Rae Carson - The Girl of Fire and Thorns

How long will it take for the animagi to regain their strength and attack again? An hour? A day? The siege will be short-lived, of that I’m sure. My heart clenches to think of the brave people of my Malficio, of the risks they took, the lives we lost. All for nothing, since my brilliant strategy assumed a drawn-out siege that would make our enemy vulnerable.

The possibility that Humberto died for nothing is unbearable.

Rosario and Mara are huddled on my bed when I enter. Ximena sits next to the empty fireplace, sewing a skirt.

“What happened, Elisa,” Mara says flatly as soon as she sees my face.

“The animagi attacked. We held them off.”

“Papá will kill them all,” Rosario says.

Ximena and I exchange a sad look. Then I plop next to him and hug him tight, but he squirms away, giving me a disgusted look.

I finger my amulets—the dead Godstone and the ugly pendant—and think about the empty victories they symbolize. I failed to accomplish anything with the Malficio. I failed to use my Godstone against the enemy, the way Homer foretold. Perhaps, centuries from now, a priest will show the list of God’s chosen to another young bearer. Perhaps he will point at my name and say, “Ah, yes. Lucero-Elisa. Yet another failed bearer.”

I gaze at Alejandro’s tiny son. Just maybe I’ll have one last chance to do something right. When the animagi break through our gate, someone must get the prince to safety. I may have failed to save Joya d’Arena, but maybe I can still save its heir.

“Ximena! No, wait. Mara.” Mara will know what to bring, how to pack. “Go to the kitchens and storage rooms to find traveling food. Enough for all four of us for two weeks. Hurry!” There should be plenty of dry goods to choose from; Alejandro’s household has been stocking up for months.

“Are we going on a journey?” Rosario asks.

“As soon as possible. But I need to stay a little longer.”

He sighs. “Because you haven’t found your Godstones yet.”

“Yes.”

“I think the condesa has them.”

“What?” I exclaim. Ximena’s head whips up.

“I tried to go in her rooms three times. But her lady says she needs rest. What are monthly courses?”

I almost bite my lip. “Er . . . that’s when a woman doesn’t feel very well for a while.”

“Oh. Well, Condesa Ariña has been having them for a long time.”

Ariña has definitely been scarce. She made a brief appearance at my coronation, but I haven’t seen her since. I wonder if Alejandro kept his promise to have her watched.

“Why do you think she has them?”

“I looked everywhere else.”

It makes sense. When Cosmé and I disappeared, Ariña undoubtedly took the opportunity to search my suite. I just wonder if she commandeered the palm out of pique, or if she knew the Godstones were hidden there.

“Well, Your Highness, I think we should pay a visit to the condesa immediately.” I lean toward him conspiratorially. “I’ll keep her distracted so you can dig.”

A sallow woman with gray-brown hair opens the door. “The condesa is not seeing visitors right—oh, Your Majesty.” Her curtsy is awkward and quick.

“May we come in?” I give Rosario’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Or maybe it’s to reassure myself.

Her body is firmly lodged in the opening, preventing me from seeing inside. “Well, Your Majesty, I’m afraid the condesa truly feels—”

We don’t have time for this. I stare evenly at the maid. “I insist.”

She steps back, head down. “Yes, Majesty.”

I push inside. Ariña’s suite is very similar to mine, with a large bedroom and adjoining bath area. She prefers darker, jeweled tones, though, which surprises me. I imagined her surrounded by whites and airy pastels.

Ariña lounges on her poster bed in a nightgown of deep plum, one arm wrapped around a shiny emerald throw pillow. She raises a wineglass to me as I enter. “Your Majesty!” It sounds like an expletive in her mouth in spite of her childlike voice.

“Hello, Ariña.” She is less beautiful than I remember. The same slender limbs, the same startling honey-gold eyes. But she’s like an old corn husk, all dried out and empty inside.

“Have you come to gloat?” she asks.

I actually hadn’t considered gloating, so intent am I on finding the Godstones. I smile sweetly. “I came to check up on an old friend.”

She giggles, and I finally realize she’s drunk.

“Actually, I’d like to discuss something with you. Alone.” I need to get the maid out of the suite so Rosario can start searching.

Ariña flicks her fingers, and the maid scurries out the door.

“You don’t mind if the prince uses your garderobe, do you?” I ask. I don’t give her a chance to respond before giving the boy’s hand another gentle squeeze and sending him into the bathing room with a wink.

Uninvited, I take a seat beside her on the bed. “I have some questions for you about your father. I need to understand why Conde Treviño—”

Her eyes widen. She stares at my chest, blinking erratically.

“What is it?”

“That. How did you get that?” She gestures with her glass, and a bit of golden wine sloshes over the side and across her fingertips. She doesn’t seem to notice.

I put my hand to my chest and feel the amulets there. “Which one are you—”

“Roldán’s amulet. It’s my father’s. You should not be wearing it.”

“It became mine when your father tried to sell me to the enemy.”

“Ah, yes. Because you bear the Godstone. That was very clever of you, by the way, to keep it a secret when you first came here.”

“Tell me about the amulet.”

She shrugs. It’s hard for her to focus.

I snap my fingers in front of her nose. “Ariña!”

She blinks. “Roldán’s amulet. It’s the first piece he ever made. Roldán became a famous master jeweler, and collectors pay very high prices for his early work. That piece”—she sloshes the wineglass toward me again—“is crude but priceless. It’s been in my family for centuries.”

I put my hand to the amulet. It’s not easy to grasp, with its rough lines and awkward protrusions, but as soon as my skin brushes cold metal, the Godstone flares bright and warm.

“This jeweler, Roldán.” It’s hard to keep the shaking out of my voice. “Was he a bearer?”

She peers at me in obvious contempt. “Of course.”

I feel hot and constricted, like the walls are closing in. No, it’s the history of the Godstone that presses around me with such unwavering insistence. It’s a rich, living thing that surprises me at every turn.

“All the bearers throughout time,” Father Nicandro said. All the bearers.

A tiny, filthy hand creeps into mine and tugs. “Can we go now?”

I look down into Rosario’s excited face. He waggles his eyebrows rather obviously. I hope Ariña is too drunk to notice.

“We’ll let you get some rest, Condesa. I hope you feel better soon.”

I turn to go, Rosario in tow. Ariña says, “Didn’t you have questions for me? Don’t you want a glass of wine?”

“Maybe later.” I open the door.

“ He doesn’t want to talk to me either, you know. Since you came back. And now, someone follows me everywhere I—what happened to my palm tree?”

Just then, the monastery bells begin to toll in deep, steady triplets. It is not time for services. The bells can only mean one thing: Our gate has been breached.

We slam Ariña’s door behind us and flee down the hall.

WE tumble into my suite. Rosario reaches into his pocket and pulls out the leather bag, brown near to black now, and already dusting the floor below it in fine soil. I clap and hug him and kiss him on the cheek.