87 Calay Castle

When the unlikely Urecari courier sailed back to Calay with his answer from Ishalem, Guard-Marshall Vorannen intercepted him at the docks, surrounded him with city guardsmen, and then marched Khalig directly to the castle.

For two weeks, Anjine had lived in anger and anxiety while awaiting word from Tomas's abductors. She could not sleep, imagining her brother being held prisoner in some awful dungeon. No one in Tierra would have inflicted such treatment on a noble Uraban captive, but she expected no less from those animals. In a way, she was glad that her father had not lived to see such a disheartening moment.

When a nervous Khalig was presented to her, Anjine sat on the throne and glared down at the haggard Uraban man. His clothes were dirty, and he looked terrified; he clenched a leather satchel in his left hand. His skin had a grayish cast; she could smell his sweat from where she sat.

As the man came forward on shaking knees, she was ready to respond to any demand. Preparing herself for an outrageous ransom payment, she had already met with her treasurers; she had also asked Comdar Rief to develop a military plan should it become necessary to send troops to rescue her brother.

She raised her voice. “Speak your message! What word do you bring from Ishalem? I demand to know the ransom for my brother.” Anjine had resigned herself to pay whatever was necessary to bring Tomas back safely.

She watched the man's Adam's apple bob up and down. He visibly steeled himself, then swirled his faded brown cape to one side. “I have been commanded to deliver a second message from Kel Unwar, provisional governor of Ishalem.”

Annoyed that Soldan-Shah Omra himself could not be bothered with such an important matter, Anjine gestured irritably for him to go on. “I want my brother back. What is Kel Unwar's response?”

Trembling, Khalig closed his eyes and uttered words mechanically. He had memorized a speech, word for word. “He says… he says, that this is just the smallest retaliation for the monstrous acts Aidenists have perpetrated on Fashia's Fountain and the innocent sikaras there.”

“Fashia's Fountain? I've never heard of it. Explain what you're talking about. What were Unwar's words, exactly?”

“He says… ‘While we negotiate these complex matters, we are sending back part of Prince Tomas as a good-faith gesture.'”

With a drunken slowness and wooden fingers, Khalig opened the satchel at his side and tipped it to spill out a rounded, discolored object the size of a large melon. An abominable stench filled the air. Bloody clumps of blond hair. Open eyes stared at Anjine.

Someone screamed. The guards rushed forward. A man vomited at the side of the chamber.

Anjine felt all life flood out of her, like blood from a severed artery. She couldn't blink, couldn't tear her eyes away from the ghastly object.

Khalig threw himself to the floor, weeping for mercy, and the guards dragged him away. Marshall Vorannen tore off his own cape and threw it over Tomas's face, but the appalling image would be forever burned into Anjine's mind and heart. At the rear of the throne room, Enifir began wailing.

Anjine could not feel her own heartbeat. She seemed to have stopped breathing. Her warm blood had turned to icy meltwater in her veins. She was unable to cope, unable to accept what she knew and saw. She couldn't process the truth… but she had to be the queen. The queen!

Tomas…

Even though the guard-marshall's cloak left only a shapeless lump on the floor, she still saw her brother's face. Shouts of anger filled the throne room along with cries of grief and shock, but Queen Anjine could hear none of it. She could not react.

As if she were no more than a wooden marionette, she raised herself to her feet, refusing to let the horror and grief show. Without a word, she walked out of the throne room, returned to her private quarters, and locked the door behind her.

It seemed that only an instant had passed before she heard a loud pounding, a man's shouted voice. “It's Mateo—let me in!” How could he have heard so quickly? “Anjine, open up!” She sat on her bed, staring at her hands as though she'd never seen them before. “Tolli, it's me! Please open up!”

She moved like a wraith, but it seemed to take her forever to reach the door; she had no energy, no knowledge of what she was doing. When she lifted the crossbar, the door burst inward and Mateo pushed his way into the room. He flung the door shut once more, stood before her.

His reddened eyes bore witness to tears already shed. “Oh Tolli, I'm so sorry, so sorry…” For a long moment she didn't understand what he meant. “I should have gone with… I could have guarded him! I needed to—”

“No!” She trembled, wrestling with the idea, forcing the words out in a hoarse whisper. “Then I would have lost both
of you.”

Mateo threw his arms around her, drawing her close. He kissed her hair. She saw the image of Tomas's face again, the horrible trophy the Urecari courier had brought.

… part of Prince Tomas as a good-faith gesture…

Sobs flowed out of her like a sudden squall, a hurricane powerful enough to wreck ships, but nothing could sink the juggernaut of her despair and regret. Mateo held her tight, muffling the long, guttural sounds that seared like branding irons into his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head again.

She choked out the words when she could breathe. “Tomas was a candle of innocence.” Mateo stood there, an unbreakable sea wall, steadying her, letting her cry. “Damn, damn, damn them all!” She pounded her fists against him. Her legs collapsed, but he held her upright.

He began trying to comfort her, making soothing sounds, guiding her back to reality. “Oh, Tolli, this world has become a terrible place for us.” He couldn't think of his duties, nor of Vicka, nor the ra'vir threat, nor the wall of Ishalem. He thought only of Anjine. He held her for what must have been hours.

Finally, when she finished unleashing her sorrow, Anjine drew a deep breath and straightened, completely drained.

And now it was Mateo's turn to grieve, for Anjine had become like a statue in his arms. She pulled away from him gently, composing herself. She dashed away the remaining tears and walked over to her basin. She heaved another shuddering breath, poured water, and pressed a cold towel to her eyes and face.

Anjine looked at him from across an impassable distance, her expression cold, her face blotchy and red. She looked like a stranger—and perhaps she was, fundamentally and forever changed. Mateo stared at her with his dark expression, but she let no warmth into her own gaze. “I'm finished, Mateo. Don't ever speak of my moment of vulnerability. I can't afford to show weakness. The Urecari must never know how deeply they have hurt me.”

Mateo opened his mouth, thought better of it, and came forward to place his hands on her shoulders for one moment longer, before the woman he had known slipped away forever. “You're human, Anjine. That doesn't mean you're weak.”

“I can't afford to be human when we face enemies who are such monsters. I have to be queen, and that is all I can be.”

Mateo nodded. “I will keep any and every secret you ask of me, my Queen… Tolli.”

“Never call me that again. Tolli died today, along with Tomas.” She stepped away and sat at her bureau, where she arranged her toiletries in a mindless distraction of her hands. She needed something, even something trivial, to keep her hands busy.

“I am the queen. I wear the crown. I surrendered the soft part of me when I became the ruler of Tierra in the midst of this terrible war. Now leave me.” She swallowed hard. “I need time to think of an appropriate response.”