Rae Carson - The Crown of Embers

I’ll have to think about it more later, when the blessed darkness of nighttime feels something like privacy. I grit my teeth against the pain as he stitches me up. Then Ximena ushers him out and pulls the covers up to my shoulders just in time to receive General Luz-Manuel.

“Your Majesty.” He bows low but rises before I release him.

I inhale through my nose and tell myself to relax. The general is so slender and stooped, his hair thinning at the top, and once again I marvel that this insubstantial person commands my entire army. “General,” I say in a cold voice. “I am displeased at the execution of someone I believed a loyal subject and ally.” Displeased is an understatement, but I’m leery of being too forceful until I hear what he has to say.

“Indeed, Your Majesty, this has been unpleasant and disappointing for all of us.”

I stare at him. Is he being deliberately obtuse? Careful, Elisa. He is cleverer than he appears.

“Forgive me for misspeaking, Lord-General. I did not mean to remark on the general unpleasantness so much as my specific disappointment with your decision to execute this man.”

His gaze holds such concern. “You’ve been through so much, Your Majesty. First the animagus, and now this. It must be overwhelming. But I can assure you that the matter was thoroughly looked into.”

“Not that thoroughly.”

“My queen, we investigated every—”

“You never bothered to get details from the one witness to this crime.”

He looks charmingly confused.

“You do realize, don’t you, that I was present during the assassination attempt?” I snap.

Ximena gives me a warning look. Mocking the general may not be my best strategy, especially in front of the guards, who I am certain are intent on every word in spite of their carefully bland faces.

I force softness into my voice. “I don’t mean to be curt, Lord-General, but I’m exhausted and deeply saddened. What’s done is done, but do promise me that no one else will be punished in connection with the attempt on my life without my knowledge and consent. I’m sure you understand my wish to be personally involved?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he says, bowing his head. “Anything to put your mind at rest and aid in your recovery.”

I clench my jaw. He won’t do as I ask because my input is valuable, or even because I am his queen. He’ll only agree to consult me because it will make me feel better ?

The general turns to go.

“Wait.”

He whirls, and it’s possible I imagine his flitting look of impatience.

God, what do I say to this man? How can I convey that I am the sovereign and he is not? That even though I come from a foreign land, these are my people?

The Godstone leaps in response to my prayer, and an answer floats to me gently on the afternoon breeze.

Sorrow comes easily to my voice when I say, “I lost so many people I loved in the war with Invierne. We all did. But the only reason we survive to mourn is because our army fought bravely and selflessly. And no one fought harder than my own Royal Guard, who held off the invaders at tremendous cost so I could have time to work the Godstone’s magic.” I hope he hears what I’m not saying: Yes, General, we won the day because of me , remember? “I’ll not see them doubted or disrespected. In fact, I’ll defend each one of them with my dying breath if I must, as they defended me. Am I clear?”

He stares at me as if deciding whether to protest further. But I know I’ve said the right thing because Hector and the guards stand a little straighter, and their eyes glow with pride. I hope they take this back to the barracks, the sure knowledge that their queen would die for them.

Finally the general bows, a little lower this time, and excuses himself.

The moment the door closes behind him, all the fight melts from my body. I cannot fathom why the general would do such a thing. Was he trying to discredit me on purpose? Is this his way of taking power for himself while I am unwell? Was he looking for a scapegoat to assuage the fear of palace residents? Or did he genuinely think Martín deserved to die? A single tear slides from the corner of my left eye. Oh, Martín, I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.

I am about to close my eyes and meet oblivion when Hector says, “My queen?”

I force myself to raise my head and meet his eye.

“I would like to inquire about Martín’s wife and family. Make sure they are provided for.” Emotion tinges his voice, and his face is gaunt with weariness.

Very few members of the Royal Guard are as young as their commander, were selected and trained by him the way Martín was. I’ve no doubt that Hector grieves deeply for him.

“Thank you. I would take it as a personal favor.”

“I’ll return as soon as I’m able,” he says.

“Take your time. You deserve a respite from being at my side. Oh, speaking of being at my side . . . please tell me, did General Luz-Manuel visit when I was . . . indisposed?”

“Many times. He brought prayer candles and held vigil for hours.”

I don’t believe for a moment that the general wished for my recovery.

“I never left him alone with you,” Hector adds softly, his face unreadable. “Not once.”

I’m not sure what to say, so I just nod gratefully.

Tonight my dream changes. This time I carry a torch, and its warmth and light wrap around me. I think that I am safe .

The breeze is gentle at first, lifting strands of my hair, bringing a hint of brine. But the wind grows stronger; the gust becomes a gale. The torch dies, plunging me into darkness. The Godstone turns to ice.

I sob from sudden terror, knowing what comes next, waiting for it. The blade glimmers hot and cruel as it strikes. . . .

My own scream wakes me.

“Elisa?”

I grasp blindly for Hector. He clasps my hand in both of his, trying to squeeze the panic from my body by the force of his grip.

Gradually the pounding in my chest softens, my breathing slows. The high slant of sun through my balcony’s glass doors indicates that I slept well into the morning.

When I can manage it, I say, “Did you find Martín’s family?” I need to talk about something real and solid to shake the dream from my head.

“The Guard took up a collection. I delivered it this evening. In spite of everything, she was . . .” He swallows hard, then says with a touch of wonder, “She was grateful .”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save him for you.”

“Thank you for trying.”

He gives my hand one last squeeze before letting it go. I snake it under my blankets, feeling vaguely disappointed. He has been stiff and uneasy with me since my brush with death. Ximena or Mara would have held my hand as long as I needed.

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, as if putting a wall between us. “It’s very common for soldiers to experience nightmares after combat,” he says. “Especially if they were injured.”

My chest lurches just to think about it. “Oh?”

“And sometimes it helps to talk about them.”

“Do you have nightmares?”

“Yes.” His voice is hardly more than a whisper.

“And do you talk about them?”

He turns his head to avoid me. “No.”

I study his profile. He usually looks so regal, even with the crisscross of scars on his left cheek. But the light pouring in from my balcony softens his features and makes him seem almost boyish. I say, “But you’d like me to talk about mine.”

“Only if you want to.”

“We could trade. A nightmare for a nightmare.”

His gaze turns inward while he considers. When he finally looks at me, I catch the barest shift of his eyes as he studies every part of my face.