Reign the Earth (The Elementae #1)(54)

I shook my head, but suddenly tears welled up in my eyes. I kept my face down, and they fell from my eyes unchecked. I didn’t dare look up to see if Galen noticed or not.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, his voice soft.

I shook my head, though perhaps that was a lie.

“Did he hurt someone else?”

I halted, and suddenly the tears were sobs and I couldn’t hold them back.

“Wait,” he murmured, pressing a hand to my back and urging me forward. He brought me to the spire, ordering guards away from us. He opened the door and urged me inside, and it was instantly dark, and cool, and secluded. I felt Galen’s arms come around me, tight and comforting, pressing me into the shelter of his shoulders, his neck, his arms. He whispered, “Go ahead. No one can see.”

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, wrapped in darkness and something forbidden, though I wasn’t sure if he shouldn’t be touching me or I shouldn’t be crying—perhaps it was both.

As the tears slowed, Galen’s hand was following the path of my hair down my back, his head pressed against mine, and it was so gentle. It made my heart warm and full in a way that I hadn’t felt in a long time, and while I could feel the threads, they weren’t desperate and demanding like at the coronation.

“You’re ruining your reputation as a tough soldier,” I said.

He laughed, the sound a rumble against my chest, and I suddenly deeply regretted not being able to see his face. He smiled so rarely—seemed happy so rarely—that it seemed like a terrible thing to have missed what he looked like laughing.

“It’s all an illusion,” he told me.

I sniffed, pulling back from him and wiping my face. My whole face felt swollen and sore, and I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to have to do that.”

“I didn’t have to,” he said. His hand lingered on my arm for a moment, and I could sense his eyes on me, but I didn’t look up.

His hand fell away from me, and he opened the door again with a sharp flood of light. “Theron,” he said, and turned back to me. “Are you ready to go up?” he asked.

I nodded. An endless staircase curved along the wall of the tower. In the center, a wide basket rested on the ground with ropes that disappeared upward.

Galen flipped open a door on the side of the basket, holding it for me. Without being given an order, Theron started trotting up the stairs.

“My queen,” Galen said, and I stepped into the basket.

Galen got in before shutting the door. It was very close; our legs were pressed together, and the only way my whole body wasn’t mashed against my husband’s brother was by leaning backward, gripping the edge of the basket.

I gasped as the basket lifted, twisting hard once it was in the air. I was unsure if I could reach for him now that I wasn’t crying, if his arms around me had been a desperate act or something that would become part of our friendship.

The motion was swift but uneven, and I wondered what poor soul was hauling us up on the other end of the rope. We moved up through the middle of the tower, quickly passing Theron as we rose.

The basket stopped, and Galen unlatched the door, motioning that I should go first. We were in the top, the broad square perched on the narrow tower. The room we entered was filled with sunlight, and I could see the distant mountains through the windows. Awed, I went closer to them, opening a wooden door that led onto a balcony.

“Shalia, you shouldn’t go—” Galen warned.

My breath caught, but it was not for the natural beauty of this place.

The enclosures—there were hundreds of them, filling the valley between the oculus and the mountains with endless gray squares. More, maybe. Some were larger, with long buildings in the center. They seemed an endless block of stone, with no grass, no space, no air. In many of the enclosures, as if prompted by a clock striking a certain hour, long lines of people were being led from one building to another. They were all moving slowly, evenly, like the shipbuilders. They had no fight, because they had nothing—no choices, no chances, no hope. Just stone and guards, and one building and then the next.

“Slaves,” I said, turning to Galen as he came out to the balcony.

“I didn’t want you to see this,” he said, his voice soft.

“You … they’re all slaves.”

“Calix won’t call them that,” he said, his back straight and body tense. “They are laborers. Very skilled laborers for the most part.”

“So they can leave? You pay them?” I demanded.

“According to my brother, they serve the Three-Faced God. What higher purpose is there?” He passed a hand over the view, his voice bitter. “We feed them. We clothe them and house them—we go to great expense to see they are taken care of. He believes that is a fair wage.”

“How can he do this?” I asked. “How can he do any of these things?”

“Calix believes stratification is a natural part of civilized society. There must be soil so the tree can take root. There must be a working class to drive industry.”

“Slave labor is not the same thing!” I cried. “And those bodies hanging in the harbor. And these quaesitori?” I asked. “And the islands. How long will this list become before you believe he’s a monster, Galen?”