The Theft of Sunlight Intisar Khanani (red seas under red skies .txt) 📖

was, thinking I was a courier from my king. He would have killed me as equal payment for the messengers my king has slain had I not asked for the sorceress.

She sent for me that evening. By then I was weak with pain, though a Fae healer had seen to my wounded hand. I am thankful that my best hand, my left, is still whole. I do not know that my right will ever hold a bow again. Nor do I care.

I saw the sorceress. All the rumors are true. All the stories of the darkness of her gaze, the coldness of her voice. To look upon her is to look upon one’s own death. She looked upon me and knew me to be desperate, and she laughed. I felt like nothing, like scum, filth upon the earth. I hated her for it, and yet I thought—I am here. Let me ask what it is their messengers wished to say. This I can do. For my sister.

She wants our king in payment for the evils he committed in her own land. She wants him, and in return she has agreed to withdraw all her forces, to order a retreat to her lands. She offers no surety. But then, they are winning. She need offer nothing. She told me the death that I nearly suffered—my hands pinned above me and my belly slit open—was the death he visited upon the generals and captains he took hostage. All they have done, all they have brought to our land, is but a reflection of what he brought to them.

So I agreed. I took her message not only to the king, but also to his son, the prince; and to his advisors; and to the Circle of Mages. All know her demands. Someone of them will bend, will give him over, and in betraying him, save our land. Already the Circle discusses it.

I have done this, knowing that I brought treachery with me. But the king is mad with vengeance; he neither sees nor cares what becomes of his land. What am I writing? I am trying to ease my own guilt. In the end, if our king is betrayed, I can only say: I have done this. Right or wrong, or both, I have done this. Would that I were not a coward. Every morning and every night I will live and breathe this memory, this betrayal. Would that the Fae had slit my throat when they found me, that they had not given me the chance to sell my liege.

I have only one thing left to write. After this, I return to the remains of my home, to begin the search for my family. My wounded hand makes me unfit to hold a bow, and has earned me an honorable discharge rather than execution as a deserter. The irony almost makes me laugh. So I am leaving. And here is what I would record, that it not be forgotten. I learned the sorceress’s name, and as any mage will say, names have power. Should ever we need it, here is a record: Sarait Winterfrost.

I sit a long time, staring down at the book. I’m not sure what I expected: some sort of heroic end, some great act of courage by the archer to set things right. As if things could be set right by a single person, when all her world appeared to be burning down around her. Instead, I have an account of failure and sorrow, of a single act that may have brought about the end of the Fae Attack, but only through betrayal.

I know the stories, have read the histories: when the king died unexpectedly—and, according to some, without leaving a body behind—his closest advisors and vassals sent messengers to the Fae generals begging their mercy. Within three days, there was peace. Within a week, the Fae departed altogether. It is precisely the retreat the sorceress promised.

What I hold in my hands is the explanation I never wanted to read. How is it that one can try so hard and yet fail so completely? Here is a woman whom I have come to respect, whose treatment by her liege outraged me, and whose decision at the end makes me ill. Not because she betrayed her king, or perhaps not only that, but because I understand it. And I do not know what I would have done differently.

Chapter

35

I take breakfast in the common room with the rest of the attendants, Alyrra having opted for her own private breakfast in her rooms. Our self-defense lessons, the second of which I spent escaping from the Scholar, will resume again after the wedding. Zaria nurses her cup of tea, and Jasmine and Mina keep up a comfortably slow conversation about what bits of gossip they gathered last night, and if there is anything the princess should know about.

Just as we are finishing up, a page arrives with a sealed envelope for me, bearing a note from Filadon.

The crown will, of course, cover those expenses incurred during your stay in Tarinon, he writes. Prince Kestrin has also expressed interest in developing an ongoing business agreement with your father regarding stock that might be acquired for the royal stables. I assured him your father would be open to such a conversation.

Short as the letter is, I have to read it twice before I find myself moving from disbelief to laughter. It might not be the stud I asked for, but becoming a supplier for the royal stables will have many benefits, and I suspect it won’t be long before we can afford to purchase the services of a stud for our mares, if not buy the perfect stallion outright.

“What is it?” Mina asks curiously.

“My cousin—or rather, her husband,” I explain, folding the note and slipping it away. “I’d be afraid to be his enemy.”

Mina chuckles. “I’ve got family like that too.”

Zaria raises her cup of tea in silent agreement.

“You’ve received a