Chapter 26
Dalca carries the Regia, her too-thin arms dangling, into the Chamber of the Sun. It’s a circular room in the heart of the golden inner palace, where the floor, the walls, and the domed ceiling are made of palest marble inlaid with lines of gold. In the dead center is a marble slab like a sacrificial altar.
He lays the Regia on the slab as delicately as if she were made of glass.
An ikonomancer tugs on a long cord, and sunlight streams in through a circular opening. The line of light hits a concealed mirror embedded in the wall, and then another and another, reflecting a dozen times until a cat’s cradle of light hangs in the air.
Dalca murmurs to Casvian and another ikonomancer, a man who wears a long ceremonial robe more gilt than cloth. He shows them the mark he got from the Storm.
Tiny pots of molten gold sit beside the Regia, who rests with eyes closed.
There’s no place for me here, but as I make to leave, Dalca’s fingertips brush my palm. He’s finished with the ikonomancer, and he draws me to a low bench to the side, out of the way, as more ikonomancers flood in.
The Regia is soon out of sight, hidden behind their bodies.
I glance at Dalca. I haven’t found a moment to tell him about the Great Queen’s gift. I haven’t even told him the Queenexists. But her power thrums in me, like a heartbeat under my own. The things it shows me, the casket in Dalca’s heart and the tangle in Cas’s—they’re curses. I’m almost sure of it. But what kind? What’s happening to Dalca?
What’s happening to me?
I swallow around the lump in my throat. It’s okay if I’m cursed. If that’s the price to pay to push back the Storm, I’ll pay it. A hundred times over, I’ll pay it.
But I can’t forget Ma’s face. The Queen’s thousandfold voice. The serpent and Izamal.
Dalca takes my hand. I trace his calluses and the lighter band of skin around his wrist, where his leather cord was once tied. Maybe this new fearless Dalca no longer needs a token of comfort. Or maybe the cord’s comforting presence was what let him admit his fear.
A hush falls. The ikonomancers step away, and Dalca rises.
Standing in a web of golden light is the near-skeletal body of the woman they call Regia. She examines her hands as if seeing them for the first time, and then runs them along her face, her neck, her waist.
She looks up with soft, liquid eyes. I stand. There’s no trace of inhuman cruelty in them, no evidence of the overwhelming power of the Regia.
“Regia?” Dalca steps toward her with his hand out, as if approaching a wild animal.
“Regia.” Though rasping from weakness, her voice is soft, lyrical. “How I wanted the role when I was your age. How I hoped to rise to the challenge. Alas, my child, I am merely your mother.”
Dalca’s eyes widen, and a smile splits his face. “Mother, I—”
She reaches out with frail, trembling fingers. She brushes Dalca’s cheek, and his eyes slip briefly shut. “My son. At last I look upon your face, free to call you what you are. My son.Dalca.”
“Mother,” Dalca says again as if cherishing the word. “We found it. A better mark. The Great King—”
“The Great King is gone.” She takes a step toward him and nearly topples over. He catches her.
A sick chill runs across my skin. The Great Queen’s deal with Dalca echoes through my mind.To free your mother of what plagues her...
Your mother.Not the Regia.
The Great Queen didn’t free the Regia from whatever made her weak and allowed the Storm to grow. She didn’t save the Regia from a botched mark, or even grant her a different one.
She freed Dalca’s mother from what plagued her.
Ice runs down my spine. Dalca’s mother bore the Great King’s soul in her body, even as the King tore her apart from the inside. That’s what she was freed from. The Great Queen played a cruel trick on Dalca—or maybe she gave him exactly what he asked for.
The Great King is gone from her.
I draw closer to mother and son. Casvian moves to my side.
“All my strength he has burnt away,” murmurs the woman who was once Regia, as she steadies herself. “For how many years did I hold him? For how many years did I hold the sun in my mouth?”