The Crown of Embers(7)
“People are mobbing the gate now.”
He considers a moment, then nods reluctantly.
To Mara, I say, “Will you check on Prince Rosario?” Treading strategically means protecting my heir.
She reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Of course. Please be careful.” She doesn’t let go until I squeeze back.
Hector and I hurry into the hallway and immediately stop short. Soldiers pour from an adjoining corridor and run off ahead of us, a cacophony of clanking armor and creaking leather. They wear the plain cloaks of palace garrison—General Luz-Manuel’s men. “Hector? What—”
“I have no idea.” But he draws his sword.
Another group approaches from behind, and we step aside to let them pass. They move with such haste that they fail to notice their queen staring at them as they go by.
The soldier bringing up the rear is a little younger, a little shorter than the others. I grab him by the collar and yank him backward. He whips his sword around to defend himself, but Hector blocks him neatly. My ears ring from the clash of steel on steel, but I manage not to flinch.
The soldier’s face blanches when he recognizes me. “Your Majesty! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see . . .” He drops to his knee and bows his head. Hector does not lower his sword.
“Where are you going?” I demand.
“The main gate, Your Majesty.”
“Why?”
“We are under siege.”
Hector and I exchange a startled glance. It must be the Inviernos. How did they sneak into the city unnoticed? How could so many—
“The citizens of Brisadulce are rioting,” the soldier adds.
Oh, God. “You mean we’re defending the palace against our own people? Tell me who gave the order to lock down the palace.”
He folds in on himself a little. “It—it was Lord-Conde Eduardo.”
“By sealed message or in person?” Hector asks, and it takes me a moment to understand: If it was a sealed message, the parchment might still exist.
“His adviser, Franco, relayed the message.”
Franco. I’ve made it a point to memorize the names and positions of every person in my court, but I don’t recognize this one.
“I require your escort to the palace gate,” I tell him as Hector nods approval. “Quickly.” I gesture for him to lead the way, preferring Hector at my back, and lift my skirts to keep pace.
The dusty yard teems with palace garrison—archers up along the palace wall, light infantry in a row, ten paces back from the gate. Spearmen stand at the portcullis, swatting at grappling hands with their spear points, barking warnings to the people on the other side. From the swelling noise, the crowd has at least tripled.
“Thank you,” I tell the young soldier. “You may join your company.” He bows and flees.
Hector points to the wall above the gate, to a space between crenellations. “It’s Conde Eduardo.”
Sure enough, a figure stands tall, hands on hips, observing the crowd beyond.
“Let’s go.”
Hector bellows, “Make way for the queen!”
Soldiers scurry out of the way as we rush forward and take the stairs to the top of the wall two at a time.
The conde’s eyes widen slightly as I approach, but a blanket of composure drops across his features quickly. He’s an almost-handsome man with broad shoulders, sharp eyes, and a black close-cropped beard that cedes to gray along his temples. “You shouldn’t be here, Your Majesty,” he says. “It isn’t safe for you.”
“Did you order the palace lockdown?” I ask, breathless from the quick climb.
“No. The mayordomo did.”
I peer into the conde’s face, trying to read any deception or nervousness there, but he is as preternaturally calm as always.
“I want the gate opened,” I tell him.
“I’m not sure that’s a good—”
“They’re our people. Not our enemies.”
“They’re panicked. Panicked people do horrible things.”
“Like dropping the gate against those we’re supposed to protect?”
His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. He leans forward, eyes narrowed, and I resist the urge to flinch away. Do not back down, Elisa. Below, the mob has quieted. They have no doubt spotted me. They’re waiting to see what I’ll do.
Finally the conde straightens. “As Your Majesty wishes,” he says.
I lift my chin to address the command toward the crowd. “The citizens of Brisadulce are most welcome. Raise the gate!”
The cry echoes throughout the yard. Gears shriek as the portcullis grinds upward. The garrison soldiers make way as the people of my city rush into the yard. But the initial panic blows itself out quickly, and after a moment, everyone filters through with orderly haste. My shoulders sag with relief. Until this moment, I was only mostly sure of my decision.