Chapter Forty-Nine
The streets of Faros are blanketed in a thin dusting of ash, not from the fighting, which has ceased, but swept in by the winds, bringing some of the ashes of Avaris onto the fields and floodplains of the Mara.
When we return to the palace courtyard on Kira’s back, we find it empty. I reach out with my feelings—Ronan’s power, now completely my own—and find the others in the ballroom, gathered by the windows watching the aftermath of our actions as the swollen banks of the Mara recede.
A tentative peace seems to have formed in our absence. Seth chatters away at Adria, who stands tensely among her guards and commanders. Taran regards her suspiciously as Octavia and Quinn joke loudly near the doors to the balcony, disturbing a group in the corner who are praying, Cyrus among them.
“Sir,” says Taran, spotting us first. He rushes over, checking us for wounds.
“My gods, Ronan, what happened?” asks Quinn. “Are we safe?”
“What happened here?” I ask. The others in the room gather to hear our conversation, Adria and her people keeping a careful distance.
“It all happened so fast,” says Quinn. “The sky went red, the ground shook, there was a huge explosion in the distance, the river flooded, there was lightning everywhere. We thought you were right, Sylvie. We thought we were all going to die.” She glances at Adria with a look that makes me desperate to know what they all did when they thought the end was near.
I imagine we’ll be hearing about the impacts of that moment for years.
“Taran begged me to fly out to you on Bitey, and I tried, but there was a massive gust of wind. I barely got him back here.”
“But he’s alright?” Ronan asks.
“He’s fine. He’s running messages to the legions. We all agreed to stand down until we knew what was happening.”
Another look at Adria. Clearly this ceasefire was not her idea, even though she’s the one who benefits the most from it.
“Is it over?” asks Taran.
I look at Ronan, and he nods. “It is. The Machair Plains have been restored.”
That earns a reaction from the room. Several people begin speaking at once, but Ronan holds up his hand to quiet them. “All will be explained, but it’s true: the Machair Plains are arable once more.” He looks at Adria. “Are we your prisoners? Or will you negotiate?”
“What of the ash?” she asks. “What happened to Nithyria?”
“Nothing. Nithyria stands as it ever was. But the ash will no longer be needed, not in the same quantity, at least.” The ash still has use in making silver, but with our own food supply, there should be much less need for it. “Gold alchemy is over in Selara.”
Another wild reaction. “Over?” asks Seth. “As in?”
“As in I released it,” I say. I don’t reveal the existence of the phoenix: if anyone else finds out what it’s capable of, it will be hunted to the ends of the earth.
All eyes turn to Adria as she considers her next move. She has all of us here in the palace outnumbered. She could take us prisoner, forcing the other commanders to the negotiating table to surrender, or she could even execute us and continue the war, hunting our forces down to the last man.
But when I look at my sister, her head sagging under the weight of the crown and the weight of the world, the death of our mother by her hands hanging heavy on her shoulders, I can see the fight has gone out of her. “I’m ready to negotiate.”
In the end, Adria surrenders once more, the cause she fought for now guaranteed, and the loss of at least one of our parents no longer avengeable. She relinquishes her title as God-Queen and Head of House Verran, passing the latter title to my brother.
He tries to relinquish it to me immediately, and I nearly accept because as much as I love him, the thought of him running our house and rebuilding Nithyria terrifies me, but I have far too much to be responsible for already.
“You can handle it,” I assure him as we sit around the war-council table once more for the final negotiations.
“You’ll spend most of your time at court anyway.
” This is true, not just because Ronan intends to keep his court closer from now on, formalizing them and a panel of representatives of the common folk into an advisory council, but also because Taran will be going with him, at least in the beginning to help manage relations with the Orsa.
“Am I dismissed from your service, sir?” asks Taran, his voice shy.
“If you’d like to be.” He lowers his voice so that only those of us closest can hear him. “You’ve served me for years. Wouldn’t you rather stand beside me as a friend and advisor? My ambassador to the Orsa?”
There’s something else in what Ronan says, and I can sense in Taran’s feelings that he has understood it: wouldn’t you rather go be happy with the man you love?
“I suppose so.”
A smile flashes across Seth’s face. “Oh, thank the gods. I’m going to need someone to handle the land negotiations. And the market suppliers. And the defenses—”
“On second thought, I’d prefer to remain in your service, your majesty.”
“Don’t you dare.” Seth kisses Taran over his protests, and we all groan when their kiss deepens. “I don’t want to hear a damn word from you, sister. Not after what I’ve had to put up with.”
“Why would she complain? I’m having a great time,” says Quinn, her chin resting on her hands like she’s watching the best show on earth.
Adria coughs from across the table, embarrassed by all of us and ready to be out of here.
“What will you do with your freedom?” asks Quinn, her voice bitter. “I still think you ought to sentence her to a few years of hard labor at least.” I notice that despite her continuous barbs at Adria, she never suggests her execution.
No one does except Cyrus, who points out that being involved in one rebellion and leading a second isn’t a forgivable offense, but Ronan silences him by reminding him of the legions still at her command and his own offenses that he has been forgiven for.
“I don’t know what I’ll do,” says Adria in a surprising display of candor. “This war has been my entire life. I don’t know who I am without it.”
“You could always consider a life at sea,” says Octavia. “Mama Adama’s Third Navy will be looking for more captains.” We received word from Quinn that Mama Adama has assumed command of Felix’s mercenary fleet in exchange for sparing his life.
“At sea? But we’ll be at sea,” says Quinn. She has accepted a new position as one of Ronan’s naval ambassadors, working with Typhon to negotiate new trade and defense deals with our overseas allies in the wake of the market upheaval.
“It’s a big sea,” says Octavia, laughing.
“Not big enough,” says Adria. The three of them look at each other with an alarming amount of tension. Even in their feelings, the mixture of sexual and interpersonal pressures is so intricately tangled that I can’t tell who they want to fuck from who they want to kill.
Maybe it’s as Quinn said. Is there anyone hotter than someone who hates you?
Six weeks later, I follow Ronan into a carriage, my gown of white silk lifted inside by Elia of House Grana, my new personal bodyguard.
It’s day three of the royal wedding celebrations, and I’m so done with all of the pomp and circumstance that I’m about to suggest to Ronan that he abdicate the throne and give it to Seth, anything to avoid another blessing at another temple or another honorary luncheon with a member of court.
The church and the Guild and the court have all rallied around Ronan’s victory, claiming that they knew he would be restored to his rightful position.
The church especially is keen to be in his good graces, having witnessed the power of the God-King’s ties to Vayla personally from within their ivory towers and regretting their choice to crown someone else in his place.
Ronan welcomes them all back into the fold, but he keeps one eye open.
We travel the road from the palace to the arena, almost one year to the day of the end of the Festival of Sport. There, Ronan placed a laurel wreath on my head and crowned me his Champion of the Bow.
This time, I’ll be wearing a different crown.
The arena roars as we enter, the great stone torches lighting up stands that are filled all the way to the sky. Queen Claudia squeezes my hand as we circle the stadium floor, smiling warmly. “A new queen for Selara. I had hoped I’d live to see this day.”
“Thank you. I hope I’m ready.” I peer from the carriage window, surprised at the wave of fear that overcomes me.
I’ve been addressed as “Queen Sylvie” by the servants and guards since we returned to the palace, but tonight, I officially become the queen in front of all of the people.
“You are more than ready,” says Ronan. He bends across the carriage and brushes his lips to mine, tucking a loose strand of my hair into place. “How many queens can claim to have saved their lands before their rule even began?”
“I just don’t want to let them down.”
“Of course you’ll let them down,” says Claudia. “No one is perfect. But if anyone looks at what the two of you did for us and isn’t grateful, you can send them to me, and I’ll tell them exactly where to shove it.”
“Grandmother!”
I follow Ronan from the carriage onto the stage, shamelessly ogling his ass in his black Selaran silks as he walks, which earns me a whispered, “Those aren’t very queenlike feelings, your majesty,” and the slow trail of a hand down my spine that makes me shiver with desire.
Quinn waves at me from beside the stage in the royal box.
She’s siting between Taran and Typhon, the latter having arrived recently on a ship from Pyka.
Beside them is Guild Mistress Hypatia and Xu Fushi, both found in a jail near the palace market in the week after the siege ended, and Karis Brennzeter as representative of the Orsa.