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  When I reached the temple, the sun shone through the windows, falling toward the veined floor in thick, pearly beams. Of course the temple was deserted, apart from the lone woman I’d seen the day before my wedding. She walked to and fro before the long altar, muttering her prayers. Above her, the carvings of the God of Souls’ hand reaching toward the wheat stood out sharply against the smooth wall. I shivered at the sight, though it wasn’t remotely chilly that morning.

  The woman took no notice of me; if I had cleared my throat she might have acknowledged my presence with a welcoming glance or smile, but I can’t be certain. I don’t know how your temples and places of worship function where you live, but in Myrilla you didn’t always go to the temple to pray aloud. Not in those days, anyway. I later learned it wasn’t unusual at all for a citizen to sit perfectly silent in the temple, just listening for the gods to speak.

  I returned each day, content in my solitude until one morning the woman turned from the altar and fixed her dark eyes on me. “You’ve come again, Lady Queen,” she said, proffering the sacred cloth filled with grain. “Do you wish to pray?”

  I swallowed. “I have nothing to pray for.”

  “Then the gods will tell you what to say.”

  “Forgive me, but I must disagree. They’ve delivered me into the hands of a pagan husband. To ask for their favor would be a waste of time. And I doubt they wish to hear the hateful words filling my heart.”

  She lowered the sacred cloth and placed it back on the altar. “The gods know your words whether you say them aloud or not,” she said quietly. “And while they would prefer your love, they will accept your hate. To the gods, even a rotten offering is better than no offering at all. Though you are young yet, you will learn this in time.”

  At that, I turned on my heel and marched straight out of the temple, in no mood to be patronized by a cloistered old woman who knew nothing of the outside world and its ways. I had come in hopes of receiving peace, but had gotten only lectures and humiliation in return. Nobody had to remind me of my naiveté; it greeted me every night when I lay in bed beside the perfect stranger who was supposed to be my husband.

  Nevertheless, I continued my visits. I kept my eyes down and stayed well away from the intrusive woman, though as far as I knew we were the only two Myrillans who bothered to spend any time there. I should have found her presence comforting; instead her devoutness pestered me beyond reason.

  • • •

  My second habit sprang from more sinister roots. One morning I was passing through the throne room when I heard voices coming from the presence chamber behind the dais. This may not sound remarkable to you, but I assure you it was. The presence chamber was the site of the Myrillan king’s royal council, where decisions affecting the kingdom’s future were made. Heavy rugs covered the walls to protect the enclosed voices from any eavesdroppers. The design made the room so quiet that while the door was locked, no soldiers were needed to stand guard. Anyone speaking within could be confident of absolute privacy.

  But I had grown up with my ears pressed against doors, always listening for the slightest sound. I never knew what might constitute a signal, or a message of some type. My hearing was as finely tuned as a doe’s. So when I heard the prince utter the words “invasion” and “new Myrillan army” from the safety of his carpeted walls, I stopped. My heart in my throat, I climbed the steps of the dais and stood behind the throne, my back facing the door. To anyone it would look as though I was merely surveying the throne room with a thoughtful look on my face, when in fact my ears were racing to keep up with the prince’s talk.

  “I see no reason to wait for the campaign against one of the Southern kingdoms,” he was saying. “They’re too busy preparing for the rains to be on guard against a foreign army.”

  “It’s a perfect plan,” said a second voice. I recognized it as belonging to Turius, the yellow-bearded man who had announced to the entire throne room that I couldn’t possibly be a princess. If anything his hatred of me had only intensified, and such was my reciprocal dislike that I rarely spoke to him when our paths crossed, lest I say something unbecoming to the prince’s closest friend. My flesh crawled when I heard his voice. “These people are so grateful to you for liberating them that they’ll gladly volunteer to fight for you. Though if you’re not wholly settled on invading to the south, King Admetus, let me remind you of Grenlake. Their king is said to be unwell, and we both know what staunch enemies his children are.”

  “Grenlake borders Warkenland,” said the prince, his voice accompanied by the sound of shuffling papers. “I wouldn’t want King Torbold to mistake our aggression against his neighbors as aggression against him.”

  Turius laughed. “Then bring him along as our ally. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind more land to put his bulls out to pasture.”

  Much murmuring broke out following this, some in agreement while others made sounds of protest. I looked down at my knuckles, white from gripping the throne in anger. I had heard enough. I left the throne room, my thoughts whirling in my head. If the prince thought he could muster a new army so soon after his conquest then he must be completely mad. Myrilla was a small kingdom, so dwarfed by its powerful neighbors that, for the most part, nobody took notice of us. And that’s how the Myrillans liked it. They were farmers, not soldiers. They were more interested in feeding their families than expanding their boundaries.

  My anger led me back outside into the sunlight. I stood at the edge of the castle gardens and looked out at the endless maze of paths and walls. The temple rose on its hill, far beyond the tree line. But I had no desire to go back there, not with that woman with her prying eyes and ears lurking in the shadows of the altar. I paced back and forth for a moment, then found myself walking in the direction of the worn black door. I opened it and pocketed the key, greeted once more by the overrun wildness within. When the door closed behind me I felt utterly alone, in the best possible way. Here there were no war-thirsty princes or vengeful gods waiting for me to make a mistake. I truly felt that as long as I stayed within these walls, no one could touch me. I know how foolish it probably sounds to you, but my desperation had reached new heights. And if I could find solace there, so be it.

  I chose a flowerbed near the far wall and knelt in the dirt. Savagely, I pulled at every weed I could spot, piling them on the path behind me. With each little space I cleared, I cleared away some of the prince’s plans from my mind. I imagined the weeds as his maps and battle plans drawn up by those foolish friends and advisors of his and I tore them out of the earth to be burned. I ripped up his ignorance of the people he had sworn to lead with wisdom, and tossed away every bitter sneer and poorly disguised cross word from Turius.

  Thus my second peculiar habit began. Some queens might think it beneath their dignity to paw through the dirt like a dog, but I had no such qualms. In fact, my anger against the prince, which had served as my motive in the beginning, soon gave way to genuine pleasure. The moment I left the temple each morning I made straight for the garden and only returned in time to change clothes before joining the prince in the throne room to receive citizens. I kept the key tucked beneath my side of the mattress, where I was sure no one would find it. I even hid an apron in the garden, along with a handful of tools my maids had gathered for me after a few careful questions. I found great satisfaction in my work, as fumbling and slow as it were. Few days remained before true autumn set in, and I intended to draw as much as I could from them. I sang as I pulled weeds and pruned the mature plants, hoping that the sound of my voice would encourage new growth. I don’t pretend to be an accomplished singer by any means, but I do believe the garden responded. Bright splashes of flowers soon sprang up in the neglected beds with each weed I cleared. At the end of every afternoon I sat on the grass and surveyed the progress, planning out where I would work next. The garden was not a small one, and would require many months of work. Still, I brushed the dirt from my hands and smiled, knowing that while it was hardly paradise, it was mine.<
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  Chapter 6

  Weeks passed, and the garden continued to take shape. Whenever I was in the castle I ignored the maps the prince insisted on leaving out on the table in our chamber, thinking only of the temple and my work in the garden. I never asked him about the council or his plans, and he never broached the subject with me. I preferred to think neither he nor any of his advisors existed. But then the day finally arrived when I could ignore him no longer.

  It was a cool morning; one of those autumn days when the sky is such a clear, flat blue that you feel you can reach out and touch it like it’s no more than an inverted porcelain bowl. So cheerful was my mood that I was singing to myself before I even reached the garden. I reached the ancient door, which creaked on its hinges as I turned the key and pushed it open. I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath, smiling with pure joy as the fresh scent filled my nose. The green stems and leaves, the black earth, the rainbow of petals and buds. It all held such promise. When I opened my eyes, however, I saw I was not alone. There stood the prince, examining a flowering shrub with great concentration. His back was to me; he slowly straightened and took in the vast spread of plants. I remained in the doorway, frozen with anger. He must have caught a whiff of the poisonous rage flowing from my body because he turned around and drew himself up when he saw me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, though he certainly didn’t look it. “I see I’ve intruded—”

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

  He gestured to the garden. “Forgive me, but my curiosity got the better of my senses. I’ve seen you disappear through that door nearly every day since I first came here.” He had the audacity to grin at me. “It’s beautiful, Alyce. Did you do all this yourself?”

  I ignored his flattery. “You had no right to come here. This is my garden and no one is allowed inside without my permission. No one else even has a key. The door was locked; curiosity aside, that should have been enough of a clue that what lay on the other side was not for your eyes. How did you get in here, anyway?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You can lock doors, but you can’t lock walls.”

  It took me a moment to understand what he meant. Then, when the answer dawned on me I raced to the wall that faced the castle, scanning the carefully pruned vines for any damage. Any crushed leaves, any broken buds would have been enough to make me completely lose control. I grabbed an empty clay pot and turned it over, standing on the base as I inspected the highest climbers. The pot’s lip was warped, and it rocked on the uneven stone. The prince put his hand on my waist to steady me and I nearly slapped it away.

  “Everything’s fine, I promise,” he said. “As I climbed over I touched nothing but stone.”

  I glared down at him. “You think this is a joke, don’t you? You think the whole world is just a big game, played for the purpose of amusing you. Nothing is serious, nothing is sacred.”

  Infuriatingly, he continued to smile. “You know that isn’t true.”

  “Don’t I?” All my hidden frustration spilled forth as I stepped down from the pot. “I remember that day in the throne room. You were beaming, radiant with joy, like a child who’s just won at swordplay for the first time. It didn’t matter to you in the slightest that you had destroyed half my kingdom, all in pursuit of a crown.”

  “I do remember that day,” he countered, no longer smiling. “I remember your face, full of grief and despair and rage, and your cold pain as your aunt and uncle pushed you toward me again and again. I remember thinking of all the rumors I had heard about your grace and intelligence and sweetness. And I remember your utter silence, which, up until this very moment, has been all that’s existed between us.”

  I shook my head, flinging his kind words from my ears. “Don’t use that as an excuse. You violated a sacred place today. I don’t care how desperately you wanted to speak with me, it was a wretched thing to do.”

  “Almost as wretched as listening in on a private council.”

  My mouth snapped shut. I swallowed, perfectly aware of my flaming cheeks. So he knew. He probably had spies scattered all around the castle; I wagered he’d filled half the servants’ pockets with coins in exchange for keeping their eyes on me.

  “Only a foolish queen leaves matters of state to men,” I said haughtily, clasping my shaking hands behind my back.

  “I agree,” he said, to my surprise. “But a wise queen wouldn’t press her ear to the door like a kitchen girl.”

  My temper flared at the jibe. “That sounds very clever now, but don’t expect me to believe for one moment that you’d actually allow me on your council. I’ve seen enough kings at war to know that. You’d patronize and ignore anything I said, until some lackey spat out the same advice, only he’d receive a knighthood for it.”

  “Well, you’ve never seen this king at war.”

  At that, I laughed bitterly. “Yes, I have.”

  “Not from my side. My style is a bit different from your uncle’s. I prefer to strike while the proverbial iron is hot, rather than wait for it to crumble.” He folded his arms and surveyed me. “But if you’re so keen to give counsel, I’m ready to hear it. What do you have to say about the plans for invasion?”

  I sensed a trap. I felt as though I were in the throne room with my uncle again, knowing he expected a particular answer, but not knowing what to say. I twisted my fingers together; anxiety formed a heavy ball in my stomach. “I-I’m not sure—”

  “You must have some opinions. I’d like to hear them.”

  He might’ve liked to hear them, but he certainly wouldn’t like the words I’d choose. The breeze picked up, scented with the blooming rosemary beside me. I traced the paving stone with my toe; the crushed herbs in the cracks released their sweet perfume. I looked up and met the prince’s eyes. “I don’t think you should do it.”

  A barking laugh escaped his mouth. “What do you mean? Which invasion?”

  “None of them. You’ve already taken one country, why do you wish to take another? What good could it possibly serve the people of Myrilla?” I stared at him, annoyed by his mirth. “There’s no need to laugh. I haven’t said anything funny.”

  “You’re right, it isn’t funny. It’s very sweet, though. You’re a precious girl, Alyce. Invasions are part of kings’ business. Don’t look at me like that; truly, I’m not patronizing you. Your gentleness will serve you well. I find your innocence charming.”

  “Let me tell you what isn’t charming, sir,” I snapped, unleashing every bit of anger that had built up inside me since we married. “How many people in this kingdom died of starvation during my uncle’s reign. How many times the crops failed because he didn’t observe the rites or keep the festivals. This is supposed to be a time of rebuilding, of restoration, not another time of war. The people want Kore’s favor again, and that will only come with planting and harvest. That’s all that matters here. The wheat was sown only four weeks ago. There is still much work to be done while we wait for the summer, rites to be observed, rituals to prepare. And while the harvest is nearly a year away people are already planning for the festival. I promise you, if you tell them that their fathers and sons and farmhands are to be called up to war at such a critical time, it will not endear you to them. They’ll despise you for it.”

  His face was carefully blank. “Then what is your alternative suggestion, wife? I’ve yet to hear one.”

  “Myrilla was once the greatest producer of wheat and corn and nearly every crop known to man,” I said. “It traded with all the kingdoms that touched its borders, and beyond. You can restore us to that, but the only way is by putting down your sword. If you want to make war, I can’t stop you, but I beg you to at least wait until the storehouses are full once more.”

  He shook his head and touched a flower blooming on the shrub. One of the petals fell off in his hand. “You Myrillans are all mad,” he muttered. “Nobody with any sense would wish for a farmer king.”

  “That’s what your people want. They want to see the
gods’ will carried out, and that means plantings and harvest. Their previous king was a warmonger, and you know better than anyone how that turned out for them.”

  Neither of us spoke for a moment. A red bird hopped from branch to branch on the winter cherry tree, a dry bit of wheat clutched in its beak. Somewhere up in the scarlet leaves his mate was probably waiting for him, working on her part of the nest in preparation for winter. I bit the inside of my cheek, half-blind with envy of their perfect life.

  The prince cleared his throat. “I thank you for your counsel, and I am sure it is wise in its own way, but I am afraid it will not make as the designated course of action. There are other kings out there, with much more experience than I, including my own family in Itomius. I must establish myself as a formidable sovereign who can hold his own land and take others in conquest, not a disappointing son who won a second-rate kingdom in a play battle.”

  “A play battle,” I repeated, as nastily as I could. “So that’s what you call it when hundreds of men and women and children lay dead in the streets.” I nearly spat in outrage. “How lovely to hear your true thoughts, sir. Is that what you think of the people you swore to lead and protect? Is that what you think of me? Am I merely a second-rate princess you won in this play battle of yours?”

  “For the love of the gods,” he swore, “this is not about you, Alyce.”

  “You’re right, it isn’t about me. It’s about your wretched pride. Tell me, sir, which of your nobles and lords first advised you to invade? Turius, I’m sure; he can’t bear to be in the same kingdom with his wife for more than a fortnight, poor woman. He’d wage war against the Great Sea if it would take him away from her sight. And I notice your clever herdsman is curiously absent from these plans. Have you even spoken to him about this? Does he approve of your intent to butcher Myrilla from the inside out until it can bleed no more?”