The Fallen Mender Page 12

  “You mean I will need to be you for three days? You weren’t even going to let me be you for one supper. I don’t know anything about this place,” Elaina said.

  “Just stay fragile and reclusive. They won’t question what you say in the throes of grieving for your father. Besides, you’ve just given birth, right? Destaurians usually stay secluded with their newborns for three months, attended only by their handmaidens. If they pressure you, be a bitch.”

  “I wouldn’t know how to be a…one of those,” Elaina said.

  “You’ve never snapped and yelled at anyone? Never lost control?” Eleonora asked.

  “No.”

  “You’ve never been selfish knowing damn well you’re being selfish but not caring?” Eleonora asked.

  “No,” Elaina said.

  “You’re odd,” Eleonora said.

  “She’s divine,” Jaimin snapped. “You watch your words.”

  “I’m just saying she’s unusual. Special.”

  “Surely we can stay in the palace, only in hiding, just in case things turn sour?” Nastasha asked Eleonora.

  “No. It’s too risky. My father’s troops and guards will surrender to me now, and our convenient little standoff will fall apart. Elaina and I mustn’t be seen at the same time. Nastasha, they’ve seen you, and Jaimin, your face is too recognizable for you to be here. Marco can stay.”

  “What about Alessa?” Elaina said. “Nobody here knows what she looks like. She could pose as my new handmaiden.”

  “Ooh, that’s true,” said Eleonora. “If she’s here, you wouldn’t be on your own.”

  “I would feel much better if Alessa were here,” Jaimin said.

  “Nastasha?” Eleonora asked. “Your thoughts?”

  “There are many unknowns, but I have faith in Alessa.”

  “Then we’ll send for Alessa,” Eleonora decided.

  Once they were sure Eleonora was entirely better, Elaina and Jaimin went off to bed in Candace’s room.

  “I can’t believe I was so naïve as to think just healing my father would solve everything,” Elaina told Jaimin.

  “We all were naïve, I suppose,” said Jaimin. “The idea sounded so…perfect.”

  “Of course, we’ll have to dismantle the purple army. What a task!”

  “I have this feeling of dread,” Jaimin said.

  “I know. Me too,” said Elaina.

  “Great. That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Maybe…this is the wrong way about it. Maybe what we are doing is right, we are just messing up how we are doing it,” said Jaimin.

  “Jem,” Elaina said, “I feel that we won’t have an easy time in the near term. But I also have a deeper feeling, more elusive, that we have a chance at the victory we came here for. Nothing ever happens exactly the way we expect—but we adapt, we learn, and we evolve. You and I have tasted death, and we know it’s not the end.”

  “How can you speak of death?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry, Jem.”

  “You be careful,” said Jaimin. “You rely on that intuition of yours.”

  “I will. I promise. I love you,” she said.

  Just before dawn, Eleonora, Ia, Jaimin, and Nastasha left the palace, escorted by Marco and the Arran soldiers. They met up with Maya, who showed them to the Shadow Children’s new base. Marco and the soldiers then headed back to the palace with Alessa, and they stopped to collect Candace on the way.

  When they arrived in Candace’s room in the palace, Alessa and Candace changed into the green day-robes of maidservants. “You must stay with me at all times,” Alessa told Candace. “You will be at risk, knowing what you know.”

  “Whatever the risk, I’m happy to help,” Candace said.

  Elaina came in and greeted Alessa with a bear hug. She gave Candace a hug too, which, for Candace, was a bit awkward.

  “Well,” Elaina said, “they will announce my father’s death soon, and I have to make an appearance. Get me ready.”

  In disguise, Maya, Jaimin, Nastasha and Makias joined the hundreds of Destaurians who had gathered to hear the proclamation at the gates of the palace. A wooden platform set the princess and her generals high above the people. A cool drizzle, smelling of the sea, was blowing in from the west.

  Seated in a somber black dress, with her face behind a veil, Elaina listened as the Destaurian high general announced to the people that King Radovan had died after choking on his supper. The Destaurian townspeople remained silent, hanging on the general’s every word. They knew there was conflict between Eleonora’s faction and Radovan’s, and now this… Even the simplest among them doubted the official story.

  Elaina let fall a few tears. She missed her horse. She missed her milk factory. She even missed Jaimin after being apart from him only a few hours, although she could now see him in the crowd. The crowd stretched as far as she could see through the lace of her veil. What new world was this Destauria that her sister was meant to rule?

  Elaina, too, had the birthright to rule these people. It was no lie that she was a Destaurian princess. But she didn’t know them—nor did she know their ways. She had felt a warm bond when she was received by the survivors of the Arran court at Three Falls Caves. Greeting the Celmareans in Audicia had been like coming home to family. But the faces of the Destaurians were somehow unfamiliar…

  Unfamiliar, yet still needing her love. These commoners had been terrorized by brutal raids. They had sacrificed their sons in a war based on lies. Now they were being confronted with the sudden death of their king. They had been through so much, yet she found it hard to feel for them. Why? Had the war cooled her heart? Was she just growing tired of caring?

  The high general knelt before Elaina and presented her with a small ebony scepter. She lifted her veil and knew all eyes were on her tear-streaked face.

  “Daughter of Destauria,” said the general, “accept your throne.”

  Elaina said all she was legally required to: “I accept.” There would be a more elaborate coronation following her father’s funeral. The scepter was only an acknowledgement of her birthright, marking the beginning of her transitional period as queen regent. Elaina was not yet the queen of Destauria. Nor did she ever desire to be.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Two days passed. Elaina, Alessa and Candace, essentially trapped in just a few rooms, kept each other’s spirits up.

  For Maya, Nastasha and the Shadow Children it was two more days of waiting for Mascarin, with no word on his welfare.

  Jaimin socialized with the Shadow Children, but his eyes didn’t stray far from Nastasha, who was plainly avoiding him by burying herself in minimally useful discussions with senior guards and soldiers. Several times a day she seemed to lose a round in her contest against self-pity and regret, and she would retreat into a dark corner and break down in tears. Jaimin felt it all. She knew he did, and this only made it worse for her.

  The night before Radovan’s funeral, Nastasha arrived in her nightdress to visit Jaimin at his cot. She knelt beside him, her face red from crying.

  “Thanks for giving me the space,” she said to him. “I know it’s been hard for you to see me like this.”

  “Are you doing any better?” Jaimin asked.

  “Sometimes it feels like I can manage it,” Nastasha said. “But sometimes the feelings overtake me and I can’t control them no matter what I do.” She lost a tear. “But I have to, Jaimin. I have to control them. For you. For all of us.”

  “I won’t judge you for being human,” Jaimin said. “You don’t need to feel any pressure from me. We’re all changing…”

  “That’s it!” she said. “Every day I feel I’m changing. I hardly know myself.”

  “Well, I know who you are. You’re my best friend. And you know what? I’m going to let you change a little. Change a lot if you must. You’ll still be my be
st friend.”

  She squinted and lost tears from both eyes now. “We knew it was going to be hard one day,” she said. “But I always though the difficulty would come from outside of us, not from within.”

  “Either way,” he said, “we’re fighters.”

  She laughed, and kissed his forehead. As she pulled back, her tear fell and hit him on the tip of the nose. They both laughed at this as he wiped it away.

  “Good night, my friend,” she said, standing.

  “Good night,” Jaimin said. “And get some rest. We’ve got more heroing to do tomorrow.”

  It was sunny and cold the day of Radovan’s funeral. By noon the crowd had swelled to fill the city square and the southern leg of King Poncimus Way. Every patch of pavement, every rooftop, and every tree limb had been claimed. Black banners with the king’s golden crest hung on high stands set up along the route. Soldiers and guards kept watch.

  The funeral procession began at midday in the park just outside the palace gates. The Royal Boys’ Choir led the procession, masterfully rendering How Fair Thine Crags and Valleys in four- and sometimes five-part harmony. Musicians on woodwinds followed, thrumming a sorrowful counterpoint to the sweet, melodic voices of the boys. Following these, little girls in black dresses tossed red rose petals from baskets, adorning the path for the princess, who came next.

  Elaina was outfitted in a robe of dark silver with black lining, over a suit of black leather armor. Her long, brown hair hung in front of her shoulders in two braids, and the sword Jaimin had crafted for her hung at her side. On her chest rested a sapphire-studded amulet with symbols of her father’s house. Closely following her were Alessa and Candace in black hooded robes with dark blue lining.

  Next came a cadre of generals, followed by the king’s ministers—six of them—carrying the open casket of highly polished and bejeweled darkwood in which the king himself lay. Banners in Radovan’s colors—grey-blue, dark blue, and gold—adorned the sides of the casket, and streamers hung from its poles. A hundred more honored guests in black robes joined the procession as it left the public park before entering the city proper.

  When the somber parade reached the town square, the ministers carrying the king followed Elaina and her handmaidens up a ramp onto the large platform from which the king often spoke, which was now decorated with swords, shields and autumn flowers. They set the ceremonial casket on a custom pedestal, and then they folded down the four sides of the casket—which were on hinges, so that everyone in the crowd could see their reposed king.

  Elaina surveyed the crowd, searching for Jaimin and the others, who she knew were in civilian disguises. She had a speech prepared, but if all went well she would never have to deliver it: her chance to touch the king’s body would come before her scheduled speech.

  Although she couldn’t spot Jaimin among the masses, she knew he was there—not far from the platform. The other Arrans were set up in the crowd in various disguises, except for Eleonora, who watched from the attic of the general goods store, through a hole in the wall, as she nursed Ia. Maya, in her signature white cloak, sat on a tin awning, scanning the assembly warily. No one could predict what would transpire once Elaina brought her father back to life.

  As the Minister of Culture recited the opening prayer, Elaina spoke in her heart to the divine spirit. She beseeched the universal guardian to grant success to her plans and to protect those she loved.

  Soon the visitations to the king’s body began. The important guests in black robes filed up the ramp. Each was allowed a few seconds to pay their respects to the king. The music went on and on: the heart-rending dirges piped out by the musicians mixing with the ghostly peals of the children’s harmonies.

  Elaina’s turn to visit her father’s body finally came. Flanked by Candace and Alessa, she turned her back to the crowd and stepped up before Radovan.

  This has to work, she thought.

  If she succeeded, she would finally get to meet the true Radovan—the man her mother had believed in when nobody else had. He would tell the masses the real story, and they would surely forgive him. Together, Elaina, her father, and her sister would mend the hearts of nations. She focused on these warm thoughts as she removed her gloves and lay both of her hands on the cold cloth covering the king’s abdomen.

  To her joy, an aura of white light flared up around her hands, pouring into the king as it increased.

  The entire assembly erupted in a flurry of whispers, which quickly died down into a nail-biting hush. The boys stopped singing one by one as their conductor dropped his hands, entranced by what he was witnessing over on the platform.

  Radovan, glowing brilliantly with white light, suddenly breathed in a giant breath and opened his eyes.

  The crowd gasped as one.

  The king looked up at Elaina, and his cheeks drew up in a smile. And, slowly, he began to sit up. “Elaina,” he said in a whisper. “My daughter.”

  Suddenly, a horrendous pop rang out from behind the crowd.

  And then another pop.

  Elaina fell forward onto Radovan, and he caught her in his arms. A long bolt was stuck in the back of her head, and another was in her back.

  A woman in the front of the crowd screamed, and the panic began. Some guests simply picked a direction and ran that way. Others were too stunned to move. A dozen guards and soldiers rushed in to encircle Elaina, her handmaidens, and Radovan.

  Eleonora looked on, shaking from shock. She had seen both bolts strike her sister. She drew up her hood, held Ia firmly beneath her cloak, and watched, contemplating when to abandon her hiding spot.

  Alessa reached under Elaina and lifted her off Radovan, holding her up from the front in a hug. One bolt had gone deep into Elaina’s head, right where her neck met the base of her skull. “No, no!” Radovan yelled. “Turn her around! Why isn’t she wearing armor?”

  “She is,” Alessa said. “Just not on her head.”

  As Alessa turned around holding Elaina, the arrow in Elaina’s back fell out—it had hardly penetrated her armor. The one in her head was the killer.

  Radovan touched Elaina’s neck near the bolt, and put himself in a mending trance.

  They heard someone yell: “Please, please!” It was Jaimin.

  “Let him through! He can help!” Alessa shouted.

  Marco helped Jaimin cut through the tangle of people. Jaimin scrambled up onto the platform and froze in shock when he saw Elaina with her chin hooked on Alessa’s shoulder. Her limbs hung limp. Her lovely brown eyes were open but vacant; they showed no sign of a girl fighting to stay alive. She wasn’t even there!

  Breathless with disbelief, Jaimin touched Elaina’s cheek.

  And Alessa noticed a white glow surrounding Jaimin’s fingers. “Use both hands!” she told him.

  “What?”

  “One on her forehead, the other on her chest. Quickly, now! Don’t be afraid of the light.”

  Jaimin held one hand to Elaina’s forehead, and the other he pressed onto the armor over her collarbone. The divine white glow intensified, permeating Elaina’s flesh and taking her over from her head all the way down to her toes. The crossbow bolt piercing her turned to a fine, white dust, and got caught up on the breeze.

  Jaimin and Alessa got a fair dose of the light themselves, as did Radovan, who snapped out of his mending trance.

  The light faded.

  Jaimin looked for any sign of Elaina’s consciousness returning.

  Nothing.

  “Lie her flat,” Jaimin said. Alessa set Elaina down on her back on the padded base of the casket meant for her father.

  Jaimin grasped Elaina’s hand, letting his own consciousness slip slightly so he could discern whether her heart was beating.

  It wasn’t.

  “What now?” Radovan asked.

  Jaimin just stared at Elaina’s face in disbelief, until he could no longer stand seeing her eyes open without the flicker of a soul behind them. Gently, he closed her eyes with his fingertips. Next, he leaned
in to kiss her forehead, smelling the flower scent of her hair, and her sweet skin… He took a deep breath.

  Something was carrying him through that moment. A tendril of hope, perhaps. He clung to it desperately. She’s gone, Jaimin allowed himself to think. But just to another world. I know where she’s gone.

  Elaina’s assassin was in mortal peril, because young Maya had spotted him and she was not about to let him get away. She’d seen him ditch his bow and try to slip into the crowd.

  Maya scrambled up the tin awning onto the roof of the assay office. Soldiers below screamed directions at the crowd and scanned for threats, but none seemed to take a special interest in the man they should have been apprehending. Keeping one eye on the murderer as he wormed through the confused mass of townspeople, Maya leapt from one rooftop to another, closing fast on him.

  She hopped from roof to roof to roof across alleys, each time landing with glorious precision, with her white cape fluttering behind her like wings. She was light and in peak physical form.

  And the man she was tracking hadn’t noticed her. The assassin was average-looking in every way, and was dressed in a common brown tunic. He moved deliberately, but not too fast.

  The killer turned down an empty alley. Ahead, the alley became completely covered by canvas overhangs, and Maya knew she would lose sight of the man if she stayed up on the roofs. Spotting a cart parked below, she sprinted and launched herself into the air. Two steps on top of the cart to slow her fall, and then she leapt again.

  The assassin turned and saw Maya just as she landed on him, tackling him to the stone pavement. In a fluid motion, she drew one of her daggers—the one she’d snatched from the Frakker she’d killed in the wilderness—and brought it to the man’s neck, pressing its sharpest edge through his skin.

  As she cut into the man’s neck, prepared to take off his head if her blade were sharp enough, he grasped her arm to stop her.

  With a surge of strength, the man flipped Maya over onto her back, but she used some of the momentum to flip right back on top of him. She plunged her blade into his abdomen—deeply.