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You should have seen this coming, Elma thought. But there was no use berating herself now.
“My presence here is simply a warning,” said Godwin, continuing as if he hadn’t just sunk a blade hilt-deep into Elma’s metaphorical spine. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He regarded Elma with a sharp but careful gaze. “You are within your power to stop a war.There’s still time, Elma. You haven’t lost Rothen. Not yet, not entirely.”
“Rothen is mine by blood and by the law of the land,” Elma said between gritted teeth. “You have no right to take it from me.”
“And yet.”
Rune remained silent throughout the exchange, perfectly still. Elma wondered what he thought of her, of Godwin. Had Slödava ever been so messy? So rife with intra-family politics?
“And yet what,” said Elma, raising a brow, “you commit treason?”
“None who are loyal to the kingdom of Rothen would stand against me. It is you who have strayed,Your Majesty.” He spat the words as if they were an insult. “It’s nothing personal, Niece. It’s not my place to tell you whose prick to open up for, but as queen—”
There was a sudden movement to the left of Elma, and Rune held a knife in one hand. He spun it casually, his head tilted slightly. “Speak like that again,” he said softly, “and you’ll lose an eye.”
Godwin huffed a sarcastic laugh. “Leash your dog more tightly, Niece. He’s embarrassing you. I know you’re a rational woman. You learned from the best. But there’s a streak of softness in you, no doubt absorbed in Mekya and yet to leave your system. Such things, fortunately for you, can be fixed. But that would take time, and time is one thing your people don’t have. Do you see these men all around you? They rode here for their families, for the future of Rothen.”
“That is why I came,” Elma ground out, barely able to refrain from grabbing Rune’s knife and plunging it into her uncle’s face herself. “Slödava engages in active trade with Navenie and Mekya while Rothen rots between them, tooviolent and unpredictable for anyone to trade with. How is a war going to—”
“You know nothing about it,” Godwin spat, cutting her off. “You’re practically a child. Your father and I have given our lives to Rothen, bled and labored for the future of its people. You do not need to yoke yourself to the weaklings of the north. With Rime Ice firmly in the hands of the Queen of Rothen, we could bend anyone to our will.”
Elma took a slow breath. “I do not wish to bend anyone to my will,” she said quietly. “If we make peace with Slödava, there’s a chance that they, and other kingdoms, will open trade with us. We don’t need Rime Ice if we’re not at war.”
“That is idealism,” said her uncle, leaning back again in his chair, eyes narrowed. “Something I thought your father would have warned you against.”
“I’ve met with the Queen of Slödava,” Elma continued, determined to salvage this rift that was ever widening between her and Godwin. “She and Prince Rune welcomed me as a guest. They could have held me as a hostage, but they didn’t. Is that idealism? Or are you too stubborn to see that your way of doing this, my father’s way, is old and decrepit?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Godwin’s countenance grew stony, and Elma knew then that she had widened the gap between them, perhaps permanently. “I have not slept soundly,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on Elma, “since ordering your death. The poisoning, the disguised Slödavan… even that barely competent creature your toy made easy work of. I lay awake in the small hours, wondering if I’d done the right thing. If you might be a great queen after all, if only you could divert your path and return to the one laid out for you by your father. A conqueror’s path, one fit for a queen of Rothen.” He sighed and shook his head.
Elma sat frozen as the words sunk in. Her fingers curled slowly into fists, grasping at the wool of her skirts.
“Volta means power,” Godwin continued. “Steadfastness. But you insisted on capitulation. I had no choice.”
“I should have you gutted slowly,” Elma murmured, her voice hoarse. “I should have your body hung from the battlements in pieces.”
Her uncle shrugged. “Perhaps. But the time for that has passed. Your people stand with me, not you. There’s one choice for you now, one chance to reclaim your birthright, Elma Volta.” He held out his hand, palm upward, and lay it on his knee. An offering. “Join me under the Godwin banner. Give up this silly dream of peace.”
Elma didn’t have to look at Rune to know that he was seething. He radiated ire, practically vibrating with all the strength it took not to silence Godwin, once and for all. Elma understood. She felt the same. But more than rage, she was overcome with grief. Godwin had been like a father to her when hers was too busy with his duties as king. He had trained her in combat, offered advice, shown her what it meant to be the Volta heir.
But Godwin had never seen her as a loved one, a child, a girl who needed love and support. He had seen her as a figurehead, a bloodline, the wearer of a crown. Perhaps she had always felt it, in the practiced distance between them. The way his eyes glazed over when she spoke about her favorite pastimes, how easily he dismissed her when she simply needed someone to talk to.
Even with Godwin’s pale sort of love, Elma thought, studying her uncle’s craggy face,I was alone. Always alone.
And she could go back to that if she wanted to. He was giving her a choice. She would sit upon the throne of Rothen, an island, her heart frostbitten and black. But at her righthand would be Godwin, her once beloved uncle. And she would have a chance, finally, to rule her people with as much compassion, love, and fairness as she could manage under Godwin’s warlike shadow.
But in making such a choice, Elma would be condoning a war and making an enemy of Slödava. An enemy of Queen Hildegard, who had shown her kindness. And Rune, who was her assassin. Her prince. Her beloved.
Could she ever truly shed the Volta destiny? What if she chose Rune? She thought. What if she chose the intangible thing that shone between them, the fragile care that might grow into something even more — and what if she broke it? With her clumsy hands, her bloody fingers. She was just as liable to break love as to embrace it.
At last, she turned to Rune. He was watching her, his eyes shining in the firelight. She realized that she had never asked him how he had learned to cope, as a child, learning that he might one day be destined to sit on a throne. “No matter what you choose,” Rune said, “I cannot fault you.”
Elma’s chest ached. Her hands were clammy, the fire too hot.
“Godwin,” she said, controlling the waver in her voice as best she could, “you have admitted to committing treason against the Crown. Were I more like the late King Rafe, I’d have you executed here and now. But I’m not my father.” She stood then, and Rune, ever her shadow, did the same.
Her uncle remained seated, one finger tapping at his knee.
“I’ll spare your life,” Elma said, “on one condition. You’ll agree to open negotiations with Slödava on the subject of peace between our nations. If you refuse, your life becomes forfeit. You have until sundown today. I await your decision.”
