The Crown of Embers(17)
I have to think about it. Humberto was the one who took care of me. I sigh at the memory of him slipping duerma leaf into my soup so I would be forced to sleep instead of travel. “A day. It hurt, but I could do it.”
Enzo lifts his head to meet my gaze dead-on. “And how long until the pain went away?”
“Less than a week.”
His nose twitches with excitement. He is like a hunting hound on the scent of his prey.
He stares at my abdomen, and I realize he’s not looking at the wound, but at my Godstone. Tentatively, he reaches out with his forefinger, lets it hover above my navel.
“It’s all right. You can touch it.”
He does, reverently, drawing little circles with his forefinger against the topmost facet.
I sense the pressure of his finger, but the Godstone does not respond, just continues its usual mild pulsing. It’s odd to feel someone else touching it. No one does that. Even Ximena and Mara barely brush it when they are dressing me.
“It’s like a heartbeat,” Enzo breathes in wonder.
Hector continues to face politely away, but he reaches for his sword. He grips the pommel, ready to unsheathe at a moment’s need.
I’m growing uncomfortable. “What’s this about, Enzo?”
He yanks back his finger as if stung. “Your Majesty, I believe, that is, I think, though I can’t be sure, but it seems . . .” He takes a deep breath. “I mean to say that you heal too fast.”
I frown. Though I have the benefit of a royal education, I am the least studied in the healing arts. I have to take his word for it. “And it has something to do with the Godstone?”
“I have no other explanation for why you show no sign of infection, how you were able to stand at all after having your abdominal wall severed, or for the fact that, even after your ill-conceived outing, I will only replace two stitches.”
I’ll have to think about it more later, when the blessed darkness of nighttime feels something like privacy. I grit my teeth against the pain as he stitches me up. Then Ximena ushers him out and pulls the covers up to my shoulders just in time to receive General Luz-Manuel.
“Your Majesty.” He bows low but rises before I release him.
I inhale through my nose and tell myself to relax. The general is so slender and stooped, his hair thinning at the top, and once again I marvel that this insubstantial person commands my entire army. “General,” I say in a cold voice. “I am displeased at the execution of someone I believed a loyal subject and ally.” Displeased is an understatement, but I’m leery of being too forceful until I hear what he has to say.
“Indeed, Your Majesty, this has been unpleasant and disappointing for all of us.”
I stare at him. Is he being deliberately obtuse? Careful, Elisa. He is cleverer than he appears.
“Forgive me for misspeaking, Lord-General. I did not mean to remark on the general unpleasantness so much as my specific disappointment with your decision to execute this man.”
His gaze holds such concern. “You’ve been through so much, Your Majesty. First the animagus, and now this. It must be overwhelming. But I can assure you that the matter was thoroughly looked into.”
“Not that thoroughly.”
“My queen, we investigated every—”
“You never bothered to get details from the one witness to this crime.”
He looks charmingly confused.
“You do realize, don’t you, that I was present during the assassination attempt?” I snap.
Ximena gives me a warning look. Mocking the general may not be my best strategy, especially in front of the guards, who I am certain are intent on every word in spite of their carefully bland faces.
I force softness into my voice. “I don’t mean to be curt, Lord-General, but I’m exhausted and deeply saddened. What’s done is done, but do promise me that no one else will be punished in connection with the attempt on my life without my knowledge and consent. I’m sure you understand my wish to be personally involved?”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he says, bowing his head. “Anything to put your mind at rest and aid in your recovery.”
I clench my jaw. He won’t do as I ask because my input is valuable, or even because I am his queen. He’ll only agree to consult me because it will make me feel better?
The general turns to go.
“Wait.”
He whirls, and it’s possible I imagine his flitting look of impatience.
God, what do I say to this man? How can I convey that I am the sovereign and he is not? That even though I come from a foreign land, these are my people?
The Godstone leaps in response to my prayer, and an answer floats to me gently on the afternoon breeze.