I snort. “Something tells me I won’t be allowed out to enjoy the city’s nightlife.”
“Perhaps you are right.” He dips his head. “The night I was attacked, I had spent the evening at the Goat’s Knoll in a jug of mead, and I was on my way to my room. The immortal grabbed me in an alleyway outside the tavern. I had no servant’s cuff, so I was fair game as far as he was concerned. Things were different back then. I tried fighting him off, but he was too strong and I too inebriated.
“Zander came upon us. He was in the city that night, prowling in the shadows amidst the commoners as he sometimes used to do. He stopped my attacker, but it was already too late. The man had infected me.”
I file away that tidbit on Zander. “Why?”
Elisaf shrugs. “I did not ask him.”
“What happened?”
“My attacker suffered a public and vicious execution. It was meant to be a peace offering to the Seacadorians. Islor’s relationship with them is important, and their people need to feel safe. I was no longer allowed to return home. Seacadore may enjoy trade with us, but they certainly don’t want us on their lands. Zander took pity on me. He helped me through the adjustment period, and I became a soldier for the royal guard.”
“So he can be caring.”
“He can. Though, dare I say, you knew that already, did you not?”
With Corrin, with his mercy for Boaz, with his kindness toward the hobbled old man in the rookery. “He’s using me,” I remind Elisaf, as if to sway the pendulum back in a more comfortable direction, where Zander has no appealing qualities. It dawns on me. “This is why you don’t have an affinity.”
“Because I was born by infection, not by the nymphaeum’s power,” he confirms.
I hesitate. “Do you prefer this? Being what you are?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes not. I do not care for the way mortals are treated here.” His brow furrows deeply. “I remember my life in Seacadore, sitting across from my parents and sisters at the dinner table, discussing what paths we might choose. They seemed endless. The mortals here do not sit around the table, having those same discussions. Outside of fantasy, of course.”
“Maybe you should talk to your friend the king about that.” He is part of the problem and could be the solution.
“Do not assume Zander does not take issue with the system currently in place.”
“Right. He’s appalled by it. I could tell last night.” Though that slave didn’t look miserable about her predicament.
“It is complicated.”
“It isn’t, really. The immortals were taught that they can take what they need, and two thousand years later, the humans kneel, or they die, but either way, they bleed.”
“I suppose when you put it like that, it does sound rather simple.” He sighs. “There have been uprisings. Mortals have fought for the end of the tributary system. The last time ended poorly for them. The immortals are too strong.”
“But with the king’s support, they could win. If he truly has an issue with it, why doesn’t he do something?”
“You believe he wields a magic wand with that title.” Elisaf’s brown eyes search our surroundings, as if to ensure ears aren’t following our conversation. “For years, Zander has spoken of an Islor where the mortals are given a choice, and their blood serves as their own commodity rather than that of a keeper’s. The mortals support him wholeheartedly. Some immortals do, in theory. Others vehemently oppose. He tried convincing his father to bring about change. King Eachann thought him radical. He went as far as to tell Zander that he agreed with him, but it would never happen in Islor, and trying to make it so would spell ruin for their reign.
“Now Zander is king, and the court knows where he stands. Tension is growing with those who oppose him. They fear giving the humans too much sovereignty will threaten Islor’s well-being. Others are not keen on the idea of parting with their coin to entice their household to stay.”
“And they can’t find a way where everyone gets what they want?”
Elisaf’s smile is patient. “Unfortunately, many of our kind have not been blessed with such an altruistic nature. But when it is a matter of survival, selflessness is harder to come by, and justifications are much easier. That is true of our kind, but also of any other.”
Indignation pricks me. I know a thing or two about survival and justification. I’d spent years justifying every wallet, dollar, and jewel I plucked from the unsuspecting. It was easier than attempting a different way of life. It doesn’t mean I didn’t know that what I was doing was wrong.
At least all I was stealing was material things.
These immortals are stealing people’s lives.
But Elisaf’s explanation helps me understand more about the dynamic of this place. “Is this why Zander thinks someone is rallying Islorians against him?”
“They fear his plans for Islor.” He nods. “Tensions in the realm were already high when Eachann tendered the queen’s throne to a Ybarisan who has no idea what it’s like to be one of us. Couple that with a king who would prefer to forget what he is, and you have adversaries bold enough to begin making moves.”
Elisaf’s words settle uncomfortably on my shoulders, especially when they’re paired with Zander’s.
Let you live in our skin for a few hours.
Let you know what it’s like to be at the mercy of that craving.
The elusiveness.
The discretion.
The way he bristled at being compared to a daaknar.
Zander may radiate arrogance, but he takes no pride in what he is, a realization that stirs my pity.
“Are you feeling well, Your Highness? Your cheeks are flushed.”
“I’m fine.” I wave off his concern. “It’s a hundred degrees in this dress. I need to get it off before I pass out.” I tug at the collar to emphasize my discomfort. “I’m going to strangle Corrin.”
Elisaf chuckles. “I will take you to your rooms for your midday meal and so that you may change and not assault your lady maid. Annika has offered to escort you through the grounds afterward. The king thought you might like that.”
I would have, before I learned what she is. Now? I guess I still might. There is something decidedly real about Annika that I appreciate, even if she loathes me. Besides, she can’t hurt me. I’m toxic to her. To all of them. There’s solace in that.
But right now, I need a moment alone to process the truths about this world that have been dumped in my lap. “Maybe after I’ve changed and rested. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Did I sleep at all?
His brow pinches with concern. “Very well, Your Highness.”
I’m collecting my skirts so I can manage the stairs without tripping when a man yells, “Halt!”
Elisaf and I turn to see three soldiers marching toward us at a rushed pace.
My wariness stirs. “What’s going on?”
“I do not know.” Elisaf steps forward. “What is this, soldier?”
All three bend at the waist before the one in front announces, “The king has requested Princess Romeria’s presence before the court.”
“Again?” I blurt. I was there yesterday.