Ximena’s eyes narrow. “He is nothing if not noticeable.”
I nod. “I’ll order him to cut and dye his hair tonight. That should help him pass cursory glances, at least.” It will also give him something harmless to focus his fury on. I smile just thinking about it.
“I will go with you, of course,” she says. “As your guardian—”
“No.” There. I’ve said it.
Her black eyes fly wide. Not with surprise, I note carefully, but frustration and anger. She knew it was coming as much as I did.
“You are the queen’s most visible attendant,” I explain. “Mara has been my lady-in-waiting for less than a year. But you’ve been with me my whole life, and everyone knows it. You must be seen with my decoy.”
“I have to go with you,” she whispers. “Always. It is my duty. I was ordained for it by the Monastery-at-Amalur. Elisa, it is God’s will.”
And that is exactly the wrong thing to say to me, because anger boils up in my throat, so thick I almost choke on it. “You will attend my decoy as if she were me.” I enunciate each word, my voice sharp and hard. “You will protect her with your life.”
Her chest rises as she draws breath to argue further, but Tristán wisely interjects. “So, you, Mara, Belén, and Storm. Lord Commander Hector too, I presume?”
“Yes. Hector. He’s the one with the plan.” I meet Hector’s eye and note the slightest softening of his features. “The five of us.”
Hector says, “We’ll slip away at dusk disguised as highway traders. A small wagon waits for us in the stables, packed with a few odds and ends. We’ll take it to the docks, ostensibly to trade with one of the ships there, but of course, we will never disembark. If something goes wrong, I have an alternate escape prepared through the sewer beneath the inn.”
“Ugh,” Mara says.
“We’ll hope it doesn’t come to that,” Hector says. “And a few weeks from now, we’ll rendezvous in Selvarica after finding the zafira.”
“That’s it, then,” I say. “Everyone get a good night’s sleep. Except Belén.”
Belén’s answering grin is as quick and bright as lightning. He is the first to slip out the door. Everyone else follows at a more leisurely pace.
I overhear Ximena saying, “Hector, a word with you, please?”
His face is expressionless as he follows her to a dark corner of my suite. She speaks softly to him, but her gaze is intent, her fists clenched at her sides.
Mara whispers, “You made the right decision.”
“Yes.” But I press my fingertips to the Godstone and pray. Oh, God, did I make the right decision? Ximena is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother. She has always wanted what is best for me. It feels strange to have pushed her away, like pushing away an extra limb or a small part of my soul.
It also feels a little bit like freedom.
“What do you think she’s telling him?” I ask.
Mara covers her mouth to mute soft laughter, and I look at her, startled. “I’d bet all the saffron in my spice satchel,” she says, “that she’s threatening to hang him upside down by his toes if he ever takes your clothes off.”
“Oh!” Mara talks about these matters with such casual ease, and I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it. Still, I study Hector’s reaction very, very carefully. He has drawn himself to full height, chin raised, eyes hard.
“You could order her to tell you,” Mara suggests.
“She would lie if she thought it necessary.” As the words leave my mouth, their truth hits me full force. She has not always wanted what is best for me. She has always wanted what she thinks is best for me. And she has never hesitated to work around me or anyone else to accomplish it.
Hector is shaking his head. Ximena sticks a finger in his chest and hisses something at him. His eyes narrow, and he spits something in response. Then he turns his back on her, sweeps past Mara and me, and exits the chamber.
Ximena’s cheeks are flushed, and her breath comes fast. I’ve never seen her so angry, so lacking composure.
A year ago, this would have terrified me. I stand and approach her.
Her gaze on me turns soft with longing, and I wish there was a way to convince her that separating myself from her doesn’t mean I love her less. I give her the only peace offering I know. “Ximena, I’m ready for you to braid my hair now, if you don’t mind.”
She nods, swallowing. “Yes, my sky.”
I wake to someone jostling my shoulder. My eyes fly open. A forefinger presses against my lips, and I hear, “Shh, Elisa.”