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“Teddy,” Bitterblue said to him, “you told me before that you were writing a book of words and a book of truths. I would like to read your book of truths.” Teddy grinned again. “Truths are dangerous,” he said. “Then why are you writing them in a book?” “To catch them between the pages,” said Teddy, “and trap them before they disappear.” “If they’re dangerous, why not let them disappear?” “Because when truths disappear, they leave behind blank spaces, and that is also dangerous.”
I’m sorry it was the need to hide the marks of an attack that brought them to mind again, Lady Queen,” she added. “But that’s how memory works,” Bitterblue said quietly. “Things disappear without your permission, then come back again without your permission.” And sometimes they came back incomplete and warped. There was an aspect of memory that Bitterblue had been trying to come to terms with lately, one so hurtful that she had not managed yet to face it full on. Her memories of Ashen were a series of snippets. Many of them were moments that had transpired in Leck’s presence, which meant that
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before. I’ve never wanted to be king, just so that he isn’t.” “You’ve never wanted to be king at all.” “I still don’t,” said Raffin with sudden bitterness. “But he shouldn’t be. I’ll be lost as a king, but at least,” he said, enunciating each word, “I won’t be a damn cruel man.”
Is this why you came here, Lady Queen? For permission to knead bread?” Bitterblue sat on the end of Madlen’s bed, beside a mountain of blankets, papers, and clothing. “No,” she said. “I thought not.” She practiced the words in her mind before speaking them aloud, worried that they might prove she was mad. “Madlen. Would a person ever cut himself,” she said, “on purpose?” Madlen stilled her rummaging hands and peered at Bitterblue. Then she shoved the mountain of things on the bed aside with one powerful arm and sat beside her. “Are you asking for yourself, Lady Queen, or someone else?” “You
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“Lady Queen,” he said, “you’ve given me all I want. You’re the queen a librarian dreams of.”
“One more thing,” she said. “I’ve said that I won’t make you revisit the time of King Leck, and I meant that. But there are people—lots of people—who see value in doing so. There are people who need to do so in order to recover. I don’t begrudge you your own need to heal in your own way, but you will not interfere with other people’s healing. I understand that what they do interferes with yours. I see the conundrum. But I will not tolerate any of you compounding Leck’s crimes with more crimes. Anyone who continues with this suppression will lose every bit of my loyalty. Do you understand?”
Thirty-five years. Bitterblue wasn’t certain she’d ever be able to comprehend what it had been like for them. It wasn’t fair that nearly a decade after his death, Leck was still killing people. Leck was still tormenting the same people he’d tormented; people were committing appalling acts in order to erase the appalling acts they’d already committed.
“Bitterblue,” said Po again. “This was not your doing.” “It was Leck’s doing,” said Helda, kneeling beside them. “Still Leck’s doing.”
“How will I teach everyone to think things through, and make their own decisions, and become real people again?” Froggatt stared at a window, biting his lip. He was younger than most of the others and, she recalled, recently married. She remembered that she’d seen him smile once. “May I speak freely, Lady Queen?” “Yes, always.” “For now, Lady Queen,” he said, “allow us to continue to obey. But give us honorable instructions, Lady Queen,” he said, turning a flushed face to hers. “Ask us to do honorable things, so that we may have the honor of obeying you.”
“Saf,” she said. “I have a question I need to ask you.” “Yes?” She made herself watch his soft eyes. “If you weren’t in trouble about the crown thing,” she said, “would you still go away?” The question made his eyes softer. “Yes.” She had known the answer before she’d asked. But hearing it still hurt. “My turn,” he said. “Would you stop being the queen for me?” “Of course not.” “There, now,” he said. “We’ve both asked each other the same question.” “We haven’t.” “Have too,” he said. “You asked me to stay, and I asked you to come with me.”
In her bed again, Bitterblue tried to wrap sleep around herself. She had an early morning, with Dellians and Pikkians to say good-bye to. She had Skye to find and reason with, and another big day of meetings and decisions. But Bitterblue couldn’t sleep. She held a word inside herself that she was too shy to say aloud. Finally, she dared, once, to whisper it. Sister.
Katsa hugged her for a long time, and Bitterblue understood that this was always how it would be. Katsa would come and then Katsa would go. But the hug was real, and lasting, even though it would end. The coming was as real as the going, and the coming would always be a promise. It would have to be good enough. She went to the art gallery the night they all left, because she was lonely. And then Hava led Bitterblue downstairs, to a place in the castle Bitterblue hadn’t yet been. They sat together at the top of the prison steps, listening to Goldie sing a lullaby to her prisoners.
Her new sheets were smooth and even. When they touched her skin softly, without the rough bumps of embroidery at the edges, she was startled; and a kind of relief eased its way through her, as if the sores in her mind and on her heart might begin to heal.
My kingdom’s challenge, she thought, is to balance knowing with healing.
