Rae Carson - The Crown of Embers

“Nothing.”

“Good. That’s good.” Thank you, God.

“So, where to, Majesty?”

I look up at him and return his grin. “South, toward the island countships. I’ll know more . . . eventually.”

But as he takes his leave, I wonder, Will I? If God’s holy scripture has thus far proved unreliable in matters pertaining to the Godstone, how much less should I trust the apocryphal writings?

I pinch the bridge of my nose and whisper experimentally: “Zafira.”

My Godstone vibrates joyfully in response.

I’m standing in the prow, gripping the rail, fascinated by the way the Aracely slices the water below. Wind has whipped my braid into a tangled mess. Spray stings my eyes and chaps my lips. The foresail above me bulges with air.

The crewmen have accepted Hector and Belén easily enough, and they gawk at Mara whenever she passes. Storm stays hidden in the passenger cabin. But they give me wide berth, too frightened or shy to approach their queen. Or maybe the captain has warned them off. I don’t mind. It’s nice to feel a little bit alone on this tiny ship.

I sense a dark presence and look up to find Captain Felix studying me thoughtfully. “You’ve found your sea legs,” he observes.

“Not really,” I say. “It seems like they were always there, not needing to be found.” It’s been nice to have something come naturally for once. Storm, on the other hand, can barely get out of bed without vomiting, though we’ve been assured it will pass eventually.

“It’s like that sometimes,” he says. “It was like that for me.”

“Is that why you became a sea captain?”

“Partly.”

“I’m quite interested in the other part. You gave up the life of a conde’s son in favor of a dangerous career running cargo. But from what little I know of Hector’s family, I doubt they threw you out in the street. I’m guessing you ran away.”

He laughs. “Hector warned me that you are the cleverest girl I would ever meet.” My face flushes at the praise. “I understand now,” he adds.

“Understand what?”

“Why Hector stayed with you.”

I stare at him blankly as my grip on the wet rail tightens.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

I force myself to relax my hold. If I squeeze any tighter, I’ll hurt my healing blisters. Wearily, I say, “Please explain.”

He leans over and rests his forearms on the edge, gazes out to sea as if soaking up the sight of a lover. “I was set to inherit the countship of Ventierra,” he says, his voice distant with remembering. “But I hated it. The pageantry, the polite warring between houses, and sweet holy sacraments, the paperwork. One day, when I was seventeen, my father and I fought. I don’t even remember why, but yes, you’re right. I ran away to the shipyards. Offered my services as a deckhand on a merchant ship for no pay except food to eat and a hammock to sleep in.”

“And you fell in love with the sea.”

“Among other things.”

I don’t know what this has to do with Hector. “Why not go back? You could still inherit, couldn’t you?”

“Well, no. You see, I also fell in love with a lady of the docks and had a son with her.”

It takes me a split second to realize that a “lady of the docks” must be a prostitute, a split second more to remember how the crewmen referred to Mara and me as “ladies” when we first boarded.

“When my father heard,” he continues, oblivious to my flushing face, “he journeyed to Brisadulce to rescue me from what he was certain were monumentally bad decisions.” His smile breaks wide. “So when I heard my father was in town, I rushed Aracely to the nearest priest and married her.”

“You named the ship after her!”

He nods. “Well, yes. When you tell your wife you’re going to be gone sailing for several months, and by the way, have fun with our screaming newborn, it helps to make a grand gesture.”

I chuckle. “You are a wise man.”

“Funny, I tell my wife that exact thing all the time!”

“What does this have to do with Hector?”

He sobers. “When I married Aracely, my father gave up trying to groom me to be a conde and turned instead to his next son, my brother Ronin.” Pain flashes across his features, so aching and fresh that I almost recoil. Softly he says, “Ronin died in the war with Invierne. On the day you defeated their sorcerers. He went with Conde Eduardo to defend the southern front and was cut down with an arrow to the chest.”

“Oh.” Hector lost a brother in the war. Barely seven months ago. And I never knew. Why didn’t he tell me? “I’m so sorry,” I choke out.

“So that left Hector,” he said. “To inherit Ventierra.”

I gape at him.

Felix says, “My parents wrote to him, begging him to come home. I wrote to him. His king was dead, after all, and Hector has always been the best of us. Born to lead, to rule. He wrote back. Said he would come home as soon as possible. That he missed Ventierra more than words could say, that he would resign his position as commander of the Royal Guard and give up his seat on the Quorum. But something happened.”

It feels like someone is standing on my shoulders, and I’m frozen with the weight of it.

I happened. I changed his mind. I remember the day well. He came into my office and laid a letter of resignation on my desk. I asked him to reconsider, to become my own personal guard.

“I had no idea,” I whisper. “None at all.” And more recently, after visiting Storm in the tower, he asked me to dismiss him. He thought he had failed me. But maybe, just maybe, he also wanted desperately to go home.

“He gave up a countship for you, Majesty. And the home he loves. I’ve always wondered why. But now I understand.”

I open my mouth to protest but change my mind.

Is it possible? Could Hector love me as much as I love him? Is it cruel of me to wish that he would, when there is no chance for us? Something made him kiss me in the sewer tunnel, at a time when we should have been fleeing.

After too long a silence, I say, “Hector is naturally loyal, with a strong sense of duty. He’ll stay in whatever position he feels will be in best service to his country.” Would he, though? If I gave him the choice, would he stay with me?

“You know him well,” he says.

“No one knows Hector well.”

He says something else, but I don’t hear because my Godstone leaps. I gasp.

“Your Majesty?”

“I’m not sure . . .” The stone tingles, and then I feel the slightest brush across my belly, like butterfly wings. “My Godstone! It . . .” The butterfly wings coalesce into something more solid, poking, prodding, and like ghost fingers, they reach painlessly into my stomach, wrap around my Godstone, and pull . “Oh,” I breathe. “Oh, my.”

“Should I fetch Hector?”

“No. It’s all right.” The sensation eases, but it’s still there, tugging gently. Tugging in a very specific direction. “I think I’ve found it. The way.” I turn to him. “I know which way to go.”

He gives me a skeptical look. I don’t blame him. It seems ridiculous. Maybe I’ve imagined it.

But I close my eyes, let the tugging sensation guide me. It’s faint but sure. I pivot slightly to my right, lining up my toes with the exact direction. I raise my arm and point into the endless watery horizon.

“That way.”

He shakes his head, resigned. “Of course it’s that way. Right into the wind.” He turns toward his crew, cupping his hands to his mouth. “Beat to windward!”

I return to quarters, knowing it’s best to keep out of the way as they work to adjust our course. The Aracely is a warren of ropes and hooks and beams and swinging things, but I seem to have an instinct for it all, and I navigate it with ease. And so much glorious wood! Always kept in polish. Never have I seen so much wood in one place, for it is hard to come by in my desert.