The Beauty of Darkness - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,200
load of books.
The sweet scent of Berdi’s stew hung in the air. There were still few luxuries in Venda, but her bottomless pots of stew were one, and as I swept, I saw a jeweled bay, heard the cry of gulls, remembered a gentle knock on my cottage door and a garland of flowers placed in my hands.
A happy squeal broke the silence, and I looked up to see Kaden and Pauline at the entrance to the hall quietly conferring. He handed Rhys to her, but they remained a tight knot, his lips brushing hers with ease. They grew closer every day. Yes, I thought, there are a hundred ways to fall in love.
I walked over and replaced the broom in its spot near the sideboard. I had no more time for daydreaming. Piles of paper waited for me and I—
“Lia?” Kaden called.
I turned. He and Pauline walked closer. “Yes?”
“There’s another emissary here to see you.”
I rolled my eyes. I was weary of the endless meetings with the Lesser Kingdoms. It seemed nothing was ever settled once and for all. There were always more assurances I had to offer them. “He or she can wait until—”
“It’s an emissary from the king of Dalbreck,” Pauline said.
When I didn’t budge, Kaden added a reminder. “Dalbreck has been very generous with their supplies.”
I grunted and conceded. “Show him in.”
Kaden looked over my drab attire. “Aren’t you going to change into something more … presentable?”
I looked down at my work dress, then shot him a disapproving stare, saying more firmly, “Show him in.”
Pauline began to protest too, but I stopped her.
“If this is good enough for the people of Venda, it’s good enough for an emissary.”
They both frowned.
I pulled my cap from my head and brushed my hair with my fingers. “There! That better?”
They both sighed and left. Minutes later, they returned, Pauline rushing in ahead, standing stiffly near the hearth. Kaden stood at the end of the hall, mostly cast in shadows. I could hear the shuffling of a contingent somewhere behind him. Kaden stepped forward and announced, “The emissary of Dalbreck, here to speak with the queen of Venda.”
I waved my fingers forward impatiently, and Kaden stepped aside.
The emissary stepped forward.
I blinked.
I swallowed.
He walked across the hall toward me. The only sound was his heavy boots tapping on the stone.
He stopped in front of me, his eyes looking into mine, and then slowly, he dropped to one knee. “Your Majesty.”
I couldn’t find my voice. My tongue was sand and my throat like a stiff dried bone. Somehow I made my fingertips move, and I motioned for him to stand.
He rose to his feet, and I swallowed again, finally conjuring some moisture to my tongue. I surveyed his rumpled clothes, dusty from a long journey. “You look more like a farmer than a grand emissary of Dalbreck,” I said.
His eyes gleamed. “And you look more like a tavern maid than the queen of Venda.”
He stepped closer.
“And what brings you so far?” I asked.
“I brought you something.”
This time it was he who motioned with his hand.
There was more shuffling in the dark hall behind him, then Orrin and Tavish walked in with wide grins plastered across their faces. Each of them held a crate filled with melons.
“I grew them myself,” Rafe said. “Mostly.”
My mind tumbled. Melons? “You are a man of many talents, King Jaxon.”
Creases deepened around his eyes. “And you, Queen Jezelia, are a woman of surprising strengths.”
I didn’t move.
I wasn’t sure I was breathing.
He reached up and caressed my cheek.
“I know hundreds of miles separate us. I know you have your endless duties here and I have mine in Dalbreck. But we’ve done the impossible, Lia. If we can find a way to end centuries of animosity between the kingdoms … surely … we can find a way for us.”
He bent over, and his lips met mine, gentle, tender, and I trembled against their touch. I tasted the wind, sweet melons, a thousand dreams, and hope.
We parted and looked at each other, a better ending at our fingertips.
A way for us.
Impossible.
But that hadn’t stopped us before.
And I reached up and brought his mouth back to mine.
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The journey’s end.
What began as a loose idea about the things that last bloomed into a world I never could have imagined with my first step. It became a journey as far-reaching as the Cam Lanteux, and so many have gone down this crazy road with me. Just as Lia had an army behind her, so did I, and without them, these books wouldn’t exist. I am indebted.
Let me begin with the unstoppable force that is my publisher, Macmillan/Henry Holt. You are, simply put, brilliant and infinitely creative. Thank you to Jean Feiwel, Laura Godwin, Elizabeth Fithian, Angus Killick, Jon Yaged, Brielle Benton, Morgan Dubin, Allison Verost, Caitlin Sweeney, Kallam McKay, Claire Taylor, Kathryn Little, Mariel Dawson, Emily Petrick, Lucy Del Priore, Katie Halata, Jennifer Healey, John Nora, Ana Deboo, Rachel Murray, and the army of you who work behind the scenes. Thank you for believing in this series and getting it into readers’ hands.
Let’s just say it right here and now. Rich Deas is a cover god. I may have stopped breathing when I saw this last book cover. And the inside is just as beautiful. Anna Booth did absolutely wondrous things with the design, making me want to hug every page. I am stunned with gratitude to both of them.
My editor, Kate Farrell, as always provided sharp-eyed insights, questions that made me think, unflagging support, and friendship. Over the course of these three books plus a novella, we have wrestled, brainstormed, conspired, laughed, and created together. She is one in a million. I am, and will always be, so very grateful to her.
I am incredibly thankful to the librarians, booksellers, tweeters, booktubers, bloggers, and every reader who spread the word to one or many. I loved hearing your thoughts, theories, and hopes for these characters. Your awesome enthusiasm fueled me. (Yes, Stacee, I know. More kissing.) I truly felt we were on this journey together.
Thank you to Deb Shapiro, Peter Ryan, and the Stimola Literary Studio team for your creativity and keeping all that extra “author stuff” on a straight course.
From the very first page of the Remnant Chronicles we see a world where story sustains its inhabitants, and so I salute my fellow writers. It is not true there is no new story under the sun. You prove there is every day, with the new worlds and the new perspectives you create. Thank you for taking me on your journeys too. Story, like a hungry dragon, is one of those things that lasts, and maybe all that protects us from being eaten.
Special thanks to YA writers Marlene Perez, Melissa Wyatt, Alyson Noël, Marie Rutkoski, Robin LaFevers, and Jodi Meadows for support and advice. From manuscript critiques to virtual hugs and cookies, craft chats, cheerleading, and commiserations about the trials of writing a trilogy, you gave me much needed perspective. Many thanks to Stephanie Bodeen for fantasizing about goat cheese and other foods with me and challenging me to include an unlikely food—bacon-wrapped wienies—in the midst of a medieval world. The outpost foodie, Colonel Bodeen, was happy to oblige. Thank you to Jessica Butler and Karen Beiswenger for on-the-spot brainstorming, beta reads, and your wild musings about the Remnant world. You kept my brain spinning. I also want to thank Jill Rubalcaba, who offered advice on my first book and many thereafter. Her words of long ago when I was beginning the Jenna Fox book—you can do this—became my daily mantra to chase away doubt and push me to the finish line.
My family is the best, always my foundation: Karen, Ben, Jess, Dan, Ava, Emily, and sweet baby Leah, you’re the balance, the smiles, the true joys of my life.
My husband, Dennis, was nothing short of heroic in helping me finish this last book. He was truly a warrior who shielded me, carried me, fed me, massaged my shoulders, encouraged me, and protected me from falling into an exhausted coma. I could not love him more.
Finally, I lift a glass (a fine Morrighese vintage) to Rosemary Stimola, who has been my agent and friend for fifteen years. She is my Gandalf, my Yoda, my Dihara, a woman of uncommon strengths and wisdom. Without her, there would be no Remnant Chronicles. Thank you, Rosemary. You’re the real deal.