Reign the Earth (The Elementae #1)(28)

She bowed so deep she was nearly cowering before me, but there was arrogance there, a calculated knowledge I saw mirrored in her father’s smug gaze.

I felt Calix’s eyes on me, and I looked to him, his stony face unreadable.

“If my king thinks it proper,” I said after a long moment.

“Surely the whole kingdom will breathlessly wait upon you, my love,” Calix said. “So why not let Domina Viato be the first?”

The high vestai smiled like he had won some sort of victory.

“So you see,” Calix said sharply. “She is soft spoken and beautiful—she will be an excellent queen.”

The high vestai met Calix’s eyes. “Yes. Now perhaps you can turn your gaze to the problems brewing in the city.”

Calix waved a hand. “Tomorrow shall put all your fears to rest, Vestai.”

He smiled, but it was thin and tight. “I certainly hope so, my king.”

“Yes,” Calix said. “The Three-Faced God does not tolerate much doubt.”

This made the high vestai’s face lose a little color, but neither party retracted their words.

“Excellent,” the vestai said. “My queen, I look forward to your presentation tomorrow.”

He bowed to me again, and I nodded to him, then looked to the girl still at my feet. “Adria,” I said, and she looked up, and though her face was serene, I saw the same smugness of her father in her eyes. “You may attend me beginning tomorrow morning,” I told her.

She bowed again, smiling at the floor.


We rode back to the castles in silence. Calix was tense, his movements sharp, and he wouldn’t meet my gaze. When we arrived, Calix made an excuse to leave me, and I returned to my chambers. My ishru appeared with food, and I ate a little as they brushed my hair, braided it back, and offered me a garment like the fur-lined one that was only a thin, flimsy fabric that tied in front.

“For bed?” I asked her.

She nodded.

I took off my clothes, trying to slip into it quickly, but they stopped me, washing me with fragrant, warm cloths. Then they pulled the gown on, tying it carefully in front in little bows.

“Thank you,” I said, nodding to them.

They disappeared.

With a sigh, I went out onto my balcony. The wind was stronger, kicking the bottom of the robe back. I shivered, returning inside to take the coat I’d worn earlier and wrap it around me again. Then I walked to the point of the balcony and stood, letting the wind ruffle my braid, kiss my face, lick at my clothing. The crash of the waves so far below was hypnotic, and I shut my eyes, leaning into it.

An arm came around my waist, and I yelped, jerking away from the edge. I turned and my husband smiled at me, holding me still. “I scared you?” he asked.

My heart was pounding, and I nodded.

He plucked strands of hair away from my face, and he kept looking at me, taking me in as he drew a deep breath and let it go. “You did well today. I’m looking forward to tomorrow,” he told me, letting his finger run down my cheek. “You have no idea the hope that you’ll give my people. Our people.”

I swallowed, wishing I could calm my heart just by wanting it. “Tell me more of your people,” I asked.

He smiled like this pleased him. “Things have been difficult,” he confided. “Since my father. Since his reign, and his death. We were torn apart by war with the islanders for much of his reign, and it devastated us. We spent all our money on defenses, ships, weapons. And during a war effort, that is glorious and righteous, but then it ends.” His shoulders lifted. “I inherited my country at a time when the people were broken. We had won the war, but at a steep cost. We were weak, and vulnerable. The Saroccans across the sea came and raided Liatos, pillaging and devastating us further.”

With a sigh, I slid away from him, sitting on a bench. He followed me, straddling the bench so his legs caged me in and his hands wandered on me, touching my shoulder, my arm, my back. I always thought I had an affectionate family, but I wasn’t used to being touched like this—frequently, possessively, in a way that made me unsure if it was a display of warmth or a display of power. “What happened after the Saroccans raided?”

“We had to defend our people. We used the last of our resources to turn them away. That winter, our people starved, and froze, and died. It was my first year as king,” he told me, and his hand fell away. “I felt responsible for my people’s suffering.”

I turned a little toward him. “What did you do?”

His mouth crooked up, and his hand rose. He dragged his thumb over my jaw in a bemused way. “I studied, mostly. My thought was that we needed food before anything else—what good was defending the country if everyone in it starved? I looked at our crops and why they weren’t producing reliably. I found ways to irrigate better. We found that there were ways to get more minerals in the ground and grow stronger crops. But then, of course, as we grew the crops, our roads were insufficient, washing away—always more problems. Problems with logical answers, all of them.” His eyes drifted over me.

I rubbed my hand on his arm. “You took care of your people,” I realized.

He nodded, rustling my hair with his nose. “I fed my people for years. And yet recently, the past year or more, the God is displeased. Droughts cause crops to die; frost sweeps in early to take what we have. We had a tornado decimate half the fields in Kyrikatos.” He sighed. “And this insidious abomination of sorcery.” He shook his head slowly. “For everything else, I have discovered solutions—ways to fix these problems and heal my people.”