The Beauty of Darkness - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,196

bank.

But mostly I remembered our few stolen hours when kingdoms didn’t exist for us.

“Lia.”

My memories tumbled away, and the sun was suddenly hot and blinding.

Rafe walked over to me. Kaden and the officers looked on. There was no privacy in this moment, and maybe it was for the best.

“You need to return to your duties in Dalbreck now,” I said. It was a statement, but I know he heard my question laced through it.

He nodded. “And you also have your duties in Venda.”

The same question was hidden in his words.

I nodded. “I’ve made promises, just as you have.”

“Yes. Promises. I know.” He shifted on his feet glancing down for a moment. “We’ll be drawing up the new treaties soon. We’ll send them to you and the other kingdoms.”

“Thank you. Without Dalbreck’s lead, we couldn’t make this happen. I wish you well, King Jaxon.”

He didn’t call me Queen Jezelia, as if he still couldn’t accept either the title or the choice I had made. He had never loved Venda the way I did.

He stared at me for the longest time, saying nothing, then finally answered, “I wish you well too, Lia.”

We parted, he going his way and I going mine, both of us committed to help the kingdoms we loved build a future. There were many ways a life could be sacrificed, and it wasn’t always through dying.

I looked back over my shoulder, watching him ride away, and then I thought about Gwyneth’s long-ago remark. Love … It’s a nice little trick if you can find it.

We had found it.

But now I knew finding love and holding on to it were not the same thing.

* * *

I rode back to the multitudes of Vendans who waited for my signal, their faces filled with hope, ready to begin the future I had promised them, and I waved our caravan forward, in the direction of home.

With the dawn comes a better glimpse of our shelter.

It is safe to build a fire now.

The scavengers won’t spot us.

We are cold and hungry, and Pata has killed a rabbit.

We gather what little fuel we see—a broken chair and a few books. The pages are precious dry tinder that will help the wood catch.

The others walk around in wonderment, looking at the walls that enclose us.

I watch the pages of the books curl, hear the sizzle of the rabbit and the rumble of our stomachs.

The child brings me a colorful sphere, most of it blue.

What is this? she asks, and spins it, entranced with its beauty.

I am uncertain myself what to call it, but the words written across it are familiar. I search my memories, my own grandmother telling me how the world used to be.

It is a map of our world.

Our world is round?

It was.

Now it is flat and small and brown. But the child already knows that.

From the stars, Morrighan. If you fly among the stars, you will see the world far differently.

What will I see?

She is hungry, not just for food, but for understanding, and I have little to give her.

Come, child, sit in my lap as the rabbit cooks, and I will tell you what you can see from the stars.

Once upon a time, long long ago, there were not just the Remnant and the scavengers. There were nations of every kind, hundreds of kingdoms that circled this world.

Hundreds?

She smiles, believing it to be another of my tales. Maybe it is. The lines of truth and sustenance blurred long ago.

What happened to them, Ama? Where are they now?

They are us, child. We are what’s left.

But there was a princess?

Yes, child, a princess. Just like you. A princess strong and brave who visited the stars, and from there she saw a different world and imagined new ones yet to be.

—The Last Testaments of Gaudrel

CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

RAFE

“Your Majesty, where is your head?” Sven whispered between clenched teeth.

He knew where it was. The same place it had drifted to countless times these last months, but she had her duties and I had mine.

“Yes, go on, Lord Gandry,” I said, sitting a little straighter in my chair.

I returned my attention to the Barons of the Assembly, where it belonged.

Sven had taken to heart my last words to him back in Morrighan. Words I thought he couldn’t hear, and probably not the last words Gwyneth had in mind. Wake up, you old coot! You’re not dismissed from your duties yet. Wake up, or I’m going to go dump you in a water trough. Do you hear me, Sven? I