The Crown of Embers(69)

We have a heated discussion about whether Storm the Invierno should accompany us. Ximena insists that he is too easily recognizable. But Father Alentín believes his knowledge could be useful. I point out that I would rather have him where we can keep an eye on him. When Hector promises to keep him cowled and hidden in a carriage, and Tristán vouches for the discretion of everyone in his entourage, we agree that Storm will come.

He is only too willing. He knows the truth of it: that I go in search of the zafira.

I cancel the Quorum meeting, the one I would have used to explain my foray into the prison tower, pleading eagerness to spend time with my potential husband. I tell Conde Eduardo that Tristán and I used the prison tower to begin negotiations, that with so many visiting the palace for Deliverance week, we both preferred privacy. It’s a weak lie, and by the narrowing of his black eyes, I know the conde does not believe me.

But he does not press. He merely says, “It’s not too late to change your mind and do what is best for our kingdom. I’m confident you’ll come to understand that one of the northern lords would be more suitable.”

I thank him for his counsel and assure him that I will make a considered choice.

The night before our journey, I am grateful for the darkness and solitude. I lie awake a long time, thinking of Alejandro. Though I’ve no intention of marrying Tristán, everyone thinks I do. A tear trickles down my cheek to think how easily displaced my late husband is. His presence touches everything around me. I see him in the dark woods and jeweled tones of his chamber, in the newly commissioned portrait in the Hall of Kings, in the face of his son. But the court gives him up so easily. When I do finally marry, it feels as though even the phantom memory will be well and truly gone.

“Elisa?” I feel the mattress dip as a tiny form crawls toward me on the bed.

I lift the blankets to let Rosario slip underneath. He worms close, and I wrap an arm around him.

“Does your nurse know you’re here?”

He shrugs against me, which means she does not. I press my lips to his forehead.

“You’re going away again,” he accuses.

“Yes.”

“I want to come.”

Excuses run through my head. But I settle on the truth, as I always seem to, with him. “Bad people are trying to hurt me. So I can’t have my heir travel with me. I need you to stay here and be safe.”

“Are they going to kill you?”

“I hope not. I’m going to try my hardest to live.”

“Hector will protect you.”

I smile. “Yes, he definitely will.”

“Will you come back?”

“I’ll try my hardest to do that too. I promise.”

He shifts, and his cold bare feet knock my leg, but I know better than to pull away. He says, “You always keep your promises.”

I catch my breath. It’s something I told him long ago. Little did I know at the time how important it would be to him, a boy to whom promises had never been kept. “I do.”

He is quiet for such a long time that I think he must be sleeping, but then he whispers, so softly that I have to strain to hear, “I don’t want to be king.”

It’s like a dagger in my chest, because if feels like failure. Of course he doesn’t. Of course he’s terrified. I know how hard it is to be frightened for so long. I’m so sorry, Rosario.

After a moment spent collecting myself, I say, “I think that if you decide you want to be king, you will be the greatest king in the history of Joya d’Arena. But I won’t make you. You don’t have to.” My court would have collective apoplexy if they heard me say this, but I could never force the boy.

He sniffs. “Promise.”

“I promise. But you have to promise me something too.”

“What?”

“Promise me you won’t discuss this with anyone until I get back.” The last thing I need is for the country to start rumbling about an abdication. “Not a word. Also, if anything goes wrong, or if anything scares you while I’m gone, I want you to find Captain Lucio, Hector’s second-in-command, and do exactly what he says. He will help you. If you can’t find Lucio, go to Matteo. He’s with Queen Cosmé’s delegation in the dignitaries’ suite.”

His wide eyes gleam in the dark. “I promise.”

I don’t want to frighten him, but this is important. So I ask, “Who did I just say to find if something goes wrong?”

“Captain Lucio or Matteo.”

“That’s my boy.” I pull the quilt up over his small shoulders. “How about you sleep here tonight?”

“Oh, all right,” he says, as if it wasn’t his grand plan all along.