Rae Carson: The Girl of Fire and Thorns

Ximena strokes my hair. “Lord Hector and the general pursue them. He says the army was already falling apart, demoralized by your Malficio. Without the animagi, the Inviernos can’t sustain a fighting front.”

I swallow. “And the southern holdings?”

“Invierne is in retreat there too. Your strange wave reached all the way to the southern coast. But . . .” Her hand freezes. She takes a deep breath. “There’s something else.”

I sit straight up. I remember hearing screams, smelling burning flesh. “What? Is it Mara? Or Cosmé? Have you heard from her?”

Her brows slope with sorrow. “Mara and Cosmé are well enough. Mara rests while her burns heal.”

“Then—”

“Papá is sick,” Rosario says.

Alejandro . I swing my legs around to the edge of the bed. Ximena grabs my robe from its bedpost and hands it to me.

“Sick?” I ask her quietly, heart pounding with dread. He saved my life, I remember now, the same way I saved his months ago. He killed an animagus with a dagger, and they burned him for it.

“Badly injured,” she whispers back. Everything in her expression speaks to the seriousness of his wounds.

“I’ll be back soon.”

My bones ache as I limp to the door connecting our suites. I pause to take calming breaths. My hesitant knock is answered quickly by Captain Lucio.

“Your Majesty.” He bows.

“How is he?”

He rubs at weary eyes with a fist. “The animagus burned him severely, and he was badly cut by your window. We stopped the bleeding, but he is weak now, and—”

I brush past him, remembering the way my window shattered. How many more of Brisadulce’s citizens were as unfortunately located when my shock wave hit? How many died?

Alejandro lies on his back. Linen swaddles half of his beautiful face, including his mouth. The rest of his body hides beneath his blankets, and I’m glad for it because I could not bear to see his wounds. His unbandaged eye crinkles when he sees me.

“Elisa.” His muffled whisper sounds so painful.

I bend over and kiss his forehead. “I’m so sorry, Alejandro.”

A rattling sigh slips through the linen. “Don’t be. This was my choice.”

I run my fingertips across his eyebrow, let them trail into his hairline where they tangle in his hair, the way I used to imagine doing. “What do you mean?”

He leans into my caress. “The animagus holding me was distracted.” He takes another ragged breath. “I didn’t have time to think about it. You were more important.”

I feel more fondness for him in this moment than ever before. “You are a hero,” I say with conviction. “Thank you.”

His eye closes, the lines of his face relax. I’m ready to tiptoe away when he says, “Elisa, we’ve become friends, haven’t we?”

I’m not sure, but I’d like us to be, so I say, “Of course. Just like you said we would. On our wedding night.”

“Good.” He sighs. Then: “Ariña’s dead, isn’t she?”

“I’m not sure, Alejandro. I think so.”

“I loved her.” Sorrow creases his brow, then he seems to melt into himself. I feel a strange distance when he says, “Take care of Rosario.”

“Take care of him yourself.”

“Promise me. He loves you.”

I should shower him with encouraging denial. I should say something to give him hope. Or I could be honest. “I promise.”

“Elisa? I would have loved you too, given a little more time.”

During Alejandro’s final lucid moments, he summons me, Father Nicandro, and General Luz-Manuel to his bedside. With shaking hands, he signs an edict declaring me his heir and Queen Regnant of Joya d’Arena until such time as his son comes of age. “When I’m gone,” he explains in a voice so soft I have to bend to hear, “no one can dispute your right to rule. Even though you weren’t born here.”

I would have raised Rosario to the throne, even without his help. I know that about myself now. Still, I’m touched by the gesture. I have to blink and swallow a bit before saying, “Thank you, my friend. Rosario will grow up knowing his father acted nobly till the very end.”

My words seem to soothe him. The next morning, he slips into a coma and does not awaken from it.

Lord Hector pursues Invierne’s huge but dispirited army well into the jagged arms of the Sierra Sangre before returning home. He reports to me in my new office—a sumptuous chamber of lush rugs and gleaming bookcases that I’m not yet comfortable in—and lays a letter of resignation on my desk.

I look up at him, confused. “What is this?”

“Your Majesty, I am the king’s personal guard and man-at-arms. My king is dead. Therefore, I am unemployed. This letter just makes it official.”

My heart hammers in my throat. I can’t bear the thought of losing Hector. Sometime, when I wasn’t paying attention, I grew unbearably fond of him.

I search his face, but his handsome features are cast in iron and unreadable. “You are so eager to retire, then?” I ask hesitatingly. “You really want to leave?”

His mouth opens. Closes. He shifts on his feet.

“Unless you’re determined to escape me, I’d like you to consider staying. I . . . well, you have to forgive me . . .” My cheeks feel hot, and my hands are sweating. “I just assumed you would be Queen’s Guard.”

I wait an eternity for his answer.

Then his face relaxes, and his mustache twitches with the influence of a soft smile. “I would be honored, Your Majesty.”

I exhale in relief. “Oh, thank God.”

Three months after the death of Alejandro, on the day Brisadulce throws off its mourning rags, I crown Cosmé Queen of Basajuan, the new country extending from the desert’s eastern edge to the foothills of the Sierra Sangre. Jacián is there, and Father Alentín. Even Conde Eduardo from the southern holdings makes the journey to welcome the new queen.

Only Papá and Alodia decline my invitation, though they send letters of congratulations.

In the same ceremony, I honor Prince Rosario with the Queen’s Star for acts of bravery and heroism in circumstances of extreme danger. He stands so straight, and his little lip trembles as I pin the medal to his sash.

There are many deserving of the same honor. Hundreds, perhaps. But he is the perfect representative for the children of my Malficio—an orphan like them, and equally brave. He also represents hope for us, hope of a strong future and a strong king. When I step away and present him to the court, the applause is thunderous.

The dining room is too small to hold all our guests, so the kitchen staff brings food to the audience hall. I’m pleasantly ill from spiced, blackened chicken, creamy potato soup, and orange-peel scones when Cosmé glides up to me wearing her new crown. She leans forward and kisses my cheek. “Thank you, my friend,” she says. “I am glad to have been proven wrong about you.” She shifts uncomfortably; such declarations do not come easily to her. She hurries away before I can respond and disappears behind a wall of celebrants.

Ximena’s arm sneaks around my waist. Together we survey the smiling, milling crowd.

“You see, my sky?” Ximena whispers. “God was right to choose you.”

I grin. “Yes, he was right to choose me. He had a plan all along, just like Aneaxi said.”

She gives me a squeeze. “I knew someday you would realize your worth. Your worthiness.”

I shake my head. “Oh, Ximena, he was right to choose me, but not because of my worth.” I gaze happily at my friends as they swirl through the hall, feasting and chatting. “You, Cosmé, Hector, even little Rosario, were already willing to be heroes.” And Humberto , says a little voice in my head. “You didn’t need to be chosen. But I would have done nothing, become nothing, were it not for this thing inside me. So you see, God picked me because I was un worthy.”