Father Nicandro’s face turns thoughtful. “I suppose so. Take, for instance, your Godstone. The animagi are born with theirs. But when did you get yours?”
“On my naming day. It appeared as if by magic.”
Nicandro nods. “And so it is with all bearers, once every hundred years. You see, dear girl, the animagi’s Godstones are natural. But yours? Yours is divine.”
“You have just ascribed that which you do not understand to God.”
He grins. “And I will continue to do so. Until I have a better explanation.” He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Never stop asking questions, Majesty. God honors truth seekers.”
On impulse, I wrap him in a hug. He and Hector were my first true friends in Brisadulce, and I’ll never forget it. “Thank you, Father.”
He pats my back, then disengages. “Try to get some rest.”
Nicandro lights a few candles for us, then retires for the night. I pace for hours, thinking about prophecy and God and Godstones, wondering how it’s possible for me to wish Ximena far, far away—but at the same time wish she were here to soothe my worries with a hug and an Everything’s going to be fine, my sky.
The next morning, our backs and necks ache from lying on the stone floor of the monastery dining room. Nicandro escorts us as we wind our way into the Wallows, the most dangerous district of my city. It’s impossible to distinguish one building from another here. They are a continuous, twisting structure of rundown adobe patched with driftwood and palm thatch. The streets are narrow and crooked, the paver stone buckled—or removed completely for building material. Dirty, barefooted children scamper through the crowd, brushing against everyone they pass, making me grateful for my scratchy robe’s lack of pockets. Everything smells of sewer.
We make a show of handing out bread and coins and are almost mobbed before Nicandro holds up his hands and yells, “No more left! We’ll be back next week!” The crowd melts away.
He hurries us through a warren of merchant stalls—mostly fish and useless sea scavenge—and into a narrow alley. We come to a door that is warped and dry from heat and salt, its hinges and lock mottled with rust. He looks around to make sure we are not being watched; then he pulls out a key and unlocks the door. I wince as it squeals open. We step into cool darkness.
“I must return to the monastery,” he says. “Someone needs to answer questions about the strange party from Amalur that arrived here. In the next room, there’s a trapdoor. The stair will lead to the underground village.”
I reach out and take his hands. “Thank you, Father.”
“God be with you, dear girl. When it begins, I’ll help however I can.”
I search for words to tell him how much it means to have him as a friend and ally, ever since that night, more than a year ago, when he welcomed a frightened princess into his sacred archive and told her the truth. But he is gone before I can bring it to my lips.
For once we have a quick, easy journey. The stair is long and steep, and it dumps us into a small clay hut with an earthen floor. We peer warily through the doorway into cavern gloom, interrupted with the occasional stream of sunlight.
The underground village is just as I remember it—the ceiling crevices filled with sunshine and lush plants, hanging vines that almost brush the tops of the huts, the wide river curving around the far wall before plunging into a tunnel that leads to the sea. But this time, instead of just poor villagers hiding from guild taxes, the cavern is also filled with my own Royal Guard. Some sit sharpening blades and oiling armor. Others practice with wooden swords in a cleared space near the river. Still others nap or cook or help the villagers mend nets.
They do everything quietly. No one speaks above a whisper.
When I left, my Guard was depleted by the war to only thirty-one strong. But I see lots of unfamiliar faces, enough to fill a full garrison of sixty. Maybe more. They practice with everyone else, seemingly fully integrated.
I sent a Godstone to Captain Lucio with orders to trade it on the black market and use the funds to rebuild my Guard, but his achievement has exceeded my expectation, and my chest swells with wondrous, bubbling hope.
Two guards stand at attention outside the clay hut, and they step forward to block our path, swords drawn. Hector is the first to remove his hood, and they gasp.
“It’s the commander!” one yells, and the other shushes him. He winces. “Sorry.” But his declaration has grabbed the attention of every person in the cavern. And when I remove my own hood, an even deeper silence descends on the place.
Then all of a sudden we are swarmed with soldiers wearing brilliant smiles, whispering exclamations of welcome, patting us on the back and hugging indiscriminately.
The villagers latch on to Storm. They clutch the edge of his robe to their cheeks as if it confers some kind of blessing. Murmurs of “Lo Chato!” and “He has returned!” echo throughout the cavern. Storm takes it in with monstrous indifference, his head high, his gaze full of exquisite boredom. He must be enjoying every second.
“Back,” Hector orders when I’m jostled one too many times. “Give Her Majesty some space.”
The guards collect themselves, looking around at one another shamefaced, and as one they drop to their knees.
I gaze out over the small sea of bowed heads, breathing deep of the moment, savoring it. My Guard. My people. My power. “It’s good to be home,” I say. “And I am so very glad to see you all.” I open my mouth to say something else, but a small figure darts out from one of the huts.
“Elisa?” Rosario launches at me, wrapping skinny arms around my neck. The guards titter with amusement as I hug my little prince tight. “I told them you would come back,” he says. “I told them.”
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “You told them right.”
He squirms out of my arms and throws himself at Hector next, who hugs the boy just as fiercely. “I’m in hiding,” Rosario tells him gravely.
“And doing a good job of it, I see,” Hector answers with equal gravity.
Rosario spots Red and cocks his head. “I’m seven,” he announces. “How old are you?”
Red just shrugs, avoiding his gaze.
“You’re almost as big as me. Are you six?”
“I don’t think so,” she says witheringly.
I raise an eyebrow at Mara, who takes my cue and rounds up the prince and the girl. “Let’s go inside and get acquainted, shall we?” she says, and I mouth a “Thank you!” at her. When this is all over, I’m going to spend lots of time with the boy. Playing cards, practicing with wooden daggers, maybe even going riding. Whatever he wants.
I return my attention to my Guard, and find Captain Lucio off to the side. “Captain, how do you find the Guard? Are they battle ready?”
“At a moment’s notice, Your Majesty.”
I expected nothing less. “I see a lot of new faces among you. Know that you are most welcome. If Lord-Commander Hector deems you ready, I would accept your oaths tonight.”
This is met by a flurry of excited whispers. Being oath sworn to the queen is a wonderful thing for some; it means three meals a day and a monthly stipend.
I spot Fernando in the crowd and resist the urge to single him out by waving. Beside him is young Benito, a boy I brought back with me from the desert to train with the Royal Guard. He is too young still, but Lucio must have promoted him to full Guard anyway.
And then, to my absolute delight, I notice Conde Tristán, kneeling alongside the rest, surrounded by men in the ivory and sky blue of Selvarica. Our eyes meet, and he smiles broadly. I know that his presence here means things have not gone well for him, but I’m glad to see him still.
I would love to spend time catching up with everyone. I’d love a long nap and days’ worth of hot meals. And dear God, I’m desperate for a bath. But it won’t be long before the general figures out I’m here; Father Nicandro can’t keep the truth of his visiting “pilgrims” a secret for more than a day or two.