“Besides wreak havoc on my city again?”
“How would I do that?” Other than exploding water fountains, what can this elven body I’ve inhabited do?
“You think I’m going to give you detailed instructions?”
“As if they’d be of any use to me.” I have no interest in attacking Cirilea. I just want to better understand how it all works. “What about you?”
“What about me?” A pause. “Oh, that’s right, I heard you’ve been interrogating anyone who might listen,” he says dryly.
I steal a glance Elisaf’s way and find his focus ahead. Do they all repeat everything I say to Zander?
I change the subject. “Where are we going?”
Zander gives the rein a tug to guide the horse to the right, the move causing his biceps to brush against mine. “To parade the princess of Ybaris around Cirilea. It’s time everyone knows you are alive and well, and the best way to do that quickly is by allowing the people to see you.”
“And why do you want them to know? Why do you care if people think I’m dead?” What use does Zander have of me?
“Because I want people to see that you are still here, within the royal court, and close to me.” I’m acutely aware of him leaning in, his voice dropping an octave. “Few know what happened, and of your memory affliction. Only those I trust with the truth. We’ve heard that Queen Neilina has been frantically searching for proof of your survival, so perhaps your dear mother does love you after all. We are assuming she is ignorant to the fact that you no longer remember who you are.”
“You believe me?”
“I believe Wendeline.”
And she’s mostly right, I feel the urge to say but bite my tongue. She doesn’t have all the details. “And what happens after word spreads that I’m alive?”
“I am expecting those who helped you before will believe you’ve convinced me that you are innocent of any wrongdoing, that you were merely a scapegoat for Queen Neilina.”
It clicks. “You want to draw them out.”
“Eventually, they will find a way to contact you again. When they do, we will punish them accordingly.”
A thought strikes me. “Did your soldiers find anything at Lyndel?”
“Yes. Lord Telor’s army, ready to defend us against Ybaris.”
I feel my shoulders slump.
“Were you hoping for another outcome? Perhaps to find one of my strongest allies had turned on me?” he asks. He senses my disappointment, but he has misread it.
“No, it’s good. I just … with everything I’ve heard about what happened that night, and what Princess Romeria did to you—”
“What you did to me,” he corrects.
“Right.” Leading him on, making him think she was in love with him. “I was hoping that what I remembered might have been helpful. For you.” Which, in turn, might be helpful for me.
He’s quiet for a long moment. “There are mountains north of the stronghold that the Ybarisans could be using without Lord Telor’s knowledge.”
“So, you might still find them there?”
“If we looked. We could expend efforts trying to ferret them out, but we are otherwise occupied with protecting the border from an invasion from Ybaris in retaliation for killing their princess and their king.”
Even though I’m alive, and Queen Neilina killed her own husband. “Do you think they’ll invade?”
“I think your mother is desperate for our land, but if she can find a way that doesn’t guarantee mass casualties in battle, she will be searching for it. Our best plan is to wait for your kinfolk trapped within Islor to make their next move. They cannot get back across the rift, and with no more than two hundred of them left, they cannot win against my army on their own.”
He sounds so confident, but is it an act?
Ahead of us, the street we’re traversing meets another livelier one where the buzz of voices carries and pedestrians mill about, their arms laden with breads and flowers.
“What is that?”
“The market. Those within the city and neighboring towns gather here to buy and sell produce from their gardens and wares from their forges and such.”
I smile as I think of hot summer days walking along the crowded, narrow aisles of the Saturday market back home. It feels like an eternity ago that I left. I’m sure my potted plants on the windowsill have all shriveled from lack of water. Rent is long past due. Has my landlord been by to collect? He must realize I’m missing by now. Would he have reported it? Does anyone care that I’m gone?
“I have a proposition for you, Romeria,” Zander says, cutting into my thoughts. “Or rather, you have a choice to make. At the end of this ride, you can go back to your confinement, continue being a prisoner of Islor, waiting with bated breath day after day for an escorted stroll through the grounds, hoping I don’t lock your windows and take away your bird’s-eye view of the happenings of the Islorian court. Or you can help me safeguard the strength of Islor and gain some semblance of freedom in the process.”
Prisoner or freedom—whatever that means in this world. But he must know it’s an especially delectable candy to dangle. He’s been spoon-feeding me tiny mouthfuls of a life outside my walls, and already I’m pacing each morning like a well-trained dog, impatient for more. How long has Zander been scheming about this “choice” he would give me? Is it only recently, or has it all been part of a carefully orchestrated plan since the day he condemned me to my rooms?
I grit my teeth against the bubble of resentment that flares. What is it with these people offering me lopsided choices? First Korsakov, then Sofie, now Zander.
But Sofie’s words echo in my head, a reminder: You will have to earn your way in, which will take time. Did she know the kind of dilemma she would be dropping me into? Is this what she meant? That I somehow would have to win over a king who I have deeply betrayed in the most unforgivable of ways?
“Do you need time to consider?” Zander asks, annoyance in his tone.
“No, I’ll help you.” Yet again, I don’t see myself as having any choice. At least this time, there is more honor in what is being asked of me than stealing trinkets from the rich. I feel no allegiance to any of these people. I have one task, and no one has so much as hinted that they suspect it. So, let Zander think I’m focusing only on helping him while I help myself by finding a way into that nymphaeum. “What do I need to do?”
“To begin, remove that stick against your spine and make it look like you wouldn’t rather be dwelling at the bottom of the sea than sharing a horse with me.”
I process his words with a frown. If we are to pretend that I was an innocent victim in Queen Neilina’s schemes, then it would mean … My skin tingles. “You want people to think we’re still together?” That the king is still interested in Princess Romeria. I peer down at my hand, at the gold in my ring that glints in the sun. Not just interested.
Still engaged to be married.
Is this why he never took away my ring?
“You think that’ll work? That people will buy it?” I ask doubtfully.
“The alternative is implausible.”
That he would embrace a woman who murdered his parents and nearly toppled his kingdom. “Right. I guess.”