Crush the King

by Estep, Jennifer

  Nervous butterflies flapped in my chest, but I swatted them away. Nerves were one of the many things that a queen couldn’t afford to indulge in.

  Several guards moved along the ridgeline, thrusting tall flags into the ground to formally mark this as the Bellonan camp, as was the tradition on the Regalia’s opening morning. The flags would stand here for the next three days until the Games ended and we returned home to Svalin.

  Or until I was killed, whichever came first.

  Most of the flags featured my midnight-blue crown-of-shards crest on a light gray background, but a few other symbols were mixed in as well. One flag featured Serilda’s crest—a black swan with a blue tearstone eye and beak on a white background—while another featured a snarling green ogre face with gold eyes on a gold background that was Xenia’s crest.

  Xenia was staying here in the Bellonan camp, but she was a cousin to the Ungerian queen and would also be advising her other majesty during the Regalia. I eyed my friend, but her face was calm, although the ogre on her neck had its amber eyes narrowed and lips puckered in thought. I wasn’t quite sure how Xenia would divide her duties—and especially her loyalties—during the Games, but if anyone could dance to the tune of two mistresses, it was her.

  The guards finished with the flags, bowed to me, and stepped back. I nodded my thanks, then looked out over the harbor again.

  “I don’t like this,” Captain Auster muttered, breaking the silence. “I don’t like this one bit. I never have.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “You’ve been to the Regalia several times.”

  He shook his head. “And I always worry about my queen being assassinated here, more so than at any other place, especially with all the other royals and their guards lurking around. And I am especially wary of this Regalia, given everything that’s happened over the past year.”

  Auster was right. I would have even fewer friends on Fortuna Island than I did at Seven Spire, and I had to be prepared for anything. Someone always wanted to kill the queen, even here, during this time of celebration, competition, and supposed goodwill between the kingdoms.

  Oh, yes. I would most likely have to deal with assassins during the Regalia. But I had my own plans to kill the king, so I focused on the opposite side of the river—on Morta.

  A similar ridge jutted up from the landscape there, but no flags lined the edge, and no tents dotted the flat, grassy plateau in the distance.

  “Any sign of the Mortans?” I asked.

  “No,” Cho replied. “They haven’t arrived yet.”

  “They’re cutting it a bit close, aren’t they?” Sullivan asked. “The Games start in less than three hours.”

  “Well, I can’t kill the king if he’s not bloody here,” I growled.

  Before we’d left Seven Spire, I had told everyone my determination to go on the offensive and assassinate the king during the Games before he could do the same to me. They had all offered their support, especially Paloma, who had volunteered to use her mace to bash in his skull, just like Serilda had predicted.

  I wasn’t going to let my friend do something so risky, but we had come up with several potential plans to kill the king. Still, all our plotting would be for nothing if he didn’t actually attend the Regalia.

  Still frustrated, I turned to Serilda. “What do you see with your magic? Anything to do with the Mortans?”

  Her blue eyes grew dark and dreamy, and the smell of magic filled the air as she looked out over the water at Morta. After several seconds of silent contemplation, Serilda frowned and shook her head.

  “It’s too early to tell. Right now all I see is darkness. It’s almost like a . . . wave rising up, getting ready to drown us all.” She dropped her hand to her sword, as if the blade would protect her from the horrible vision. “A wave that could swallow us, and everyone else here, and all of Bellona.”

  “See?” Auster muttered. “I told you that I didn’t like coming to the Regalia.”

  Paloma clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, cheer up, Auster. The Regalia is just another arena, and we’ll win this fight, just like we have all the others.”

  She grinned at the older man. After a moment, Auster’s lips turned up into a small smile.

  “Don’t forget that you do have some allies,” Xenia chimed in. “My cousin the queen arrived late last night. She’s most eager to finally set eyes on the great Everleigh Blair.”

  I made a face. There was nothing great about me, except perhaps the fact that I had survived this long, which I often thought had more to do with blind luck than any outstanding skill on my part. But sometimes luck was all you had, and I was determined to make the most of mine.

  “You’ve already been reporting to your cousin?” Serilda snorted. “That’s quick work, even for you.”

  Xenia bared her teeth at the other woman, as did the ogre on her neck. “That’s because I deal in facts, not vague visions like you do.”

  Serilda’s hand curled a little tighter around her sword, while Xenia’s fingers did the same to her ogre cane, as though each woman wanted to battle the other. In some ways, the two of them couldn’t be more different. Serilda was a soldier first, always ready, willing, and eager to dispatch Bellona’s enemies with her sword, while Xenia was a spy, more apt to undercut her opponents than face them openly. Still, underneath all their sniping, I thought they had a lot of mutual respect for each other.

  I had certainly learned a lot from both of them. Serilda had taught me how to physically fight for and win my throne, while Xenia’s lessons about dealing with the nobles had helped me keep my crown.

  “Well, I agree with Xenia,” Cho chimed in. “I think you’ll have far more allies than you expect, Evie. Everyone knows how greedy and ambitious the Mortan king is, and no one wants to see their people killed and their lands invaded by him. That includes Ryusama.”

  Xenia arched an eyebrow at him. “Sounds like I’m not the only one who’s been busy. Did your cousin the queen tell you that?”

  Like Xenia, Cho was related to royalty, a fact that I had only learned as we’d been planning our trip to the Regalia. He winked at her. “Oh, I never reveal my sources.”

  Xenia huffed, but she smiled a little at his teasing.

  “Well, we know that the Andvarians are with you,” Sullivan said. “Heinrich and Dominic are attending the Regalia, along with Rhea.”

  King Heinrich was Sullivan’s father, Crown Prince Dominic was his half brother, and Rhea was the captain of the Andvarian royal guards and Dominic’s unofficial consort. Heinrich and I had agreed to a new treaty between Bellona and Andvari a few months ago, and it was nice to know that I could count on his support as I tried to convince Unger and the other kingdoms to align with us against Morta.

  “Don’t worry, highness,” Sullivan continued. “We’re all here standing shoulder to shoulder with you. So let the Mortans come, and the DiLucris, and all your other enemies. Because none of us are going anywhere.”

  His blue eyes blazed with conviction and determination, and the smell of his rosy love washed over me. He would stand with me until his dying breath, just as I would do the same for him and the rest of my friends.

  I grabbed his hand and squeezed his fingers. “I love you for that.” I looked at the others. “I love all of you for that, and I’ll do my very best to protect you.”

  That was the vow I had made to myself during the Seven Spire massacre, after Vasilia had killed almost everyone I had ever known and cared about, and it was the vow I had repeated to myself every single day since then. So far, I had kept it, and I had no intention of breaking it during the Regalia, not even to try to assassinate the Mortan king.

  They all nodded at me. Sullivan. Paloma. Serilda. Cho. Auster. Xenia. I stared at them a moment longer, then turned to face my people.

  While my friends and I had been talking, everyone in the Bellonan camp had been gathering in the open field behind us. Guards, servants, nobles, merchants, competitors, spectators. All shapes, sizes, and stations
were represented in the crowd, and thousands of people had traveled from all across Bellona to watch and compete in the Games.

  I strode forward and stopped in front of them. Slowly, the crowd quieted, and everyone focused on me. I looked from one face to another.

  Calandre and her sisters clutching pennants with my crown-of-shards crest that they’d sewn themselves. Fullman and his son Tolliver, both wearing sour expressions, still unhappy that I’d nixed Tolliver from the Tournament of Champions. Diante and her grandson Nico, shooting smug, superior looks at the other two nobles. And dozens and dozens of other nobles, servants, guards, and gladiators I knew from my time at both Seven Spire and the Black Swan arena. All gathered here to represent Bellona and cheer on their fellow countrymen and -women.

  I stared out at the sea of happy, excited faces and breathed in the scents of everyone’s collective honey hope and sour, sweaty eagerness. An unusual combination, but a pleasant one today.

  I glanced at Auster, who nodded. Even though I had never been to the Regalia before, this was part of our Bellonan tradition, and Auster had schooled me on what to do and say. So I drew in another breath, then let it out, and pulled the sword from the scabbard on my belt. The tearstone blade glinted a dull silver in the early morning sunlight, as did the two bracelets on my wrists.

  I rubbed my thumb over the blue crown-of-shards crest embedded in the hilt, letting the sharp points dig into my skin. Then I drew in another breath, tightened my grip on my sword, and swept it out to the side as I performed the perfect Bellonan curtsy. I held the curtsy for several seconds, showing my respect for everyone who had gathered here, and all the work they had done to make this moment possible, then slowly straightened and spread my arms out wide.

  “Bellonans!” I said, my voice ringing out over the field. “Welcome to the Regalia!”

  The crowd roared back, yelling, cheering, clapping, screaming, and whistling. Calandre must have made more pennants than I’d realized, because several people waved them in time to the wild, raucous cheers.

  Despite all the dangers that waited for me on Fortuna, their excitement was contagious, and an electric hum of anticipation charged the air. I suddenly found myself wanting to grab a pennant, snap it back and forth through the air, and cheer at the top of my lungs. My people had worked hard for weeks, months, years to hone and perfect their skills, and they deserved this chance to shine in front of the other kingdoms.

  “Are you ready to show off your finest goods and amazing creations? Are you ready to display your skills and magic? Are you ready to battle in the arena for the glory of our applause? And most of all, are you ready to show everyone that Bellonans are the smartest, strongest, fiercest people on this continent?”

  My words whipped the crowd into a frenzy, and their yells, cheers, claps, screams, and whistles reached a frantic, fevered pitch. The noise went on for more than a minute before they finally calmed down.

  “Then let’s show them all that and more!” I screamed, stabbing my sword high into the air. “To battle! To glory! To victory!”

  “Battle! Glory! Victory!” everyone screamed back. “Battle! Glory! Victory! Battle! Glory! Victory!”

  They kept screaming those three words over and over again, each one louder than the last. I soaked up the crowd’s enthusiasm, pouring it into my mind and especially into my heart. No matter what happened during the Regalia, I would never forget this one perfect moment, when we were all united, and anything seemed possible, even the death of the Mortan king.

  With my sword still raised high in the air, I turned around and marched across the field. Fortuna waited in the distance, as did my allies and enemies alike.

  The Regalia had officially begun.

  Chapter Eight

  I wound my way down the stone steps that led from the ridge to the waterfront plaza below. Paloma, Sullivan, and Captain Auster stayed close to me, while Serilda, Cho, and Xenia trailed behind us, along with several guards and the chattering crowd.

  Our route took us by a fountain shaped like a miniature version of Seven Spire that bubbled in the center of the plaza. People rushed past the fountain, across the plaza, and onto the wide stone drawbridge that stretched from Bellona across the water to Fortuna Island.

  I waited for the bulk of the crowd to move past, then went over to the bridge, along with my friends and guards. Just like the seven bridges in Svalin, this one also had a name—Perseverance. A similar bridge stretched from the Mortan side of the river over to the island. Auster had told me that it was called Power. Of course it was.

  Fierce-looking gladiators were carved into the Bellonan bridge’s solid stone walls, while an alternating pattern of swords and shields was inlaid in the walkway flagstones. The bridge was only a few feet above the waterline, and the tearstone span shifted from light gray to dark blue and back again. The changing colors matched the sparkling surface of the water and almost seemed to move in time to the rolling waves.

  By this point, most of the Bellonans were already halfway across the bridge, but I slowly walked along it, studying Fortuna Island as it came into focus.

  Stone and wooden docks lined much of the golden, sandy shoreline, and fishermen were rowing and sailing their boats back to the island, having already secured their first catches of the day. My nose crinkled at the stench of fish, blood, and guts mixing with the fresh and salt waters.

  The docks opened up into a series of stone plazas filled with wooden carts, and I could hear the merchants shouting and hawking their goods all the way over here. Beyond the plazas, a wide boulevard stretched out in both directions, and carts, carriages, and wagons jostled along the cobblestones, almost as if they were in a race to see who could circle the island the fastest.

  The far side of the boulevard was lined with shops and houses, all painted in vibrant colors—bright reds, sunny yellows, summer blues. Black slate tiles covered the buildings’ steep, sloping roofs, along with black wrought-iron weather vanes that looked like arrows pointing up at the stone steps that had been carved into the hills above. People were already climbing the steps, heading to the plaza on the very top of the island where the Games would be held.

  My friends and I reached the opposite side of the bridge and headed onto the island. I’d only taken about three steps forward when a man planted himself in front of me.

  He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with hazel eyes and black hair that gleamed with an oily sheen. A neat, trimmed mustache lined his upper lip, and his teeth were very square and blindingly white against his tan skin. He was wearing a short white jacket over a white tunic and sandy brown leggings and boots. Gold thread scrolled down his jacket sleeves, and the gold buttons on the front glimmered as though they had just been polished. The buttons were all stamped with a familiar symbol—a woman with coins for her eyes and mouth.

  Standing next to him was a woman who looked to be in her late twenties, just like me. She too was wearing a short white jacket and tunic over brown leggings and boots, although her clothes were adorned with far less gold thread. She was quite lovely, with bright hazel eyes, tan skin, and golden hair that was pulled into a fat braid that trailed over her shoulder. An exquisite choker made of tiny gold coins ringed her neck, each separate piece stamped with the coined-woman crest.

  Several guards dressed in sandy brown tunics, leggings, and boots flanked the man and the woman. That same coined-woman crest glittered in gold thread in the center of the guards’ tunics, and each one had a sword with a gold hilt holstered to their brown leather belts.

  “And here’s the welcoming committee,” Auster muttered, dropping his hand to his own sword.

  The man in the white jacket bowed to me. “Queen Everleigh. Welcome to Fortuna. I am Driscol DiLucri, and this is my sister, Seraphine.” He gestured at the woman.

  I’d heard of Driscol, the current head of the DiLucri family and thus the Mint. Technically, no kingdom owned Fortuna, and the island was supposed to be a neutral site, not only for sailors and merchants, but
for the Regalia as well. However, given all the gold and goods that flowed from the ships, through the Mint’s doors, and back out again, the island more or less belonged to the DiLucris, who had long ago established their own guards, laws, and taxes.

  The DiLucris might be a sort of royal family, but they did one thing differently than the Blairs, Ripleys, and all the others—the strongest, smartest, and cleverest person of each generation led them, instead of the firstborn. It was an unusual arrangement, but one that seemed to work well for the DiLucris, given their continued prosperity. Still, I’d heard rumors that the leadership battles were particularly ruthless—and that the bones of more than one DiLucri littered the bottom of the harbor.

  “I am the head of the Regalia committee,” Driscol continued.

  Since the Regalia was always held on their island, the DiLucris were in charge of most of the preparations, although the kings and queens still had a say in how things were done. Despite the DiLucris’ supposed neutrality, everyone knew that certain Regalia favors and advantages could be had—for the right price.

  “Hello, Driscol, Seraphine. Thank you for such a warm welcome,” I replied, following the standard protocol script.

  Seraphine curtsied, while Driscol bowed and smiled, but there was no warmth in his expression, only white teeth. I could also clearly smell his hot, peppery anger. No doubt by now he had heard what I’d done to his geldjagers, whose bodies would slowly rot on the scaffolding outside Seven Spire until I returned from the Regalia.

  “Most of the other royals have already arrived. If you will follow us, my guards will escort you to the arena for the opening ceremonies.” Driscol smiled at me again, then strode away, with Seraphine and his guards following along behind him.

  Paloma, Sullivan, and Captain Auster sidled a little closer, forming a protective semicircle around me. Auster was still clutching his sword, while Paloma’s hand drifted down to the mace on her belt. Sullivan flexed his fingers, ready to reach for his lightning, should the need arise.