Sterling (18 page)

Erich took hold of my upper arms. “Sterling! Heirs! Do you—what if—could you be carrying one? Now?” He stared at my middle in such a way that I wanted to curl up and hide.

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Of course, it’s too soon. You’ll tell me, though? Write to me as soon as you know, either way? Sterling, if you’re pregnant, Costas will have to let us marry.”

Speaking of such matters so openly made me uncomfortable. “Erich, I really don’t think I am with child.” Though how I would know, no one had ever seen fit to tell me. I figured it was just something one knew.

He slid his hands around my waist. “We have another chance to change that.”

* * *

A
Dragonnaire approached
where I stood on the main Palace walk. Costas had demanded we leave at sunrise.

The night before in the Emerald Garden, Erich had promised he would rise to see me off no matter the early hour. In the bright light of dawn, I couldn’t stop thinking about our time there, even as the Dragonnaire handed over my horse’s reins.

I adjusted Stesi’s too-large riding habit and mounted the animal. Costas waited at the gate, surrounded by Dragonnaires in their plain grey uniforms.

Erich had kissed me as the Emerald Garden had faded into night around us. He’d had no ropes, but he’d held my wrists over my head throughout his lovemaking, pinning them to the green crystal ground. Only as he’d finished, he’d let his hands glide down my face, my neck, my chest. I’d wound my arms around his shoulders, so softly. He’d gone still, but he’d let me hold him.

He had allowed me to touch him. I hadn’t wanted it to end.

But eventually he had peeled himself away, murmuring. “We both need rest, Sterling. We have long rides ahead of us.”

He had gone to his room; I to mine, though I had not slept for even a moment. How could I? I was beginning to believe that Erich Talata might truly love me. Me—ugly, shy, useless Sterling Ricknagel.

As my mount shifted restlessly beneath me, I searched the steps of the Palace, waiting for him to emerge, to wave, even if he could not kiss me goodbye in front of Costas.

Costas directed his mount alongside mine. Moments ago in the receiving hall I’d endured the long farewell kiss he’d shared with Leila.

“Looking for Lord Erich?” Costas said, smirking.
How did he know?
He scanned my face, no doubt reading far more than I ever intended. I had no guile. “He won’t come. You’ve decided to take off your cosmetics, I see. Did Lord Erich ever see your face without them?”

“Yes,” I stared at the ground.

“Really? Then I can’t imagine what he was thinking, offering for you.” He said it to hurt me; he could have no other reason. I’d seen him trapped and helpless, wound up in magic that had rendered him powerless. I’d seen his secret shame, so he had to poke at mine.

“I can’t, either.” I turned away from the Palace.

As Costas said, Erich wasn’t coming.

Costas spurred his horse, taking off at a reckless pace along the broad boulevard leading away from the Palace. I could only follow.

“
M
any of your
father’s men have deserted,” Costas told me. We had arrived at Ricknagel Manor, that fierce bulwark of stone and wrought iron, to find the place crawling with Dragonnaires. Even my own rooms had been turned inside out. Upstairs, all my beautiful maps had been manhandled, as if they could have contained evidence of treachery. Yet I couldn’t show my fury. Costas had summoned me to Papa’s salon—his new office of command. It pained me to see him there, pacing across Papa’s fine carpet in his dusty boots. Why hadn’t he brushed them off?

“Deserted?” I finally found my voice. I couldn’t imagine Papa’s men deserting. Honor was their creed above all else.

“Deserted and disappeared.”

Galen and the mage, Taz Ballestos, both stood behind Costas. Kyro, my father’s personal mage and closest friend, remained missing. I doubted we’d see him again. He’d never swear fealty to Costas Galatien, though both Galen and Taz had under duress. I did not blame them, though neither man could meet my gaze.

“We have to organize those who remain.” Costas seemed oblivious to the tension. “Lady Ricknagel, you’ll need to make an appearance at the main garrison to announce House Ricknagel’s surrender and explain that the Ricknagel troops are now under my command. We shall make you an honorary general in order to ease the sting of defeat.”

Was he mad? Me, a general? Me, speaking publicly to the Ricknagel army? “Can’t I write a letter and have someone read it? Mage Ballestos was my father’s top general—”

“Absolutely not,” Costas bit out. “It must be you. They must see the Head of House transfer power to me. We leave for the garrison in a quarter hour.” He shooed me from the room as though I were a chambermaid.

My heart raced as I contemplated speaking to Papa’s men. I’d never been good at such things—speaking at a dinner table had proven troublesome enough for me in the past. I hated to be the object of close attention; it usually sent me into a panic. I raced to my bedroom upstairs and found the Emerald Ophira in my reticule. I ran its smooth curve over my marred cheek. Serafina had once said:
What you think shapes the world. The stories you tell yourself in your head matter. Do not let the opinions of others rule you. Make your own world, and start with what you believe about yourself.

“You can do this.” I forced myself to believe it. “Take deep breaths and speak from the belly.” The oratory coach Papa had hired for Stesi and me had always said the best way to project one’s voice was to “speak from the belly and allow the sound to resonate inside the torso, like an opera singer.” Of course, in the days of magic, spells had amplified voices. I would have no such tricks.

I planned the outline of what I would say, still tracing the Ophira over my face. Despite the fact that magic was ostensibly broken, I imagined the green stone grew warm and vital in my hands, lending me necessary strength.

* * *

A
Dragonnaire
and Galen escorted Costas and me to the Shankar garrison.

I looked around at the city eagerly; it was my first opportunity to see how my people fared after the war.

They seemed happy. The common Ricknagel citizens, who wanted only stability and security, did not appear to think twice about accepting a Galatien king again, but my father’s army would be a different story. They would have to be commanded, and only the threat of the Eastern Empire would be enough to unite them beneath the Galatien banner again.

My breasts hurt; my throat hurt; my chest tightened with anxiety. I had to address the troops with my red birthmark bared for all to see. That was how they would know me.

Finally I stood above the amassed remnants of the Ricknagel army on the garrison balcony. Fully half our soldiers had died or disappeared in the war. I squeezed the Emerald Ophira in my gown’s hidden pocket. Warm waves of comfort surged up my arm, calming my stuttering breath. I was too overset to consider why the stone had magic. Last time I’d checked it, it had looked as dull as all other magical works.

Costas, in full regalia, stepped to my side.

My mouth went dry. “Believe in yourself,” I muttered.
From the belly
, the oratory coach said in my memory.

I stared out over the soldiers. These were Papa’s loyal men, and they deserved to hear from me. We all had duties to perform.

I stepped forward, palms sweating, legs trembling. The soldiers let out a deafening roar. “Ster-ling! Ster-ling! Ster-ling!”

I swallowed my shock, though I couldn’t fathom why they were so excited. I chanced a look at Costas. A muscle flickered in his clenched jaw.

It seemed they would continue shouting forever. I raised my hand, hoping they’d calm. Instead, they went mad, cheering and raising their fists in response.

I dropped my hand.

“Remember your duty,” Costas hissed. His eyes glared, tiger-bright. I faced the crowd again and relaxed my breathing muscles and my throat.

When I opened my mouth to speak, I threw my voice over the yard. “Men! Ricknagel soldiers!” I shouted without a tremble.
Strong and steady, Starry
, Papa said in my head.

It took a moment, but the soldiers in front heard me, and a hush traveled through the crowd.

“Good men,” I called. This time my voice shook. I inhaled, drawing in more than air: confidence, determination, willpower. I was a Ricknagel; I must do this. I gathered the words I had planned back in my room.
Calm, slow, easy,
said Papa
.
“You are here today to perform a duty, the duty for which you were originally recruited. The Ricknagel Army,” here I paused as a cheer rippled through the crowd, “the Ricknagel Army serves one purpose, to fight a threat that has long plagued the borders of Lethemia. You were trained to protect Lethemia’s eastern flank from the encroaching Eastern Imperials of Vhimsantyr.”

Again, they cheered.

“We were distracted.”
Forgive me, Papa.
“We must retrain our focus. Even now, the Imperial Legions gather. They believe Lethemia sundered by civil war. They may even have heard more damning news. If they no longer fear our magic, what will keep them at bay?”

Silence. I filled my entire torso with my next breath.

“You will! You are our vanguard, my brave men. We are done with civil strife. Lethemia must be united against the Imperial threat. The Ricknagels have reconciled with the Galatiens. Our King, Costas Galatien, shall lead us against our foe.” At this, I gestured to Costas standing as still as a bronze statue.

The crowd remained silent. It would have been better if they had cheered as they had for me.

Costas glanced at me when I did not continue. I felt I had sufficiently done my duty.

“Well?” he hissed.

“What?” I whispered.

“Finish, girl. You have them ripe for the picking. Finish them!”

I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t know what else to say.

The silence grew awkward. I thrust my hands into my pockets to clasp the Ophira. “You have served the Ricknagels faithfully. We honor your commitment. I ask even more of you. I ask you to put aside old animosities to look to the future—the future of Lethemia. Your country has need of you. I, Sterling Ricknagel, have need of your service. Fight for Lethemia! Fight for Costas Galatien!” With that I turned from the ledge.

“Ster-ling, Ster-ling!”

I waved once. Then I gestured again to Costas, signaling that he must now speak. Everyone acclaimed his talents as a leader and military strategist; let him show them. I’d done my duty and eased his way.

The pressure, the nerves, and the need to shout so loudly had worn me thin. I left Costas on the balcony and rushed down the garrison’s stairs before my legs could fail me.

At the bottom, I leaned against the stone wall for support. Costas spoke, his voice commanding quiet. The crowd burst into another roar: “Cos-tas! Cos-tas! Cos-tas!”

The Ricknagel men cheered and roared for the man who had orchestrated Papa’s downfall. And I had wooed them to it.

I ran down the garrison’s hallway to the empty carriage yard.

Outside, the heaving hit. My eyes burned as I vomited into the dirt. How ashamed this would have made my parents. Mama had often told me after a panic attack:
a Ricknagel doesn’t suffer from anxiety.

A final, deafening roar broke out in the yard. Costas had won them over entirely. Another wave of nausea hit.

The door slammed behind me. I turned. Boots marched through the yard.

“There you are,” Costas said. My hair had fallen, and I crouched, hands on my knees as I nearly retched again. When I stood the world spun. I drew a shaking hand over my mouth. Wet droplets of drool clung to my lips. My mark burned and itched.

“Blessed Amassis,” Costas said. “You’re a catastrophe.” He walked by, dismissing me in a gesture that implied I’d served my only purpose.

By the time I returned to the stables, Costas, Galen, and the other men had departed. My horse waited alone.