I returned to my rooms to find a storm of people there, women packing and men moving things, desert people and Tri guards alike. My husband should have been swarmed by people, given gifts and blessings by my clan, but he stood alone, his hands folded neatly behind his back.
“Where were you?” he asked as I drew close, kissing my cheek sweetly.
“Walking,” I said. “Saying good-bye.”
He nodded once. “In the future, I would prefer not to wake up alone.”
I looked at him, trying to determine if this was a command or an intimacy, something he was sharing with me. “Of course,” I said. “Have the clansmen already gone?” I asked.
He thought, and then nodded. “Oh, you mean the ones bearing gifts? I had my servants take them. Your family has not arrived yet.”
Embarrassment flushed over my face. Those gifts were meant to be a clan’s blessing on the newly married couple—he had turned them away, and I wasn’t sure if I should tell him so. “Are the horses ready?”
“The carriage is.”
“A carriage? Through the pass?” I asked.
He looked at me. “Yes. You, Danae, and I will ride in the carriage. Galen will defend us from horseback.”
“Defend us?” I asked.
“Your Highness, Shalia,” Kairos greeted us as he walked in with Mother and Father, bowing to the king. And me, I suppose. He straightened without being bidden and kissed my cheek, and Osmost swooped in to sit on his shoulder.
“She is your Highness now too,” Calix said stiffly.
Kairos’s hand stilled on my arm, but he gave my husband a bright, teasing grin. “Little sisters can never be high to big brothers,” he told him. “Besides, I’m still a son of the desert, and she is queen of the Bone Lands now. But more importantly, it’s going to rain,” he said, a sly smile on his face.
I caught my breath.
Calix scowled. “Why does it matter if it’s going to rain?” he asked.
My father heard this and came closer to us, his giant scimitar on his hip. “It’s going to rain, Kairos?” he asked.
Kairos nodded.
“You’ll have to go with them,” my father said. “Lead them through the pass.”
“This is not necessary,” Calix said, glaring at Kairos, who was trying to restrain his smile and utterly failing. “And we don’t have room in the carriage.”
“I have my own horse,” Kairos said.
“The pass gets very dangerous in the rain,” I told Calix gently. “And I haven’t traveled it enough to help the way Kai could.”
“Yes,” Kairos said cheerfully. “And to repay me for my gallant service, I happily accept an invitation to your castle to stay with my sister,” he added, looking at my husband.
Color rose in Calix’s cheeks, and his mouth drew tight. “A guide would be most welcome. But unfortunately we will have to leave you at the end of the pass; it won’t be necessary to join us for the whole journey.”
Kairos’s smile grew tighter. “I’m sure it would be a comfort to my sister. Clans are very close; it would be difficult for her without any family around.”
“She’s my queen,” Calix said. “I will be her comfort.”
“Kairos attending Shalia is an excellent idea,” my father said with a single, authoritative nod.
“Please,” I said. “I’d like him to come with us.”
My husband’s face froze for a moment, and then he smiled at me. “Of course, wife.” He pulled me close, kissing me.
Father made some sort of growling noise at a man kissing his daughter in front of him, and by the time Calix released me, Kairos and my father had turned to gather Kairos’s things. I tried to pull away, but Calix gripped my hip. “Change into fresh clothes,” he said, looking at my robes from the day before. “And don’t contradict me.”
The first part of our carriage ride was over wide and easy terrain along the mountain ridge. Rising with the land, I could see the desert to the left, burning gold until the sight shimmered and blurred on the horizon, and the craggy, impassable mountains on the right.
We were headed for the tunnel pass, a narrow road into the mountain that led to a wide, old land bridge thousands of feet above the river. I had never traveled far enough to know if this river came from the ocean to the west or perhaps from the same river that fed Jitra, but it rushed its way out to the eastern sea. The land bridge was the sole connection between the desert and the Bone Lands to the south. It was in the pass, somewhere in the darkness, that Torrin had died, fighting against Calix’s men.
The carriage tilted downhill, and I caught my breath as we pitched.
“You’re unused to carriages?” Danae asked. She sat across from me and my husband, her careful eyes regarding me.
I nodded. My stomach felt tight and stormy, and every bump and tilt reminded me of the pain from the night before. “We walk most places. We ride horses around the edge of the desert, where the sand is packed firm and their hooves can manage it. We are never so … enclosed.”
“Miserable but safer,” Calix said. “No random arrows flying at your head.”
I turned to look at my husband. “Does that happen often?”
Calix’s shoulder lifted and he reached for my hand, swiping his thumb over my knuckles. “People try. People fail. We will keep you safe, my love.”
I held his hand in both of mine, surprised by the endearment. Did he love me? Was I meant to love him already?
“Calix is being dramatic,” Danae said, looking to her brother. “The Three-Faced God will never let you be hurt, Shalia.” I looked at her and she looked away again.
“Will you tell me of your God?” I asked Danae. “I don’t know much of your religion.”
Danae’s smile was gentle. “What do you know?”
“That you three are the God incarnate, yes?”
She nodded, looking out the window again. “Yes. When I was born, the third child, my parents rejoiced,” she said, and her smile grew a little tighter. “My father said the Three-Faced God had told him that his three children were the God Made Human. That we would be the most powerful rulers the Bone Lands had ever seen.” She held out her hands in a triangle, pointing one of the ends at me. “With three faces, you can only ever see two, at the very most,” she told me. “The third will always be hidden. Calix, he is the face of truth and justice. Galen is the face of honor and strength. And I am the hidden face, the piece that separates honor and truth, and also binds them together always.”
Her fingers broke apart, the triangle gone, and she sat back.
“Is there such an incarnation in every generation?” I asked.
“No,” Calix said. “The Three-Faced God has ruled for many years, and we are his first blessed vessels.”
The carriage rolled into the pass at that moment, plunging us into darkness, and as I bumped and shifted against my husband, I wondered what kind of power it took to declare yourself a god.
Just after we cleared the pass, a heavy rainfall started, and out the carriage window, Kairos looked immensely pleased with himself. The army made camp in a field while we continued on to a keep that sat arched over the mountain road, ready to guard against an insurrection from the north. Desert men, I realized. This castle would defend the Bone Lands from clansmen.
We entered a courtyard to the left of the road, and there a full household of people stood to greet us. The head man rushed forward, eager to show his obeisance, but my husband stepped from the carriage, putting his hand inside for me to grasp. “All we require is a place to sleep tonight, Vestai Atalo. Certainly no such displays are necessary.” He paused a moment. “And we will collect your taxes before we leave in the morning. You have accrued a hefty sum, have you not?”
The man blanched a little. “Of course. But, Your Highness, the new queen—”
Calix beamed at this, sweeping aside to reveal me as I stepped out of the carriage. “Yes, Vestai, you are the first to lay your eyes on her beauty.”
The man bowed, touching his forehead once, twice, three times. “Your Highness,” he said to me.
I looked at Calix, unsure of how they acknowledged such supplication. He wasn’t looking at me, though; he was watching the man bow.
“Thank you,” I ventured.
He scuffled back and rose up, looking at me fully for the first time, his eyes running every which way over me like I was some immensely foreign thing.
Wanting to shrink from his study of me, I turned to my husband. He took my hand, leading me inside. “Send food to our chambers, Vestai,” Calix ordered. “And to the others, if they wish it, of course.”
The man was striding to keep ahead of my husband and lead him to our rooms. “Of course, Your Highness.”
The man opened a door for us, and Calix strode into the massive chamber without hesitation. My eyes were drawn helplessly upward to the ceiling, where tiny glass pieces had been affixed like stars. “Oh,” I gasped, turning to take it all in.
“One of the many wonders of this castle, Your Highness,” Vestai Atalo said. “It is said to grant blessings on those who sleep beneath these stars. A fitting chamber for a newly married couple.”
“Thank you, Vestai,” Calix said. He gestured toward the door, no longer bothering to acknowledge his host.
“Thank you—Vestai?” I asked, smiling at him.
He nodded. “My title, my queen. I am Atalo.”
“You are no longer required, Vestai,” Calix said. He was looking at him now, glaring, displeased.
The man dropped his gaze and left the room without a word.
“You can wash up in there,” Calix told me, waving a hand. “Quickly. The food will arrive soon.”
Confused, I wandered in the direction he had indicated. There was a smaller room, and it seemed to have a stream running through it, welling in a small basin. There was also a huge basin that I could have lain in, and it had curled horns of metal pointed into it with handles.
I tried one, and water spat out, splashing my dress. I yelped with glee and let it fill, getting enough water to wash my feet, hands, and face.
“You’re happy,” Calix said.
I turned to see him in the doorway. “Do all Trifectate castles have this?” I asked, stepping out of the basin and braiding my hair back. “Water, all the time?” He looked at me, his eyes skimming over me.
Then he moved forward. “This is the only one with an open stream of water. It was built by a heathen who worshiped water. Now that the desert peace is secured, this castle will be tumbled and a new one—a Trifectate castle—raised in its place,” he said, sitting on the bench and tugging his boots off.
A heathen who worshiped water—an Elementa, I realized. Kata’s people.
He stood, going to the basin that was still full of water. He sat at the edge, dipping his feet in.
“Here,” I said, reaching for a cloth. “Let me.”
He looked suspicious. “You wish to wash my feet.”
My cheeks burned. Was that a bad thing? “It’s … for my people, it’s a sign of care. Of respect. We don’t often have water, so washing is a thing of honor.”
His stern face didn’t ease, but he reached out and touched my cheek. He nodded once, clearing his throat. “Very well. Thank you.”
I bent over the edge of the basin, rolling up the legs of his clothing, and I ran the cloth gently over him, cleaning off the dust from the road.
“My mother did this for me,” he said, his voice quiet.
“Of course she did,” I said, smiling softly at him. “She wanted to care for you.”
He stopped me. “You care for me.”
My mouth felt dry. “I … I believe I will, when we know each other better.”
His gaze was careful, but amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Have you ever been in love before, Shalia?” he asked.
I drew a breath in and shook my head. “No,” I said. “I’ve never even met many men outside my family.”
His fingers touched my cheek gently, thinking. “It’s a frightening thing, to care for someone like that.”
“You’ve been in love?” I asked.
He nodded, his hand falling from my cheek. “Or at least I thought I was. I was young. She died,” he said. “A long time ago.”
My heart ached for him. “I’m sorry,” I offered. “In the desert, we believe a person’s spirit is indestructible. It means the people you lose are always with you.”
He wasn’t looking at me now. “It’s strange that you would say that. I thought I saw her,” he said. “Last night. Like she was giving me to you.” He shifted. “But we do not have the same beliefs,” he told me.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept washing, staying silent for several minutes.
“Enough,” he said.
I stopped, straightening up. He stepped out of the tub and pressed a kiss to my temple, and led me out into the main chamber and our bed. Our food arrived, and I ate a little of a roasted game bird, enjoying the hot meal after so much traveling.
But then our dinner was done, and my husband pulled me close to him on the bed. It seemed like our conversation was a crumb, a tiny piece of sustenance that I could slowly gather to make into a real connection between my husband and me, but it didn’t make our night together more comfortable, or enjoyable, or any of the things my mother talked about. I wondered how long it would take, how many crumbs of conversation and care I would have to hoard to feel those intimate feelings.
When my husband finished and held me close to him, I thought perhaps it was the same as being tall, or short—maybe my mother and cousins just enjoyed this more, and I would enjoy it less, and it wasn’t something that could develop or change—it was just a fact of my body.
I closed my eyes, trying to be satisfied with that idea, but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed.