The High Ground Read Online Free

and her eyes were burning. It had been something of a waste, for the person who needed to witness her grief had been stubbornly absent. Always before Papa had rushed to her side when she’d fallen in the gardens and scraped a knee, when her beloved dog had died, when her first mad crush on Duque Sanje’s eldest son had ended in heartbreak. But this time when he had
ruined her life
he was ignoring her.
    Her stepmother hadn’t come either. Perhaps because Constanza felt awkward or because she resented the fact that Papa had done everything to give the throne to Mercedes rather than her own daughter, Carisa. Of course the girl was only six so Constanza could hardly expect such a thing. Carisa couldn’t attend The High Ground.
No, that horror is reserved for the Emperor’s eldest child
, Mercedes thought resentfully.
    She pushed aside the floating curtains and rose from the elaborately carved canopied bed. She would not go. He could not make her. There was nothing wrong with Cousin Musa, and his son, Mihalis, would be a worthy heir. She didn’t understand why her father was so opposed to that side of the family. Let Musa take the throne.
    Her rooms looked out over a small garden. Wisteria with trunks the size of small trees overhung the marble walls with a riot of purple blossoms. At the center was an elaborate herb knot garden and a small pond with a fountain. Cushioned benches surrounded the pool, strategically placed so any breeze would carry a soft spray of cooling water onto those who sat on them.
    Mercedes considered going outside, but then caught a glimpse of herself in the dressing-table mirror, and decided that none of the guards needed to see her with a blotchy face, bright red nose and tangled hair. She rushed into the bathroom with its large sunken tub, and quickly splashed cold water on her overheated face. It helped a little. Back into the bedroom where she ran a brush through her long dark brown hair.
    What if they make me cut my hair?
    But I’m not going
, she reminded herself again.
He can’t make me.
    He’s the Emperor. Ruler of the Solar League.
    And I’m his daughter and he loves me.
    Really?
    Hurt and anger and insecurity blended in a toxic stew, and almost before she realized she had done it the brush crashed against the mirror and a jagged crack appeared. Mercedes felt a spasm of guilt and sadness that she had ruined something pretty because of one petulant act.
    Was she about to ruin the League too because of one petulant act?
    She shouldn’t have been surprised that an internal voice was counseling duty and protocol. She had been schooled to serve ever since she could be trusted to wield a fork and not misbehave in public. The crack in the mirror formed a scar across the image of her face. She turned her back on it. Most fleet officers sported scars, for dueling was accepted and indeed expected at The High Ground. Would she be expected to fight as well? She had never been trained to fence. Dance, play the piano, paint. The various imperial wives had taught her how to check the palace books to be certain that no majordomo or servant was stealing from the imperial purse. Her education was good, but there was going to be a lot of math associated with ship duty. Was she up to the task?
    But I’m not going!
    There was a soft tap on her door. Mercedes ignored it. Then a sweet soprano called through the heavy wood paneling. “It’s Estella and Julieta. Please let us in, darling.”
    Mercedes ran to the door and threw the lock. Her two full blood sisters slipped through, and Julieta quickly locked the door behind her. Estella was sixteen; Julieta fifteen, born a scant ten months after Estella. The trio was proof that her mother had tried,
Dios
had she tried to produce the required son, but in the end she had been put aside, and it had been Agatha’s turn to try… and fail. Followed by Inez, Greta and finally Constanza. Five imperial wives and nine princesses between them.
    Mercedes studied her