Rae Carson: The Girl of Fire and Thorns

I spend a good part of the afternoon staring at the tiles in my atrium. There is a message here. I’m sure of it. I study the color and shape of the flowers, trace the edges of curving petals with my fingertips. I feel a kinship with this ancient tile painter. Another girl, like me. Jacoma, what are you trying to tell me? She doesn’t answer, of course, but God whispers warmth into my belly as if I’m talking to Him . I will need more than warmth from him if we are to win the day.

I’m still in the atrium when I hear the cry go up. Feet patter by in the hallway; panicked shouting drifts through my open balcony. Then the monastery bells toll a slow, deep warning.

I leave Rosario in Ximena’s care and rush from my suite. Alejandro is already in the hallway. As soon as he sees me, he grabs my hand and pulls me down the corridor, past the kitchens and into the stables.

I freeze at the sight of enormous horse heads overhanging their stall doors. “Alejandro,” I squeak. “I don’t ride.”

He frowns. “It’s just to the wall and back.” Already the stable hands are saddling a big dun stallion. “It will take too long to walk,” he insists.

“I’ll take her.” I whirl at Lord Hector’s voice. “Your army needs you, sire,” the guard continues. “I’ll escort Her Majesty to the wall. We’ll join you shortly.”

Alejandro nods, then swings up onto his horse and trots away.

The streets are full of people rushing to get a first glance at the enemy. Lord Hector and I weave through buildings, around panicked citizens, and reach one of the many crudely erected bits of scaffolding that now press against the inner wall. Hector hauls me up a set of rickety stairs to the top. Instantly the wind beats at my hair; sand stings my eyes. I sniff the dry desert cleanness and feel a pang of loneliness for my desert rebels.

Movement draws my gaze downward. A line of cavalry stretches in both directions as far as I can see, the late afternoon sun glinting from mouth pieces and sweating hides, obsidian arrowheads and white face paint.

White face paint.

I wonder how they brought so many horses through the desert. Even if they took the long route, hugging the greener line of the Hinders, they must have been hard-pressed to provision the animals for such a long journey. They can’t expect them to survive a long siege in this barren place.

A group breaks off from the rest and gallops forward. They curve into a circle and ride around and around, brandishing spears, screaming like mountain cats. Even at this distance, the swirling pattern of black and white on their limbs makes me shudder.

“Hector,” I gasp frantically. The horses didn’t make the trek all the way from Invierne.

He bends down so I can whisper in his ear.

“Those aren’t Inviernos,” I tell him. “They’re Perditos.”

He nods solemnly. “Yes. We’ve long suspected an alliance between them.”

“They’re here to begin starving us out in advance of Invierne’s real army.”

“I’m afraid so.”

We stand there a long while. Lord Hector’s eyes harden to a dangerous glint, his face a sculpture of resolve. It’s as if he’s in deep meditation of purpose, storing something up within himself. I just pray.

The Perditos trap us in our own city. Alejandro, Hector, and General Luz-Manuel spend the next days strategizing about food rations and building up a store of water to combat the Inviernos’ fire. While they are occupied, Rosario and I hunt for the Godstones.

Word reaches me that His Highness suffers an unnatural obsession with dirt. At least once per day someone catches him next to an overturned potted plant and a river of moist soil. I treat each complaint with proper gravity, then shower my little prince with praise as soon as the door is closed. Still, his enthusiasm for the task begins to wane. I almost order a palacewide search. But the memory of Belén’s betrayal holds me back. I still don’t know whom to trust. I cannot allow the wrong person to learn about the missing Godstones.

The troops my father promised as a condition of my marriage arrive in three great ships. Hector and Captain Lucio guide them in groups through the sewer tunnels that lead from the sea cliffs into the city. I tear through the barracks that day, looking for familiar faces. So many things remind me of Orovalle: the spicy scent of oiled leather, the de Riqueza sunburst embroidered into sashes, the loose-fitting blouse worn by all of Orovalle’s soldiers when not in full battle gear. But I recognize no one. For that matter, no one recognizes me. After a while, I have to admit to myself that I’m looking for Papá, or even Alodia, and I walk away feeling foolish.

Their arrival is none too precipitous. The very next day, the first wave of Invierne’s massive army materializes against the shimmering desert horizon. The Perditos greet them with feral celebration, screaming and riding in circles, shooting arrows into the sky. I stand beside Hector at the top of the wall to watch their approach. In those first moments, the combined forces of Orovalle and Joya d’Arena fall into awed silence. The enemy are so many, and they are barefoot, colorful, not quite human.

I too am silent, but for a different reason. I’m remembering my own first view of Invierne’s massive army, the way their campfires lit the dark hills in either direction as far as the eye could see. So I know this first wave is just a fraction of the forces to come.

Beside me, Hector hammers his fist on the stone. “I wish we knew what they wanted.”

“They believe this is God’s will,” I say softly.

“Acquiring a seaport? Invading another country? Killing innocent people? Which of their actions, exactly, are they going to blame God for?”

Something about his edged tone pleases me. “They want me, or the stone I bear.”

“Yes, but why?”

“I wish I knew.”

He regards me dead on. “They won’t have you, Elisa. Not as long as I’m alive.” He whirls and walks away, down the wall until he disappears behind a group of bowmen.

Another message comes via pigeon from Cosmé. My fingers shake as I unroll it, and Mara peers over my shoulder as I read.

Elisa,

Section of Invierne’s southern army broke off and joined march toward Brisadulce. Five animagi heading your direction; only three were sent against southern holdings. I think they know you’re there.

We continue to harass army’s rear, but Perditos make our task difficult. They have begun shooting our pigeons. This will be my last message.

Take care,

Cosmé

AS the Inviernos come, the line of enemies thickens into a dark ribbon across the desert, then a great river. The river expands until, from the vantage point of the wall’s highest tower, they seem like an ocean of fleas writhing in the sand.

I huddle inside the wall with the bowmen, the Godstone chilling me, unable to tear myself away from the strange scene below us. The slitted loopholes between bricks splay to the inside, allowing a huge viewing range. Like everyone else, I stare through a loophole until my eyes water with heat and glare, looking for any subtle shift that could hint of their attack plan.

Finally the animagi show themselves. I see the unlikely white-gold of their heads first, bobbing through the ranks of Inviernos. They break free of the army to stand facing our main gate. Five of them, just as Cosmé said, all wearing supple, whitish robes, their amulets darkly caged at their breasts. When they raise their eyes to the wall—their Godstone-blue eyes—I double over in icy agony.

“Your Majesty!”

I peer up into the sun-browned face of Captain Lucio. “I’m fine, thank you.” I manage a smile and straighten, my insides already warming from the prayer that flew from my heart with instinctive ease. I can pray in any circumstance, now.