Inside me something broke into a thousand pieces, each of them hurting like a stabbing knife, and the pain was so intense I thought I would die. Barely able to stand, I stumbled toward the closest tree and, gasping for air, leaned against its rugged trunk.
I could still hear voices and see people moving, but they were just images and noises my brain could no longer process. Instead memories flew through me.
I saw Don Julián, his clothes red in blood, sentencing me to death.
I saw Mother’s stern face as she announced, “If he dies, I will not recognize you as my daughter.”
I saw Tío Ramiro standing by the arch. “Take care of him, Andrea,” he was saying. “You are responsible for his life.”
Suddenly I was on the boat again, and Don Julián was lying at my feet bleeding. Mother and Tío were looking at me from the bridge. I wanted to warn them that the bridge was on fire, but I had no voice. “You have failed, Andrea. Don Julián is dead,” Mother was saying.
“No!” I shouted, but when I looked back at Don Julián to prove she was wrong, he was not there anymore. Instead I saw Mother and Tío sitting on velvet chairs.
“You have failed, Andrea,” Mother repeated. “Don Julián is dead, and his death was in vain. You didn’t stop the war.”
“You should have tried harder,” my uncle added.
At the sound of metal against metal, the images disappeared, and I found myself standing alone under the trees by the edge of the clearing. In front of me, inside the opening, the black soldiers from Suavia and the blue ones from our kingdom had come together into a circle. I noticed at once that they were unarmed.
Feeling strangely detached, as if somebody else were in charge of my actions, I moved toward the weapons the soldiers had placed into a pile, sampling the bows until I found one that fit my arm. A quiver with arrows slung on my back, I walked to the line of men and pushed my way into the circle.
In the middle of the field, two knights were fighting. The one in black was Don Alfonso. But his opponent, even though he was wearing the coat of arms of Montemaior embroidered on the white stripe of his long tunic, was not Father. He was taller, for one, and slimmer, and slightly awkward with the sword. A sinking feeling in my stomach told me it was John.
John who, letting out a cry of war, thrust his blade at Don Alfonso—and missed. Losing his balance, he fell on one knee while the king, ready to strike, jumped forward. With steady hands I raised my bow, and once again the arrow came alive in my hands. Then free like a bird, it flew through the air straight to its target: Don Alfonso’s feet. The tip of his sword still on John’s chest, Don Alfonso looked up, startled.
Another arrow already notched to the bow, I aimed again. This time at his heart.
25
The Aftermath
“Father!” I called. “You promised to meet the King of Suavia. You cannot break your promise. Not because of me. Don Julián saved my life and was escorting me to you. Please, Father, tell Don Alfonso you are willing to talk. Tell him to stop fighting.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Father, his hands open in the sign of peace, leave his place among his knights and enter the clearing. Blocking Don Alfonso’s body with his own, he advanced toward me across the heather with long angry strides.
“I will listen to Don Alfonso, Princess Andrea. You have my word,” he said as he reached my side, his eyes cold.
All my energy spent, I dropped my arms, fell to my knees, and surrendered my bow to him.
Father took it in his hands and summoned his men. “Escort Princess Andrea!” he ordered. Without another glance in my direction, he turned and started toward Don Alfonso.
Feeling exhausted and empty, as if all my strength had been in the bow Father had taken from me, I squatted on the ground. But even holding my head with my two hands, the world did not stop spinning.
“Andrea!” A voice was calling.
I recognized the voice, the deep and mysterious voice that once had so unsettled me, and opened my eyes. I was under the branches of a poplar tree, its heart-shaped leaves swaying in changing patterns against the sky. Closer to me, so close I could see his light brown eyes that reminded me of honey, John was staring at me.
“John?” I tried to sit up. But as I moved, a sharp pain cut through my body. Looking down I saw a piece of cloth wrapped around my chest. I could not remember who had dressed my wound or when. But I did remember how I had gotten it—under Don Alfonso’s sword. Don Alfonso the new king. And as the pain returned, that other pain I couldn’t bear, my arm yielded under my weight and I fell back.
“Come on, Andrea! Get up!”
“Go away!”
“I’m afraid I can’t. Your father wants to see you.”
John was offering me his hand, the same hand I had wished so many times to hold in mine, but when I grabbed it, I did not feel any comfort.
“Don’t make Don Andrés wait,” he said as he pulled me to my feet. “You’re in enough trouble already.”
John started toward the path around the trees. “I told your guards to go,” he said. “I wanted to have a word in private with you. About what you did before. I mean about your interrupting the duel. It was kind of annoying, really, as if you didn’t trust my ability to win.”
The truth is, I had no idea you were the one fighting when I set out to stop it, I wanted to say. But I said instead, “I’m sorry, John, but I’ve had enough excitement lately. Right now I’d rather have a little peace. And you see, if you had killed their king, the Suavian soldiers wouldn’t be exactly in the right mood for peace talks.”
“You’ve a point there,” John agreed. “But it would have been neat to get my knighthood.”
Knighthood! So that was why he had volunteered to fight in place of Father. It would have bothered me not so long ago to learn that my champion was more concerned with his knighthood than with my honor. But I had lost my innocence. I knew knights did not really fight for us ladies. If they did, they would have the courtesy of asking first whether we want their help.
“Actually,” John was saying, “it might have looked like I was in trouble and, well, maybe I was. You see, for a moment I freaked out. So maybe it was just as well that you stopped the duel.”
“You’re welcome,” I told him, knowing that this was as close to a thank you as I would ever get.
John looked back. “For what?”
I shrugged.
“Well, anyway, whatever your reasons, the truth is that your little number up on the field must have been pretty convincing. The war is over.”
I did not feel relief at the news, nor joy. In fact I could not feel anything.
“Did Father sign the treaty?”
“Yes. Your father was so thrilled with Don Julián’s resignation that he—”
“Resignation? What do you mean? Is Don Julián . . .” Rushing to him I grabbed his arm. “Please, John, tell me, was Don Julián at the meeting?”
John laughed. “Don Julián at the meeting? Of course not. But why do you ask, Andrea? You were with him. Don’t you know he’s dying?”
I stumbled back, while John, oblivious to my despair, continued. “You know, maybe you were right all along about me splitting. I guess I kind of miss my old life.”
I suppose that under other circumstances I would have been delighted with the news, but as it happened, just then, we had reached the edge of the forest. Ahead of us, I could see the Suavian soldiers still gathered around the boulder, and all I could think was that I had to see Don Julián. Turning away from the path, I started walking across the undergrowth. I had not gone far when I felt a strong pull on my arms. “What are you doing, Andrea?” Holding me tight, John dragged me back to the trees.
Father, the scar on his right cheek clearly visible above his gray beard, was closing in on us. But this time, although he was as imposing a figure as ever, I was not scared of him. Nothing he could do to me now could be worse than the pain I was already feeling.