into the physical landscape of the island, seeking out the damages. I flinched from those aching wounds, and had to exercise my will to stay focused on them, like holding my hand to hot flame while it burned me. It was one thing to hear the stories, to read the list of damages, to observe the changes on the map, and another to feel them for myself.
Once lovely Cradysica still smoked in places where the forest had burned. The hillside temple, the docks, and so many other once gracious buildings were in rubble. But they were no longer the worst off. I studied the low marshlands on the western side of Calanthe, where flooding continued unabated, several villages perhaps permanently consigned to the sea. At least eight of the smaller islands off the northern shore had vanished under the waves. And I made myself look long and hard at the eastern cliffs—fortunately sparsely populated—which had sheared off entirely, leaving a raw wound of a new and jagged coastline.
This is what you wrought, I reminded myself—both me the queen and my larger self of the island. This is the price we paid for our role in the revolution. It would be up to me to do everything I could to ensure that the price bought us a world worth having.
Kicking off my heels, I knelt down to splay my hands over the eastern cliffs. They were unstable still, with huge boulders shuddering down, and slowly drying mudslides settling into villages in the valleys inland.
The orchid ring fluttered, acting like a smaller extension of my mind, allowing me to reach into that part of the land. I found the weakness in the rocks, where they slid in different directions, perilously close to shearing off in greater chunks, and with careful attention, I knit them together again.
It felt like healing my own body, mending the break, sending the healing energy to stabilize and strengthen. Satisfied, I knelt up, pleased to have done at least one small thing to fix my realm.
“Your Highness?”
I turned to find Ibolya waiting, noted the sun had risen quite a bit. “Am I late?”
“Not quite yet, but the others are already congregating in the Sand Salon.”
“Understood.” Standing, I slipped on my heels again, Ibolya kneeling to lace them for me.
She glanced up at me, tentative. “Your other ladies have returned and seek an audience.”
I hadn’t expected them so soon. “All of them?”
“Yes, Your Highness. They await Your pleasure. Would You like to interview them?”
“No need. They may escort Me to the Sand Salon.” I would make use of them, and I would be wiser in the doing of it. I only wished it didn’t hurt my heart so much to contemplate how short-lived their affection for me had been. The lesson I was to learn, apparently, the depths and shallows of love and loyalty. Besides which, their presence would liberate Ibolya, who deserved that opportunity. “I’ll meet with them later to discuss their expanded duties.”
“Them, but not me, Your Highness?” Ibolya asked.
“You are released from My service,” I told her with an affectionate smile. “I expect heroic tales.”
“Oh, I doubt it will be anything like that, Your Highness.” But her eyes sparkled with excitement, and I envied her a little.
16
I’d just come up from the shipyard and was wandering the palace looking for this meeting place mentioned in Lia’s message when I heard the fanfare of her approach. Excellent timing, as I’d been close to asking a page to take me to the Sand Salon—whatever under Sawehl’s gaze that might be. Sounded like a beach. Knowing Calanthe, it could well be.
Lia rounded the corner, accompanied by all five of her ladies. Interesting. It was also surprisingly good to see her back to her usual pageantry—ironic, as I’d chafed over it so much before. But hearing the music, the people calling out salutations to their queen, and seeing Lia strolling elegantly through her palace, so clearly in her element … Well, it was good. It was how things should be.
She’d dressed up, kind of a combination of what she’d done before. The gown caught my eye first—it was hard to miss—as the skirt part fell around her like the closed wings of a butterfly. The uneven hem billowed around her slender legs, making her seem like she could take flight. It looked just like one of Calanthe’s giant butterflies, too, with the black lines that bordered panels of intense color. I’d seen butterflies like that in the gardens, with pinks