Page 83 of A Sea of Fate and Starfire

It’s an apse—a big window that hangs over the ocean, Kye answered. At sunset, Aalto paints the water gold, and the glass walls of the temple catch the light.

Emilius raised his brows. He was handsome, though there was something about him I couldn’t name, perhaps the glassy sheen of his eyes or the way wind traveled through his teeth as he spoke, that reminded me of a serpent slithering over the surface of water, its tongue tasting the air for prey.

“I’ve always loved sunset,” I said slowly, turning the glass between my fingers. “In Leihani—”

“Of course”—Emilius smiled as he cut me off—“if you visited Sundrench, you would have walked through the archives. The Aalton Temple in Merriam keeps extensive records of Calder’s history.” He ignored his servant as the man laid a shallow bowl of creamed mushroom before him.

Selena had given me lessons, at tedious length and insufferable detail, in the etiquette of sharing a meal with the royal family. I’d stubbornly thrust these lessons out of mind and memory, deciding if Kye could bear the prospect of sitting on my rough-hewn veranda in Leihani and picking tuna from baked banana leaves, he could forgive a sideways fork or a spoon used out of order. Pre-slicing a slab of beef was considered unladylike, so of course I’d sawed mine into as many pieces as I could in those early days, lazily swiping them through sauces and licking my fingers clean.

Painfully aware of how distant those lessons were now, I sat straight and tall like a long-necked goose, waiting for Emilius to select his silver spoon first and fighting against the crease between my brows.

“I walked through the archives,” I said, the words measured and calm.

“You would have seen the painting, then, of the procurement of Leihani as a territory of Calder.”

I stared at the King, unable to blink. I hadn’t felt especially warm since my deal with Darkness, but a rush of heat blew across the back of my neck, the taste of the air stifling.

I, of course, had never seen the painting.

But I’d grown up with the story.

Long ago, Calder had invaded Leihani. Had forced islanders to learn their language, their trades, their customs. Forced the island to live by days instead of nights, to count suns instead of moons, to track time not by the movement of the stars but by the shadows on a man-made dial. Had introduced money, because that meant they could introduce taxes and tithes. Had promised to protect Leihani should another kingdom try to invade the islands—then had killed islanders until the chief agreed to sign their acquisition.

My frown won its battle, deepening into my forehead, my mouth dry. A sickening heave crested my stomach like a slow yawn, bilious air caught deep in my belly.

Perhaps realizing I refused to comment on the subject, the King’s eyes widened. “Well? What did you think of the painting?”

His servant lowered an identical bowl of soup before me, but I didn’t see him. My head had tilted forward in the silence between his words and the lapse in sound, and I watched him darkly through the curtain of my lashes, my mouth and jaw as hard as stone.

What’s he saying, Leihani? Kye asked, and I wondered if he could feel the shift in me. If I’d sent it to him without intending to.

The King ladled creamy soup in his spoon, a chimney of steam veiling his ashy eyes. “You probably didn’t have the chance to study the archives, but that acquisition saved the islands. Leihani was starving. Dying from contagious diseases, living under disorder.”

The stem of my glass turned between my fingertips as I watched him, trying to make sense of how I’d walked myself into such a smooth and confusing trap. My mind flicked through responses like the pages in an indignant book, the words smeared and difficult to read.

And how did Calder save Leihani from starvation and disorder, when our fish were plentiful and we had no levies, I wanted to ask. How did you save us from disease, when you took our Noni berries for infection, our Kava for pain relief, our Nettles for cough.

“I had a seven-course meal prepared,” Emilius said. “I hope you brought more of an appetite than a few sniffs over soup.” He stirred the contents of his bowl, a shrewd smile curving his mouth. “The roasted venison and stuffed peacock will be much more filling.”

I skimmed the top of my soup with my spoon, raising it to my mouth.

“How many healthy men reside in Leihani?” Emilius asked.

My spoon paused midair. I leveled him with my stare. “Leihani reports a census every decade. I’m sure your own surveyors would provide a better answer than an island woman’s memory.”

Emilius laughed, unctuous and oily. “The last census was eight years ago. You’ll understand why I value your personal estimation over a dated record.” He lifted his glass of volare, swirling it as he waited.

“Three hundred,” I said, low and flat. “Maybe four.”

“Hmmm,” he mused, leaning back in his seat. His fingers tapped the edge of his armrest, pinky to pointer, a quiet four-drum beat as he regarded me thoughtfully.

I stared back, aware every limb in my body had ossified into hard ridges and bone-white disgust.

The King of Calder sighed under his breath as he stood and walked to a nearby desk, picking up a leather-bound ledger and resting it against his forearm. He licked a thumb, leafing through the mass of pages.

“Leihani,” Emilius read, walking back. “Total population, one thousand seven hundred forty-five. Children, 108. Women, 793. Men, 844.” His steps circled the long table, coming to a stop at my elbow. His hip pressed against my arm, warm.

Leihani, Kye said, a small strike of urgency leaking into the word.