The Queen Will Betray You

by Sarah Henning

  Stunned.

  Taillefer tried to catch her arm, but missed as it flailed … just as the woman he’d saved swung a leg out and caught the back of his knees, sending him sprawling face-first after the princess.

  And, in one tectonic belch, Amarande and Taillefer were swallowed into complete and utter darkness.

  CHAPTER 26

  THE kiss wasn’t as awful as Inés had expected.

  It wasn’t Domingu’s age that had made her dread it—this was a man who had been married five times before and had enjoyed the favors of countless other women. It was that she hated him so much she was not sure she could do it with a straight face. But she did. And for her determination, received much in return.

  A new ring sat on her finger.

  A new crown in her hair. The castle jeweler made quick work of joining her Pyrenee circlet—aubergine and emeralds—with what had been worn by previous queens of Basilica—moonstone and chocolate.

  But more than all that: a new title.

  Queen Inés of the joint Kingdom of Pyrenee and Basilica.

  They’d signed the papers making it so. She’d brought the dowry he’d requested—all those little glass vials clinking the whole way, until they were finally carried down the gangplank and handed to Domingu’s guards. She’d brought gold, too, but that was the least of it. Most important, she’d brought herself and her willingness to become Domingu’s sixth wife.

  It was transactional, really. And no one objected. Not about the fact that they were technically related—after all, Domingu was related to most of the noble houses of the continent. Not about the fact that ink was barely dry on the disownment of Taillefer. Not about anything.

  And now they both had twice the land, twice the army, twice the power. Even better, their new joint kingdom sandwiched both Ardenia and the most populous part of the Torrent. Any rebellion against the newest kingdom could be easily suffocated.

  Dowager no more, the queen’s heart lifted. She had every player exactly where she wanted them.

  And now Inés stood shoulder to shoulder with her new husband on a dais in the great hall of Basilica’s onyx jewel of a castle, the Aragonesti. Swathed in a deep aubergine wedding dress embellished in gold and chocolate, Inés stood tall behind a great table dripping garlands of bougainvillea and stacked with summer bounty from both the sea and the land.

  Scallops swimming in brown butter; fresh mangoes, fragrant and juicy; pheasants, roasted and brined; pickled pepper and red onion relish served with creamy avocados and pineapple rounds—no bananas as she did not want them browning and stinking up the spread. And, at each place, a gilded cup that had been filled with the famed white wine of the region—Traminer in all its sweet glory.

  As the guests settled into the seats, Inés surveyed the scene. The kingdoms in attendance—Myrcell and the formerly separate but now joined parties of Pyrenee and Basilica—were grouped together in their previous alignments. In Domingu’s case, his ten children, some of their spouses, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, all sat together beyond the king’s left elbow. Her thread of the family web was sadly diminished, and few were left to invite. Guards of all three houses lined the hall—an equal number from Basilica and Pyrenee; many fewer from Myrcell.

  The power in this room matched the sun above when it came to this continent. The absence of Ardenia and the Torrent did not matter, not when the majority stood together as one.

  The queen’s cheeks warmed. Next to her, Domingu exuded a combination of secretive glee, amused condescension, and casual arrogance—fitting for one who had gambled and won so often that defeat was no longer a viable option, or even a consideration.

  A sixth bride and more power than ever.

  Of course he thought he’d won.

  The queen smiled.

  King Akil of Myrcell stood to give a toast, as planned. “Before we begin with this succulent meal, I would like to offer a toast to the man I consider to be my second father, and to his new, beautiful bride.” The young king’s smile sparkled across the distance, the brightest thing in the room.

  Inés raised her glass high, catching eyes with Akil as she admired his handsome face from the dais. He had never seriously accepted her advances. That was too bad. Poor man.

  “I will make my comments brief,” Akil continued. “Scallops are too precious to let cool before hitting our tongues.”

  A few titters of laughter rolled around the room at the less-than-witty banter. Royalty and the sycophants who lived within its glow never missed a cue.

  “What has happened here today is nothing less than historic in the vaunted tale of our continent—the joining of the outright rulers of two of our kingdoms. Though we mourn the unfortunate events that led to this moment—rest well, Prince Renard and Queen Nania—we must still celebrate and mark this unique situation, the first of its kind to occur in the history of the union of the Sand and Sky.” The young king raised his glass. “To the Kingdom of Pyrenee and Basilica! To the new Sand and Sky!”

  “To the Kingdom of Pyrenee and Basilica! To the new Sand and Sky!” the crowd echoed, glasses held aloft. Royalty, noble guests, councilors, courtiers, and guards—Domingu had ensured that everyone would toast.

  With a flourish, Akil finished his speech and took a long gulp of his wine. Domingu, too, drank from his preferred chalice—gilded metal in the shape of a bear paw. Ugly as sin. The king caught his latest wife’s eye and lowered his glass, sweet white wine glittering on his lips. “Inés, my dear, it is bad luck not to drink.”

  The queen bared her teeth in a sweet smile. “I wouldn’t dare tempt fate.”

  And, as Domingu started to respond, his queen tossed her full cup of wine directly in his face, aiming straight for his gaping mouth.

  Her wine hit its mark.

  The old king’s eyes went wide as he sputtered and coughed, instinctively trying to expel the liquid. A roar went up as everyone in the hall struggled to make sense of what their eyes had witnessed. Queen Inés further confused the narrative by cupping Domingu’s chin, smiling into his eyes, and leaning close to whisper in his ear. “Did you really believe I would be so stupid as to fulfill your request for Taillefer’s effects without investigating them first? Did you really think I would drink this poisoned wine and die quietly? That I would let you murder me as you killed Sendoa?”

  Just then King Akil coughed violently, choking and sputtering. The attention in the hall now turned to Akil—his handsome face blank, lips flecked with white foam—as his wife, Sumira, screamed in horror. The young king dropped like a stone, smacking his skull on the edge of the table and into his wife’s lap. Blood pooled into her pale green dress as she fainted.

  Domingu was next, the king’s bear paw chalice falling from his fingers as his free hand clutched at his throat. Inés did not release Domingu’s chin as he thrashed, words burbling up through the white foam on his lips. “No…”

  “Yes.”

  The queen tightened her grip. Looked him right in the eye. “You must have thought yourself safe. That I needed you for my plan to work—just as you needed me all those years ago. That I would have been comfortable living in fear of your older children, who waited so long to rule but never would if I gave birth to an heir to our joined throne. But I am no stranger to contingency. As it turns out, thanks to your obvious plot, I do not need a man for my plans or to rule.”

  As Inés spoke, the effects of the poisoned wine cascaded in waves around the hall—bodies falling, horrified screams, a rush toward the barred doors.

  The queen released her grasp on her second husband and long-ago mentor, and his body fell limp against the banquette. She nodded to the guards in Pyrenee uniforms who stood stationed behind the set of tables where Domingu’s kin were stirring in panic.

  “Now!”

  Dozens of Pyrenee soldiers spilled onto the mezzanine and poured down the stairs. Swords and daggers drawn, they descended like a storm upon the tables where Domingu’s family awaited their fate—their wine, of course
, not poisoned. Their blades made swift work of Domingu’s direct descendants—men first, then women who tried to fight.

  As blood sprayed in great arcs, the queen did not look away. This was necessary, but that did not mean she enjoyed such violence.

  Inés clapped her hands together and shouted over the chaos.

  “Remaining guests, you have two choices. Bend the knee to me and you shall live; otherwise, you will die.” She gestured to her soldiers, whose blades now threatened all those who were still standing. “Domingu expected to rule all of the Sand and Sky before his dying breath, and yet he failed. Test me and you will join him in death.”

  No one moved.

  “Know this: I did not poison the wine. Domingu did.” The truth settled over the remaining crowd, and she nodded. Yes, yes, he did that. With Taillefer’s help. “It is only with me that you get the chance to live.”

  The great dining hall of the Aragonesti went still, death or capitulation taking each soul, one by one. Those who chose death drank the poison or succumbed to their wounds, helped along by the queen’s soldiers. Those who bent the knee awaited orders.

  When all was silent, Queen Inés surveyed the room. A third of the guests lost to the wine, and a third to the sword. About what she’d expected. A few members of her own party had succumbed to the wine, but what was lost would be worth it for all she’d gained.

  Pyrenee was hers. Basilica was hers. And, with a few strokes of ink, the remaining party of Myrcell would hand her that salty strip of southern land—and the pearl trade and the army that went with it.

  For a thousand years on this continent, kingdoms had been gained through blood or conquest. Yet with cleverness of mind and steely consciousness, she would now rule three-fifths of the Sand and Sky, because she had conquest in her blood.

  But it was not enough.

  Three-fifths of the continent would not do, just as it would not have done for Domingu—had he succeeded in his scheme.

  She wanted all of it. And she would have it. No matter Geneva’s plans for Ardenia, formerly ruled by the Warrior King. No matter the Warlord’s control of the pitiful patch of sand called the Torrent. No matter the unresolved matter of her son Taillefer and Princess Amarande.

  In the last two minutes she had bent the entire patriarchal history of the Sand and Sky to her will, using nothing but the framework that had kept her caged for so long.

  But no more.

  “Those of you who have bent the knee, congratulations—arise and join the future of your continent.” It was theatrical, yes, but necessary—this was a dramatic moment, indeed. And so, Inés tipped her chin and met the weary, tentative survivors with her most benevolent grin. “Yes, stand with me. Stand! Stand with me for the new Sand and Sky. A place where the old kings are dead, and a single queen shall reign.”

  CHAPTER 27

  OSANA halted at the cut of a switchback, staring through the cleaved meeting of two mountains, at the Itspi below, a garnet gem bathed in sunset orange. The castle wall encircled the grounds like a ruby-crusted belt, pulled tight around heavily graded summer-dry grasses shaded by stands of fragrant juniper trees.

  “Stars, it looks just like that ball gown of hers,” Osana said, not glancing over at Urtzi, who sat cramming strips of dried meat into his mouth. The big Myrcellian had seized every pause in their journey as an automatic opportunity to eat—so often, in fact, that she could barely believe he had anything edible remaining in his saddlebag, yet more food materialized each and every time he reached within.

  “It looks like a castle.” He shrugged and swallowed.

  “A beautiful castle. The Bellringe was grand and imposing but a little frigid. This one—it sparkles like a gem yet still looks like a home. I envy Amarande and Luca for having grown up here.”

  “We are not here to ogle the castle. Get in; get the princess; get out. You can admire the architecture on your next visit.”

  “Fine. So, I suppose we go and … knock on the gate like we’re calling for cake and coffee? I flash my sword and we ask for the princess…”

  “No, we go through the … wait. It’s closed?”

  “The gate appears to be closed, yes. And manned with soldiers.”

  Urtzi froze, staring down at the Itspi, cataloging each section of it. As his mind overlaid the current view with the castle he had visited not even a week before, Osana plucked the last strip of dried meat from his fist and shoved it in her mouth.

  When he didn’t admonish her, Osana knew something was wrong.

  “What?” she asked, still chewing.

  Urtzi’s black eyebrows threaded together. “When we arrived, the gates were open. Perhaps for the funeral, but when we took the assignment we were told it would not be difficult to gain entry. We had a story at the ready in case we needed to talk our way in, but we didn’t even need it.” He dipped his chin to the scene below. “The gate was wide open. And though Ardenia is famed for its soldiers, guards did not crawl the grounds like so many ants.”

  They did look like ants. On the ramparts. Crisscrossing the grounds. Thick at the front gate as well as every entry to the castle itself. They stood sentry at every building she could see from this angle—the chapel, the arena, the royal and military stables—their opulent garnet cloaks fluttering in the mountain breeze.

  Urtzi ran a hand through his hair, the curls flattening out for a moment and then springing back into place. He pointed toward a cluster of trees, tucked down by the stable. “There’s a cut through to the Torrent there. The topography, junipers, and a stream walling it off. Bet you there’s a line of guards there, too.”

  “But … why the guards?”

  “Pyrenee, maybe? For all the Dowager Queen seemed to hate Renard, maybe she plans to retaliate for his murder? But if that’s the case, why haven’t we seen any signs of it?”

  “Could be. Though with Renard’s death, she’s one step closer to the crown, isn’t she? That doesn’t deserve a war as much as it does a ‘thank you.’”

  “One would think. But that is not how these people work.”

  “I didn’t know you knew so much about royalty, pirate.”

  “I know all about greed, thief.”

  “So what do we do?” Osana asked. “Climb the wall? Try the soldiers at the stand of juniper? Or do we just waltz up to the gate? I could still flash the sword and ask for Captain Serville—the name Amarande gave me.”

  “They must know he’s dead by now.” Urtzi shook his head. “And if we assault their soldiers, they will likely not grin and lead us to an audience with the princess.”

  “Then how about this? Instead of forcing it or spinning a story, we simply walk up to the gate, introduce ourselves, and let Amarande do the rest? She knows us. They will at least ask her before killing us, I’d think.”

  “Yes, that might work. Let’s get going.”

  “I’ll take agreement as something near a compliment from you.”

  “You have spent too much time with Ula already.”

  * * *

  OSANA took great pains to instruct Urtzi on how they were to appear; how she should do the talking; how Egia, the sword Amarande had entrusted her with, could serve as further identification if necessary. After all, King Sendoa’s crest was stamped at the base of the blade.

  Urtzi pointed out that drawing a sword could end up with them in shackles—either because they did not believe her about proving it was the king’s or simply because she could prove it. A toss-up of last resort, really. But Osana was just as good a talker as she was a thief.

  They arrived at the gate, chins high, faces as open and trustworthy as they could make them.

  “Halt! Riders, announce your intentions,” a guardsman ordered. Three more stood at his side, blocking the gate. Many more manned the gatehouse and crowded the ramparts of the castle. All had their eyes on the pirate and the thief.

  Osana politely addressed the guard who had spoken. “Our intentions are to enter, as we have been invited.”

 
The guard didn’t blink. “The grounds of the Itspi are not currently open to guests. If you have come for the coronation, you are a day too late.”

  Next to her, she felt Urtzi tense with surprise—they had changed the laws and crowned the princess after all. Osana offered a friendly grin. “The princess Amarande is now queen? How fortunate, as she is the one who invited us.”

  The leader hesitated, eyes momentarily sliding to the guardswoman on his right. Something passed between them.

  “She is not queen and she did not invite you.” Ignoring their confusion, he pointed back down the road from which they came. “Now go away.”

  “She did. She gifted me this sword and told me to show it at the gate. Anyone trained under Captain Serville, may he rest in the stars, should recognize it for what it is. May I present it to you?”

  After consulting with the guardswoman, he gave a reluctant nod. “Hand it over. I will inspect it.”

  “It was King Sendoa’s and an heirloom; I would rather not—”

  “Either hand it over to me or leave.” The guards at the gatehouse punctuated his order by drawing their bows. Within a blink, six sets of arrows were pointed at the pair. It was then that Osana realized these might not actually be guards, but soldiers.

  When Osana hesitated, knowing that the second the sword left her grasp it would not be returned to her, Urtzi’s deep voice rumbled into the falling night. “Urtzi and Osana. Those are our names. Run that up to Princess Amarande and we will get this straightened out.”

  The soldier took a step forward. “Dismount before entering.”

  Urtzi slid to the ground right away, a head taller than any of the men.

  Again, Osana hesitated, eyes lifted to the gatehouse and the ramparts. “Guard, can you please call off your archers? We are not a threat.”

  The man waved up at the gatehouse and the archers immediately withdrew their bows. Osana stowed the sword and dismounted. But the moment her feet touched the ground, she realized she’d made a grave error. The archers had withdrawn, but on the ground, a contingent of soldiers emerged from the thick juniper stands that lined the road.