Renegade Queen : A Court Intrigue Fantasy (The Forbidden Queen Series Book 3)

by R. J. Vickers

  Baridya and Quendon nodded, while Mellicante eyed me with a thoughtful expression. “Any new ideas as to how we might get across the river?”

  “We’ll have to either fight or swim our way across. Does anyone still have weapons? I have a dagger.”

  “I have a dagger as well,” Mellicante said, while Baridya and Quendon shook their heads. “But you don’t know how to fight, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, killing someone in combat is much different than stabbing an unsuspecting foe in the back.”

  I tensed up—I did not need a reminder of the way I had killed Wistin. That horror was still too recent.

  “Then we’ll swim?” Baridya said.

  “How good are you at swimming?” Mellicante asked. “The Elygian River is wide, deep, and swift-moving. Even competent swimmers might not make it across.”

  “I grew up swimming in the ocean,” Baridya said. “A little river can’t be any worse than that.”

  Quendon cleared his throat. “I—don’t know how to swim, Your Majesty. But you do realize these men are your citizens, don’t you? If we kill them, we might have the sheriff of Pelek on our tail next.”

  “These are the same sort of men who beat Ornan half to death,” I said in a low voice. “They would have done the same to me if my wrist had been marked. I have no sympathy for them. However…a sheriff could cause problems. Is there no other way across the river?”

  “We could travel four days south, to the bridge at New Savair,” Mellicante said. “Which would give the bastards plenty of time to—to cut us off and capture us there.” She yawned again, and I pressed my back against the wall, trying to give her as much space as possible. It made no difference in this cramped room. If only there was a way to turn off my power, to stop draining energy from those around me long enough to function like a normal person for once.

  “Go to dinner now,” I said softly. “Before you fall asleep where you’re standing.”

  “See if you can think of a better idea while we’re away,” Mellicante said.

  I nodded.

  Alone for the first time in days, I lay back on one of the single beds and closed my eyes. Our relentless pace of travel had drained me; even with the additional energy I had drawn from my friends, my legs felt as though they were about to fall off. I was not as confident a swimmer as Baridya, and had no idea if I could make it across a wide river, especially exhausted as I was. I had swum in the Elygian River once before, I remembered suddenly, on the journey from Ambervale to Baylore. Mother had been terrified when I jumped in to retrieve a barrel that fell from our wagon.

  The river would be wider here, many leagues downstream, and we would have to swim in the dark. But I could think of no other way to escape our captors.

  And after that—what would happen when we reached Larkhaven? We had been counting on the governor’s support. If he had given orders not to travel, did that mean he was working for the Truthbringers? Or had he been killed and replaced with an enemy?

  The innkeeper came with a plate of dinner for me before long—a simple meal of boiled potatoes and parsnips with a millet cake—and on his way out, I heard him tell the horsemen, “If you run across any other travelers, bring ’em straight to me, eh? I can’t keep this place going without guests.”

  “Have ye forgotten we come here every bloody night and buy yer Varse-damned ale?”

  “You cheap sods are only making me enough to buy one lousy sack of potatoes a week. How’s that gonna keep this business running?”

  “Once the Truthbringers’ve got both cities, we can open up trade again. Not long now, I reckon.”

  The innkeeper’s reply was muffled—he must have turned a corner.

  I propped a pillow behind my back and dug in. Though the food was bland and overcooked, it was more filling than the travelers’ rations we had eaten for the past several days, so I was hardly about to complain.

  It was interesting to see the dynamic between the innkeeper and the vigilante horsemen. Seeing how little the innkeeper charged for a room made it blatantly obvious why people in the countryside resented the wealthy residents of Baylore. If you could afford to live in Baylore, hundreds of opportunities opened before you. Good schools, high-paying customers, and access to medical care—none of these seemed to exist in places like Pelek. But the barrier to entering Baylore was high. I had seen dozens of farmers camped outside the city before the Sullimsday Market; they couldn’t afford even a single night at a cheap inn within the city walls. Money barely factored into life outside Baylore, unless you were a tavern-owner or innkeeper who hosted travelers. The only country folk who had a chance at establishing themselves in Baylore were the magic races. If they landed a place at Baylore University, they would move onto the campus with free tuition, room, and board, and from there they could make connections and earn their way in the city.

  I could see why people like the horsemen hated the magic races. Yes, they were brutes eager for a chance to fight, but they also acted from long-simmering resentment, from years of watching others rise in the world while they continued to scrabble for a living. I was their queen too, not just queen of Baylore, and even as I hated them, I pitied them.

  Scraping the last scraps of potato from my plate, I set it aside and leaned back, nibbling at the millet cake. It was dry and hard, nothing like the fluffy, honey-scented millet cakes we had in Baylore, but I was glad to eat the food my farmers ate. Living in Baylore, it was too easy to forget anything existed outside the city.

  I wondered what had happened in Baylore after we left. Had the Truthbringers already begun their campaign to purge the city of its magic races? Were Cal and Deance and Mother safe? Had Leoth moved into the royal suite?

  And why the plagues had Leoth saved me?

  I couldn’t figure him out. He had long since proved he acted solely in self-interest, but what did my survival gain him? He cared nothing for me. I was nothing but an obstacle, and now that I was free of the city and assumed dead, I could rise against him stronger than ever.

  Unless he did care for me—just enough to spare my life. Well, he would regret his decision before the end. I would prove his downfall.

  I had no idea what we would find in Larkhaven, but Leoth had given me a chance to continue the fight, and I would not throw it away. I would see Baylore liberated from the Truthbringers.

  2

  The Bridge at Pelek

  L ate that night, Baridya, Mellicante, and Quendon finally returned from dinner.

  “Did you know the guards are asleep outside your door?” Baridya whispered as Quendon closed the door softly behind them.

  “Are they still breathing?”

  “One is snoring.”

  “Good.” I stood, stretching, and yawned widely. I had nearly fallen asleep myself, propped up against the headboard in the dark. “Are you ready for a nighttime swim?”

  “I’m still not sure if this is a good idea,” Mellicante said.

  “Do you have any other suggestions?”

  She did not reply.

  “We should at least see how heavily the bridge is guarded first,” Quendon said. “If there are only two men standing watch, and they don’t have bows, we can probably knock them out easily enough. We’ll try not to kill them if we can avoid it.”

  “Right,” Mellicante said. “I much prefer the sound of that.”

  Hesitantly I unbuckled the dagger from my wrist and handed it to Quendon. “You know how to use this better than I do.”

  He accepted the dagger solemnly and buckled it to his own wrist; the straps were barely long enough to stretch around his forearm. Though he was white-haired, he had lost none of the physicality of youth.

  Baridya leaned through the shutters of the still-open window. “It’s a long way down,” she whispered. “I hope no one decides to go for a nighttime stroll on this street.”

  “I can jump first and help the rest of you down,” Quendon said.

  “Thank you,” I said quickly,
while Mellicante opened her mouth as if to object.

  Propping his pack beside the window, Quendon swung his legs over the sill and lowered himself with both hands. When he finally released his grip, his feet crunched softly on the dirt road below as he landed. Mellicante, Baridya, and I clustered around the window to see Quendon brushing off his hands and turning.

  “Send down the packs first,” he whispered.

  I grabbed his pack and lowered it to him; I couldn’t quite reach his hands, but when I released it, he caught it easily. The pans inside clanked. I tensed, expecting someone to come after us, but the streets remained dark and silent. The next three packs were quieter.

  Once they were gone, I sat on the windowsill and slipped my legs over. Thank the cloudy gods we were no longer wearing skirts—this would have been challenging and indecent in a gown. Down below, Quendon raised his hands and held them cupped like stirrups. When I stretched my legs down as far as I dared, arms planted on the windowsill to bear my weight, my boots reached Quendon’s hands. With his support, I twisted until I faced the wall and lowered myself so I hung down from my hands. Dangling here, I could not see how far the ground lay below me. My stomach fluttered at the thought of letting go and trusting my feet to land solidly.

  But I needn’t have worried. Quendon transferred his grip from my boots to my waist; with his hands supporting my weight, I released my grip on the sill easily. He lowered me gently to the ground.

  “Thank you,” I said softly. “Not just for this—for risking so much to join us. Your loyalty is humbling.”

  “I’m only doing my part to serve the Reycoran family and the future of Itrea, Your Majesty.”

  “Not many would do the same.”

  Quendon turned back to the window and raised his arms for Baridya, so I could not see his expression.

  I shouldered my pack, watching the empty streets. The more time passed, the more I came to rely on my friends and supporters. These three had thrown away their entire lives in Baylore for the sake of this dangerous mission. I was keenly aware of the sacrifices they were making to remain by my side, yet I could not turn them away. I would not be alive without their help.

  Before long, Baridya and Mellicante had safely dropped down to the street. Packs on, we crept down a narrow alley leading away from the main street. Mellicante guessed this would eventually open onto the riverbank.

  Every crunching footstep sounded like a predator stalking us, and every glow of candlelight behind shutters seemed like torchlight from our pursuers.

  As we rounded the corner, a man’s shout cut through the silence.

  I froze, heartbeat hammering in my ears.

  A door slammed, and a scruffy dog bounded past us, whining.

  I let out a shallow breath. Glancing at my companions, I could see their wide eyes reflected in the faint moonlight.

  We crept on, slower than before, my heartbeat thundering louder than my footsteps.

  At last we rounded the final houses and reached a swath of cleared land stretching down to the river. Though the bank was overgrown with wild grasses and shrubs, it felt exposed after the narrow streets of Pelek.

  There—two flickering torches at the close end of the bridge illuminated the faces of the two men who stood guard. Their horses must have been stabled for the night, and neither appeared to be carrying a bow.

  “We can take them,” Mellicante whispered. “Bridg and Kalleah, stay back. There’s nothing you can do without weapons.”

  Baridya and I looked at one another, worried.

  Doubling over to hide behind the mess of overgrown plants lining the river, Quendon and Mellicante slunk up the bank toward the bridge. Baridya and I tiptoed after them. The shrubs caught at my pants and coat as I passed, some hooking the fabric with fine barbs. Once, Baridya drew in a sharp breath; when I turned, she was pulling a thorn from the back of her hand. Our passage rustled the grasses so loudly I was amazed the men did not notice.

  As we drew close, I could hear the men’s torches crackling. One wore a sword strapped to his waist, the other a hammer; both held casual stances, one with a foot against the stone wall of the bridge. They spoke in a low murmur.

  Mellicante and Quendon crept up to the bank directly beneath the bridge—the stone structure rose high over the water, likely to protect it from spring floods. Baridya and I were still several paces behind, but we stopped where we were, not wanting to alert the guards to our presence with our rustling.

  For a minute, all was still and silent. The river hissed its way downstream, moonlight refracting off its ripples. I hardly dared to breathe.

  Then Mellicante surged to her feet and sprinted up the bank toward the men. Quendon followed close behind, dagger raised.

  One of the men shouted in alarm, and his sword rasped as he drew it. Mellicante and Quendon flew at him, metal clanging against metal as he blocked their daggers.

  The second man shouted, “We’re being attacked! Send men to the bridge!”

  Mellicante buried her dagger in the first man’s shoulder, and he howled in pain.

  In the distance, muffled beyond the rush of the river, I heard faint approaching hoofbeats.

  “Varse,” I hissed. “We’ll never make it across if the other horsemen join them.” I glanced over my shoulder at the river, which lay like ink in the darkness, wider and more turbulent than I had first imagined.

  “Should we join them on the bridge?”

  The hoofbeats were growing louder. They were approaching from the opposite side of the bridge, which meant the riders had likely been stationed there to guard the road in general, not specifically to prevent our escape. What were the Truthbringers so desperate to hide?

  I watched the fight for another moment—Quendon was now trading blows with the man wielding a hammer, who looked clumsy but dangerous. Then I jumped to my feet.

  I ran up the bank, no longer caring how much I rustled the bushes, Baridya scrambling after me.

  Just as we reached the bridge, Mellicante slammed her dagger into the first man’s neck and kicked him backward. He fell with a whump, blood spilling down the front of his shirt.

  Not turning to look at us, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to get across before those horsemen block our way,” Baridya said grimly.

  Mellicante froze, listening. Then she swore.

  Quendon’s dagger clanged off the head of the second man’s hammer. The man fought with flailing blows, unpracticed, but his reach was longer than Quendon’s, and Quendon had to be wary—a single blow to the knuckles could cripple him.

  Mellicante stalked around to the opposite side of the bridge guard, but he backed up until he was pressed against the wall of the bridge, which rose to waist height.

  I hovered there, shifting from one foot to the other, feeling useless. Mellicante aimed a few slashes at the man, darting in just after his flailing hammer strokes passed, but she and Quendon could not land a blow.

  Off in the distance, I could see torchlight approaching. Even if we made it across the bridge now, the horsemen would see us and chase us down.

  For some reason, Baridya was rummaging in her pack.

  Then a clopping of hooves rose from behind us. The horsemen in Pelek must have heard the shouts for help as well.

  We were about to be surrounded.

  Baridya finally withdrew her hand from her pack, and I saw what she had grabbed—a heavy copper bowl we had used for meals on the road.

  Lifting the bowl, she flung it at the horseman’s head.

  The bowl gave a hollow clang as it struck his forehead. He froze, looking stunned, and in the momentary pause, Quendon rammed his dagger into the man’s stomach.

  “Let’s go,” Baridya said swiftly. “We’re about to be surrounded.”

  “We should take their weapons,” Mellicante said.

  “No.” Baridya grabbed her arm and hauled her forward.

  We broke into a run up the arch of the great stone bridge, but it was too
late. The riders had nearly reached the opposite end.

  “What now?” Baridya asked, slowing as the rides closed the final distance to the bridge.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Five horsemen cantered toward us from Pelek, their faces menacing in the darkness. We had reached the highest point of the arch, easily visible to both sets of riders.

  The hooves of the horses ahead of us clattered as they rode onto the stone bridge. I stood rigid, waiting for the attack. Was this to be the end? Would the last hope for Itrea’s salvation fall to a gang of brutes?

  No. I wouldn’t wait around to be captured.

  “We have to jump.” The words hung in the air.

  When my companions remained motionless, eyes fixed on the approaching riders, I heaved myself onto the wall, nerves humming in terror.

  Then I flung myself off the bridge.

  I moved so quickly I didn’t have time to think about what I was doing, but the drop was longer than I expected—pressure rushed to my head and the night air whipped around me.

  A second later, I slammed into the water. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, and I sank in a cloud of bubbles, a shock of icy water engulfing me.

  I flailed and tried to reach the surface, but I could see nothing, and my pack felt like a pair of hands dragging me deeper. Thrashing about and releasing a stream of bubbles, I slipped free of my pack and kicked for the surface.

  This time my head broke the water. I sucked in a lungful of air, gasping. Three loud splashes sounded from behind me, and I turned to see water spraying up from the places where my companions had jumped. I was already twenty paces downstream of the bridge—the river was moving swiftly. I fought to stay afloat long enough to see their heads bob above the surface.

  Then the current tugged me under.

  3

  Borderville

  T hough I kicked and stroked toward the surface, the river kept pushing me down. Water filled my boots, weighing me down, but even in my panic, I was not willing to relinquish my boots yet. My chest burned, my lungs urging me to breathe in water; the more I thrashed, the more my chest ached for air. I could see nothing. I had no idea which way was up, only that the water continued to tug me ever under.