By the end of the fourth day we were closing in on the city, and my husband required both his siblings and me to ride in the carriage, ordering the army to part to let the carriage through so we could move more quickly. He wanted no stops to be made, no delays. It wasn’t long before we slanted up a steep road. When the carriage was on flat ground again, I heard a low boom and jumped.
“Gates,” Calix explained.
We were in a large courtyard of stone. It was pure white, smooth, and even, unlike anything I had seen, nothing like the rough stone of the desert, worn by sand and wind. The courtyard looked like it was as wide as Jitra itself, standing at the edges of the earth. In the distance on either side of us I saw water, blue and rolling, the whole mass of it captivating my attention.
“Danae, why don’t you escort my wife to her rooms. I have preparations to see to,” Calix said.
“Let Galen,” Danae said, and she got out of the carriage first.
“No,” Calix told her.
My eyes went from her to her brothers before I got ready to follow her, feeling shaky.
“Have you ever seen the ocean before?” Galen asked me, following my gaze.
I shook my head.
He nodded sagely. “You’ll like your rooms, then.”
I turned to look ahead of us. There were three long walkways arching over a pool of water to three separate buildings. They were all the exact same, huge palaces of white stone with smooth walls and sharp corners, a wide square base with a tall tower rising from the center. The entrance to each was an open archway several lengths taller than me, and I could see the guards from where I stood, their armor glinting in the sun, surprisingly pretty with the white stone.
“Very well,” Danae said. “Come with me.”
My cheeks burned, but when she looked at me, I saw more fear than annoyance in her gaze.
We started up the middle pathway and immediately the wind caught my dress, blowing it back from my legs. I shivered. “It’s so cold here,” I whispered to her.
“Only compared to the desert,” she said with a dismissive wave. “The seamstresses can make you something to keep you warm.”
We entered the archway, and the guards all snapped to attention in unison. We didn’t have much metal in the desert, and their armor called to me. It was beautiful, and noisy, and strange.
Danae moved quickly, leading me inside. The hallway was wide and airy, light filtering in from somewhere above us in little spots and flickers like the world was dancing around us. The hallway split, and she led me to the right, around what was possibly the base of the tower. We passed through a set of doors that opened without us indicating anything to the guards, and there I gasped.
The room was beautiful. Two archways in front of me, two to my right, all filled with thin panes of glass and leading to balconies on either side. It seemed all I could see was ocean, magnificent and unending.
I went to the balcony directly ahead of me, opening the fragile doors and walking outside. The balcony was larger than I thought, wide and railingless but extending forward to a point like an unnaturally smooth white precipice. I walked forward to the point and found myself suspended far past the edge of the cliff, high above water churning against the rocks below.
A wave of unease hit me, and I stepped away from the edge.
Looking back, my rooms seemed to be only half the width of the building, but there were more doors, more windows, just beyond. I moved toward them as Danae followed me out.
“That leads to Calix’s rooms,” Danae said. I stopped. “There’s a door inside your chamber as well.”
I came back to her, unwilling to look into his chambers yet. “We have separate rooms?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. This is a room for both of you. That … is his room. Alone.”
Going to the door, I pulled on it, and it didn’t open. “It’s locked from this side,” she said.
He could open it, and I could not. He could sleep with me or alone—all choices I did not have, serving as just another reminder of who held the power in our marriage. I thought of the words of advice my mother and cousin offered on my wedding day, and I wondered if a woman’s power was so different here because I was in the Trifectate, or because I was a queen.
She led me inside to a room with a bath and a basin like the one at Vestai Atalo’s castle, and beyond that to another room with cushioned seats and a fireplace. “What is this room for?” I asked her.
“Your reception chamber,” she told me. “Should you want to see guests.”
“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Should I do that?”
“You will be expected to receive the court as necessary,” she said.
“Danae,” I called, stopping her before we went back into the other room. “Why are you angry with me?”
Her small shoulders pushed up with a heavy breath before falling again. “I’m not,” she said, turning. “I didn’t think you would have to find out about my training, my position. I thought—” She shook her head fiercely. “I don’t know what I thought.”
“What does it change?” I asked her. Then my eyebrows drew together in consternation. “And you do realize I know very little, yes?”
“You can tell I’m not like you. Not the woman or princess I’m supposed to be. They keep me hidden as much for that as for my position.”
“And you are expecting my censure?” I asked her.
She looked at me, her cheeks flushed with color, her chin proud and high. She said nothing.
“You will not receive it.”
She drew in a sharp breath, but she did not respond to this. “We should continue,” she told me, her voice softer. “I’m sure your attendants have gathered.”
“Attendants?”
She led me back into the main room, where four women in white had appeared. They knelt fully down onto their hands and knees. I jumped forward. “Get up,” I said quickly, catching one’s arm. “You don’t have to kneel.”
They got up, looking among one another, saying nothing.
“They’re ishru,” Danae told me. I gave her a little shake of my head, not understanding. “Servants,” she whispered. “Only they are allowed to serve royalty.”
“Why?” I asked, shivering.
“They have no tongues,” she said. “So they cannot betray us.”
My stomach clenched. “You don’t need to kneel to me,” I told them. “Ever.”
One woman met my eyes and nodded. The others dropped their chins to their chests.
“Calix should return soon. If you ever need anything, Galen and I are close,” Danae said, bringing me to the balcony again. She pointed to stone walkways that led over the open air to two other castles. “I’m on the right,” she said. “And Galen’s is left. The three faces always linked, always separate. Get some rest if you can; I imagine I won’t see you until the morning.”
I watched her go over the walkway, fearlessly moving forward as the wind blew at her dress. When she was out of sight, I looked to the left.
Galen’s and Danae’s castles were angled slightly off in either direction, so the points of their balconies faced away, but going closer to my husband’s rooms, I could see Galen’s balcony.
And he was there. And he was looking over. At me.
And frowning.
I turned away from the dangerous edge, going back to my rooms and telling the guard not to admit anyone without my permission.
I sat on the large bed in my room just to try it—beds were a rare luxury, found only in Jitra. Traveling in the desert, we had rolled pallets and rugs that kept us above the sand, and I found I was quickly becoming used to the indulgence.
Suddenly, I wished that Danae hadn’t gone. The ishru were floating like ghosts through the room, but none of them could speak, and no one could tell me what was expected of me now, or how I was meant to get food.
“Do any of you know where my clothing is?” I asked.
One came to me and bowed, not meeting my eyes, and she turned and moved away, so I followed her through a door that led to a narrow staircase and another door.
She opened the door, and I found a room full of fabric, much of it for making dresses like the one I’d been made to wear, but also a row of hooks with more-finished-looking pieces on it. I pulled on a bright blue one with long sleeves that would cover the length of my dress, and it was lined with soft fur from a kind of animal I’d never seen.
For the first time in days, I felt warm, and I shivered with pleasure at the sensation. “Perfect,” I murmured.
I returned to the main chamber just as Kairos was coming past my guard. I crossed my arms with a sigh.
“Not happy to see me?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh no, Kai, it isn’t that. I told my guard earlier not to admit guests without my approval.”
“Well, I am your brother, so it shouldn’t count, but that is what I’m here about, as it happens.” He looked around and whistled with a smile. “Nice room.”
He started nosing around the room before he went out to the balcony. “What are you here about?” I called, not understanding.
He came back inside and shut the doors, then raised an eyebrow at the door I’d come from.
“Kai?” I asked again.
“Your protection,” he said. “We didn’t get a chance to talk during the ride, and I need you to tell me exactly how bad things are.”
“Bad?” I asked.
Kairos crossed his arms, his gaze heavy on me. “Tell me how bad it is.”
I shook my head. “How bad what is?”
“The way he speaks to you? It isn’t exactly hard to imagine him doing worse. The man cannot abide anything outside his control.” He watched my face, studying my every reaction. “Either he’s harmed you already, or he will.”
The only thing I could think of was the pain of our first night of marriage, but even as little as I wanted to mention that to my brother, I was led to believe that was expected. But something else in his words caught my attention. “What do you mean, ‘he will’?” I asked.
He gave me a crooked smile. “You know I know things, Shy. And sometimes I see things. And I’m never wrong. So stop denying it and just tell me.”
“He hasn’t hurt me. I swear it.” My throat went dry, and I covered my mouth. “Does that mean he’ll find out about …” I held up my hands, helpless, unable to say it.
He stared at me for long moments. “Maybe,” he said. “But if he threatens you, your kinsmen will stop him. Decisively. King or not.”
Shaking my head, I sighed. “You’re not kinsmen—you’re just one kinsman. What will you do?” I asked, trying to tease him.
A hint of a smile graced his serious face. “You forget, little sister. I’m not Cael, or Aiden, or even Rian. I don’t punch first and ask questions later. I’m the clever brother, and if I need to be, I can be more powerful than the whole clan together.”
“There’s only one reason I’d need such protection,” I told him, looking at my hands. Quieter, I asked, “Have you heard from Kata?”
He drew closer, looking over his shoulder and nodding. “She’ll find you. It may take her time, but as soon as she can, she’ll come. Has it happened again?”
I shook my head. “No. I think I was imagining things. I had to have imagined it, don’t you think? How could someone from the desert have her power?”
His smile became crooked and knowing. “You know I know things, and sometimes I see things,” he told me again. “Kata says that’s some kind of ability between the elements.”
My breath stopped. Kairos had an ability? “Kai—” I started.
The guard opened the door, and Kai’s smile disappeared as Calix came into the room. He raised his eyebrow, looking over Kairos. “You can go,” he told Kai.
Kairos kissed my cheek and glared at Calix. “I’ll see you in the morning, Shy,” he told me.
Calix watched Kairos as he left and then turned back to me. “Come, my love. It is time for you to meet my vestai.”
“I thought the presentation was tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Yes, but this is a private introduction. It isn’t appropriate for them to meet you like commoners.”
“So there are more vestai than just Atalo?” I asked.
He took my hand and brought me through the palace to the courtyard outside. There was a carriage waiting there, and he led me into it. “It’s a title, for wealthy landowners,” he said, sneering. “Men who would fashion themselves king if they could.”
The carriage was a silly conveyance, as we only traveled a few minutes before the carriage door opened again.
We were in the courtyard of a white stone building, not unlike the castles but smaller and not nearly as grand. “Where are we?”
“This is the Concilium,” Calix said as the guards bowed to us. “The vestai meet here to discuss matters of state.”
“Everything in this city seems so new,” I marveled, looking up as we began to walk forward.
“It is,” Calix said, tugging my hand. “Previous kings of the Trifectate allowed sorcerer pagans to assist in the construction of many of our buildings. Naturally, any vestige of pagan sympathy needed to be dismantled. It’s disloyal.”
I knew he meant Elementae, and my heart tripped over the memory of the boulder coming down, smashing over the road to protect Kairos.
We walked through the archway and down a long stone hallway. As we passed a break in the stone, I looked in the doorway to a large room with overfilled shelves. “What’s that?” I asked.
“Library,” he said. “All our historical books. The appropriate ones, of course.”
I had heard of books, but I’d never seen them. Paper and ink were not things that could survive for long in the desert; our stories, histories, and legends were written in rock, the eternal places in Jitra that wind and sun couldn’t break.
In comparison this room full of quiet paper seemed … fragile. Impermanent.
I stopped, curious, but Calix sighed impatiently. “Shalia, I care very little for catering to the whims of the vestai; I would like to get this over with as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, and I let him lead me down the hall. Quietly, I asked, “Why do you? Cater to their whims, I mean. You are king.”
This seemed to please him, and he looked at me, pausing for a moment to touch my cheek. “Exactly my thoughts,” he said. “But they are an old power that challenges my reign every chance they have. I prefer not to give them more opportunity.”
We turned a corner, and there was another room off the hallway, but this one made him pause.
He squeezed my hand tighter and walked into the room.
It was small, with a full wall of glass to look out over the ocean that made it seem bigger, endless. The only thing in the room, though, was a large painting with the figure of a woman on it. She was seated, her chin raised, her hair jet black, her green eyes bright, a silvery crown on her head.
Calix was staring at her, and haltingly, he moved forward. The painting rested on a small mantel, and it had three candles beneath it.
He took up a flint to light the candles. As he did, I touched his arm, and he flinched away. “She’s your mother,” I realized. Danae had said her mother died, but I wasn’t sure when it had happened.
He nodded, his throat working.
“When did you lose her?”
“A year before my father,” he said, his voice rough and low. I was hesitant to touch him again, but I was standing close to him, so I tried resting my hand on his back. He didn’t object, and lit the last candle and put his arm around my waist, staring up at her portrait. “After she died—nothing was the same again.”
“How did she die?”
His back rippled with tension, and he shook his head.
“Why is her portrait here?” I whispered. “Why not in the palace?”
He swallowed. “Her father—my grandfather—was the leader of the Concilium until his death, less than a year ago. It was a great comfort to him to have her here.”
Gently, slowly, I stroked his back. “We could move it to the palace.”
Whatever had opened within him closed, and he pulled away from me. “No.”
He took my hand again and brought me out of the room.
Another turn later, we arrived at a huge room with ceilings that soared high above us and a single, long table in the space, not nearly filling it. Men were standing around the room, and they turned as we entered.
“Vestai!” Calix called. “I wish to introduce my bride to you.”
Though he seemed to have called to all of them, one man, his black robes layered with a shimmery silver cloth, came forward. He was older than Calix, but one of the youngest in the room—the others were mostly gray old men.
“My queen, I am High Vestai Thessaly,” he greeted me, bowing and touching his forehead three times. “Come,” he said, offering me a hand.
I took it, and he led me to a large chair at the head of the table. No one else sat, and I felt instantly out of place, watched.
“We are most pleased to welcome you here, my queen,” the vestai said. “We have very high hopes for the tremendous benefits of both peace and marriage for our king.”
Standing beside me, Calix bristled.
They all stopped, staring at me. Waiting.
I looked to Calix, but he gave me no indication of what I should say to these people who he clearly had to consider—who had, at least at times, been his enemies. “I am grateful for your hope and your welcome,” I told him, my voice quiet but strong. “Thank you. And I confess, I find little in the king that needs improvement, by either peace or marriage.” I looked at Calix for approval, and he beamed at me.
My chin rose higher, and I smiled at him.
“Such a loving wife,” the vestai said, but he sounded disappointed. “Well,” he said to me, inclining his head. “It is so important that your nobles can serve you as they ought. To which end, I would like to offer my daughter, Adria, to be your personal handmaiden.”
This raised the hairs on the back of my neck. The vestai snapped his fingers and a door opened, and I was sure there was some double meaning in his words—I hadn’t seen anyone attend Calix; had he refused his nobles in the past? Perhaps he had good reason to want servants without tongues.
“My honored queen,” said a voice breezing into the room. A woman in blue came before me, taller than Danae, but not by much, with hair a lovely light brown color that I’d never seen before. She had a round face and big cheeks that reminded me of a baby.
She bowed so deep she was nearly cowering before me, but there was arrogance there, a calculated knowledge I saw mirrored in her father’s smug gaze.
I felt Calix’s eyes on me, and I looked to him, his stony face unreadable.
“If my king thinks it proper,” I said after a long moment.
“Surely the whole kingdom will breathlessly wait upon you, my love,” Calix said. “So why not let Domina Viato be the first?”
The high vestai smiled like he had won some sort of victory.
“So you see,” Calix said sharply. “She is soft spoken and beautiful—she will be an excellent queen.”
The high vestai met Calix’s eyes. “Yes. Now perhaps you can turn your gaze to the problems brewing in the city.”
Calix waved a hand. “Tomorrow shall put all your fears to rest, Vestai.”
He smiled, but it was thin and tight. “I certainly hope so, my king.”
“Yes,” Calix said. “The Three-Faced God does not tolerate much doubt.”
This made the high vestai’s face lose a little color, but neither party retracted their words.
“Excellent,” the vestai said. “My queen, I look forward to your presentation tomorrow.”
He bowed to me again, and I nodded to him, then looked to the girl still at my feet. “Adria,” I said, and she looked up, and though her face was serene, I saw the same smugness of her father in her eyes. “You may attend me beginning tomorrow morning,” I told her.
She bowed again, smiling at the floor.
We rode back to the castles in silence. Calix was tense, his movements sharp, and he wouldn’t meet my gaze. When we arrived, Calix made an excuse to leave me, and I returned to my chambers. My ishru appeared with food, and I ate a little as they brushed my hair, braided it back, and offered me a garment like the fur-lined one that was only a thin, flimsy fabric that tied in front.
“For bed?” I asked her.
She nodded.
I took off my clothes, trying to slip into it quickly, but they stopped me, washing me with fragrant, warm cloths. Then they pulled the gown on, tying it carefully in front in little bows.
“Thank you,” I said, nodding to them.
They disappeared.
With a sigh, I went out onto my balcony. The wind was stronger, kicking the bottom of the robe back. I shivered, returning inside to take the coat I’d worn earlier and wrap it around me again. Then I walked to the point of the balcony and stood, letting the wind ruffle my braid, kiss my face, lick at my clothing. The crash of the waves so far below was hypnotic, and I shut my eyes, leaning into it.
An arm came around my waist, and I yelped, jerking away from the edge. I turned and my husband smiled at me, holding me still. “I scared you?” he asked.
My heart was pounding, and I nodded.
He plucked strands of hair away from my face, and he kept looking at me, taking me in as he drew a deep breath and let it go. “You did well today. I’m looking forward to tomorrow,” he told me, letting his finger run down my cheek. “You have no idea the hope that you’ll give my people. Our people.”
I swallowed, wishing I could calm my heart just by wanting it. “Tell me more of your people,” I asked.
He smiled like this pleased him. “Things have been difficult,” he confided. “Since my father. Since his reign, and his death. We were torn apart by war with the islanders for much of his reign, and it devastated us. We spent all our money on defenses, ships, weapons. And during a war effort, that is glorious and righteous, but then it ends.” His shoulders lifted. “I inherited my country at a time when the people were broken. We had won the war, but at a steep cost. We were weak, and vulnerable. The Saroccans across the sea came and raided Liatos, pillaging and devastating us further.”
With a sigh, I slid away from him, sitting on a bench. He followed me, straddling the bench so his legs caged me in and his hands wandered on me, touching my shoulder, my arm, my back. I always thought I had an affectionate family, but I wasn’t used to being touched like this—frequently, possessively, in a way that made me unsure if it was a display of warmth or a display of power. “What happened after the Saroccans raided?”
“We had to defend our people. We used the last of our resources to turn them away. That winter, our people starved, and froze, and died. It was my first year as king,” he told me, and his hand fell away. “I felt responsible for my people’s suffering.”
I turned a little toward him. “What did you do?”
His mouth crooked up, and his hand rose. He dragged his thumb over my jaw in a bemused way. “I studied, mostly. My thought was that we needed food before anything else—what good was defending the country if everyone in it starved? I looked at our crops and why they weren’t producing reliably. I found ways to irrigate better. We found that there were ways to get more minerals in the ground and grow stronger crops. But then, of course, as we grew the crops, our roads were insufficient, washing away—always more problems. Problems with logical answers, all of them.” His eyes drifted over me.
I rubbed my hand on his arm. “You took care of your people,” I realized.
He nodded, rustling my hair with his nose. “I fed my people for years. And yet recently, the past year or more, the God is displeased. Droughts cause crops to die; frost sweeps in early to take what we have. We had a tornado decimate half the fields in Kyrikatos.” He sighed. “And this insidious abomination of sorcery.” He shook his head slowly. “For everything else, I have discovered solutions—ways to fix these problems and heal my people.”
“That’s why you’re looking for that elixir,” I said, and my heart suddenly beat faster—I had almost forgotten there was something that took away elemental powers. If I could help him find it—if I could use it—I would be safe. “Have your men found anything yet?”
“No,” he said. “They’re searching the desert, but there are few places to hide something of this nature. I believe it would have to be in the mountains. Can you think of any place that would make sense?”
The lake. But I didn’t say it—it was too precious, too complicated to lead him there. If he found the lake, whether or not that contained his elixir, he would have considerable power over the clans. Without that water reserve, our survival would be at the whims of the spirits.
And what if I didn’t have this power, and the elixir was there? He would have the ability to take Kata’s power away from her, and I would be responsible for leaving her powerless before the Trifectate—again.
“There is the cave of our ancestors,” I said. “Where we honor our dead. But it’s all hard ground—I don’t know where anything could be hidden.”
He nodded sharply. “I will send word to my quaesitori.”
“I will help however I can,” I told him. I wasn’t sure if I meant it or not, but whether I needed the elixir found or wanted to prevent him from ever finding it, I wanted to know what he knew.
He kissed my neck. “Good,” he said.
I asked, “Will you tell me more about tomorrow’s ceremony?”
His fingers touched my chin, applying light pressure until I lowered my head a little, ducking to be closer to his mouth. “The Three-Faced God appreciates pageantry,” he said. “It’s a grand performance. Everything must be perfect. The crowd must be vast and eager; you must be raised up on a stage for all to see.” His fingers trailed over my skin. “You must wear the perfect costume to look the part of a queen. And then the play will begin—the trivatis will speak the holy words, a tradition that is both ancient and eternal. And you will dazzle the crowd, and the people will cheer, and they will remember how powerful their king can be.”
“Powerful?” I asked.
His fingers ran over my neck, brushing my pulse, his hand spreading out over my throat and moving before I could say anything about the strange gesture. “The Three-Faced God is powerful,” he said, bringing his mouth closer to my ear. “And he grants us his power. He wants the people to stand in awe of us, to kneel at our feet and remember that we brought them up from nothing. We stand between them and oblivion.”
I shivered, unable to speak, and he pulled my head down and pressed his lips to mine.