The entire palace sees us off—servants, resident nobles, the city garrison. Conde Tristán’s carriage leads the procession, followed by several guards on horseback, another carriage for my servants and supplies, and finally the queen’s carriage, larger and more elaborate than the others, surrounded by even more guards on foot. The royal crest streams behind on pennants, and almost-sheer curtains hang in the gilt-framed windows.
But I am not in the queen’s carriage.
I walk just behind it, surrounded by the conde’s servants. I wear a rough cotton skirt and a shapeless blouse, a maid’s cap pulled low on my brow. My skin is powdered to appear lighter, and my hair—my most distinctive trait—is plaited tight against my head and hidden under my cap.
General Luz-Manuel and Conde Eduardo stand on a balcony overlooking the main gate. The general is as cold and unreadable as always, but the conde seethes blackly. His eyes are narrowed, his jaw taut, his arms crossed. It’s obvious that my last-minute excursion to Selvarica is not part of his plan, whatever it is. As we pass beneath him, under the palace portcullis, I force myself to look straight ahead lest I catch his eye.
Hector walks nearby, and from the crowd’s perspective, I hope it appears as though he guards the queen’s carriage. Through the almost-sheer curtains is the shape of a young woman sitting inside, a large crown on her head—my ruby crown, not my new one. The one made of shattered Godstones rides comfortably in my pack beneath the carriage bench.
Hector hired her. I don’t know who she is or where he found her. And I don’t want to know. She waves enthusiastically at the crowd, and I’m terrified for her, this decoy Elisa. I scan the onlookers for danger, thinking of all the ways to kill a person. It would be so easy.
Just like the day of my ill-fated birthday parade, we make our way down the Colonnade toward the city gate. To my left, a townhome towers above us, its high windows sparkling in the sunshine. An archer could hide up there, send an arrow spearing into the carriage, and then slip away in the chaos. And though the crowd is not as thick as it was for my birthday parade, enough strangers press close that I find myself flinching away. Any one of them could be carrying a dagger.
This is what it’s like to be Hector and Ximena, I realize. Always terrified for someone else, always distrusting, imagining weapons and foul intentions where there are none. Is that why Hector is so stoic and hard? Why Ximena keeps so many thoughts to herself? Because it’s the only way to deal with existing forever on the cusp of disaster?
My guard and my guardian.
Hector said that damage is the price of royalty, but maybe my price is so high that others will be forced to pay it. Maybe he and Ximena are the damaged ones. And Mara. And Rosario, who is afraid to be king.
It’s a very long walk.
But when the gate and the desert beyond come into view, my heart starts to pound, not with terror but with excitement, maybe even happiness. I’m desperate to get beyond these walls, into open air and sunshine. I can’t wait to feel the crush of sand beneath my boots, for the dry air to whip my hair against my cheeks. I hope we trade our horses for camels somewhere along the way. I miss their soft, long-lashed gazes and their resolute plodding. I even miss the scent of camel-dung campfires.
At last we pass through the shadow of the great wall and into the light. Our road leads south along the coastline, but to our left stretches my desert, vast and golden and shimmering with heat. Looking at it, my heart is so full I can hardly stand it. I feel freer, lighter, with each step we take away from the city. I want to skip or run or reach my arms wide to the openness of the sky and breathe it all in. I settle for kicking at bits of sand and gravel on the highway.
Hector sidles over and peers down, an odd look on his face. “I’ve never seen you smile like that before,” he says.
I hadn’t realized I was smiling. “Just glad to be outside, I guess. And look at that desert! Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yes,” he says softly. “Beautiful.”
“Did you know that some nights, if you time it just right, you can glimpse the Sierra Sangre at sunset? As the sun dips below the ocean, the eastern horizon flashes red, bright as blood. It’s amazing.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“You should look for it tonight. And in the afternoon, when it’s the hottest, all the colors of the world coalesce where the sand edges up against the sky. Like a ripple of light.”
“You don’t say.”
I look up at him sharply, wary of the amusement in his voice. Is he mocking me? “Surely there’s a place you love too? Somewhere you’re always happy to go back to? Where you feel more yourself than anywhere else?”