“A place beside the king at the feast on the last night of the Rites.”
I wasn’t sure what I was most uncomfortable about—the celebration of witches or the fires—but I could acknowledge the horror of the Burning and the need to memorialize the innocent people who had died during Dragos’s hunts.
“What do your people think of High Coven?” I asked, uncertain of how those who resided in Revekka felt about vampires or witches or anything that had to do with King Dragos’s reign. Did Revekkians view him like the Nine Houses did? As a hero who had been murdered by a monster? Did they believe witches to be cruel and corrupt? Or did they believe as Adrian believed? That the witches were innocent?
“You will find that most of us think very differently about High Coven than you, my queen.” Violeta spoke carefully, but I sensed an edge to her voice that she could not hide.
“How so?” I asked.
Violeta hesitated, so I spoke.
“Never fear to speak your truth, Violeta.”
She pressed her lips together and then took a breath, explaining, “Some of us are the sons and daughters of those who died during the Burning, and the stories that survive within our families tell a very different tale than what is shared outside Revekka.”
“Tell me of your ancestor then,” I said. “Who was she?”
She offered a small smile but did not look at me as she spoke, choosing instead to watch the cobbles at her feet as we walked.
“Her name was Evanora. She was a member of High Coven, and she was sent from her home to Keziah to serve King Jirecek. She wrote home often. Her letters were beautiful. Even when I read them now, I can feel her hope. I do not know if she truly believed in the future she thought she was cultivating or if she was only trying to protect her mother from the truth. Either way, the night of the Burning, she was pulled from her bed along with twelve other members of High Coven across Cordova and burned.”
I shivered. I could not imagine a worse death.
Violeta met my gaze when she said, “Do you know the way my family was informed of her death? They woke to discover their house burning. King Dragos had declared that the relatives of every witch should be hunted and murdered. It was a relief when King Adrian came to power. It meant we no longer had to hide.”
I had never heard this side before, and I had to admit I was stunned. “I’m so sorry.”
They were the only words I could find to speak. Inside, I felt a mix of emotions—I was confused and ashamed and angry, and there was a part of me that could not completely disregard what I’d been taught. I could feel myself hanging on to the stories and the fear of magic. It was not as if I hadn’t seen it firsthand—the villages of Vaida and Sadovea remained as horrors in my mind.
Still, there were monsters among us all. Now, I wondered how many had stories like Violeta’s.
“Do not be sorry,” she said. “You are here now and our queen. You can learn.”
We visited several vendors at the market, many greeting Violeta and even Isac and Miha by name. It was then I learned that Violeta had worked in the kitchens at the Red Palace before becoming my lady-in-waiting. It explained why she’d known exactly what was in the breakfast stew and why she insisted I try every Revekkian delicacy offered in the market.
“You never know what you might like,” she said, and despite her enthusiasm, I could tell that the vendors, shopkeepers, and farmers were not so keen to serve me. They were polite, they curtsied and bowed and called me “Your Majesty,” but they were guarded, and some gave me sharp looks. I wondered if it was because I wasn’t Revekkian, because they knew my beliefs conflicted with their own. In the end, I tipped everyone who gave me samples of their treats and drinks, and we managed to find fabric for Vesna’s clothes.
We returned to the castle, and Violeta took Vesna with her for more training while I headed to the library. I was excited at the idea of having so much history at my fingertips. Lara’s library was minimal—some large tomes that had been scripted by our local historians and a book that offered a few details about my mother’s home. Even so, it felt like such a small sampling of a world with hundreds of years of history. If I was going to be queen of Cordova, I wanted to know more. I had to know more.
Miha escorted me to the library, for which I was thankful, as it kept me from being waylaid by any noblesse.
“How are you liking the palace?” she asked. “Cel Ceredi?”
“The palace is beautiful,” I said. “Cel Ceredi is quaint. I only fear these people will never truly see me as queen.”