Free The Girl of Fire and Thorns by Rae Carson

hope.”
    The words feel strangely out of character for him. “Of course,” I manage.
    But I sense him stiffen, and a sudden cushion of awkwardness makes him feel far away.
    He gestures toward the portrait next to King Nicolao’s. It’s of a woman with silk-smooth skin and obsidian hair. She wears a cream-colored gown and fingers a matching string of pearls with a delicate, tapered hand. She reminds me of my sister, with the same subtle grace and serene composure that elevates a pretty woman to true beauty.
    “That is Queen Rosaura, Alejandro’s first wife and mother to Prince Rosario.”
    My heart drops into my stomach and warmth floods my cheeks. I hadn’t truly understood, until this moment, how impossible it would be for Alejandro to love me.
    “Highness?” the guard asks. “Do you feel unwell?”
    I put my hand to my stomach. “Did you hear that growl?” I give a nervous laugh as Ximena catches my eye. I wish she didn’t know me so well. “Lord Hector, why don’t you show us to the kitchens next?” And I offer him my arm. It’s a trick of Alodia’s I’ve observed hundreds of times, whenever she needs to distract or confound.
    He takes my arm and we turn to go, but not before I glimpse a crack in his composure. It’s fleeting, but I’m struck by how the lines around his eyes and mouth settle into sorrow with comfortable familiarity.
    The kitchen master is delighted to fill me with honey and coconut scones. By the time we reach the monastery, I’m miserable from stuffing myself and from walking so much.
    The monastery attaches gracelessly to the north wing of Alejandro’s palace. One moment we walk beneath wood-beam braces, along sandstone hallways trimmed in the same blue-gold tile as my atrium; the next, we are surrounded by low-ceilinged adobe, curving walls, and clay tile floors. It’s as if we’ve stepped from Joya d’Arena into Papá’s palace hacienda, and I feel a pang of desire for home.
    A tiny, aged man draped in undyed wool hobbles toward us, pointed features twitching. Ximena surprises me by asking, “You are Father Nicandro?”
    He claps and grins wide. “Lady Ximena! I received word from Father Donatzine to expect you.” He embraces her while Lord Hector and I look on, invisible.
    I close my eyes while they chatter, inhaling the poignant scent of roses and prayer candles. I know I will return to this place often, to pray or merely to be silent and alone. The Godstone responds to my thoughts with warm, soft comfort.
    Father Nicandro breaks off midsentence. He turns his head to study me. “Donatzine did not tell me,” he whispers. “Ximena, you are guardian to the bearer!”
    Lord Hector steps closer, as if to shield me, while wariness clouds Ximena’s eyes. My heart beats faster. The priest sensed the Godstone living within me. And this displeases my nurse.
    “Are you certain it was wise to bring her here?” Nicandro asks.
    I’m right here! I want to scream. I am not a small child to be discussed over, the way Papá and Alodia always do.
    Ximena doesn’t answer him right away. I watch her consider for a moment, eyes narrowed. “We thought it best.” Her voice is soft, meant to not carry. “In Orovalle, the bearer is well known and closely watched. She’ll be safer here, where few people still follow the path of God.”
    Safer. Is this why they married me off so quickly? Because the Godstone puts me in danger? I flash back to the painted savage who lay dead in jungle trash for recognizing what I bear in my navel. I glance at Ximena, relieved to note her long, gray, pinless braid.
    Of course she probably knows many ways to kill a man.
    I hurry forward, placing my body between Ximena and the priest. For once, I’m glad for my girth. “Father Nicandro.” I smile with my mouth, though I cannot force pleasure into my eyes. “I’m Elisa, and I’m very glad to meet you.”
    I am not a tall girl, but I tower over him by half a head. He smiles up at me, delighted.