They were all watching her in silence.
Her guard following close behind, she walked to the edge of the pier and forced her head high beneath the hood of her cloak. A lonely gull cried out overhead. At the edge of the pier stood two acolytes, their castings in hand—a broadsword and a metal disk engraved with waves.
The horn sounded a second time.
One more and she would begin.
She gazed out over the water—a wide bay encircled by low black cliffs. The water was calm as glass.
But it would not be calm for long.
Well, said Corien, here we are.
She almost jumped out of her skin. Corien! I haven’t heard from you since— She set her jaw against the sudden, wild hope that he could somehow provide her with an exit from this horrible day.
I can’t stop this. You’ve played right into their hands.
I don’t want you to stop this.
He chuckled lightly. You can’t lie to me.
She loosened the ties of her cloak. I’m showing them they have no reason to fear me. They will love me for it.
They will kill you for it.
If all you’re going to do is try to make me afraid, she told him icily, then stay away from me.
I’m trying to help you see the truth.
She stepped forward and let her cloak fall to the ground.
The crowd gasped. Murmurs broke out like waves cresting across the shore.
Rielle couldn’t help a small, genuine smile.
She knew the costume was a good one, a form-fitting suit made from a stylish, brightly colored new fabric Ludivine had ordered from Mazabat. It would keep her warm in the water but was flexible enough for her to swim with ease. Waves embroidered with glittering thread swirled across the fabric in the temple colors of the Baths—slate blue and seafoam—and the fabric itself clung to her curves like a second skin. Mesh boots, light as air and with slightly elongated toes, rose to her knees. The suit’s collar was high in the back and low in the front. Ludivine had dusted her skin with shimmering paint, and with her hair piled on top of her head and held in place by shell combs and pearl-tipped pins, Rielle knew she looked like Saint Nerida herself.
The horn blasted for a third time.
The water began to churn.
Rielle took a deep breath—and dove under.
18
Eliana
“My story is the same as all the others. Everyone I love has died; all my nightmares have come to life. Our world is lost, and so are we. There. Will that make a good story for your collection?”
—Collection of stories written by refugees in occupied Ventera
Curated by Hob Cavaserra
After dinner, Eliana claimed a seat in one of the busier common areas of Crown’s Hollow and cleaned her knives.
From her stool by the fire, she could see everything in the low-ceilinged room: Red Crown soldiers switching watch shifts, supplies being tallied, refugees being carried into the sick wing on makeshift stretchers.
According to Simon, they would leave Crown’s Hollow in the morning, once fresh horses had arrived. Until then, her spot by the fire was the perfect place to settle and notice everything worth noticing. Most of the passing rebels didn’t look twice at her. Maybe Simon had decided it was best to keep word of her identity from spreading.
A pity, that.
Her blades were hungry.
Remy lay beside her, head resting on his folded jacket as he read the latest entry in his notebook. Patrik had loaned him a pen; fresh ink smudged his fingers.
“Can we go to bed yet?” he asked with a yawn.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Too much work to do.” She held up Nox, her crescent-shaped blade, and rubbed at smudges that didn’t exist.
Remy set his notebook aside. “You’re lying.”
She smiled at him. “Am not.”
“You’re not telling the whole truth, then.”
Eliana glanced up as Navi sat down beside them.
“Eliana,” Navi said in greeting.
“Your Highness.” Eliana gave her a mocking bow.
Navi ignored her, looked instead to Remy. “Hello there, my friend. Did you like your supper?”
Remy nodded and passed Navi his notebook. “I wrote down the story you told me about Saint Tameryn and the wolf. I changed some things.”
“For the better, I’d wager.” Navi scooted closer to him and settled his notebook in her lap. “I didn’t do the story justice.”
Remy flushed pink. “I liked it.”
“You know, I think I’m ready for bed after all.” Eliana folded her knives into a rag she’d snatched off a crate. “Remy, let’s go.”
He frowned at her. “But Navi’s going to read my story!”
“I don’t care.”
“Oh, Eliana.” Navi touched Eliana’s hand. “I was hoping we could get to know each other a little.”
A taut humming cord inside Eliana gave way. Her surveillance efforts seemed unimportant in the face of a sudden, roaring fury.
“All right. Fine.” She faced Navi, legs crossed, as though they were friends exchanging secrets. “Remy and I are risking our lives to get you to Astavar. What intelligence are you carrying that’s so important?”
Navi’s smile was as patient as Eliana’s was brittle. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Where was my mother taken? What’s happened to her?”
Remy sat up. “El…”
“I don’t know the answer to that.”
“And where was Astavar when Ventera fell?”
Navi’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry?”
“Where was Astavar when the Empire stormed our borders? Raped our men, women, and children? Burned our libraries and farmlands? Executed our king and queen and their children on the steps of Saint Ghovan’s temple in Orline?”
Her body vibrated with anger. She pressed her palms flat to the floor. “Where was Astavar when my father was killed?”
All activity in the room had fallen tensely quiet. Eliana felt the eyes of a dozen rebels upon her.
“You were hiding,” Eliana continued, her voice soft. “Hoarding your food and your weapons. Fortifying your borders. You watched us bleed. You heard us scream for help. And did nothing.”
“I won’t apologize for my people doing whatever was necessary to keep themselves alive,” Navi said at last. “Just as you won’t apologize for what you’ve done to protect your family. And I wouldn’t ask you to.” were all watching her in silence.
Her guard following close behind, she walked to the edge of the pier and forced her head high beneath the hood of her cloak. A lonely gull cried out overhead. At the edge of the pier stood two acolytes, their castings in hand—a broadsword and a metal disk engraved with waves.
The horn sounded a second time.
One more and she would begin.
She gazed out over the water—a wide bay encircled by low black cliffs. The water was calm as glass.
But it would not be calm for long.
Well, said Corien, here we are.
She almost jumped out of her skin. Corien! I haven’t heard from you since— She set her jaw against the sudden, wild hope that he could somehow provide her with an exit from this horrible day.
I can’t stop this. You’ve played right into their hands.
I don’t want you to stop this.
He chuckled lightly. You can’t lie to me.
She loosened the ties of her cloak. I’m showing them they have no reason to fear me. They will love me for it.
They will kill you for it.
If all you’re going to do is try to make me afraid, she told him icily, then stay away from me.
I’m trying to help you see the truth.
She stepped forward and let her cloak fall to the ground.
The crowd gasped. Murmurs broke out like waves cresting across the shore.
Rielle couldn’t help a small, genuine smile.
She knew the costume was a good one, a form-fitting suit made from a stylish, brightly colored new fabric Ludivine had ordered from Mazabat. It would keep her warm in the water but was flexible enough for her to swim with ease. Waves embroidered with glittering thread swirled across the fabric in the temple colors of the Baths—slate blue and seafoam—and the fabric itself clung to her curves like a second skin. Mesh boots, light as air and with slightly elongated toes, rose to her knees. The suit’s collar was high in the back and low in the front. Ludivine had dusted her skin with shimmering paint, and with her hair piled on top of her head and held in place by shell combs and pearl-tipped pins, Rielle knew she looked like Saint Nerida herself.
The horn blasted for a third time.
The water began to churn.
Rielle took a deep breath—and dove under.
18
Eliana
“My story is the same as all the others. Everyone I love has died; all my nightmares have come to life. Our world is lost, and so are we. There. Will that make a good story for your collection?”
—Collection of stories written by refugees in occupied Ventera
Curated by Hob Cavaserra
After dinner, Eliana claimed a seat in one of the busier common areas of Crown’s Hollow and cleaned her knives.
From her stool by the fire, she could see everything in the low-ceilinged room: Red Crown soldiers switching watch shifts, supplies being tallied, refugees being carried into the sick wing on makeshift stretchers.
According to Simon, they would leave Crown’s Hollow in the morning, once fresh horses had arrived. Until then, her spot by the fire was the perfect place to settle and notice everything worth noticing. Most of the passing rebels didn’t look twice at her. Maybe Simon had decided it was best to keep word of her identity from spreading.
A pity, that.
Her blades were hungry.
Remy lay beside her, head resting on his folded jacket as he read the latest entry in his notebook. Patrik had loaned him a pen; fresh ink smudged his fingers.
“Can we go to bed yet?” he asked with a yawn.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Too much work to do.” She held up Nox, her crescent-shaped blade, and rubbed at smudges that didn’t exist.
Remy set his notebook aside. “You’re lying.”
She smiled at him. “Am not.”
“You’re not telling the whole truth, then.”
Eliana glanced up as Navi sat down beside them.
“Eliana,” Navi said in greeting.
“Your Highness.” Eliana gave her a mocking bow.
Navi ignored her, looked instead to Remy. “Hello there, my friend. Did you like your supper?”
Remy nodded and passed Navi his notebook. “I wrote down the story you told me about Saint Tameryn and the wolf. I changed some things.”
“For the better, I’d wager.” Navi scooted closer to him and settled his notebook in her lap. “I didn’t do the story justice.”
Remy flushed pink. “I liked it.”
“You know, I think I’m ready for bed after all.” Eliana folded her knives into a rag she’d snatched off a crate. “Remy, let’s go.”
He frowned at her. “But Navi’s going to read my story!”
“I don’t care.”
“Oh, Eliana.” Navi touched Eliana’s hand. “I was hoping we could get to know each other a little.”
A taut humming cord inside Eliana gave way. Her surveillance efforts seemed unimportant in the face of a sudden, roaring fury.
“All right. Fine.” She faced Navi, legs crossed, as though they were friends exchanging secrets. “Remy and I are risking our lives to get you to Astavar. What intelligence are you carrying that’s so important?”
Navi’s smile was as patient as Eliana’s was brittle. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Where was my mother taken? What’s happened to her?”
Remy sat up. “El…”
“I don’t know the answer to that.”
“And where was Astavar when Ventera fell?”
Navi’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry?”
“Where was Astavar when the Empire stormed our borders? Raped our men, women, and children? Burned our libraries and farmlands? Executed our king and queen and their children on the steps of Saint Ghovan’s temple in Orline?”
Her body vibrated with anger. She pressed her palms flat to the floor. “Where was Astavar when my father was killed?”
All activity in the room had fallen tensely quiet. Eliana felt the eyes of a dozen rebels upon her.
“You were hiding,” Eliana continued, her voice soft. “Hoarding your food and your weapons. Fortifying your borders. You watched us bleed. You heard us scream for help. And did nothing.”
“I won’t apologize for my people doing whatever was necessary to keep themselves alive,” Navi said at last. “Just as you won’t apologize for what you’ve done to protect your family. And I wouldn’t ask you to.”