“Foremost, in your everyday lives, know that all of the Warlord’s rules are no longer in effect. This means you can congregate in a stationary manor as long as you like. You do not have to be nomadic. Find a place, settle down, plant food, court livestock, create communities. Return to where your family lived before all this and make that old place a new home. Though, if you prefer the caravan life, keep to it. Whatever and wherever you choose to make your home within these borders is completely your decision.”
A murmur kicked up among the people, teeth flashing—smiling. They were pleased.
“As a kingdom, Torrence will be officially reinstated by the continental union of the Sand and Sky in meetings that start with the arrival of leaders from the surrounding kingdoms tomorrow afternoon. Please stay for the conclave if you are willing and able—I would like this process to be as transparent as possible.” In his periphery, Amarande nodded. “The people of Torrence have lived under the specter of decisions made without their consent, by monsters with masks, shut away from the will of the constituency. No more. Everything I do for you will be an open book. Though I have taken the mantle of first the Otsakumea and then your king, I do not rule you, I ruleforyou. The will of the people is the will of Torrence and I am simply proxy by blood.”
Again, applause, rapturous and wild and lovely.
“Torrence’s reinstatement into the Sand and Sky will allow our kingdom access and rights by all covenants of the continent. Covenants that I will work to make better along with our trusted neighbor, Ardenia, and Queen Amarande.”
He swept her hand in his as she dipped with a curtsy. His love, who would stand with him now and in the celebration after—dutiful and beautiful, and everything he hoped his people could see she was: a tiger in silk and lace, the epitome of what a queen should be.
This time, the crowd and all the history it carried with it did not balk at the inclusion of Amarande and Ardenia, but they did not applaud either. Given all that lurked between memories and learned knowledge, Luca would accept that reaction.
And so, he finished his first speech as king.
“Just like our physical rebuilding, the adjustment to the Sand and Sky agreements will take time and effort, but I believe that with our dedication and the dedication of our partners, Torrence will grow, andthe misery of the last seventeen years will fall away. No, we will not forget it—the memory of what was will live with us, but that’s not a flaw, it’s an opportunity. We will take our years of fire, and just like a field that has been burned to ash, plant ourselves in the barren soil and grow back stronger, steadier, and eager to thrive.”
The desert filled with thunderous, cheering, hopeful applause.
CHAPTER 16
“KOLDOwas right. I shouldn’t have come.”
The stars leaned in close as Amarande yanked the entrance flap to Luca’s royal tent closed and told him exactly what she’d been thinking the entire time she’d been smiling politely, demurely at his side, her edges dulled and countenance sweet.
“I’ve made everything harder for you. They wouldn’t have interrogated you so without me there, without me forcing you to stay with me at the Itspi. You should’ve traveled with Tala and I should’ve stayed home. That’s the truth of it.”
They were finally alone, with only the guards and Beltza within earshot. Amarande’s voice was low but not quite a whisper—too fierce, frustrated, angry with herself. She tried to correct it but it was taking every ounce of her energy not to shout and claw at her own skin. Still, Luca met her with a warm expression and not a hint of parallel agitation.
“Ama, they would’ve had those questions anyway. And they should.”
She forced herself away from the entrance, toward the center of the large black tent, where a fire had been set in a brazier for light, not heat. “No, they should’ve listened to you first.”
Luca captured her hand in his, gentle, kind. The flames lit one side of his handsome face until it shimmered like pure candlelight itself. The other side as shadowed as the dark side of the moon. “Ama, they have just been relieved of seventeen years of fear. They have questions, they’re skeptical and they are without trust. They—”
“No, no, no.” Amarande’s grip snaked to his elbows, her eyes fierce as the waves outside the Port of Ardenia, rough and tumble and ready to pull him under. “They are mistrustful of Ardenia and me by extension. They should immediately trust you—you put your life on the line, publicly, for their benefit. That is something tangible you did for them as a first mark of trust, and they should—”
“People are people, Ama, they are not sheep. And I’m a black wolf nomatter what.” Luca smiled at Amarande, watching her storm-cloud eyes immediately sink to where his tattoo sat as an answer beneath the sand-beaten fabric of his black tunic. “As people, they do not have to follow me and they are within their rights to question my authority if they do. This is a game of survival, and no one should toss their lot in lightly.”
“I thought they would see you as Ula does.” Then, she added because it was true, “As Tala does.”
Luca gently tugged her to the pillows that had been strewn around the brazier, and she let him, suddenly bone tired. Amarande’s own tent was set up much the same way—the camp tent furniture arriving with the rest of the Ardenian caravan, too cumbersome and silly for their small retinue. The cushions were a soft match to Luca’s warm and loving embrace, yet Amarande released one hand from his grip so that she might hug her legs in close until they fit compactly beneath the skirt of her dress, holding herself together.
“The resistance and the people of Torrence are not one and the same,” Luca explained, carefully, watching her remaining hand in his as they twined atop his crossed ankles. “Many Torrentians, yes, are with the resistance, but many others were too busy scraping a life together to fight. Or maybe even too scared to do so. Seventeen years is a long time—long enough to go from rebel to follower and back again. These people—my people—are allowed to shift their thoughts as easily as the sand beneath their feet. In fact, I’d encourage it. I appreciate the independent thought. It’ll make us better.”
This was true. What was it that Taillefer had joked when their bellies were full of roasted potatoes and she’d complained about how the pro-Otxoa at the Warlord’s Inn had not listened?
They are not your subjects. They are not obligated to listen to you, Princess.
If they’d survived infection—and Amarande hoped to the stars they did—those same pro-Otxoa who’d questioned her might have been in the crowd, lobbing barbed queries at Luca here and now. Far more people than those they’d fought were squatting in the inn and likely had the same beliefs as those who’d balked at her olive branch.
Yes, Father, this is what we’re trying to have. The will of the people means questions—and a task: the duty of answering.
Luca placed a hand to her cheek, pressing a loose lock of hair behind her ear, pulling Amarande from her thoughts. He read her face like it was one of the poems he so loved, finding meaning well past the surface.
“May I remind you that this scenario exactly is why you shared the timeline of events with your people, my people, and the other kingdoms, Ama. Information leads to critical thinking. And some of those thoughts are bound to turn to questions for those we put in charge.”
Yes, yes, he was right—but… she punched out a sigh. “They didn’t have to be so rude as to ambush you.”
