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“Elma,” Rune said, “eat. Nothing has changed. I thought you would be glad to know. You and I don’t have to be enemies. And I’m not even sure that—”
“I don’t believe you.” The words were no more than a whisper. She pushed her food away, wishing she were somewhere else. The room was too hot, too loud. The laughter that had been so joyful earlier now felt like a wave that would drown her.
“Of course, you don’t,” Rune said, in the tone of someone desperately backpedaling. “I hardly believe myself half the time. I’m a fool and a romantic with a brain of mush.”
She shot him a scathing look. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not, I’m—”
“You’ve just told me that my only friend in the world is trying to have me killed.”
Rune’s earlier mirth was utterly gone now, replaced by a cold understanding. He held Elma’s gaze, and she was unable, despite herself, to look away. “You are a queen,” he said. “Monarchs don’t have friends. We can’t afford to.”
“Edvin was your friend,” Elmamanaged.
“He was anything but. An unwanted acquaintance, at most.”
“Cora was all I had.”
“And you still might have her. But to trust in those who are far below us, whether it makes sense or not, is folly. The mistake goes both ways. Cora trusted you to reinstate her family’s title, and you failed her.”
Elma’s eyes flashed. “I couldn’t. Godwin wouldn’t.”
“See? Even queens are subject to the wisdom of their advisors. Cora sees you as all-powerful, thinking that if you had wanted to, you would. And you see her as an equal, when in fact you are worlds above her. Shedressesyou, Elma. Tends your fire. Brings you food. Keeps you alive, some might say. And when she asked something of you, something real, something difficult, you couldn’t give it to her.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elma said, even though she knew he was right. She felt it in the tangle of regret in her stomach. She had been so naive.
“Perhaps,” said Rune. “But there are worse things than being alone. Betrayal is one of them.”
“I don’t want to live like that,” Elma said. She imagined a world without friendship, human connection, without love. “I couldn’t.”
“That’s why I come here,” Rune said, indicating the rowdy tavern with a jerk of his chin. “It’s human, real, and raw. For a short time, I can pretend that these are my friends. That I’m welcomed, loved, part of a community. When in fact,” he said, hopping down from his stool and extending a hand to Elma, “I’m afraid I’m seldom more than tolerated.”
Thirty-One
Instead of going back to the palace, as Elma had expected, Rune led them down a series of narrow alleyways, some steep enough to warrant steps in the white stone. She allowed him to guide her down the steepest of them, one hand at her waist, the other holding her hand, in the manner of a gentleman.
Some part of Elma wanted to rail against Rune. To strike him, to fight him, to let loose the emotions that twisted inside her. But it would have meant admitting to herself that she believed him. That Cora was not, as she had believed, a trusted friend and confidante. And even if Rune’s suspicions were untrue, if Cora had not betrayed her, the heavy weight of lead in her stomach told Elma that she had never truly been Cora’s friend. She had never been Luca’s friend. And as a child in Mekya, the place she missed so sorely that it still woke her in the middle of the night… she had been alone there, too, but for her mothers.
So Elma remained silent, allowing Rune to lead her through the city, as the reminder of her isolation seeped inward and joined with her sinews to become a part of her.
“Here we are,” said Rune, turning into a walled sort of courtyard off the street. It reminded Elma of the smaller parks in Lothyn, hidden gems in the middle of a bustling city, somehow quiet in the noise of civilization. But the night was quiet, and even though there were no thick hedges or flowering trees to muffle the sound of the streets, there was no need.
A few stone benches were scattered about the courtyard, and in the center stood a statue. At first, Elma thought it was carved from ice, but as they drew closer, she saw that it was marble. Ice had formed a layer on top of it, slightly warping the figure’s shape. But even so, she recognized the work.
“A De Rixiis,” Elma breathed, walking around it to confirm. The statue was of a woman, similar to the one in the Frost Citadel courtyard. This statue wore a more substantial gown, and in her right, hand she held a sword, delicately cradled against her chest. On her other hand perched a dove, wings unfurled; upon her head was a delicate crown.
“One of my ancestors was a great fan of his work,” Rune said, coming to stand next to Elma where she admired the statue. “In fact, I read in one of his journals that he journeyed all the way to Mekya to commission a series of statues for the courtyards of Slödava. He was joined by an ally of his. A friend, in fact. One he wrote about often. The King of Rothen.”
Elma turned sharply to stare at Rune, whose gaze was still fixed on the statue. “My great-great-great-grandfather.”
“No one bothered to tell you there used to be peace between Rothen and Slödava, I suppose,” Rune said. “And not just peace, but friendship. Part of the reason why it rankles so much to see it all tossed away, abandoned in the name of a pointless war.”
“That can’t be true,” Elma said, reeling and reluctant toreveal yet another point of ignorance. “I’ve read my ancestors’ accounts, their histories. There wasnothingabout friendship with Slödava.”
“And it’s impossible, of course, for pages to be ripped from books and burned or for passages to be rewritten.”
“Why should I believe you?” Elma said, frustrated, angry, and most of all, hating how small she felt in the wake of so many revelations that she ought to have already known. “For all I know, this is a tactic. An attempt to make me docile, unsuspecting, before you stab me in the back.”
