A cheer went up from below. Pride swelled inside him.
The people were his. It was always so. And so it would be. He would sit on the Throne of Light by nightfall.
19
Carys waited for her brother to look at her. She needed another chance to explain—to warn him in case something happened to her—but he kept his eyes forward and she knew one thing was certain as she blinked back the tears. She’d lost him. Imogen’s poison thoughts had rooted themselves in Andreus’s brain. And her death had insured they flourished.
Gods.
The ache in her heart mirrored that of her body. Every muscle screamed from a need she couldn’t fill. She wiped her wet palms on the pants Larkin had created and delivered along with the ball gown last night. According to Errik, Larkin said she’d made the outfit as an expression of her faith in Carys. It was Larkin’s way of showing that she believed Carys was as good as any prince or king.
Only the desperate need to warn her brother, Larkin’s and Errik’s faith in her ability, and the willow bark tea Juliette encouraged her to drink gave Carys the ability to climb out of her sweat-soaked bed where nightmares plagued her every time she closed her eyes. Her face bloody and unrecognizable. Her brother with his sword raised. A wind cyclone like the one from when she was twelve barreling down the mountains, destroying everything in its path. Ready to destroy her.
Errik asked no questions about her illness and refused to leave his post in her solar even when she ordered him away. He said nothing to her about her brother, even though she heard Andreus’s voice yelling from the next room.
Imogen.
She had taken the secret of her coconspirator’s identity to the grave and in death had turned the person who Carys depended on against her.
The wind swirled around her. She flinched. She could swear she could hear it calling to her, which wasn’t possible. It was the illness from the withdrawal that made her think the wind was whispering—asking her to set it free.
“Princess Carys,” one of the Masters near her platform said. “It is your turn to speak.”
She stepped closer to the edge of the platform—to the threshold of the battlements—and her stomach rolled as she looked down. So, she pulled her gaze up and kept her eyes on her brother as she tried to decide what to say. She was supposed to speak to the people. And she would. But it was her brother’s stony face and the love that had caused her to shield him all these years that pulled the first words from her.
“I have always tried to be strong. I’ve done my best to stand by you in my way—the only way I know. Am I perfect?” She laughed. “Gods no. There is no one in this kingdom who would believe me if I said I was. I have said the wrong things, unsettled people with my choices, and have often been seen as . . . unpleasant. The one thing I have done right in my life is love you.”
Tears swelled. Her legs trembled beneath her. The wind swirled.
“I will never be perfect. I will make mistakes just as you have. If you give me a chance and believe in me I will learn from them. Our arrangement, this way we live, cannot be sustained. We strain too hard at our predetermined places, our prescribed roles. We want more. We deserve more. We should be freer to choose the path we desire.
“That desire for freedom—to speak, to live, to feel as I choose—is perhaps what has made me who I am. Made us what we are. But no matter what we are, I dream of what we can become. When this trial is over, all I know for certain is that I am supposed to be at your side. It is my fate to stand in front of you, to shield you when the darkness comes. My life has been pledged to you since the day I was born, and no matter what you decide—I will be here for you. I will reach with you for that better way, for freedom—a freedom that we may share—until the day I die.”
Her shoulders groaned as she straightened them. Then she braved a look down at the mass of people standing silently beneath her and realized her words—all the phrases she had just spoken to her brother—also belonged to them. They were the people who stood in front of the lords when a battle began. They were the ones who were flogged while those above them were set free. She understood them. She was them. Now she wanted them to understand her.
“No matter how these trials end, my heart is yours. My life belongs to you. I am Princess Carys . . . daughter of Ulron . . . Keeper of Virtues and Guardian of Light. He might be gone, but the commitment of his blood runs true. I give you my oath.” She glanced at her brother. “Even if I am pushed away or pushed down, no matter how bloody or beaten I might be, I will rise and fight again. Because I will be fighting for you.”
Her brother stared straight ahead. No one—nothing below the battlements—seemed to move. It was as if everything was frozen in time. Then Carys saw banners of blue in the center of the crowded main square lifting up toward her. Then more. Blue near the front of the square. Blue from people lining the streets snaking through the city.
She blinked back the tears blurring her vision as the blue banners began to wave and what sounded like her name floated up on the wind. Louder. Then louder still, telling her that they had heard the truth of her words.
Her stomach cramped. Every step she took made her muscles weep, but as much as she wanted to sink to the ground she would fight—for her brother’s soul, for her people.
She braved a glance at her brother as the next set of gongs sounded. He didn’t bother to look her way as he moved to the edge of the platform, got down on his knees, and took hold of the top of the hemp ladder in his hands. He reached back with his foot, found a foothold, and shifted backward onto the top of the wall. With the next move his legs went over the battlements.
A cheer went up from the people below. Then only his head was visible. Finally, Andreus spared a look at her. There was hatred there. Not just distrust. Not just betrayal. Hatred. As if she was the curse he had waited his whole life to kill.
Then he was gone and Carys had to follow.
Swallowing down a metallic taste in her mouth, she inched forward and carefully lowered herself to her knees. The braided hemp ladder was narrow and was shifting back and forth in the wind. Flurries of snow landed on the platform next to her as she shivered from cold and terror.
She was scared. Never before in her life had she known this kind of naked fear. Her palms sweating, her body weak, and hundreds of feet between her and the ground. She was unlikely to survive this trial. But there was a chance she would. And that was how she convinced herself to wipe the moisture from her hands and grip the ladder as her brother had already done.