Queen of Shifting Sands, page 32
And he pushed Myra back, severing their contact. “No.” The whisper hissed through his teeth. A storm gathered upon his brow and his hands slowly clenched.
They both looked straight at her.
The air practically crackled, heat setting spark to dry kindling. Ready to burn. Lystra again felt the flames of the funeral pyre, grief glowing like hot coals in her chest. But emotion wouldn’t serve her here. What good were her tears? What worth was this wretched feeling in her soul? She’d wanted to believe—and she was wrong.
He doesn’t love me.
Clearing her features, Lystra pushed her shoulders back, donning a stone-cold regality that would have made Dalmah smile with pride. “I’m leaving for Kushan.”
Elerek’s eyes grew wide. “Lystra, wait.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” She gave a prim tilt of her head, feigning indifference.
Oh, but she wished he would.
He rolled his chair forward, but not close enough to cross the gaping canyon between them, the plummet where their vows lay in shattered shards. “Lystra, I . . .”
His voice trailed off, and for the first time, Lystra noticed the trace of water dripping from his chair, the drenched state of his clothing, and the frightful, frantic look in his eyes. The look of a man drowning from the inside out.
But Lystra hardened her heart. Myra was right, she’d no way of helping him, comforting him, bringing him out of the darkness of the curse. She only had her crown, her power. The prestige that her king had chosen to give her.
That was all he could give her.
“I pray that there’s hope—starlight.” Her stoic tone knew nothing of hope. “That maybe we’ll live to see Instanolde survive.”
Starlight. The hope he’d given her turned to falling embers, streaking across the horizon.
Another horrible moment of silence passed. Lystra couldn’t bear it. She swept past them, her knuckles pale as she gripped the dagger. “Goodbye.”
Somewhere out in the city, the bells began to ring. A clear call, a warning for the people to take shelter. They filled Lystra’s ears with dread as she strode out into the sunlight to the courtyard where her carriage waited. Once the people were relocated, the soldiers would prepare the defenses.
The thought ran her blood cold. Her city, with its paved streets and ornate arches, prepared for battle. The markets cleared to make way for barricades. Where wine and spices once flowed, blood would run over flagstone. One summer to live had faded into hours.
But the Jarkins would not find her kingdom strong and unyielding. They were weak, crumbled from the inside out, like her heart. Perhaps every word of hope, promising a sunrise beyond this night, was only a falsehood.
Elerek had sworn to give her the truth, without manipulation. He’d promised that he wouldn’t hurt her, to give her starlight.
She stopped at the door to the carriage, unable to move. Breath shuddered in her lungs.
You told me that you needed me.
The memory struck her soul with a crack, shattering it like glass into a thousand fractured pieces. Whispers spoken in the dark, illuminated by soft starlight and the embers of purpose. If she had seen clearly that night, when their souls had lain bare to one another, that path was now veiled.
She crumbled. Her royal façade shattered. Bowing her head, Lystra clutched the dagger against her chest. Hot tears streamed down her face. Grandmother was right to call her foolish, a girl distracted. How could she possibly even think to protect her beloved Instanolde when she couldn’t even protect her own heart?
Her heart that had already been ripped apart, stitched back together, and molded like clay upon a potter’s wheel. Doomed to love two kings that were both destined to die.
“Oh . . . Lystra.”
A soft gasp. Footsteps in silken slippers, drawing steadily nearer.
Lystra startled and spun around, skirts swirling. Here, even in the glitter of the midmorning light, Myra still seemed shrouded in shadows. Her face paled in astonishment, her eyes wide, as if she’d never seen such a thing as a grieving queen before.
Lystra hastily wiped her face, set her jaw, and drew herself tall. “I have nothing to say to you.” She turned her gaze forward to focus on the carriage. Two soldiers in palace orange stood at the door and the mules shuffled anxiously.
Myra slowly stepped in a wide orbit, circling Lystra much the same way a cardant would another cardant. Careful but not timid, testing one another’s defenses.
“I didn’t know . . . about you . . .”
Beneath her skin, Lystra’s blood began to boil like water prepared for tea. A bitter draught that reeked of poison. She thrust open the carriage’s door and tossed the dagger onto the seat before she could use it the way that it was intended. “You know plenty.”
“You do love him.” Myra exhaled; wind lost in the desert. “Of course you would.”
Of course. As if it were fated, a story written in the stars themselves. A current as sure as the Gungole as it flowed down from the canals. Lystra didn’t even dare admit the truth to herself, and the tragic, impossible sound of it coming from the mouth of the girl whom Elerek loved filled her eyes with traitorous tears.
“Does he know?”
Breathe. The air from her lungs escaped in hot exhales, like smoke from a bonfire. “You summarized it yourself quite nicely.” Lystra turned on her, hands clenched. “An unconsummated, political arrangement. I haven’t a claim to him, and never shall. You got exactly what you wanted while my duty belongs to my kingdom and my vows seek to uphold it.”
Myra blinked, staring back at her. “I care about him, Lystra. I care about what the curse is doing to him.”
Why did this girl keep using her name? As if they were equals? “The curse is no excuse!” Flames blazed hot in her soul, bold as the fire opals set in their ceremonial crowns, the seal of their vows sworn before the priests, their people, and the shimmering skies above. “It’s a vile, horrid thing, but it isn’t a reason to shut me out. I . . .”
She loved a cursed man, doomed to drown. But admitting it to herself brought no release, no great epiphany. Instead, something inside her tortured soul snapped.
“And if he didn’t love you . . .” She raised a hand, her heart aflame with fury.
“Lystra, don’t!” Myra swiftly backed away, beyond the reach of her rage. “I know I deserve it, but the curse . . .”
Dropping her hand, a strangled sob broke free from her throat. Lystra thought of the night of Cormek’s burning when the mourning paint spilled from the hands of a clumsy maid who received Dalmah’s wrath. Was she so tainted by her grandmother’s cruelty?
No, she couldn’t be cruel. Not even now, with her heart broken by betrayal.
A muffled sob broke from Myra’s throat. The tense, guarded look about her crumbled, and what remained was soft and fragile. “I misjudged you, Your Highness. And . . .” She drew a deep inhale. “I’m sorry.”
Lystra looked away. She didn’t want Myra’s apologies. The girl had given her honesty from the beginning, freely admitting the truth of her and Elerek’s relationship. No, his silence festered in Lystra’s soul like a splintered shard.
Maybe Elerek also didn’t know. How could he? Perhaps she didn’t know how to love him. Their griefs mirrored one another, and yet the image that bounced back was reversed. Perhaps they could only manage to breathe as king and queen, and nothing more.
Lystra sniffled and shook her head, looking away. “I cannot send you away, but I do not want to see you. Especially not with him.”
“I understand.” Myra spoke softly. Her fingers ran through the frayed end of her dress’s sash, its threads unraveling. “But I think you ought to tell him what you feel.”
She scoffed, pushing an exterior of marble over her features. Such a declaration had no place here in her kingdom built of sands swept by the winds of war and chaos. “It’s impossible.”
Tears filled Myra’s eyes, washing them in an empathy as soft as the rarest silk. “Impossible or not . . . it’s real.”
It ought to remain impossible. Let this betrayal be the spark to set fire to the pyre and let her never mourn a king again. Grief cast a host of mirages, and she couldn’t be led astray, despite how she felt about Elerek. Could she still love him, even now? Amidst this betrayal?
She didn’t know.
“I will stay out of the way,” Myra whispered.
“What good will that do?” Lystra bit back, her voice clipped with ice. “What need have we for more grief?” No, grief was a weapon, one she would seize. The warrior queen. “Instanolde stands upon the edge. Only the survival of my people matters.”
Myra’s fingertips brushed the exposed curse mark on her shoulder. “Are we not your people too?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You should know, something’s happened with the curse.”
She thought of Azraa, of Fin. “Has someone else . . . ?”
“Oh, no.” Myra blinked. “Not like that. It’s done something to El, and I’m afraid. You ought to ask Razhar to explain.”
Horror added its shard to her pierced heart. She thought of Elerek’s worn, haggard appearance, the water dripping from his wheelchair. For a moment, she forgot the wound of watching him kiss Myra, and she feared for him.
No. She shook her head and gathered her skirt. “I haven’t time. I must go to Kushan.” She swept into the carriage, shutting herself in and allowing the wood walls to act as her battlements. Her king wasn’t the only one who could surround himself with walls.
And yet she wept the entire way to the dock, to her vessel, prepared to ferry her away.
Chapter 44
Elerek
Somewhere, out in the city, the evacuation bells had begun to chime. Their rings were distant, as if Elerek listened from underwater, submerged.
Already drowning.
But it wasn’t the curse that stole his breath, numbed his skin, and stole away his ability to feel. No, this time, he drowned of his own accord, beneath the weight of his own, crushing choices.
“Alert the king! Assemble the ranks!”
Would the soldiers find him here? Lingering in the shadows, as if he’d never left? Would they think him a coward? Well, he felt like one. No, he was a coward.
Grinding his teeth, Elerek covered his face with his hands. Shame doused his skin as the taste of Myra lingered on his lips. The bitter, familiar root of loathing ate away at the soil of his heart. He shouldn’t have done it. Stars above, why had he done it?
“The bells have been rung. All soldiers report to the docks.”
He’d never heard these bells before, rung on Norbah’s command to clear the city and let the soldiers pour into the streets.
They needed him. The soldiers. The people. His generals.
Lystra.
The scene replayed over and over in his mind. Lystra, dressed in magnificence, glittering in all the glory of Instanolde’s queen. His queen. In her hands she clutched the dagger, the one that hadn’t pierced his flesh. No, he was responsible for the backstabbing.
Fire blazed in her eyes, hot enough to singe over the uncrossable distance between them. But as quickly as the water had filled the cell of the Jarkin he had drowned, sorrow staked its claim on her. The mourning queen rose from the ashes of Cormek’s pyre, crushed by grief.
Her eyes—what he’d seen was impossible. A shadow, a remnant, a piece of Lystra’s soul that belonged to his brother. Not to him.
The march of soldiers’ boots filled the palace. Elerek pushed the wheels of his chair, arms straining as he took steep passages and sharp turns. Droplets squeezed between his fingers, causing the wheel rims to become slippery. A reminder that all that was left of him belonged to the curse’s wrath and the strength of his own exertion. Feeble, broken things.
Did Lystra—did he dare think it? She couldn’t, it was futile. Utterly futile. They’d taken vows made of paper and destined to burn for the sake of their kingdom. Instanolde had become a part of them, etched an identity as king and queen upon them like the stonemasons carving stories in intricate images upon the arches of the byways.
And if Lystra loved him, he’d taken her love and destroyed it, just as he had murdered the Jarkin in the cell.
When he entered the throne room, the soldiers bowed low. The captain removed his helm, speaking quickly.
“The general waits for further orders. He’s evacuated the docks and ports.”
Elerek inhaled deeply, his chest expanding. “Alert the archers and ready a carriage. I’ll meet him at once.” Strategy and soldiers and battlements and defenses took control in his mind, what the kingdom needed of him.
“You want the entire regiment of archers staged at the docks?” the captain asked.
“Every single one of them.” Elerek closed his fists, hoping that the soldiers didn’t notice the water gathered along his skin, soaking his sleeves, and staining the wood of his chair. “Has the queen departed for Kushan?”
“Yes, Your Highness, the last vessel.”
The noise of the room faded, but it wasn’t due to the curse. His heart pounded in his ears, aching with a pain he couldn’t describe.
She’s gone.
A void emerged in his soul, one different from the feeling of nonexistence caused by the curse’s numbness. No, this was a gaping hole, one that he could feel. Something like loss.
Lystra was fire and fury and all the radiance of a glorious desert sunrise—and he had done nothing to deserve her.
Whispering a prayer for her protection, Elerek fell in pace with his wheelchair among the soldiers as they marched the length of the throne room. None of them bore the curse and their closeness put him on edge.
A shadow passed between the throne room’s marble pillars, just in the corner of his eye. Elerek glanced to the side, his gaze meeting Myra’s.
There were tears in her eyes.
He didn’t know why he kissed her. He shouldn’t have. He didn’t blame the pull of her fingertips, the warmth of her skin upon his, the break in the curse’s numbness. No, he blamed himself. Wholly.
This time, his failures had hurt them both, the two women he had loved. And now, he’d lost them both. Maybe he deserved it.
He grabbed the wheel of his chair, bringing it to an abrupt halt. Air hissed through his teeth. A few droplets fell from his fingertips, splashing against the marbled hall.
“Your Highness?” The captain paused, glancing at him.
Elerek blinked, closing his hand tight. Had it happened? Despite his best efforts, the walls and defenses he’d built, the curse’s terrors keeping him isolated, he’d done the unthinkable.
Fallen in love with Lystra.
The thought twisted his insides in knots. Behind him, the throne loomed upon its dais, flanked by the two bowls of fire. Its image seared into his mind, declaring him wretched and unworthy of the crown—and of his queen.
But it didn’t matter. He’d lost her, broken his vows, all on account of his own weaknesses.
“Your Highness, are you all right?” the captain pressed.
Elerek drew a deep draught of air, life-giving air that he didn’t deserve. “Yes, I . . .” Stars, he felt awful, nothing like a king. “We may proceed.”
The soldier marched on. Elerek reached for the rim of his wheel again. His eyes returned to the shadows, to the place between the pillars where Myra stood. The curse mark upon her shoulder lay exposed, winding its way down to her elbow again. Soon, it would steal away all of her skin. Maybe the end was indeed coming for them all.
She blinked, and the tears ran down her cheeks.
Did she know? That his heart had fallen, like a star in the heavens, for Lystra?
Then, she drew her shoulders back and held her head high. An understanding seemed to pass between them, like the scent of afar-off incense. She turned, blending in amongst the shadows and splendor of the palace.
And he followed the soldiers toward the door. He didn’t know what awaited him at the docks, but Instanolde demanded his loyalty, his duty, here at the end. Perhaps he’d been a king who had failed a thousand times over, but when the enemy appeared at the gate, he would be there.
Chapter 45
Lystra
Soldiers lined the docks. Gooseflesh covered Lystra’s bare arms as she boarded the ship that would take her to Kushan. She bowed her head as she passed, granting her approval to the soldiers who would stand at the frontlines. The first to fall when the Jarkins attacked.
A contingent of soldiers followed her, taking their stance along the deck. Protectors. Men in service to the crown that they hoped could save them.
Lystra felt no courage. Only numbness.
Once the vessel surged away from the docks, sailors took positions with the oars. Lystra stepped near the prow, well out of their way, and let the sun warm her arms. They rowed against the current, upriver, toward the dark haze of the cliffs and crags that defined Kushan’s borders.
An attendant brought her chilled tea, shining like amber in its glass, but Lystra shook her head. She craved only the smell of the river, the spray of its waves, and the kiss of air on her skin. A soothing distraction to hold back the end of all that she held dear.
Still, the thoughts crowded her mind, repeating on an endless cycle. Arresting her own grandmother. Elerek’s betrayal. Myra’s confrontation. The curse, its clear and constant peril. A world in turmoil, swirling in tandem with the chaos brewing in her heart.
Lystra inhaled, a single tear running down her face. Perhaps she’d been wrong. She wasn’t a strong queen, not like her grandmother envisioned. Certainly not one that could save her people, much less break a horrible curse.
Cages came in many forms; some she’d fled and some she’d freed herself from. But remaining trapped as a queen who loved a king who would never return her love—that was something she knew she couldn’t endure. Not for the world.
Maybe Razhar was right. Let him live as never before and let the curse run its course.
The sound of laughter broke through her thoughts. Lystra looked up.
