Reign the Earth (The Elementae #1)(27)

I knew he meant Elementae, and my heart tripped over the memory of the boulder coming down, smashing over the road to protect Kairos.

We walked through the archway and down a long stone hallway. As we passed a break in the stone, I looked in the doorway to a large room with overfilled shelves. “What’s that?” I asked.

“Library,” he said. “All our historical books. The appropriate ones, of course.”

I had heard of books, but I’d never seen them. Paper and ink were not things that could survive for long in the desert; our stories, histories, and legends were written in rock, the eternal places in Jitra that wind and sun couldn’t break.

In comparison this room full of quiet paper seemed … fragile. Impermanent.

I stopped, curious, but Calix sighed impatiently. “Shalia, I care very little for catering to the whims of the vestai; I would like to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, of course,” I said, and I let him lead me down the hall. Quietly, I asked, “Why do you? Cater to their whims, I mean. You are king.”

This seemed to please him, and he looked at me, pausing for a moment to touch my cheek. “Exactly my thoughts,” he said. “But they are an old power that challenges my reign every chance they have. I prefer not to give them more opportunity.”

We turned a corner, and there was another room off the hallway, but this one made him pause.

He squeezed my hand tighter and walked into the room.

It was small, with a full wall of glass to look out over the ocean that made it seem bigger, endless. The only thing in the room, though, was a large painting with the figure of a woman on it. She was seated, her chin raised, her hair jet black, her green eyes bright, a silvery crown on her head.

Calix was staring at her, and haltingly, he moved forward. The painting rested on a small mantel, and it had three candles beneath it.

He took up a flint to light the candles. As he did, I touched his arm, and he flinched away. “She’s your mother,” I realized. Danae had said her mother died, but I wasn’t sure when it had happened.

He nodded, his throat working.

“When did you lose her?”

“A year before my father,” he said, his voice rough and low. I was hesitant to touch him again, but I was standing close to him, so I tried resting my hand on his back. He didn’t object, and lit the last candle and put his arm around my waist, staring up at her portrait. “After she died—nothing was the same again.”

“How did she die?”

His back rippled with tension, and he shook his head.

“Why is her portrait here?” I whispered. “Why not in the palace?”

He swallowed. “Her father—my grandfather—was the leader of the Concilium until his death, less than a year ago. It was a great comfort to him to have her here.”

Gently, slowly, I stroked his back. “We could move it to the palace.”

Whatever had opened within him closed, and he pulled away from me. “No.”

He took my hand again and brought me out of the room.

Another turn later, we arrived at a huge room with ceilings that soared high above us and a single, long table in the space, not nearly filling it. Men were standing around the room, and they turned as we entered.

“Vestai!” Calix called. “I wish to introduce my bride to you.”

Though he seemed to have called to all of them, one man, his black robes layered with a shimmery silver cloth, came forward. He was older than Calix, but one of the youngest in the room—the others were mostly gray old men.

“My queen, I am High Vestai Thessaly,” he greeted me, bowing and touching his forehead three times. “Come,” he said, offering me a hand.

I took it, and he led me to a large chair at the head of the table. No one else sat, and I felt instantly out of place, watched.

“We are most pleased to welcome you here, my queen,” the vestai said. “We have very high hopes for the tremendous benefits of both peace and marriage for our king.”

Standing beside me, Calix bristled.

They all stopped, staring at me. Waiting.

I looked to Calix, but he gave me no indication of what I should say to these people who he clearly had to consider—who had, at least at times, been his enemies. “I am grateful for your hope and your welcome,” I told him, my voice quiet but strong. “Thank you. And I confess, I find little in the king that needs improvement, by either peace or marriage.” I looked at Calix for approval, and he beamed at me.

My chin rose higher, and I smiled at him.

“Such a loving wife,” the vestai said, but he sounded disappointed. “Well,” he said to me, inclining his head. “It is so important that your nobles can serve you as they ought. To which end, I would like to offer my daughter, Adria, to be your personal handmaiden.”

This raised the hairs on the back of my neck. The vestai snapped his fingers and a door opened, and I was sure there was some double meaning in his words—I hadn’t seen anyone attend Calix; had he refused his nobles in the past? Perhaps he had good reason to want servants without tongues.

“My honored queen,” said a voice breezing into the room. A woman in blue came before me, taller than Danae, but not by much, with hair a lovely light brown color that I’d never seen before. She had a round face and big cheeks that reminded me of a baby.