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

by R. J. Vickers

  The door banged against the cabinet again, splinters of wood breaking free.

  Most of our supporters were still clustered on the second-floor landing, armed but too inexperienced to stand directly against the Whitish.

  “Who wants to help me?” I asked as the door slammed back against the cabinet once more.

  Without waiting for response, I hurried over to the doors that opened onto the outdoor platform and slipped into the cool night air. The light spilling from windows throughout the manor illuminated the stairs down to the garden. Many followed me, including Tessie and the younger brother of the Rider.

  Down in the garden, the sounds of the attack were muffled, though the occasional shout or crash drifted to us. I found a pile of rocks that had not yet been relocated to the wall and loaded my arms with as many as I could carry.

  My supporters got the idea quickly. Arms stacked with rocks of all sizes, they followed me silently back into the manor, leaving a trail of dirt on the second-floor landing. We crept into the rooms on either side of the entryway, where the archers were stationed, and traded their places by the windows.

  In the torchlight, I could see the outlines of a dozen shields like a roof over the Whitish soldiers’ heads.

  I put a finger to my lips and counted down from three in a whisper.

  At “one,” I dropped my largest stone onto the shield of the archer standing directly below our window.

  My supporters followed suit, and a line of rocks fell or flew from the window.

  All hit in rapid succession, clanging off the shields.

  Not stopping to assess the damage, I threw my next stone, and my next. Men shouted in alarm, and several archers fell beneath the onslaught of stones. One enormous stone—courtesy of Tessie, who was evidently stronger than she looked—smashed a deep dent in a shield that knocked the man below off his feet.

  “Aim for the man with the hatchet!” I called softly.

  I was down to just one more stone, this one a smooth, sea-rounded disc that fit comfortably in my hand. Heeding my own order, I flung it at his exposed head. But the stone fell short.

  Then the archers raised their bows toward us.

  “Back!” I yelled.

  The first arrow flew, snagging in Tessie’s hair just as she flung herself backward.

  Tessie shrieked.

  I dropped to my knees in my haste to avoid the Whitish archers, and our archers scrambled to resume their places by the windows.

  “How many do you think are left?” I asked Baridya as I crawled away from the window.

  “Too many. They’re wearing plate armor or chainmail or something—even when our archers can get around the shields, nothing is working. Only two or three have fallen.”

  “Varse,” I cursed under my breath.

  We could never win this fight. And this was just a taste of the war to come—Itrea would be trampled into the earth by Whitland’s hardened warriors.

  We needed to change our tactic. But what could we use to our advantage?

  Back in the main hall, I was pleased to see that Quendon had taken advantage of the momentary lull to stack another cabinet atop the first, providing support to the door. Bookshelves now covered the lower halves of the two broken windows, though one appeared to be giving off smoke. As I watched, the wood near the top of the bookshelf began to glow orange as flames took hold.

  “How is it looking?” Quendon called when he saw me.

  I shook my head. “The archers can’t do much with shields and armor protecting the soldiers. Only a few have fallen.”

  Quendon let out a heavy breath. “You know what will happen when they breach this house, right? They’ll tear straight through us. Last time they had no shields or armor, and they were taken by surprise. This time…”

  We were going to lose.

  This was the end of our resistance. If I fell, Itrea would be as good as conquered.

  Baylore would be taken without warning. Larkhaven would succumb as soon as reinforcements arrived.

  It would be the end of the magic races.

  16

  The Moonlit Run

  I n a daze, I walked down the stairs into the entry hall. Senses assailed me, disconnected, meaningless. The smell of smoke, the splintering thud as the hatchet bit into the door once more, the shouts of Whitish men eager for our blood.

  Mellicante was there, by Quendon’s side, directing a small group of soldiers on the ground floor. When I strode to her side, men and women hurried out of my path.

  “If we run,” I muttered, “where can we go?”

  Mellicante’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. “There are other manors along the coast. Wealthy families with estates overlooking the sea. I don’t know if they would support you, but we could fight off their servants if they tried to resist us.”

  I stared at the burning bookshelf, hardly seeing the flames even as they imprinted their mark on my eyes.

  Then I nodded.

  “Help me spread the word. Quietly. The soldiers can’t see us retreating.”

  Mellicante nodded tersely. “Quendon and I will stay to hold them off as long as we can.”

  “Not Quendon. His knee is still weak. I don’t want him running.”

  “I’ll stay myself, then.”

  I wanted to argue, but there was no one else experienced enough to back her up. And we could not leave the manor untended—the soldiers would realize what happened as soon as they broke through the door.

  “Light fires,” I said at last. “Make it look like that one is spreading.” I jerked my chin at the bookshelf. “Then get out of here, and get yourself to safety. If you hurt yourself, I’ll never forgive you, understand?”

  I gripped Mellicante’s wrist, and she gave me a grim smile.

  “Understood, Your Majesty.”

  I did not deserve the title.

  Moving across the entryway as though I walked through a dream, I reached Quendon’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. When he leaned closer, I whispered our plan and ordered him to organize the swordfighters. Then I went to pass on the word to Magreeda and those upstairs.

  Soon our supporters were streaming down the stairs from the outdoor platform into the dark garden beyond. In the dark, it seemed a formidable crowd, but most were too old or too young or too weak to fight.

  I stood on the outdoor platform until Magreeda, Quendon, and Baridya had passed through, each reporting that everyone under their supervision was safely outside.

  Rona had fetched a ladder from the garden shed, and she carried it over one shoulder, paying no heed to the blood that had stained her sleeve from the arrow wound. The gibbous moon overhead provided enough light for us to pick our way carefully down the garden path, though at first I had to follow the sounds of movement, black veils still traced over my eyes from the blinding flames.

  The wintry smell of woodsmoke followed us, and when I glanced back, I thought I could see flames leaping behind the second-story windows.

  Once we passed the gazebo, the waves now thundering close before us, we approached the southern wall and propped the ladder against the wall. The tallest of my supporters went first, climbing to the top and jumping onto the soft grasses of the grazing field beyond, before helping the rest of us down from the wall.

  At last we were safely across. Magreeda, who crossed last, toppled the ladder sideways into the garden so it would not give away our route so easily.

  “Can everyone run?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

  “We’ll try our best, Your Majesty,” Rona said.

  “Make sure no one falls behind,” I told Magreeda.

  Then I started running through the tall grasses, striking out south along the coast. To my left, the ocean gleamed silver in the light of the setting moon, while the governor’s manor blazed like a torch behind us.

  “Stay safe, Mellicante,” I whispered as I ran. If something happened to her, I would never forgive myself.

  The accumulated energy I had drawn from the
household surged through my veins, propelling me forward ever faster. A light sea breeze whisked past my cheeks and tugged wisps of hair free from their crown of braids, and the tall grasses slapped at my boots.

  While I ran, everything else ceased to matter. If I ran fast enough, I could leave behind the war we would never win, the blazing remains of a man’s life I had thrown away too cheaply. I could just keep running until the earth ended and the sea rose to claim me. I could surrender myself to those thundering waves and leave in another’s hands. Someone who still knew right from wrong.

  Without meaning to, I cut a path closer to the cliffs, until the roar of the ocean overwhelmed everything else. My pulse pounded in my ears, a fragile undercurrent beneath the might of the ocean—droplets of spray stung my cheeks and the ceaseless crashing of waves lent me power as I ran.

  When I heard a faint voice calling my name, I thought at first that I imagined it.

  Yet it came again. This time I slowed, looking over my shoulder.

  My people had fallen behind. The closest were small black shapes rising from the grass, and the farthest were out of sight completely.

  I slowed, finally noticing the ache in my legs, the tightness of my chest. I had run a very long way.

  While I waited for my people to catch up, I paced closer to the cliff’s edge, taunting myself with that easy escape. The churning wave-crests below looked like spun silver in the moonlight.

  Baridya was the first to stumble to a halt beside me, gasping and doubled over. “Magreeda says we’re—nearly to the first—manor.”

  “Is Rona still on her feet?”

  Baridya nodded. “Where’s Mellicante?”

  I did not want to be the one telling her this. I turned my back on her, watching the moon as it bobbed just above the watery horizon. “She stayed behind,” I whispered. “She’s the one who spread the fires. She wanted to make it look like we were still fighting.”

  “No.” Baridya’s voice was blank with shock. “Why did you—let her do it?”

  I forced myself to turn back and meet her eyes. “She volunteered, Baridya. We had no other way to escape. I didn’t want her to do it, but she insisted.”

  Baridya shook her head with a jerk and stalked away from me, but not before I saw tears glinting in her eyes.

  Who else would I betray before this was through?

  Quendon was next to reach my side. His limp was back, though I could tell by the way he walked that he tried to hide it. “Magreeda is friendly with the chef at this manor,” he said, breathing hard from the run. “She thinks there’s a chance the nobles might support your cause, if the Whitish haven’t gotten to them yet.”

  I nodded grimly. “How far?”

  “Apparently we should see the place as soon as we climb that next hill.”

  Without waiting for the rest of my supporters to catch up, I started up the rise, keeping close to the cliffs. The moon had begun sliding beneath the horizon; I almost thought I could see it move, minute by minute. Soon we would have no more light. I did not know if anyone had thought to bring torches or lamps.

  Quendon kept pace beside me, not speaking, though occasionally I heard a soft intake of breath, likely from the pain in his knee. I appreciated his solidarity. No matter how many times I erred, I suspected he would stand by my side.

  We reached the top of the hill just before the last sliver of moonlight slipped beneath the horizon. A hulk of a building stood perhaps a quarter-league before us, surrounded by a sizeable pine forest that lay like ink pooled in the valley. The trees stretched nearly to the coast, though they grew stunted and bowed away from the ocean wind as they neared the cliffs.

  Then the moonlight faded.

  A single light glowed from an upstairs window of the manor, like a lighthouse beacon guiding us onward. Ahead, the trees and surrounding grassland merged into a patchwork of indistinct shadows, while the stark line between ocean and land grew subtler as the last light faded.

  We waited at the hilltop until the rest of my supporters had joined us. No one dared run in the heavy darkness, and though Quendon said he had a Weaver’s crystal for light, he did not dare use it for fear the Whitish lurked nearby.

  In a wary knot, we continued down the slope. At the edge of the trees, Magreeda went ahead to speak with her friend and gauge the sort of reception we could expect, while the rest of us waited in the shadows, not speaking, jumping at every rustle of the underbrush and flapping of wings as an owl took flight.

  It felt like hours passed before Magreeda returned, and indeed, the darkness seemed less complete. Dawn was on its way.

  “Lord Gabrin is awake and warmly invites you to stay at his hunting lodge,” Magreeda said with a tired smile. “He fully supports your cause, and has offered to relocate to his townhouse in Larkhaven if you need him out of the way.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” I was surprised at the generous welcome; it seemed too easy, and I worried it might be a trap, but I was too tired to care.

  Clambering to my feet with the help of a sap-covered branch, I started through the woods after Magreeda. Sticky sap clung to my palm, smelling sweetly of vanilla. For a moment it transported me back to the forested mountainsides around Ambervale; my throat tightened unexpectedly with nostalgia.

  The forest was even larger than it had looked from above; it took half an hour to follow the winding game trail to the hunting lodge. When at last we emerged from the trees onto the small lawn outside the manor, I was surprised to see that the whole two-story building was constructed of colossal logs, with a high, peaked roof and many windows overlooking the forest. In the central plains, such logs would have cost a king’s ransom.

  Lord Gabrin himself welcomed us into his manor, bowing low when I approached. His face was half-hidden beneath a bushy black beard, and his hair fell down past his ears. Despite the early hour—though the stars were disappearing in the grey light, sunrise was still far away—what looked like his entire family had assembled around him.

  “We are honored to host you, Your Majesty,” Lord Gabrin said, bowing again. “Our family has long awaited the day when we might serve you.”

  His wife, a short, steely-eyed woman with thick auburn hair, gave me a deep curtsey as I passed. Behind her stood five children, including twin girls with red hair—I wondered if they were Flamespinners. That would explain Lord Gabrin’s eagerness to support me.

  The children bowed and curtseyed as I passed, some clumsily, others with practiced grace.

  At the end of the hall, I found a large, comfortable sitting-room filled with leather settees and armchairs, a dormant stone fireplace dominating the far wall. Windows rose beside the fireplace all the way to the high, peaked roof—by day, the views would surely be arresting.

  “My people have fought hard tonight and traveled a long way,” I said as Lord Gabrin joined me in the sitting-room. “Is there anywhere they might rest a few hours?”

  His wife nodded. “We have several guest rooms that we can prepare at once.”

  “Thank you. And if you don’t mind me keeping you up a little longer, I want you to know my plans, before you regret inviting me into your beautiful lodge.”

  Lord Gabrin’s wife spoke softly to a servant, who led the rest of my supporters up the curving wood staircase. Only Baridya, Quendon, and Magreeda remained at my side.

  Lord Gabrin sent his children back to bed—the oldest, including the red-haired twin girls, looked reluctant to go—and settled into one of the high-backed leather chairs with his wife by his side. As I took a seat opposite him, I breathed in deeply, comforted by the warm pine scent of the house.

  “Thank you again, Lord Gabrin, Lady—”

  “Pashisse, Your Majesty.”

  I dipped my head respectfully to her. “I am most grateful for your hospitality. But you need to know that I am preparing for war. The people now sleeping upstairs have traveled from the far reaches of the coast to form my army. Whitland is moving to invade Itrea, and we must sec
ure Larkhaven before their reinforcements arrive.”

  “I feared as much,” Lord Gabrin said darkly. “There have been terrible deaths in Larkhaven recently, but no one knows who to trace them back to. The governor hasn’t been seen in spans—we fear he is held prisoner in his own home. We usually only visit this lodge on occasion, but we have heard whispered threats against the magic races, so we thought it safest to stay away from town until things settled down. You must have seen our daughters—one is a Flamespinner, and our youngest son is a Cloudmage.”

  I let out a slow breath, not sure how to break the news. “My lord, I’m sorry to say that the governor—the governor is dead.”

  Fear flashed across Lady Pashisse’s face, and Lord Gabrin’s mouth tightened in fury.

  “He was a prisoner in his estate, as you say, and he died in our attempt to free him.”

  “That is terrible news,” Lord Gabrin said tightly. “He was a good man. A strong leader.”

  I swallowed. “He was. And if you harbor us—and our growing army—I fear you will be in as much danger as Lord Jofran was.”

  “We would be in more danger if Larkhaven fell under Whitish rule,” Lady Pashisse said, her eyes hard. “The first people they have targeted are the ones with obvious markings of power. The red-haired Flamespinners, the Braiders with lines across their faces—even a Weaver vanished without a trace. Our daughters would be hunted down and slaughtered.”

  “It is true,” Lord Gabrin said. “We are willing to do anything to escape that fate. Our lodge is yours, Your Majesty.”

  17

  Riders from the West

  W hen Quendon and Magreeda went up to bed, I slipped out of the manor and wove through the forest until I reached the sea cliffs. Sunrise was near; faint purple tinged the grey sky, where long streaks of clouds, upturned at the end, signaled a change in the weather. The wind had strengthened in the last hour, and an unseasonal chill hung in the air.

  I sat at the very edge of the cliffs, hugging my knees and watching the waves. Soon the sun rose, casting a line of burning light across the ocean, tinging the clouds with pink and gold. I thought I could see a dolphin’s fin crest the waves from time to time, and wondered if it was the Rider’s creature. Though I should have been exhausted, fear kept me awake, pulsing through my veins like blood. I tried to count the days we had left, the forces we might be able to gather; no matter how I looked at it, my calculations added to failure.