Rae Carson - The Crown of Embers

The helpless expression on everyone’s face makes the chamber feel even tighter, even hotter. I wish I’d brought a fan with me.

“We have a more immediate problem,” Conde Eduardo says. “Five months after the Battle of Brisadulce, our nation was finally beginning to heal. This is a terrible blow. Several people were killed today in the ensuing chaos.”

My heart drops into my stomach. I remember the panic, the crowd, the runaway carriage. I hadn’t realized people were dying around me. Maybe that was the Inviernos’ plan all along, to frighten us into hurting ourselves.

Conde Eduardo adds, “Some misguided souls may even call for the queen’s head.”

“Surely not!” Lady Jada protests.

The conde shrugs. “If they believe giving Her Majesty over to Invierne will save their brothers and sons and wives, they will demand it be done. You saw how they nearly stormed the palace this morning.”

The same people who cheered me along the parade, who chanted my name and hailed me as a hero. Ximena was right.

Lady Jada turns to me. “Can’t you just”—she makes an obscure gesture with one hand—“do something with your Godstone? Defeat them like last time?”

I wilt a little on my cushion. “If only I could, my lady. I had an amulet then, and several old stones from long-dead bearers. Now I’ve only my own. Father Nicandro and I are working together to figure out how to channel its power.” I choose not to mention that, aside from bringing a warm glow to the stone, I’ve accomplished nothing.

General Luz-Manuel leans forward, eyes gleaming. “I have an idea.” He is a consummate politician, and he allows an exactly perfect stretch of silence before adding, “Your Majesty, we must discuss the issue of your regency.”

I wipe my suddenly sweating palms on my knees. “I am not the prince’s regent,” I tell him, pretending to misunderstand. “It is wholly my choice whether or not to hand the throne over to Rosario when he comes of age. The king named me his unequivocal heir and Queen Regnant .” I’m proud of my steady voice.

“The king was on his deathbed and suffering tremendously, perhaps not in his right mind. You are so young, Your Majesty; not yet come of age yourself. And foreign. Many doubt your worthiness to rule. Add to that today’s terrifying incident, and you must consider that you need a regent. It would go a long way toward assuring the populace.”

I do my best not to gape at him. “I fought for this nation as one born to it!”

He nods solemnly. “What you did was an important part of the whole effort.” I curl my hands into fists against the condescension in his voice. “But you have difficult decisions coming up, like raising taxes to support rebuilding efforts. You will find that when people are tightening their belts, your heroics won’t matter. They will blame you, Your Majesty, and you alone. They’ll demand we hand you over to our enemy.”

I knew my Quorum held little respect for me. But I didn’t anticipate this. And his words cut hard because he is right. I am a child, and an inexperienced one. Leading a small desert rebellion, defeating Invierne’s animagi with my Godstone—these things were impressive, certainly. But they were nothing like ruling.

Lady Jada’s gaze shifts between the general and me, her eyes large and eager. She is a keen gossip, and I wonder if Luz-Manuel invited her specifically in the hope that she would spread the idea of my regency. Or the reason for my proposed regency—that I can’t rule on my own.

Conde Eduardo stares into the distance, rubbing at his close-cropped beard. Finally he says, “There is another way.” He leans his elbows onto the table and stares at each Quorum member in turn, settling finally on me. “My dear queen, it is time for you to choose a husband.”

Ah, so that’s it . The regency discussion was simply meant to introduce marriage as the more palatable alternative. They probably worked it out between themselves ahead of time.

“Oh, yes!” says Jada. “Someone whose counsel is widely respected. Everyone would accept your queenship with a strong prince consort at your side, even given today’s events.”

Softly Hector says, “The king has only been dead five months.”

“The queen is beyond the ceremonial mourning period,” Conde Eduardo says with a shrug. He turns to me. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but our nation suffered weak rule under Alejandro and Nicolao. We were coming apart at the seams even before the war. Your Majesty, I beg you to put your people first. Please choose either a regent or a strong husband, and bring the stability we so desperately need.”

“You would gain the most political advantage by choosing someone from the northern holdings,” the general adds. “The north bore the brunt of the war.”

“I’ll compile an eligibility list,” Lady Jada says. “We can look over it at our next meeting. Lord Liano of Altapalma comes to mind. And of course Conde Tristán of Selvarica, who is a southern lord but should not be discounted. Also . . .”

I can’t bear to pay attention as Jada prattles on about every lordling in the entire kingdom. I’ve known for a while that I would marry for the good of Joya d’Arena. But now, faced with the prospect, I don’t want to. I want to love someone again, the way I loved Humberto, or at the very least share a friendship, as Alejandro and I did in the end.

And I want to be queen of this great country not because someone is holding my hand, but because I can do it. Me. Elisa.

But I agree to look at Lady Jada’s list at our next meeting, because I don’t know what else to do or say. If nothing else, it buys me time to consider my options.

Our conversation moves to reconstruction. Whole villages along the desert caravan route still lie in ruins after the enemy’s march. The cost to clean and rebuild is becoming enormous. The highway through Puerto Verde is near impassable after several years of unusually bad weather. The tanners’ and weavers’ guilds are close to rioting over the shortage of hide and wool, now that the seceded country of Basajuan is no longer forced to trade sheep with the capital.

The nation is in shambles. Though we won the war, our coffers are drained, our army weakened, our people dispirited. Today’s birthday parade was supposed to inspire hope, to demonstrate the safe normalcy our lives were returning to.

My ridiculous crown grows unbearable as I ponder the centuries of rulers who came before me and sat in this same room, at this same table. Did any of them inherit a mess this big? Were any of them mere children, like me?

I can’t mask my relief when our meeting is over. I rise stiffly and thank everyone for coming; then Hector releases the bolt and opens the door. I bask in the fresher air that hits my face.

Once outside, my ladies press close. I yank off my crown and fling it at Ximena. Mara mops sweat along my hairline with a cloth and fluffs my skirt.

I say, “I need to walk.” Mostly, I need to think, away from watchful eyes and weighty problems.

They clear a path, and Hector steps up to accompany me.

I shake my head. “I need to go alone.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” I assure him. “I’m going to the catacombs to pray. I’ll only walk where our own guards patrol. Come looking for me if I’m not back when the monastery bells ring the hour.”

He reaches up as if to grasp my arm, but then changes his mind and lowers his hand. “Be wary, my queen.”

I smile assurance, and then I’m off, away from the crowd.

The cobblestones beneath my feet are worn smooth, for Brisadulce was built almost two thousand years ago, after God scooped up our ancestors from the dying world with his righteous right hand and deposited them onto this one.