The Crown of Embers(8)

If the conde has a reaction to the quieting crowd, he does not show it, “There is much to discuss regarding today’s events,” he says.

“Indeed,” I agree with equal calm. “I’m calling an emergency meeting of the Quorum.”

He bows from the waist, then turns on his heel and strides away along the wall.

I watch him go, wondering about the flicker on his face when he first saw me, at his hesitation to follow my orders. Then I turn my back on him and the crowd gathering in the courtyard to look out over my city. I need to feel wide-open space, cleaner air.

I sense Hector beside me. He leans his elbows onto the wall so that our shoulders almost touch, and he says, “This is your first major crisis as sole monarch. You are weathering it well.”

“Thank you.” But I clutch the wall’s edge with misgiving. I gaze out across the flat rooftops of Brisadulce. They hug the downslope like massive adobe stairs, lush with garden plants and trellises. Beyond them, the ocean horizon stretches and curves, as though someone has thumb-smeared the bottom of the sky with indigo paint. “Hector, you know how when clouds roll across the sky, everyone turns an eye toward the docks to see if the water will leap over them and flood the streets? To see if the coming storm is actually a hurricane?”

“Yes.”

“I fear that’s what this is. Merely the heralding surge.”





Chapter 3


I hate Quorum meetings.

Calling one is the right thing to do; we must deal with this incident decisively. But the lord-general and the lord-conde have been in power for decades. I’m the upstart—a seventeen-year-old queen reigning by royal decree rather than inheritance. On a good day, they talk over me as if I’m not there. On a bad one, I feel like a pesky sand chigger in danger of a swift swatting.

I’m the last to arrive. My entourage of ladies and guards stops at the threshold, for only Quorum members are allowed inside. Mara forces an encouraging smile as I swing the huge double doors shut and slide the bolt home to lock us in.

The Quorum chamber is low ceilinged and windowless, like a tomb. Candles flicker from sconces set in dusty mortar between gray stones. A squat oak table fills the center, surrounded by red cushions. The air is thick with unyielding silence, and I feel as though the ghosts of weighty decisions and secret councils press in around me, telling me to hush.

Hector is already seated on his cushion, looking stern. We always arrive separately, for it would be gauche to flaunt our close association. He lifts his chin in cold greeting, giving no hint that there is any warmth between us.

General Luz-Manuel, commander of my army, rises to welcome me, but his smile does not reach his eyes. He’s a small, hunched man, unimposing enough that his rise to military prominence seems puzzling. Because of this, I know better than to underestimate him.

“You were right to call this meeting, Your Majesty,” he says.

Beside him sits Lady Jada, who clasps her hands together and smiles as if in raptures. “Oh, Your Majesty, I’m so delighted the lord-general invited me again!”

I blink at her, marveling at her seeming unawareness of the moment’s gravity. Jada is wife to Brisadulce’s mayor and a temporary addition to the Quorum. We have been minus a member since I allowed the eastern holdings to secede, but we dare not meet with fewer than five, the holy number of perfection. Lady Jada is neither clever nor interesting, and therefore an unintimidating choice until we decide on a permanent replacement.

“I’m delighted you accepted,” I tell her sincerely.

Conde Eduardo bows his head in greeting, then calls the meeting to order by quoting God’s own words from the Scriptura Sancta: “Wherever five are gathered, there am I in their midst.”

I settle onto a cushion at the head of the table.

The conde continues, his voice grave. “It concerns me deeply that an animagus could creep into our city unnoticed, much less climb to the top of the amphitheater. And his demand that we give the queen over to Invierne—”

“Is an empty threat,” Hector says. “They were beaten badly. Her Majesty destroyed nine of their sorcerers that day.”

“And yet one remained,” says General Luz-Manuel. “Who knows how many others lurk in our city? How many more in their mountains? He claimed their population to be more numerous than the desert sands. Could they launch another army at us, even bigger than the last? We would not survive another such onslaught.”

Hector frowns. “You don’t actually believe we should give in to their demand, do you?”

I shift on my cushion, dreading the general’s response.

After an awkward hesitation, he says, “Of course not.”