The ancient Cerulean smiled. “My place is here,” she said. “Go.”
They fled back the way they had come, through the maze of rooms and out into the lush green trees. The warships had aimed their cannons at the Alcazar and ships carrying the Renalt’s Misarros were being rowed to shore. The Byrne Misarros were racing from the clandestines to confront them. So much fighting, so much death, Agnes thought. Over nothing.
“We have to stop this,” she said to Leo. But he was staring in the opposite direction. “What?” she asked, turning.
The Byrne Misarros who had come with Ambrosine were all kneeling, placing their weapons on the ground at Agnes’s feet.
“We are at your service,” said the leader, a woman with graying spikes and sinewy arms. “We will fight and die for you, Agnes Byrne.”
“By the goddesses,” Eneas gasped. “You are the matriarch now.”
He looked proud, but Agnes didn’t feel anything except light-headed and confused.
Matthias seemed to understand. “Ambrosine is dead,” he said gently, placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Culinnon is yours now. These Misarros serve the Byrnes. They serve you.”
“I don’t want to be served by anyone,” Agnes protested.
“Let us not be making any hasty decisions,” Vada said. “We are still having the Renalt to contend with.”
That was a good point. Agnes could deal with the fact that she didn’t want to be a matriarch later. “Please,” she said to the Misarros, feeling horribly awkward. “You can stand, it’s all right. We—we’ve got to get off this island.”
“Our fleet is yours,” the head Misarro said. “This way.”
She led them down the winding path, an easier journey than the climb had been, though nearly as long. The sound of cannon fire chased their steps, along with the shouts from both Renalt and Byrne forces alike. They reached the beach and Agnes stopped short. Misarros were locked in combat, swords and knives flashing, whips cracking, spears flying through the air.
If Agnes was the head of these Misarros, they should have to listen to her. “This isn’t what I want,” she said to the leader. “I don’t want them to fight. Ambrosine’s dead. There’s no power or wealth on this island. There’s nothing to fight over anymore.”
The Misarro gave her a curt nod. “Halt!” she cried out, running toward the fray. “Drop your weapons, by order of the matriarch!”
The other Misarros followed, but they were only pulled into the fighting instead of ending it, as the Renalt Misarros focused their attacks on the newcomers.
“No,” Agnes moaned. She had lost her best friend and her grandmother, and the weight of her grief, of the unfairness of it all, ripped out of her in a wild, untamed cry. “Stop fighting!” She began sprinting toward the fray, sand flying up beneath her heels. “Stop!”
Someone behind her called, “Agnes!” but then her brother was running in time with her. Though his face was expressionless, Agnes could see the pain in his eyes, the agony of Sera’s loss fresh within him. He didn’t cry out to stop the fighting—he didn’t speak at all, and Agnes had the sense that he was here simply to be by her side, to protect her in any way he could. A spear whizzed by her head and a dagger shot past Leo, grazing his shoulder, a fine line of bright red blood seeping through his shirt. Just as Agnes thought, Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, there was a flash of light on the beach in front of her. Then another. And another.
The cannons ceased and the fighting stopped as the beach was suddenly filled with Cerulean.
Half the Misarros stood stunned, eyes wide and mouths agape, the other half readying their weapons as if waiting for the knot of silver-skinned women to attack. The Cerulean seemed just as surprised as the humans, taking in Agnes’s world with its blue sky and white sand and salty water as if spellbound.
“Sera!” Leo cried. And there she was, her head turning at the sound of his voice and they were running to each other, and Agnes was running too. Leo and Sera crashed into each other, and Agnes’s brother was shaking with joy.
“You’re here,” he gasped as Agnes caught up with them, panting. She realized her family had followed her, Matthias and Hektor, along with Vada and Eneas.
“I couldn’t leave you in danger,” Sera said. “And we must give back what we took from the planet.”
“So many of you came,” Agnes said. Matthias took off his glasses and wiped them on his sleeve, as if the Cerulean might be a mirage.
“I am taking it things went well with your High Priestess?” Vada asked.
“She will not be High Priestess much longer,” Sera said grimly as Leela hurried up to them.
“Sera, what should we do?” she asked. “Are the humans going to hurt us?”
Agnes felt resolve set in, strong and steady. “No,” she said. Then she called out, “Byrne Misarros!” The warriors with golden disks at their necks all turned. “I command you to drop your weapons and cease this fight.”
For a moment nobody moved and Agnes felt her confidence begin to crack. Then Matthias stepped forward.
“Ambrosine is dead,” he shouted.
And to Agnes’s utter shock, Hektor strode up next to him.
“Agnes is the Byrne matriarch now,” he said. “You will do as she commands.”
One by one the Byrne Misarros dropped their weapons and fell to their knees. The Renalt Misarros didn’t seem to know what to do. Then Agnes saw them begin to kneel as well and wondered just how powerful a being the Byrne matriarch was, until she saw a woman stepping off a small boat and striding up the beach toward her.
“The Renalt,” Vada gasped, and then she was kneeling too, and Matthias and Hektor and Eneas. Leo and Agnes looked at each other and knelt in the sand alongside them. Only the Cerulean remained standing.
“Rise,” the Renalt said. Agnes stood and found herself looking at a woman in her late forties, with brown skin and liquid black eyes. She was clad in an elegant gown of glittering, champagne-colored beads, a crown of oyster shells nestled in her thick dark hair. A silver cape streamed out from her shoulders and she held a small scepter in one hand, topped with a smooth white dosinia.
The Renalt cocked her head. “So you are Alethea’s daughter,” she said. She looked at Leo. “And you are very clearly her son.”
“I am,” Agnes said as Leo gave a swift nod.
“Matthias,” the Renalt said, acknowledging him with a flicker of her eyes.
“Your Grace,” Matthias said.
The Renalt gazed down at them all imperiously. She turned to Sera and Leela with the same expression Agnes had seen on Ambrosine’s face, a famished greed.
“It appears that my daughter and her guard did not exaggerate,” she said. “You are all Saifa incarnate.” Sera opened her mouth to protest, but the Renalt was snapping her fingers. “Arrest them,” she said, and her Misarros leaped at her command. “The silver ones too. We will sort them out in Banrissa.” She gave Agnes a hard, discerning look. “It seems as though the Byrne stranglehold over this country is finally at an end.”
“No!” Agnes cried as the Cerulean stumbled away, confused, and the Misarros moved toward her, and then her own Misarros were picking up their weapons to defend her. “Ambrosine is dead and I’m not the woman she was at all. I don’t want to fight you and I don’t want to rule over anything. Please just . . . let us go. There’s nothing on this island for any of us—no power, no riches. And we are no threat to you.”