Rae Carson: The Girl of Fire and Thorns

“Just cavalry?” Alejandro asks.

The scout confirms and is dismissed.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he muses as Lord Hector plunks down beside him.

“It’s just an advance guard,” Luz-Manuel says. “They’re here to cut us off. The bulk of the army will arrive during the next month or so.”

Alejandro sighs. “Then we must cover the pits and close the gates.”

I put a hand to his arm. “Refugees will trickle in all night. Can we keep the gates open that long, at least?”

He hesitates until Lord Hector nods. “Every person will be needed on the walls,” the guard points out.

“True. The gates will stay open, then.” Alejandro kisses my forehead and takes his leave, accompanied by Lord Hector.

The General and I regard each other for a moment, and I see the strain of the last months in the sag of his eyes, the gauntness of his cheeks. Besides Hector and Alejandro, he is the only member of the Quorum I’ve encountered since I returned. Conde Eduardo left months ago to defend his holdings from Invierne’s southern army, and Ariña has kept to her quarters.

“I’m glad you’re here, Your Majesty,” he says, a slight frown creasing his brow.

My eyes widen. Luz-Manuel has never shown me the least bit of welcome.

“I may need your help,” he explains. “His Majesty is . . . well, he is not a man to make quick decisions. A lovely trait when it comes to matters of state. But during battle . . .”

It’s because the king is afraid. I nod. “I’ll help any way I can.”

He rubs at his bald spot. “Thank you. Another voice of encouragement in his ear may be all he needs.”

“You should know, General, that Invierne would love to get their hands on the stone I bear. There may come a time when it would be best to make myself scarce.”

He nods. “Yes, Hector told me how they believe they can harness its power.”

I say nothing.

He continues, “We’ll protect you as best we can, but if they take Brisadulce, they win the war, with or without your Godstone.”

“They’re going to burn their way in. Through the gate.”

His face becomes graver. “The refugees spoke of a strange fire. Some even bear the scars. We’ve been hoarding water at the walls, but our gate is strong. Thick.”

“General, I’ve seen the devastation caused by this fire and I assure you, the animagi are perfectly capable of burning the gate down.”

“The portcullis outside will hold,” he assures me.

“If the gate bursts into flame, what else might catch fire? The siege towers, certainly.” We have built several along the wall at steady intervals. Most are used to keep weapons within easy access. “And surely there is woodwork inside the walls themselves? What about the nearby buildings?”

“How close must they approach to use this . . . fire?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I just don’t know. Maybe one of the refugees—”

“I’ll ask,” he says. “And we’ll station our strongest bowmen here at the gate. Hope for the best.”

“Oh, and tell those bowmen to keep themselves hidden. No peeking over the walls.”

“Why?”

“The animagi can freeze a man where he stands. Just by looking at him.”

Mara almost flings herself into my arms when I return to my suite. “I asked everyone I saw today, but no one knew. I mean, everyone knew which tiles I was talking about, but no one knew anything about them.” She’s nearly dancing from excitement.

Rosario huddles on my bed, grappling with his toes while watching my maid’s exuberance with wary curiosity.

“I suppose you discovered something?” I ask.

She grins. “Rosario knew about them.”

“Oh?” I turn to the little prince.

“Father Nicandro told me.” He scrunches his nose in distaste. “During history lesson.”

My breath catches in my chest. This is going to be something important. The thrumming of my Godstone attests. “What exactly did Father Nicandro tell you?”

“He said a very important person made the tiles. A person no one cares about anymore, but Father Nicandro thinks people might care again soon.”

It makes no sense. “That’s it? That’s all he said?”

Rosario sinks into himself, becoming a tight ball. “I don’t remember,” he says in a small voice.

I’m frightening him. I take a relaxing breath. “Rosario, this is such a big help. Thank you.”

He beams.

I don’t ask him if he tried to find the Godstones. A quick glimpse at his hands, at the crescent of dirt under each fingernail, tells me all I need to know. I excuse myself to visit the monastery.

Father Nicandro is delighted to see me. I stifle a grin when he hugs me, for he barely reaches my cheek and is as slight as a child. He ushers me by candlelight into the scribing alcove, and we settle on stools around the table.

“Majesty, I’m so glad you came. We haven’t had a chance for a proper conversation since you returned. Now tell me . . .” He leans forward, nose twitching. “Is it true that you were taken to the gates of the enemy?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, Father. I was in the enemy camp for a short time, but not in the country of Invierne itself.”

“Very interesting. And it’s true that—”

“Father, I’m sorry to be in a hurry, but I need to know about the tiles in my atrium.”

“What tiles?”

“Prince Rosario said you knew about them. Little yellow flowers with blue spots. Actually, they’re quite unattractive—”

“Oh, yes! I should have realized you’d want to know about them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Almost every tile with that design was painted by Mistress Jacoma herself. Her father owned a tile factory. Since the time she could walk, she amused herself by painting her father’s tiles.” At my confused look, he adds, “She bore the Godstone, Your Majesty.”

I gasp. I knew this. Somehow, I knew.

“She died when she was about your age. Barely seventeen. Written accounts reveal that she never completed her service. But she painted over two thousand tiles with that obnoxious yellow flower. Artists copied the pattern for generations. You can find it in every castle and monastery in Joya d’Arena. Sadly, the only people who remember her now are a handful of priests and artists.”

“Mistress Jacoma,” I echo in wonder. “A bearer.”

The priest leans forward and peers at me with round black eyes. “Remember when I showed you that passage in the Afflatus ?”

“I remember.”

“I have a theory about it. You know how it speaks of individual bearers at one point, and then seems to change? How it suddenly refers to all bearers in general?”

I nod, remembering the hours I spent pouring over Alentín’s copy of the Afflatus , wondering if I would be the one to face the gates of the enemy.

“Well, I think we’ve been looking at it the wrong way. What if it does refer to each bearer—and to all bearers—at the same time? What if this act of service is something that all bearers throughout time accomplish together?”

“What are you saying?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says wearily. “I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s just the spark of an idea. I feel like there’s something larger here, and I’m only grasping the edges.”

“I will give the idea some thought. Thank you, Father Nicandro. I may have more questions for you.”

“Of course.” He smiles. “I’m glad you’re back safe, my queen.”

I refrain from pointing out that I don’t feel safe at all.

The next morning, Alejandro orders the gates sealed, leaving any remaining refugees without asylum. It’s the right thing to do. Hector’s captain reports dust whorls along the eastern horizon, heralding the coming army. Still, my chest aches for the thousands who didn’t make it inside.