Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
I don’t know how long we sit there, staring into the abyss.
The bottom is too far below and too shrouded in darkness to see the moment of impact, but it must have happened, because the ground is eerily quiet and still.
If Soren had survived, he would already be climbing up the switchbacks to punish us.
These precarious cliffs would be crumbling beneath our feet.
But the night is perfectly calm. Clouds roll lazily across the star-swept sky.
And for the first time in ages, I release a full breath.
Alaric, on the other hand, makes painful gasping noises as he struggles for air. “I can’t believe he’s really gone,” he mumbles over and over again.
I squeeze his fingers tight and let him cry until he eventually runs out of tears and lowers his forehead to my shoulder.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I begin, choosing my words carefully, “but isn’t there a small part of you that’s relieved he’s gone? Or vindicated, perhaps? Didn’t you ever dream of getting justice for Besnik?”
“Sure, I thought about it, in my darkest moments,” Alaric admits. “But I never would have actually hurt my father. Like I told you a thousand times: I’m not a murderer. Or I wasn’t,” he corrects himself.
“You still aren’t. Soren drove himself over the ledge trying to kill you—for a second time. Even if you shoved him, it would have been warranted. You have no reason to feel guilty.”
Alaric’s face is moonstone pale, the shadows beneath his eyes amethyst purple.
“I know it doesn’t make sense. He killed my brother and lied to me, manipulated me, but he was still my father.
He taught me everything I know, and I do think he loved me, in his own way.
He undoubtedly loved our people. The Fortress has always been safe and prosperous under his rule.
Our people have job security and steady incomes. ”
“A good king doesn’t strip his people of memories and life essence, then hide the dying bodies in a makeshift hospital,” I say flatly.
Alaric’s face is pained. “He was obviously far from perfect, but so am I. I should have noticed how the memory deposits were affecting our people. I should have asked why we needed so much bagrava. Who’s to say I won’t be an even worse ruler than my father?
His councilors clearly don’t think I’m up to the task. They’ll never accept me as king.”
“Look at me.” I reach over and gently touch the side of Alaric’s face, turning his head until our eyes meet. “They won’t have a choice. You’re Soren’s rightful heir and the only one with the ability to move the earth.”
“There’s no law that states the person with power has to be the one in power.
It’s just always been that way, since my father and grandfather were strong, natural rulers.
But I’m not. The council will find ways to undermine and control me.
They’ll keep me caged like the beasts in the traveling minstrel shows. Force me to perform on command.”
“No, they won’t. We won’t let them—.”
Alaric lets out a shuddering cry. “How can I be the king my people need when I was never meant to rule Vanzador?”
I tighten my grip on his hand, trying to squeeze strength and confidence into him.
“But what if you were meant to rule?” I ask softly.
“What if you were always meant to be king, and that’s why the Gods of the Mountain blessed you with such a wonderful older brother—to teach you how to be kind and selfless and brave?
To show you a different way to lead so you’d be prepared to save your people from the memory sacrifices?
” I lower my voice to a reverent whisper.
“What would Besnik say if he were here? What would he want—for you and for Vanzador?”
Alaric is silent for so long, I fear I’ve overstepped. Then he says, “He would support me without question.”
I nod my agreement. “You’re more than up to this task. Most of your people have never doubted you, and the ones who have will come around once they open their eyes and see how dedicated, passionate, and hardworking you are. It’s impossible not to love you,” I add.
Alaric’s eyes slowly lift, finding mine from beneath his thick curtain of lashes. “What about you? Do you feel up to the task? If I am king, it means you are the queen of Vanzador.”
I swallow hard, hoping it will calm the anxiety churning like a sickness in my stomach.
The thought of ruling any country makes me nauseous.
I never thought I’d be queen of Tashir, let alone Vanzador.
Ruling isn’t something I ever wanted, but maybe, like Alaric, I’m the unexpected queen Vanzador needs.
There are good people on this mountain. People like Delphine and Elodie, who readily extended their friendship.
Who showed me it’s okay to trust and let people in.
And there are so many people I can help here, like the people drained of their life essence, in desperate need of bagrava.
And the miners, who have safer working conditions, thanks to my goblin’s gold.
Against all odds, I do believe I can be Vanzador’s queen—if I am brave enough to throw myself into the task wholeheartedly.
“Come on.” I brush off my skirt, haul myself to my feet, and extend a hand to Alaric, determined to be the strong one. Ready to lift him now, as he’s always lifted me. “We need to find your father’s body and carry it back to the Fortress before the city wakes.”
Alaric’s face goes ashen. “I can’t bear to see it. What will the guards say? They’ll think we killed him. They’ll—”
“They’ll thank you,” I interrupt, “when we show them the horrors of that makeshift hospital. When they learn the truth about Besnik’s death.”
“It feels so wrong, destroying everything he built,” Alaric whispers, staring off into the distance, at the sky slowly graying with dawn.
I lean up on my toes and press a gentle kiss to his lips. “He was the one destroying Vanzador. You are saving it.”
Hot tears slide down Alaric’s cheeks as he kisses me back. Then he takes my hand, and we wend our way down the mountain in thoughtful silence.
The search for Soren’s body is slow and arduous.
For some reason, I imagined finding him on an outcropping of stone, lying peaceful and unscathed, as if on a funeral pyre.
As strong in death as he was in life. But even with the power to move the earth, he was no match for its brutal strength in the end.
Jagged rocks ripped the king of Vanzador limb from limb as he fell, and the final impact obliterated everything that remained.
Alaric falls to his knees, retching, so I force down my own queasiness and collect what I can in my skirt. Then we make our way back up to the Fortress as the first rays of coral sunlight streak the sky.
Alaric’s breaths quicken and his steps falter as the spires of the castle take shape through the low-hanging clouds.
He looks like he’s marching to his execution, but I feel the opposite.
Without the threat of Soren looming over us like a storm cloud, the Fortress doesn’t look nearly as intimidating.
The palace, buildings, and even the behemoth wall are just structures made of stone.
The streets are pebble-packed earth. All of it as real and natural as the soil and grasses of Tashir.
We slip through the city wall and back inside the palace, which is thankfully still quiet with sleep.
“Go make yourself presentable,” I tell Alaric. “You need to address the people as soon as possible. I’ll have them gather in the industrial sector, near the secret hospital.”
Alaric blinks dazedly. “How will you manage that?”
“Delphine and Elodie will help me spread the word among the courtiers and servants. Then we’ll send runners into the city to inform the rest of the people.”
“What about my Father’s councilors? They won’t come if they know I’m the one that’s calling.”
“I’ll alert them myself. I’ll tell Von Nevus you and Soren got into an argument last night and lead him to believe the announcement has to do with Soren reprimanding you. They will happily gather to witness that.”
“And what happens when it doesn’t play out like that? When they realize…” His eyes drift down to the remains of his father in my skirt.
“They’ll have no choice but to fall in line. Now go.”
***
In less than an hour, the last of the miners are filing into the crowded streets, looking irritated and bewildered.
Word reached them just in time. A few minutes later, and they would have descended into the depths of the earth.
It would have taken hours to bring them all back to the surface, which would have left too much time for Soren’s councilors to start asking questions.
They stand in a line of blue robes at the head of the square, arms crossed and faces stern, pretending not to be as curious as the sleep-tousled courtiers, who are too busy whispering to worry about their rumpled gowns and mussed hair for once.
Behind the courtiers, vendors and shopkeepers chatter amongst themselves, while Delphine and the other palace servants exchange whispers and furtive glances.
I shoot my maid a grateful smile from where I stand beside Alaric and Queen Tessa, on the balcony of a factory adjacent to the hospital.
I search out Elodie’s face, too, and blow her a kiss.
None of this would have been possible without their quick feet, far-reaching connections, and unwavering trust.