya brightened up again. “In a good way? Or a bad way?”

“Good, I think,” admitted Ioanna. “You’re so straightforward, and when you lie, it’s only about silly things to make us laugh. You really don’t want anything, do you?”

“I want lots of things,” denied Vitaliya. “I want my own chickens.”

“Not things like that. Things that nobles fight over. Power and titles and important things.”

“I already have a title,” said Vitaliya. “If I wanted a better one, I’d have to be a queen, and then I’d have to do queen things. Having power just means having a chance to mess everything up.” She reached out to close the door behind her, then moved nearer to where Ioanna sat.

“What would you do if you had to be queen?”

“You mean, if everyone else died?” Vitaliya came and sat down beside Ioanna on the bed. The mattress sagged, and Ioanna set one hand down to brace herself. “I don’t know. Maybe I’d do like your grandmother did. Run away. Except at least she was responsible enough to make an heir first. I suppose I’d have to do that too. I’d make one of the chickens my heir. Then I’d run away.”

“You don’t want to do anything for the world?” questioned Ioanna. “If you were a queen, you could change many things. Influence history. There’s so many—”

But Vitaliya was already shaking her head. “I’d only hurt people,” she said. “I wouldn’t mean to, but it would all go wrong. And you can’t say sorry to dead bodies.”

“You wouldn’t kill people.”

“Not on purpose. But that wouldn’t make them any less dead. You know me! You know what I’m like. I don’t think about things long enough or hard enough. If I was a queen, I’d order something I thought was a good idea, but it would be awful, and everyone would hate me for a thousand years.”

“I don’t think you would,” said Ioanna. “If nothing else, you’d have advisors telling you if your ideas were bad.”

“I don’t want to take that risk. I’m selfish, I suppose. I don’t want history to remember me as the lady who ruined Vesolda.”

“I don’t think that’s selfish if it’s coming from a place of not wanting to hurt people.”

“Well, I hope we never have to find out. I hope my brother has sixteen children, and then each of those sixteen has sixteen more.” Vitaliya paused. “I do like helping the farms and making the plants grow. I don’t trust myself to do it on my own and for big areas like Otho does, but do you remember how happy those children were when I grew the figs for them? That made me feel so important. Not in a showing off kind of way but like I had done something really useful.”

“You did,” said Ioanna. “It might have been the difference between survival and death for them.”

“Oh!” Vitaliya shuddered. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too responsible. Too much responsibility for me.”

“But it’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“I know. I know it isn’t rational. But that doesn’t stop it. I can’t control my thoughts.”

“Who taught you to think in such a way?”

“I don’t think anyone meant to. But my brother and I were tutored together, and it was all so serious and important all the time. It’s no wonder I decided to just not be important.”

“I don’t think you’re unimportant.”

“That’s too bad. I try very hard at it!” Vitaliya smiled again. She smelled of jasmine, Ioanna realized, because a little sprig of it had been woven through her hair. Had she grown it herself in the garden? “If I’m annoying you, though, I can leave. Not just the room, I mean. The whole country.”

“You’re not annoying me.” It was strange, considering, well…everything about Vitaliya, but it was the truth. “Maybe I’ve been needing someone like you. At court it’s so easy to forget that sometimes people are just happy.”

“I’m sorry you had to live that way. I’m sorry so many people in Xytae are living that way. But if anyone can change it, I think you can.”

“I don’t know,” whispered Ioanna. “I should be grateful for my grandmother’s support. I should be grateful for the Order of the Sun. But for some reason, all I can think of is how everything would be so much easier if I just gave up on being empress and let Netheia have her way. Maybe I’m just a coward.”

“Not wanting to die doesn’t mean you’re a coward!”

“Or selfish. So many people will suffer if Netheia is empress. I shouldn’t even be considering…”

“Thinking about possibilities isn’t selfish,” asserted Vitaliya. “You’re feeling guilty for things you haven’t even done yet. And probably won’t ever do, knowing you.”

Ioanna felt one side of her mouth curl into a smile.

“Well,” said Vitaliya. “Maybe I should go—”

If Ioanna had ever acted on thoughtless instinct before in her life, she could not remember it. It was as though her body had been taken over by something else as she lurched forward and brought her hands to Vitaliya’s face and pressed their lips together in a kiss. She only had a moment to consider Vitaliya’s soft lips, and her warmth, and the sweet scent of fresh flowers about her before she regained her senses, and she pulled away, horrified with herself.

“I—I’m sorry—” stammered Ioanna, mortified. “I’m…I don’t know why I—”

But Vitaliya was laughing. And it was not a scornful or derisive laugh either. It was happy.

“If you’d wanted me to stay, you could have said so!” She caught Ioanna’s hands and grasped them loosely in the space between their faces. “Don’t—don’t be embarrassed. Please. You’ve been alone for so long. I’m glad you want me near.”

“I should have asked—”

“I like surprises.” Vitaliya leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Ioanna’s. “Really. I promise.”

It was not a lie. Of course, it wasn’t. Vitaliya never lied when it mattered. Ioanna didn’t know what to say. She had never thought she’d be in this position with anyone, let alone a foreign princess. Vitaliya seemed to realize it too because she said, “You’ve never courted anyone, have you?”

“No, I, I never accepted anyone who wanted to.” Because they had all been scheming, seeking the sort of power only the emperor’s daughter could grant, and Ioanna had never been lonely enough to overlook it. “In the palace—you know—they’re all so…”

“Yes,” agreed Vitaliya. “I don’t think I’d want any of them either.”

“They were all liars,” Ioanna said, and the words came out in such a rush that she was afraid Vitaliya wouldn’t be able to understand her. “They, they would bring me gifts and they would say all these things, the things you’re supposed to say when you’re courting someone. But it was always lies, and it was terrible, like being slapped again and again—”

“I am sorry,” said Vitaliya. “I think I know what you mean. I’ve endured a few of those myself—people wanting to be friends or lovers, and then the moment I get to trusting them, they start telling me about some matter my father ought to change his mind on, or they’ve got some debts that need repaying.”

“Oh!” Ioanna had never experienced that before. Her blessing prevented things from ever reaching such a point. “I’m sorry. That must be awful.” Far worse than knowing about it in advance and being able to prevent it. Now she felt guilty for ever pitying herself. Did she think she was the only one in the world who had to endure scheming, manipulative people? Of course, she wasn’t. It happened to everyone with a title, wealth, or anything worth having.

“Don’t worry!” Vitaliya smiled again. “It’s nothing, really. Rain off my back, as they say. Besides, even if it’s not real, it can be fun.”

I would not know, Ioanna did not say because she was twenty years old and surely Vitaliya would find that odd. “I wish I didn’t care.”

“I don’t blame you. It’s tiresome.”

“I think there must be something wrong with me. That the only way people can say kind things to me is when they’re trying to manipulate me.”

“Well, maybe not all of them were,” urged Vitaliya. “You don’t know—”

“Yes, I do.” Should she tell Vitaliya? Would Vitaliya even believe her? Or would she think Ioanna was delusional and call her a liar, and Ioanna would be forced to prove it by making Vitaliya tell stories of her childhood and identifying the false ones like some sort of fortune-teller at a festival?

It was not how Ioanna wanted to spend the evening.

Or what if, even worse, Vitaliya saw the potential of Ioanna’s blessing and turned ambitious and deceitful and…

No. That was not Vitaliya.

“Well—” Vitaliya squeezed her hands, and then released them. “—I can say kind things to you too. And I swear I won’t lie.”

“You don’t need to—”

“Yes, but I want to. You were the first person at the Imperial Palace that I thought seemed like a good person. I’d been there for weeks, and you were the first. What do you think of that?”

“You only spent time with my sister and her friends.”

“It still counts. It counts. I like that you’ve never once hit me. Your sister always—I think I’ve said that before, haven’t I?”

“When we first met,” Ioanna recalled.

“That’s right! Oh, that feels like years ago, doesn’t it?” Vitaliya smiled.

“How much of it do you remember? You were quite ill.”

“I remember you found me…where was I?”

“In front of my door.”

“What!” Vitaliya burst into laughter and fell back upon the bed. Her long hair splayed out across the soft blankets. “Was I really? I don’t think I ever realized!”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh, I’m such an embarrassment.” But Vitaliya did not sound at all ashamed. She was still smiling, and Ioanna felt herself smile too, so widely that it made her face hurt. “Oh! And I told you not to trust your sister. And I was right!”

“Yes, you were.”

“I was hoping I’d see you again after you left.”

“I think I was too,” Ioanna admitted. She felt awkward, towering over Vitaliya, and so she lay down beside her. There was more than enough room for both of them. “I’m sorry it turned out like this.”

“It wasn’t your fault! And besides, this isn’t so bad.” Vitaliya leaned in toward her to touch their foreheads together, just as she had before. “You can kiss me again if you want to.”

Ioanna hoped she was not as clumsy and unpracticed as she felt. But Vitaliya’s lips were soft and yielding, and she pulled Ioanna closer, so close that their bodies were pressed against each other. Ioanna wondered if Vitaliya could hear her heart racing.

“I’m so glad we’re done with wearing robes. I like you in the shorter dress,” Vitaliya murmured in a voice that sent a pleasant chill through Ioanna’s body. “We don’t have those in Vesolda.”

“I hardly ever wear them. My legs are so thin—”

“I know. I wish mine were that thin!” sighed Vitaliya. She rested one hand on Ioanna’s hip, then slowly drew it downward across her thighs and came to rest on her knee.

“I like how you look. I wish I had more of a shape.” Ioanna stared at Vitaliya’s hand, wishing she would move it up back up again. Should she ask?

She settled on resting her own hand over Vitaliya’s, which was a little difficult given her position. Ioanna had to bend her knee to bring it within arm’s reach, but that had the added benefit of drawing Vitaliya’s hand into hers.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Vitaliya.

“You, mostly,” said Ioanna, guiding Vitaliya’s hand higher. This time, when they came to the fabric of Ioanna’s skirt, Vitaliya slipped her hand underneath.

“Do you want—” Vitaliya began.

“Yes,” interrupted Ioanna.