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Morovara halted on the stairs. “If you need to ask, we’re already too late. The past will play out again. Make sure you choose better than your ancestor who’ll wear the crown.”
Before I could respond, she disappeared up the steps, my mother hurrying after.
The undead moved behind my eyes, the bloody skeleton on the priestesses’ white robes shining.
Theclick, click, clickof the beetles filled the crypt. Two mage lights barely larger than candle flames struggled to light the cavern.
“What’s the Gate and why does she want it? What does the history have to do with my marriage?”
Solovyova tapped the wall again. “Herebov’s sons cursed the Blessed Gate of the Dead below us, sealing the magic with two glass crowns. They wanted to ensure no one else came through. Since that day, the Spirits come to Tal but go no further. The priestesses sing and the bones play to keep them sedated. Morovara is a direct descendant of Herebov’s first bride. She, like the high priestesses before her, wants access to the Gate.”
My grandmother squeezed both my hands in hers.
“We have grown weak, the threat too far away, but our line is running out of magic. We cannot afford to change now. Marry a girl, I don’t care which one as long as she has magic flowing in her veins, or you will be fighting a war youcannot imagine inside your own city. On the Day of the Dead the path opens. Make your wedding vows, they’ll tie you both to the curse through the crowns. There are still rebels who fight to return to the old ways. Their unknown leader is back in Tal. When they make their move, we must be strong. Don’t trust the Temple.”
My heart hardened while my mind reeled at her words.
The woman I wanted would be hanging from a tree now, and instead of saying goodbye I remained here doing my duty.
Helia and I would swear to protect Tal. This was why my father had insisted on our marriage. This was why the king and queen were unable to stray far from Tal.Was this why Vanya had stolen the glass crown?
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
My grandmother patted my back. “Some things are meant for kings and queens. Your father would have told you before the coronation. He wasn’t an easy boy, my son, but he knew his duty.”
There was no reason to argue when all paths led to the same place. At least with Helia I would not have to stomach a wedding night dreaming of another. My future queen desired me even less than I did her.
Revenge. Love. Freedom.
My wants no longer mattered.
Three hundred years of expectations lay behind me, based on fact or not. Too often, beliefs matter more than reality. When Talians shoutedfor all, it meant dead and alive.
I squeezed Solovyova’s hand. “The wedding planning never stopped. Helia will wear the crown.”The real one.Hopefully she would still agree to the fake marriage after I shared what I’d just learned.
“Good boy. You’ll be a good king.” My grandmother turned back to my father’s decimated body in the stone basin. “Go to your coronation celebration and leave me a bit longer with my dead.”
“I’ll wait.”
In this place, she seemed closer to a Spirit than the force of nature she was above.
We stood there until the chill built a home in our bones, and I felt as close to death as my pretend princess undoubtedly was.
It was dark outside when we exited.
I carried Solovyova up the final flight. That she had accepted the indignity without a word worried me more than I could show. Her attendants took her from me, some daring to tell me off for keeping their lady too long in the cold. They should know, no matter how weakened, no one kept Solovyova anywhere she did not want to be.
As I walked away from the celebratory calls, children’s laughter, and music in the Tower garden, even my somber mood lifted. During the Day of the Dead festival, Alexei, Eki, Mariska, and I had once moved from table to table, filching treats and drinks.
At twelve we had thought us almost adults. With only a year left in the Tower, time had seemed to be running out. Our whole world was changing. At that year’s celebration, Alexei swiped a bottle of peach liquor. We hid among the trees, passing it around.
How sick we had been even before midnight and the Spirits arrival. To honor the dead, the sigils were disabled that one night by the Guild, and our ancestors entered the palace grounds. Not the Women’s Tower itself, those sigils were too old and powerful, but through the gates on the first night of fall were the only time I saw the dead Tal was known for. They had seemed otherworldly.
My mother would calm me when I was small, telling me the dead can never hurt the living. How wrong she had been. Their touch lived inside me. Since the night on the bridge, their cold entered me every time I lay down to sleep. I twisted and turned, knowing how close I had come to a death no one could fight.
If I had not forced myself to watch the necromancer’s body burn, I could have convinced myself it was a setup for Vanya to ingratiate herself further—part of a larger plan I could not even guess at.
The eleventh bell rang.
