“By now the other cities will have risen up,” Merek says. “We should send men—people—to support them. Have the surviving nobles brought to the castle for trial. Send messengers to bring the children home. See what’s needed to get back on track. To start again.”
“Your eyes have changed again,” Nia says. “It’s a bit better than the white. But still creepy.”
“I think they look fantastic,” Kata says, her gold eyes glinting, and we grin at each other.
“Why don’t you all go on to the Great Hall?” Merek says. “Down the corridor, left, then right. We’ll join you there soon.”
Stuan bows to him, and Kirin winks at me, and the five of them do as he asked. Merek tugs on my hand and leads me out of the castle, until we’re standing at the top of the stairs that lead down, and eventually out of the castle grounds.
The wind has risen, whipping my hair around my face. I reach up to smooth it back, catching sight of the newly scarlet strands. I pull a few around so I can see them.
“Rubedo,” Merek says. I look at him to see his skin has flared a shade remarkably similar to my hair. “That’s what your curse should be called.”
“Why?”
“It makes sense.” Merek rubs the back of his neck, not meeting my eye. “Like Nigredo, but Rubedo. Red. I decided the white curse should be Albedo.”
“When did you decide that?”
“When you were ignoring me at the commune.”
“Rubedo,” I say. The curse of my blood.
Below us in the twilight Lortune looks peaceful, though I know it can’t be. Shops and houses are in ruins; blood and bodies litter the streets. Somewhere in the square, Lief’s body lies, and I don’t want it left there for the crows. He deserves to be taken to his family’s mausoleum, to lie with them.
“What happened?” I ask. “With Lief? He helped us, didn’t he? I saw him nod to the crowd before—”
Merek’s face slackens for a moment, then he rummages in his pocket. “It’s better if you read for yourself,” he says as he hands me a small sheet of parchment.
I had no choice, it begins. Addressed to no one in particular.
I had no choice. Ymilla told him you were all here. I’ll do what I can to protect Errin, but I can’t protect Twylla. He plans to execute her, and he’ll have me do it. It will be tomorrow. Midday. The men on the West Gate of Lortune are Rising Sympathizers, as is the owner of the book binders on the town square. Get there before dawn, and wait. Do what needs to be done. Tell Errin this is me fixing things. And that she was right, I was raised better than this. This is me trying to be a better man. Tell her I love her, and to tell Mama the same. And tell Twylla I’m sorry.
That’s it.
I look up at Merek, to find him watching me closely.
“Is this all?” I hold up the piece of paper.
“Yes. I found it in Errin’s lab.”
“That’s how you were there, waiting. That’s why you shot him.”
“I would have shot him to save you anyway,” Merek says. “But … yes. I assume that’s what he meant by ‘do what needs to be done.’ That he was prepared to pay any price.”
“So does this mean he was with us, in the end? Is that what you think?”
“I think he regretted a lot of things,” Merek says slowly. “From the beginning. I think he thought he was cleverer than he was, and by the time he realized he was in too deep, it was too late, and he did what he could to ease his conscience without risking himself, or his mother.”
Typical Lief. I sigh, wrapping my arms around myself.
“He didn’t tell Aurek I was alive and working in his employ,” Merek continues. “He told us how to get out of Lortune. He refused the Elixir when it was offered to him. And he gave us the Opus Mortem recipe. Who knows what else he did, quietly, to undermine Aurek.”
“That doesn’t make up for all the things he’s done—all the people he hurt.”
“Perhaps not. But I think he was trying, in his own way.”
I think of everything we went through together, me and Lief: His coming to the castle. Our being together. His betrayal. His alliance with Aurek. And now I’ll never know the truth of him. Perhaps, on the King’s Road, he was trying to get me away, not hurt me. Perhaps the reason he hit me at the commune was to stop me from fighting and getting hurt. He gave me the Opus Mortem; he gave me back my note to him. He gave up his life, knowingly, to help us. Yet no one will ever know the whole truth, and he died a villain.
I sigh again, and look back down at the town.
“There’s so much to do,” I say quietly, not aware I’ve spoken aloud until Merek nods. “As well as everything here, there’s Chargate, Monkham, Haga. The whole country needs to be put back together. I don’t know where you’re going to begin.”
Merek lets go of my hand and moves in front of me.
“Twylla,” he says, but I shake my head.
I know what he’s going to say and I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I still don’t know what I want. I’m attracted to him, yes. But I’m not ready to be his wife. Or anyone’s wife. I might never be.
“I told you that you were the queen Lormere needed,” he begins.
“A scarecrow queen, Aurek said,” I counter. “A puppet. I can’t be queen.”
“You have to be. It was always going to be you.”
“Merek, I’m not ready to marry anyone.”
Merek frowns. “Who said anything about marrying?”
I stare at him. “But you just said—”
“That you’re the queen Lormere needs. Not my queen.”
“I … I don’t understand.”
“Technically, I gave up my throne to Aurek when I hid. I abdicated. And you just killed him. Which makes you queen by right of conquest.” He holds the crown out to me. “You won the throne. It’s yours.”
My heart beats like a drum against my ribs, but the pain is nothing. “But you’re the prince—you’re the king …”
“Not anymore.” He smiles. “Twylla, you’ve been queen in training since you were thirteen. Before that, you were preparing to spend your life taking on the sins of every person in this country. And over the last four moons, you’ve raised and led an army into war. You’re the right person for this job. You’re the only person for this job.”
“I don’t know how to rule. What if I don’t want to rule?”
He gives a short laugh. “Remember that night, in my room, at the commune? I asked you what I should do after I won back my crown, because I didn’t know. But you did. You already had a plan for Lormere, for all of us.” I open my mouth to protest, because that was different, it was hypothetical, but he holds up a hand to stop me. “And do you really not want to rule? Truly? Because in the commune, every time someone referred to me as ‘king,’ you pulled this face.” I watch as his eyes become stony, and his mouth a sullen line.
“I did not.” My gaze drops to the crown in his hands.
When I meet his eyes again, he’s smiling. “Oh, yes, you did. You might not have realized it, but I saw it. And given that you’ve defeated two of the last three monarchs to sit this throne, I’m not fool enough to take you on with those odds.”
“The castle is ruined,” I say stupidly.
“Then build a new one. You have a council to advise you; Hope, Nia, Kirin, Silas, Stuan. You won’t have to do it alone.”
“Half of them Tregellian. That’s never been done.”
“Twylla … Do you want to be queen?” His voice is soft, neutral.
I stare at the band of gold now dangling from the tips of his fingers and think about what it would mean. Not just to me, but to everyone in Lormere. The things I could do … The country we could become …
“Yes,” I say, my voice steady. “I do.”
When he holds the crown toward me again, I reach out, and I take it.
It’s cold in my hands, lighter than I’d expected, too. For some reason, I thought it would be heavy. When I look closer, I see it�
��s a little scratched, and there’s a dent in one side. I rub my thumb in the small recess and look up at Merek. “What about you?”
“I’m going to ask Errin if she’ll take me on as her apprentice,” he says. “I want to learn the apothecary’s art. And more about alchemy—even if I can’t perform it, I can learn the theory. I’d like to study the texts the Tregellians have kept locked away. Then I plan to petition you for funds to build a school of medicine. Maybe two schools. And I wouldn’t mind a place on your council, if you’ll have me.”
He gently takes the crown from my hands and places it on my head. It’s too big, and it slips down until my ears hold it in place.
“Kirin was a blacksmith,” he says. “He can adjust it for you. Maybe spruce it up a bit.”
I laugh, because it’s madness. He can’t be serious.
Merek Belmis kneels. “I offer you my fealty, Your Majesty. I swear to serve and protect you as your most loyal subject until the day I die.”
“Get up,” I say, a high note to my voice.
He stands, and takes my hand and kisses it.
“I love you,” he says simply. “Always have. Always will. But more than that, I’m your friend for life. No matter what you decide about your future. Even if you decide to rule alone. Even if you elope with Stuan.”
I laugh again, the end twisting into a sob.
“You’re going to make an incredible queen,” Merek says, wiping away a tear from my face. He kisses my hand again and then walks back into the castle, leaving me alone.
I look back up at the castle, blackened and filthy. Such a dark, terrible place, the stones themselves seeped in sadness. I’ll raze it, I decide. Start again. Build everything from the ground up.
It will take time, I realize. Castles can take years to build. Countries can take decades to recover. There’s so much to do.
But I have time.
I adjust my crown, tilting it back so it rests at an angle.
I have time.
Firstly, the biggest thanks go to my agent, Claire Wilson. Writing can sometimes be a scary, lonely business. If you’re lucky, you have a Claire, who cuts through the impossibility and makes everything exciting and achievable. Also, I’m pretty sure she’d be useful in a zombie apocalypse.
Thanks to Rosie Price and Sam Copeland at RCW, too, for stepping in to support me.
As ever, huge thanks to the usual suspects at Scholastic UK, in particular my editor, Genevieve Herr. I’ve had the best time creating this world with you. Thank you so much for your guidance and patience and insight. And editorial comments. I didn’t even know how to spell fnarrrrr before I worked with you, and now I don’t know what I’d do without it.
Thanks to Jamie Gregory for yet another beautiful cover. One day I hope my stories live up to his art. Thanks to Rachel Phillips for being consistently brilliant.
Also thanks to Lorraine Keating; Lucy Richardson; Olivia Horrox; Fi Evans; Sam Selby-Smith; Pete Matthews; the sales team; the rights team; and everyone else who has worked hard on my behalf behind the scenes, throughout the whole series. Thank you.
The YA community—online and off—have, over the last three years, become the best coworkers I could ask for. I don’t know what I’d do without Sara Barnard; Holly Bourne; Alexia Casale; and CJ Daugherty. My continuing sanity over the past year is largely thanks to them. I also owe thanks to Catherine Doyle; Katie Webber; Samantha Shannon; Laure Eve; Alwyn Hamilton; Kiran Millwood-Hargrave; Anna James; Nina Douglas; Rainbow Rowell; Leigh Bardugo; Lucy Saxon; Jade from Bloomsbury Non-Fiction; and Lucy Lapinski for a lot of fun and support and laughter over the past year. Thanks again to Emilie, the Stu to my Nick. I’m over being a vampire. Don’t believe the hype.
Thanks also to the following, who have continued being brilliant throughout my writing of The Scarecrow Queen: the Lyonses and the Allports; Sophie Reynolds; Denise Strauss; Emma Gerrard; Lizzy Evans; Mikey Beddard; Franziska Schmidt; Katja Rammer; Neil Bird; Laura Hughes; Adam Reeve; my brother, Steven; Auntie Penny, Uncle Eddie, and family; my sister, Kelly; and Auntie Cath and Uncle Paul. I love you all so much.
Over the course of the series, I’ve built up an amazing reader base, who make every day a joy, with their tweets, comments, art, photos, and general existence. Thank you all, for buying my books and for loving my stories, and for your constant, vocal, and brilliant support. Very particular thanks go to Sofia Saghir; Sally-zar Slytherin; Steph (eenalol); Holly (The_Arts_Shelf); Aimee (Geordie_Aimee); Marian (Witchymomo); Sarah Corrigan; Stacee (book_junkee); Mariyam (ohpandaeyes); Chelley Toy; Lucy Powrie; Kate Ormand; and Christine (xenatine), who have all given so much love to the Sin Eater series, and to me. I hope so much you like The Scarecrow Queen. Thank you for seeing it through to the end, and I hope you stick around for what happens next.
Final thanks go to my nan, Florence May Kiernan. Thanks for everything. She never knew I’d written a book—let alone a trilogy. But she’d be super proud. Especially because I got plants and poisons in there.
Melinda Salisbury lives by the sea, somewhere in the south of England. As a child, she genuinely thought Roald Dahl’s Matilda was her biography, in part helped by her grandfather’s often mistakenly calling her Matilda, and the local library’s having a pretty cavalier attitude to the books she borrowed. Sadly, she never manifested telekinetic powers. She likes to travel, and to have adventures. She also likes medieval castles, non-medieval aquariums, Richard III, and all things Scandinavian.
She can be found on Twitter at @MESalisbury, though be warned, she tweets often.
Copyright © 2017 Melinda Salisbury
Map by Maxime Plasse
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920, by arrangement with Scholastic Children’s Books, an imprint of Scholastic Ltd., London. scholastic, scholastic press, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available
First American edition, November 2017
Cover art © 2017 by Jacey and Jamie Gregory
Cover design by Christopher Stengel
e-ISBN 978-1-338-19314-5
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
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