Reign the Earth (The Elementae #1)(22)

“I will inspect their bodies as soon as possible.”

Galen grunted. “Allow me to give them a good meal, at least. And if I can do it while the others sleep, there will be less dissent from the men.”

“Very well. It is Domina Naxos who is paying to host them, not me.” Calix cupped my cheek, smiling at me darkly. “Now go, before you embarrass my wife.”

I heard Galen’s boots on the floor, and the door shut behind him. Only then did I look up to see Galen gone, and at Calix’s urging, I helped him remove the rest of his clothes. “You can wash me in the bath, wife. I think I enjoy being taken care of.”

I stared at the floor while he got in the steaming water by the fire.

“You look displeased, my love.”

“I didn’t like that,” I said softly. “I wish to care for you, but to do it in front of your brother—it made me feel subservient, Calix. Not like your wife.”

He tugged my hand, but I resisted him. “I wished only to show you off,” he told me. He tugged harder, and I moved, frightened by the strength of it. “You are queen, and I need you displayed always.”

“And you will make a display of those men,” I said, my heart aching. “I don’t understand why you want more death on such a day.”

He pulled my arm until I dropped to my knees beside the bath. “Your heart is soft, and that is good and right, wife. But mine cannot be. More important than love, than grief, more important than anything is power. And to allow them to live would be to sacrifice it, and I cannot do that.”

His voice had a hard edge to it, and I nodded, biting my lip.

“Wash me,” he ordered.

I did as he asked, and when he was through, I helped him dress and left the room to ask the servants to bring supper.

As the door shut behind me, I saw Kairos, skulking in the darkness. His mouth lifted, and he waggled his eyebrows at me, but said nothing.

I pressed back the urge to cry again, giving him a tiny smile and going to find a servant.

My husband and I ate supper together in silence. Afterward, he stretched and said he was quite tired, and I stood. “Do you mind if I take the food back to the kitchens?” I asked him. “I’m so restless. I think a walk will help.”

He looked at the bed like he knew this was a ploy to shirk my duty, but he sighed. “Very well. I’m tired. I won’t be awake when you return.”

“I won’t disturb you,” I promised.

I brought the food back to the kitchens, swayed for a moment by the warm fire, but there were too many servants looking at me curiously there. I went out the first door I could find, emerging onto a wide expanse of grass fading into dark night where the lamplight ended. It was so cold outside, and I hugged my arms around myself, feeling the shaky tremors of unshed tears still stoppered inside me. My husband wasn’t there, but still I didn’t want to let them free.

Walking out to the edge of the light, I drew slow breaths, listening to the night birds rustling in the trees. I wondered if these strange places were governed by the same spirits we had in the desert. The stories I had heard of them mandated that spirits were in everything, everywhere, and they could not be destroyed or created, only remade. But it seemed strange that they could survive here, with no one to respect them or remember them.

But if that were true, wasn’t it possible that the powers of the islands could be found somewhere else too? They were not unlike spirits, from what I’d heard.

What would it even mean? I knew some of Kata’s power—she could control water, make it do her bidding. She had opened temples one at a time, releasing water, air, fire, and earth, like the breaking of a dam. If I had moved the rock—if, if—my element would be earth. I could manipulate the earth?

Despite knowing enough that I desperately wanted to hide such knowledge from my husband, I suddenly felt like I knew nothing about these powers—not really. Kata had said that anyone could have them now, but who did have them? Were there no ceremonies, no rites—how could such power just appear? I didn’t even know how common these powers were. When the powers still lived in the islanders, their people had been legendary—they could build palaces with nothing but their hands; they had the most mighty naval fleet in the world. They could re-form the earth to their will.

I looked down at the ground, dotted with small rocks, covered over with spiky grass. I held my hand out to it, frowning and squinting at it, willing it to move.

Nothing happened.

I tried again, feeling utterly foolish as I held my breath and tensed my muscles, acting like I could push the earth with just my will.

Nothing.

Curling my fingers into fists, I walked faster. Of course. I couldn’t be an Elementa. It wasn’t even possible, much less likely or probable or even reasonable.

And looking back to the large building, I was grateful that I was no Elementa. It had to be a lie, a trick, something—I couldn’t be that and be married to Calix.

I would not survive.

My hands were shivering by the time I came around to the front of the house, drawn by the sound of the burbling fountain. It sounded like the river that tripped through Jitra, but false and confined.

My skin prickled, scraped by the cold, and I nearly turned to go back into the house, but something caught my eye on the dark edge of the courtyard. I could see boots, just the very tips of them, and I walked closer.