Page 27

27

ESSA

I steeled myself and strode into Mother’s great hall with Ollie a step behind. Hearth fires and torches lit the vast space, along with light from the tall windows. In their illumination, I saw the long tables set with an abandoned luncheon. At the far end of the hall, the court was being ushered out, leaving only Mother and a few of her most trusted advisors sitting at the head table.

She cleared the room for me. A bad sign...

It was a long walk up the center aisle of the room to the table where Mother sat, and the only sounds were our footfalls and the hiss and flicker of the torches. At the foot of the dais, we stopped and I curtsied.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Mother asked.

“Um... Yay me?” I said.

Her eyes narrowed. “Your humor is ill-suited to the moment, Daughter. Perhaps the foreigner’s influence has eroded your sense of decorum. Let me remind you. You disrespected me at the Thimble Race. I hear you’ve allowed the foreigner to ride dragon-back. Now, I hear he’s helping you train for the challenge.”

I gritted my teeth, wondering who had told Mother about Kit helping me. Really, it could have been anyone. Or no one. Mother was always scrying, and she had eyes everywhere.

“And what is that thing on your arm?” she pressed.

I glanced down at the clip prosthetic. I probably should have taken that off…

My impulse with Mother was always to shout, to fire an arrow back at her for every one she fired at me. In private, I would have done so. But here, now, with her advisors present, was not the place.

Hoatan sat next to mother, drumming his fingers on the table, his kindly, care-worn face a mask of neutrality. Behind mother stood Trag, Mother’s personal guard, his battle-scarred visage implacable in the flickering torchlight. I gathered myself and took a slow, steadying breath.

“My action at the Thimble Race was rash,” I said. “My feelings were hurt because Laynine won and I knew you favored her. I apologize. As for Kit—Mr. Rowley—yes, I did allow him to ride Othura with me. You asked me to give him every experience of Maethalia I could. How better to convince him of the insurmountable power of our dragons than to let him ride one himself? I was only following your orders, My Queen. And as for his aid—yes. I have accepted help from him. To win the challenge over your durrah, I will need every advantage I can get.”

Mother sat back in her chair, swishing the wine in her goblet and frowning at me.

“Putting aside the question of what sort of dubious help that foreigner could give you… do you truly believe you can win, Essaphine?”

My throat constricted with emotion, but I forced myself to remain steady.

“Do you truly believe I can’t?”

Mother sighed. “Come, my daughter. Let’s be honest with each other—and with ourselves. Laynine is the best flyer we’ve had in many years. Better even than Paemalla was, though it pains me to say so. And you are—” She stopped.

“I am what?”

Mother sipped her wine. “You are less than whole.”

I brandished my maimed arm.

“I have no arm,” I said. “Thanks for reminding me. But I am whole. This is all I am, Mother. All I will ever be. It will have to be enough for you.”

“You are enough for me, Essaphine,” Mother said. “But you are not enough to become Irska. Try, and you will die.”

“Is that not what you raised me for?” I demanded. “To fulfill my duties?”

“There are other duties you might fulfill,” she said. “You seem to have taken a liking to the foreigner. Perhaps you could accompany him back as an ambassador. Try to broker a peace with our enemies. Or Braimar—he has expressed an interest in marriage?—”

“A married woman cannot be queen,” I reminded her, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “And only a rider may sit on the throne. Leave the Skrathan or marry Braimar and I would be abdicating my future crown—to Laynine. But of course, that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Mother sighed again. “I want you to live, Daughter.”

Hot tears stung my eyes, but I would not let them fall.

“You would have me alive and useless. Alive and failed. Alive and cast aside, exiled, rejected.”

“You are too dramatic, Essaphine.”

“And you’re too cold!” I shouted. “I will win, despite you. And despite everyone in this kingdom who doesn’t believe in me.”

“The best rider will win. Nothing would please me more than if that were you. But…”

“ But your precious Laynine and a hundred other riders are ranked higher. I know. I saw her leaving the Brothers’ tower today, by the way.”

A look of dismay flickered crossed Mother’s face, but she quickly mastered herself. “Just a normal social visit, I’m sure. The Gray Brothers are important allies of the crown. We must keep close relations.” Despite her words, Mother’s expression remained dark. “I’ll ask her about it. But I bid you, think about what I’ve said to you, Essaphine. There are many ways you can serve your kingdom alive, and none you may serve if you are dead. I want only what’s best for you.”

There was more I could say. Every conversation with Mother seemed to have the potential to be a circular argument, contentious and unending. But I had the grace to stay silent and curtsey.

“But enough about the challenge,” mother went on. “Tell me how your other task goes. Tell me about the reporter.”

“Despite being an enemy, he has been little trouble,” I said. “He seems to be eager to learn more about our way of life.”

“We want him to go back and tell his people that our culture is superior, our army invincible, our dragons and their riders supreme among all fighters on earth. Is he getting the message?”

“I believe he is,” I said.

Mother traced a finger over her lips thoughtfully. She and Hoatan exchanged a glance.

“And has there been any behavior from him that you would consider suspicious?”

I frowned. “Suspicious in what way?”

“Well, he has come here to gather information. The line between a reporter and a spy is a thin one. Have you seen anything to make you think he is… other than what he claims to be? There is a rumor he scaled down the northermost tower. That is hardly the act of a bard.”

I hesitated. Kitty was a bard with nerves of steel. A poet who knew flight tactics and weaponry. A scribe who seemed eager to meet Prelate Kortoi alone…

Though Mother was always diplomatic when speaking of the Prelate, everyone in the court knew that the Brotherhood had been gaining in power and influence each season. Their dark acolytes had always been a counter-balance to the royals and their riders, but there were whispers among the commoners that the Brothers could supersede the crown one day. Some of the wealthier citizens had taken to tithing to the Brothers on top of paying their taxes to the crown, just to ensure they were in the Brothers’ good graces. Kortoi was, in a word, the most suspicious man in the kingdom. And Kitty had known his name, had asked to meet him…

I opened my mouth, but it was a moment before words would come out.

“I… believe Kit is honest. Or at least as honest as one of his kind can be.”

“Good,” Mother nodded with a glance at Trag. His scarred face remained impassive. “You keep showing him the kingdom. We’ll keep watching him. You may even continue training with him—although you should take pains to hide that contraption on your arm. I’m rather interested to learn what this scribe thinks he knows about flying. But remember, Essaphine: if he were found to be a spy, he would have to be killed. What I’m saying, my dear, is don’t get too attached.”