19
“Goddesses save me from superstitious ignorance,” I muttered to myself, grimacing belatedly for the irony. Still, it was one thing to call upon the goddesses for guidance, a way of accessing greater knowledge, and another entirely to devise ridiculous trials that supposedly revealed the will of people long since dead. In my experience, even those like Ami who did their best to channel Glorianna’s will still relied on their own intelligence and common sense.
Something I’d love to knock into Nakoa’s thick head. Why didn’t he simply tell Chief Tane to test the will of the ancestors by trying to take the throne? Nakoa’s warriors could keep an enemy army from gaining traction on the island. This chief couldn’t have that many supporters, if he had any beyond his chiefdom. Nakoa could have rallied the might of all those hundreds—maybe even more than a thousand; I hadn’t counted yet—islands in his domain. That’s what I would have advised him to do.
If he’d asked. But he hadn’t even alluded to there being a problem.
Inoa had. Three days to change the winds of fate. Was that what she’d been trying to tell me, with her three pieces of fruit? Gone! She’d wanted me to bed Nakoa within those three days. And he had been firm that no one tell me. How it could possibly make a difference, how it would demonstrate the will of the ancestors, if I had sex with Nakoa, made absolutely no rational sense. But, then, we were dealing with superstition, not logic at all.
It explained a great deal of Nakoa’s determined seduction, but not why he hadn’t simply forced the issue. He could have, at any time. Not only because he had the physical advantage, but also because we’d both discovered my vulnerability to his touch. Had he pressed, I likely would have given in. Something I would have expected a man to do, if his life rode on the line.
Something I might have given in to, if he’d only explained the stakes.
But he hadn’t even attempted to. More, he’d apparently forbidden anyone else from telling me. Why?
No, instead of confiding in me, he’d left me sleeping while he went to his certain death.
That was the only clear and immediate point in all of this mess, that Nakoa intended to throw himself into the lava, where he would be instantly immolated. I didn’t have a stake in whether he remained king. But it was my fault—in a convoluted way—that he faced this fate. He might have conspired to bring me here and then kept me captive, but he’d had good reasons for it, and he’d been kind to me. Even caring.
I understood now, his pretense of finding me “beautiful”—whatever he meant by it—and for tending to me so carefully. Once I’d rebuffed his physical advances, he’d changed his approach and attempted to seduce my mind. Which had absolutely worked. I couldn’t let him die because of me, no matter how foolish his decision to do so.
If only because the prospect made me feel ill. He might be dead already and the thought of that gutted me, that I might not match wits across the kiauo board with him again, or feel his smooth skin or hear that rich laugh as he teased me. No sorry, Dafne mlai.
I didn’t know how I’d stop him, if it wasn’t too late, but I had to try.
“Akamai—can you get me a horse? Immediately.”
The request set off a flurry of dismayed activity. Apparently horses were not within Akamai’s purview. He did his best but met with resistance—mainly of the flustered-confusion variety. From what I could gather, Akamai had no authority over the stables and the ones who did were away with Nakoa and pretty much everyone else.
Finally, feeling the press of time, I stood and mustered my best Ursula-defeating certainty and borrowed a line from Nakoa. “I am queen,” I said, loud enough to cut through the chattering arguments of the group of servants Akamai had summoned, sending them into a flurry of bowing and apologies. “I need a—” Goddesses take it, I should have listened for the word Akamai used. “Something to carry me up the volcano.”
Not as dramatic a command, with the language scramble at the end, but that did it. Galvanized, one of them threw up their hands, just as Inoa would do, and went to see to it. Akamai stayed with me as I slowly walked to the front entrance of the palace. Or the back, as it seemed they thought of the ocean side as the front.
We emerged just as a group of six male warriors strode up, carrying a litter festooned with flowers.
“Seriously?” I said to Akamai in Dasnarian. “Can’t I just have a horse?”
“We don’t have horses, Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo. I am so sorry to fail you.”
That explained the reaction to Zynda taking that form—not only the shape-shifting, but the animal she’d become. “It’s not a failure, but you might have explained.”
“You were in a hurry.” A pointed reminder that I had no time to quibble about the conveyance. The men lowered it so I could sit and, raising the litter again to their shoulders, set off at a brisk pace, then broke into a jog. Hopefully Nakoa would not give me trouble about having other men carry me. Maybe removing my garland and leaving me behind meant he’d severed our relationship and that rule no longer pertained. Or he might be dead already and the whole thing moot.
Regardless, we could fight about it later if he survived.
The men sang as they ran, a chant that likely helped synchronize their pace, which yielded a surprisingly smooth ride. I felt like an idiot, of course, acutely aware of my disheveled state—wilted garland, knitted stockings that looked absurd with the silk gown—carried along like a goddess from mythology. This is what resulted when one threw about royal commands. Lesson learned.
If Nakoa lived, we’d straighten this out once and for all. I did much better behind the scenes, dispensing advice, than assuming the mantle of authority.
The journey took less time than it had seemed the first time. We moved at a much faster pace than we had before, with the large group and me going at my short-legged pace. That these men could run uphill, carrying me, chanting all the while, impressed me no end.
In my haste to get to Nakoa, I’d left my journal behind. It would be safe with Akamai in the library, but it would have helped me plan my strategy if I could have written it out. Actually, I was grasping at straws—I had no idea what kind of situation I rushed into and therefore could plan for nothing.
As I suspected, they were all gathered in the same spot where Nakoa had kissed me that first day and we released the dragon. Only this time, a huge crowd of people filled the plateau, thronging over the mountainside. My carriers, forced to slow by the mob, ceased their chant so the leader could call out demands to make way for Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo. Feeling more ridiculous than ever, I tried to look calm, poised, and as if I knew what I was doing. I would have advised anyone else in my position to go for regal or queenly, but I knew my limitations. I might be able to convey knowledgeable confidence, but that was the best I could do.
The people acted with excited consternation, the ripples of their whispers growing louder as the news moved away from us in a wave. I was a rock dropped in the center of a previously still pond. For good or ill.
As they became more aware of our incursion, the crowd parted more willingly, opening an aisle up to the ledge that overlooked the Lake of Lava. A number of tall warriors stood there, making a tight circle and blocking whatever they surrounded, even from my elevated vantage. Many of them wore different armor than I’d seen, with feathers and flowers of other colors—likely marking them as belonging to Chief Tane or other islands. Of all the crowd, this inner circle made no note of our arrival, intently focused on something else.
The dread that had pooled in my stomach threatened to rise into my throat, burning there until I swallowed it down. Would I be faced with the grisly sight of Nakoa’s burned body? For the first time since I’d made the choice to try to stop this, it occurred to me how tenuous my own position might be. I owed my false rank entirely to Nakoa—and possibly any guarantee of my safety. He might have locked me in to protect me, a precaution I’d thrown to the winds.
Ah, well. I’d been living with the specter of imminent death so constantly these last days, I’d nearly become accustomed to it. Maybe this was how the warriors did it. Fear is like pain—it alerts us to a danger. Ursula had told me that once and I understood her meaning better now. You paid attention to the warning, but had to let it go after that.
“Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo demands an audience with King Nakoa KauPo!” the leader of my carriers called out—not how I would have phrased it, if I’d comprehended correctly—but it finally snagged the attention of the inner circle. The guards came to attention, throwing curious, even shocked looks my way, then opened up to reveal what they’d blocked.
Almost afraid to look, I steeled myself; then Inoa’s glad cry rode on the hot air currents. And Nakoa stepped out from behind another taller, bulkier man. He wore none of his armor or jewelry, not even the dragon torque, and carried no weapons.
The shadowed reverse of Inoa’s smiling face, he glowered at me, taking in the men who carried me and nearly snarling at the sight. He strode toward me, ignoring the man who spoke sharply to him, and barked a command at my bearers. They set the litter down with haste, dropping to their knees on the hot ground, pressing their foreheads down and staying there in complete obeisance.
I stood and stepped off the litter. The heat of the rocks warmed the bottoms of my feet through the knit stockings, uncomfortable but not painful. Still, I must have winced a little, because Nakoa moved to pick me up, hands reaching for me, then stopped himself, fingers flexing in frustration. He settled for looming over me. “What do you here?” he hissed through gritted teeth.
I’d cobbled together a few phrases in preparation and kept my voice low also. “I did not understand the consequences. You cannot enter the Lake of Lava—you will be injured beyond healing.”
He listened, the black anger lightening ever so slightly with wry amusement. “You have so little faith in the will of the ancestors, in my fitness to be king?”
“I have faith in what is real. Solid.” I thumped the hard muscle of his chest, not knowing the word. “Lava burns flesh. You’ll die, no matter if your ancestors are happy or not happy.” I’d shredded the pitches and tones in my urgency and exasperation, but something got through to him, because he considered me thoughtfully.
“Who spoke this to you?”
“I understood on my own,” I replied with calm defiance. We both knew it to be a lie, but I wouldn’t implicate Akamai.
He gave me a knowing look, then shook his head. “The time has passed. I must do this. I cannot protect you, understand? You should not have left our rooms. You will go.” Then he frowned at the litter, clearly not certain how he could send me away without having someone else carry me.
“You will carry me then, back to the palace?” I asked with as much innocence as I could muster.
A muscle in his jaw flexed and his white-threaded brows drew down. “You understand I cannot.”
“Then I stay.”
“No. These will carry you. It is . . . the time has passed.”
Behind his stern mask, I caught a glimpse of something else. Pain, perhaps. Resignation deepening the lines of his face. He knew very well that this would be suicide. In one sense, that came as a relief, because I’d felt sure he was too intelligent to cater to a superstition like this. On the other, he planned to embrace his own death and abandon his people. Never mind questions of who would make a better ruler. It went against everything I believed in for me to be the cause of him failing his sacred duties.
I couldn’t let him walk away from his throne any more than I’d stand by while Ursula did.
Nakoa spoke to the litter bearers, telling them to take me away and not come back, by the sound of it. But I wrapped my arms around his waist, lacing my fingers together, burying my cheek against his skin and clinging like one of the barnacles that festooned the Hákyrling. “Mlai,” I said, kissing the skin over his heart, the rippling black scales of the dragon tattoo.
That caught him off guard and he froze momentarily, not embracing me back. Then he spoke gently. “No. This is incorrect.”
“Nakoa mlai,” I insisted, tipping up my chin so he could read my expression.
He searched my face, looking for something. I showed as much sincerity as I could—a very real desire for him to live. “You do not mean it.”
Thrice-damn it. “I want to mean it.”
“It is not enough.”
“It is enough!” Inoa grabbed his ear, tugged him close, then lit into a rush of hushed instructions, her tone growing more urgent. I didn’t know all her words, but I knew the pitches she shaded with, future hope, sun after the storm. Consequences and responsibilities.
“The time has passed,” Nakoa cut her off, stubbornly immovable, and Inoa cast me a helpless look of pleading. She didn’t think so and she struck me as no fool. There must be a way to forestall the test. If the other chief brought the challenge, perhaps he could be persuaded to withdraw it. Or postpone. Which would bring me back to the same crossroads of whether to bed Nakoa—but I’d confront that choice later.
“I will help.” Impulsively, needing to get Nakoa’s full attention, I transferred my grip to his neck, standing on tiptoe and leaning against him for balance as I kissed him, hard. He didn’t return the kiss, still didn’t put his hands on me, a question forming in his opaque expression. “I understand this,” I told him gesturing to the man who must be the challenging chief, watching us with mixed curiosity and suspicion. “This is what I do. For my queen. I will do this for you.” I really wished I’d been able to bring Akamai along to translate, but all diplomatic posing was essentially the same, right?
Nakoa made that grumble of exasperation, my sleeping dragon awaking. “Dafne mlai, you—”
“Is this she?” The other man, surely Chief Tane, came up, interrupting. He gave me a dubious look. “She is small for such big stories.”
I let go of Nakoa and faced the other man, ready to assess the situation.
“Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo, Chief Tane,” Nakoa corrected, with very little intonation. Was I the only one who heard the simmering offense in it? “Your queen, to be treated with respect.”
Chief Tane grinned, not nicely, a leer in it. “Yes, mine to possess when you inevitably fail the ancestors. I won’t hesitate to—” He used a euphemism that I caught only part of, but the words I did get were enough to put heat in my face and fire in my heart. I’d heard plenty of salacious terms for sex, especially traveling with the Hawks and Vervaldr—not to mention with Jepp—but this felt deliberately crude. Behind me, Nakoa rumbled in restrained fury. A volcano about to blow.
Rapidly I revised my opinion to side with Akamai. Chief Tane was of Uorsin’s ilk. Full of ambition, cruelty, and raging hunger for power. Such men understood only one thing. He saw me as weak, something to taunt and use up. Never.
“I would kill myself before I let you lay a finger on me,” I sneered, liberally mixing Nahanaun and Dasnarian, trusting that he’d get the gist.
He threw back his head, laughing heartily and for show, obviously mocking me. “I would break you in half, little cala.”
Inoa gasped, ready to spit in her fury. A female insult then. Maybe just as well I didn’t know what it meant. Glad I’d thought to hide some on me, I palmed one of my slim daggers, then made it suddenly appear. One of Jepp’s tricks, to unsettle the enemy by seeming to do magic. “That is incorrect.”
The chief laughed again, but with a shade less confidence. He spoke to Nakoa, something rapid, a pitch that sounded like an insult. Notable that I hadn’t heard it used before this moment. It seemed he reminded Nakoa of a promise and, reluctantly, Nakoa stepped back, stroking a hand down my arm finally, then dropping his hand. Constrained by agreement not to touch me, then. Or perhaps intervene at all. I cannot protect you. Chief Tane smiled, clearly believing he’d already won, and held out his hands, opening his body to me, making an apparently inviting target.
“Show me, little cala queen. I call you false as our former dead king.”
It chilled me, the pitch he used to refer to Nakoa, as if he were already dead. My feet burned in earnest, but I ignored them. Everybody else stood barefoot; I could toughen up, too. A thousand instructions from Ursula and Jepp raced through my mind. If only I had something of their speed and skill. I’d love to spin in and slice at him, shocking everyone as Jepp had done with the Vervaldr early on. I’d missed that demonstration, but the women of the castle had talked about it with great pride and satisfaction for days. She wouldn’t be afraid to teach this bully a lesson.
Everyone feels fear at some point. That’s healthy self-preservation. It’s also the fuel that will drive you to survive. You’ve called on it all these years. People underestimate you—use that, too.
Chief Tane took me for a fool, so I walked into his trap, slicing at him, making it look a little wild and desperate—not difficult to do, with my heart flapping like a captured bird against the cage of my ribs. With a malicious smile, he dodged my little blade and grabbed me. Trapping me and plastering a sloppy, disgusting kiss on the side of my face. So big.
But not as big as Harlan.
Envisioning myself back in the courtyard at Ordnung, Ursula bickering with Harlan, a grinning Jepp egging me on, I sagged, collapsing, palming a dagger in my other hand also. Tane relaxed his grip, groping my breasts and repeating that foul promise.
I burst up and out. Lashed out with both blades at once. Caught him with a shallow slice to the belly and the hilt hard up against the sweaty balls beneath his kylte.
This is why it’s perilous to ignore a librarian.
The knives sang the song in my head even as I put substantial distance between me and Tane. I couldn’t run away from this entirely, but I could get well away from his reach. Tane roared his outrage and fury, echoed by the shouts of the crowd, Inoa cheering wildly, a fierce glint in her eyes. Nakoa had folded his arms, standing back, ostentatiously not involved, but I thought I saw a glint of amused pride in his face before I resumed my place in front of him, ready to confront Tane.
Blood ran freely down the chief’s abdomen, and he clutched his groin, white pain contorting his face. He gained his feet, flexed his hands, and started for me.
I drew my big dagger, letting the bloodred ruby catch the sunlight, and spoke in the iciest, most dismissive intonation I could manage. “Try it, and I will slice off your man jewels this time.” Only I used the crudest word I knew for it—a Dasnarian one, naturally. “Nakoa is mlai and you will not injure him.”
His face twisted with rage, and I braced myself. I would do it. He’d kill me, but I’d have that much satisfaction. Ursula would know that at least I went down fighting.
Tane halted his forward lunge. Not because of me, though.
The rumble of the volcano did it.
And the trumpeting call of the dragon.