“I know,” Ruti says numbly, and she turns away from Dekala and stumbles back toward the palace entrance.
Dekala does not pull Ruti into her bedroom again. They hardly speak in the weeks that follow, and when they do it’s only to convey information. There are times when Dekala’s eyes follow Ruti through her quarters, when they seem to burn into her and Ruti thinks that Dekala might say something, anything, to have her again.
But Dekala is silent. The coronation is close, and with it comes a ragtag caravan of adult Markless from Lower Byale who look upon the orphanages in quiet horror. “They are … very much there,” one of the Markless volunteers. It’s the kindest thing that can be said about them.
“They are that,” Ruti agrees matter-of-factly. The children of the orphanages stare up at them with blank and wary eyes, and they recoil from touch. “Look,” Ruti says, holding out her hand to show them her palm. “See? I’m like you.”
Their eyes flicker over her royal finery, and then to the Ruranan Markless behind her. “Things are going to change around here,” Ruti promises. A part of her still recoils at promising dreams to the children, but it grows more muted every day. The little ones look at her with dawning understanding—with hope, once fool’s gold in the slums—and she can meet their eyes as someone who refuses to leave them behind.
One boy says in a whispery voice, “Queen Dekala.” It’s an affirmation and an explanation, and Ruti nods.
“Yes,” she says, and smiles, because anything more might hurt too much. “Queen Dekala is going to change everything.”
There is much work to do, though Kimya remains stubbornly determined to stay in Somanchi. I won’t leave Dekala, she signs, and Ruti says in frustration, “So you’ll leave me instead?”
You’re the one who’s leaving, Kimya retorts, but she looks torn and very sad. On the night before the coronation, she abruptly signs to Ruti that she will go to Lower Byale. They are lying in bed, the two of them staring at each other, and Kimya signs an additional comment, a stubborn, I don’t want to.
I don’t want to, either, Ruti signs, and tears spring to her eyes. “But I don’t know what else—” And she is crying with terrible heartbreak, with weeks of loss and longing that have come to this. Kimya squirms over in the bed to wrap her little arms around Ruti, and Ruti holds her tightly, cries into her shoulder and hates every instant of it.
When she looks up, there is a shadow at the curtain outside their room. “Come in,” she barks out, her voice hoarse. She doesn’t bother wiping away the tears, not when their visitor has certainly already heard her.
It’s Dekala, of course, because there is little more humiliating than this. “I …” She hesitates, her eyes flickering over them. “I brought something for Kimya,” she says finally, holding out a little wrapped chocolate. Kimya climbs off of the bed to take it from her, signing a flurry of information to Dekala. Dekala responds, her hands moving nearly as confidently as Kimya’s, and she is so gentle with Kimya that Ruti can’t bear to watch them.
She averts her eyes and finds that it’s even worse, hearing the whisper of movement without following the motions. She turns back and sees Dekala’s eyes on her. “You should sleep,” Ruti says flatly. “Your coronation is tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Dekala murmurs. “And the caravan—”
“We leave immediately after the coronation,” Ruti says, and it gnaws at her in terrible agony. “Your advisors have informed me that the city grows restless with so many Markless in the Inner Circle. So … I suppose this is goodbye.”
Dekala stares at her, and there is something naked in her eyes, stricken. But she does not speak, only nods abruptly and enfolds Kimya in an embrace. Ruti turns away, her heart thudding against her ribs.
Morning comes, and with it, the coronation. Ruti has a place near the front with Kimya, standing beside Orrin and Winda and Kalere as the Regent lowers a crown headdress with the markings of the Spotted One onto Dekala’s head and the people roar their approval. Dekala raises a hand to the skies, clearing them for a moment to let the sun shine through, and a rainbow arcs over the Royal Square. “Today,” she proclaims, and she smiles, the look of someone who is at peace. “I am your queen.”
Ruti applauds with the people, and she drinks in every sight of Dekala, of her long coiled braids and her royal clothing, of the determination in her eyes to serve her people well. This is how it will be best to remember Dekala, a queen who has earned her throne and will use it as it should be. This is Dekala as she loves her, and Dekala as she will never have her again.
She lingers at the coronation feast, unwilling to leave until the caravan is absolutely ready to go. Instead she eats sweets with Kimya and makes awkward conversation with courtiers who see her as a curiosity. Dekala is surrounded by well-wishers. It would be impossible to break through the throng to see her.
Ruti sees Kewal in the crowd a few times, cheerfully fighting past the other diners to reach Ruti, and he motions for the door. It is time, then.
She takes Kimya’s hand. “We need to go,” she murmurs, and Kimya gazes around with a hollow expression of loss on her face. Together, they depart from the banquet hall, walking through the main courtyard to the outer courtyard where they’ve hardly ever gone before.
The courtyard is noisy, alive with the sounds of Markless children who have taken seats in carts and chariots and are already squirming with excitement. Their Ruranan guides are fond and alight with energy, soothing some and chattering with others. There is an undercurrent of enthusiasm around the caravan, and Ruti wonders if she might find a place here after all.
“Wait.” The voice is quiet, and Ruti thinks for a moment that she’s imagined it. But no, Dekala is standing in the shadows of the outer courtyard, her eyes sorrowful and fixed on Ruti. “Ruti,” she whispers, and Ruti comes to her, helpless as always when Dekala is around. Kimya stays back, standing with Kewal, their eyes glued on Ruti and Dekala.
“Stay,” Dekala says, and Ruti has the presence of mind to be angry.
“Stay?” she repeats, disbelieving. “You sent me away! I won’t—I’m not going to stay to put myself through the agony that—”
“Stay,” Dekala says again, and she looks at Ruti with eyes that are beseeching, with a gaze so nakedly raw that Ruti’s anger begins to fade. “I can’t bear the thought of being without you.” Ruti gapes at her, and Dekala dips her head and kisses Ruti, heedless of the caravan and the numerous guards and guests milling about in the courtyard.
There are eyes on them now, whispers and gossip thrumming through the courtyard, but Ruti can only see Dekala in front of her. “I love you,” Ruti whispers. “I do. And I can’t—”
Dekala strokes Ruti’s cheek, the tips of her fingers running over Ruti’s hair. “I …, she begins haltingly, then shuts her eyes and tries again. “I want.…” She laughs, a choked little sound that might be a sob instead. “I don’t know if I can love anyone,” she finally says, and her eyes glimmer with quiet misery. “I have wondered for months if I am capable of it. I have spent so long pushing away that part of myself that I think I might have lost it for good.”
She cups Ruti’s face in her hand, and Ruti can only stare up at her. “But I find that for you, I want to learn to love. I want you here beside me,” she says, and she doesn’t seem to notice anyone else in the courtyard, any of the eyes that linger on the two of them. “I want my witch, my advisor, my equal,” she murmurs, and Ruti reaches up to take her hand and tug it down from her face. Their fingers tangle together and hold. “The soulbond I choose, rather than one chosen for me,” Dekala says, and Ruti hears the hammering of her pulse in her ears as Dekala looks at her, uncertain. “Is that not a kind of love, too?”
Ruti’s hand closes around Dekala’s, their palms locked as firmly as their gazes, and she can’t help but smile, an odd peace settling over her. “It’s how I feel, too,” she whispers, leaning forward to press her forehead to Dekala’s. Kimya is signing from the caravans, an insistent demand to stay! that has Ruti laughing helplessly, overwhelmed at her own joy in this moment. Dekala laughs with her, shaky little bursts that have them both clutching on to each other.
The winds no longer whip around Dekala, but the skies turn grey and tiny, soft white flakes that Ruti’s never seen before flutter from the sky to land around them as they laugh. They dot their hair and eyelashes and Dekala’s crown, and Ruti tastes them like little drops of water against Dekala’s lips.
Acknowledgements
This book would never have existed if not for the support of my very favorite found family: my fandom readers and friends who have always been my most steadfast fans. There are so many of you that I don’t dare to begin naming people for fear that I forget some of the most important ones, but I do want to say, thank you for believing in me! I hope that you’ve enjoyed the book—it is yours as much as mine.
I am privileged to publish with Levine Querido, who do tremendous work, and it’s been a fantastic journey throughout. Arely Guzmán has been so efficient and a wonderful partner in this! Freesia Blizard, Danielle Maldonado, Kerry Taylor, Irene Vázquez, Antonio Gonzalez Cerna: thank you for all that you’ve put into bringing Markless to life. I am also very appreciative to the sensitivity readers who looked at the book and elevated both the quality of the material and the messages that it sends. The gorgeous cover by Matt Roeser is so distinctive and yet captures the tone of the book perfectly, and the interior design, by Maya Tatsukawa, is a wonderful counterpart to it.
Markless took its time coming together, and the finished product still amazes me. I have to thank Tamar Rydzinski, tireless agent, for the months of edits back and forth until we were satisfied, and of course, Arthur A. Levine, who spins straw into gold with every editorial suggestion. I’m so glad that we’re in this together.
Some Notes on This Book’s Production
The art for the jacket was created digitally by Matt Roeser in Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop. He was inspired by the story’s imagery of hands interacting with magic. The text was set in Legitima, a round serif created by Colombian graphic designer, César Puertas. It was composed by Westchester Publishing Services in Danbury, CT. This e-book was created by Westchester Publishing Services.
Production supervised by Freesia Blizard
Cover art and design by Matt Roeser
