The Crown of Embers(96)

But I’d rather convince him. “Joya d’Arena needs to heal. And we could. We’re in desperate need of timber for rebuilding, for instance. Someone could make a fortune hauling mangrove and cypress from the southern islands. But no one will take on the venture. Because of the recent war, because of the animagus’ threat, and because”—it hurts to say it, but I’m going to anyway—“and because I have been a weak ruler. Everyone is frightened. They’re holed up in their homes, the curtains closed, growing hungrier and more desperate.

“I need the zafira. It’s the only way I know to neutralize the Invierne threat once and for all and consolidate my own power. So while I appreciate the sentiment you feel for your crew and the livelihoods of those connected with the Aracely’s commerce, please understand that I have a whole kingdom on my shoulders. And yes, your ship is worth the risk.”

He sighs, fingering one of the beads in his beard. “You really think we should steer straight into a hurricane.”

“I do.”

“Can you guarantee that no one will be harmed? That God will see us through?”

I shake my head. “I won’t lie to you. There is always a cost. All I can guarantee is that it will be the right thing.”

“It’s insane,” he says, but without vehemence.

“It’s faith,” I say.

He caresses the gunwale with his fingertips. “If we do this, I insist on telling the crew everything, about the zafira, about your Invierno refugee. They should know why we risk so much.”

I hesitate only a moment. “Agreed.”

He bows from the waist. “By your leave, Your Majesty.” And he hurries down to the main deck to speak with his men.

Hector leans forward onto the rail, and we gaze out to sea together, our shoulders not quite brushing. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says. “You’ll survive this.”

“You will too,” I tell him, and my voice is fierce. “I order you to. I didn’t go to so much trouble to heal you only to let you die.”

He traces a whorled pattern in the wood with his fingertip. “What trouble exactly, Elisa? What happened that day?”

“I . . .” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him everything, to tell him how I feel. “I wasn’t harmed in any way, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You thought you were going to die to save me, so yes, I’m worried about that.”

I hate keeping something from him. I’ve trusted him with everything, always. But I couldn’t bear it if he didn’t return the sentiment. Or maybe I couldn’t bear it if he did.

Thunder rumbles in the distance as I slide my hand along the rail toward him. I find his fingers and clutch them tight. He squeezes back.

I say, “I hope that I am . . .” Foolish enough? Courageous enough? “. . . able to tell you someday.”

He sweeps his thumb across my knuckles. “I shouldn’t press the matter. You’re not obligated to tell me anything. You’re my queen.”

For some reason his words sting, and I find myself fighting tears. I pull my hand away. Lightning spears the horizon as I say, “I need to tell Mara what’s happening.”

I feel his watchful eyes on me as I descend the stair. Ever the dutiful guard.





Chapter 24


NIGHT comes early with the mounting clouds. Crewmen light the ship’s lanterns and quietly go about the tasks of tying down cargo and checking and rechecking the rigging. I marvel at their brave acceptance. They continue to avoid me, but after watching them at work for a bit, I can’t help it: I have to seek them out. Accompanied by Hector, I pat each one on the shoulder, ask his name, tell him “Thank you.” Up close, it’s easier to see the fear in their weathered faces. But they still manage to duck their heads and mutter a few clumsy “Your Majesty”s.

There can be no doubt that we face a hurricane. Already the lanterns swing violently as we dip and plunge through the sea. White water gushes over the prow at irregular intervals, soaking everything. We’ve shortened the sails to take less wind, and several crewmen have lashed themselves to the rigging, ready to cut the sails completely if the masts start to give way.

I stand with Felix and Hector near the ship’s wheel, for we are sure to go off course. No ship can sail directly into a storm. The best we can do is tack through the water, pushing directly into the waves whenever possible to avoid being capsized. My Godstone and I will be the ship’s compass, pointing us in the right direction as we do our best to make corrections. Hector holds thickly coiled rope in his hands, ready to tie me down if the waves threaten to wash us overboard.