by Jayne Faith
“True.”
We’d started strolling toward the door. My stomach was growling, and we had limited time to grab food and return to our official work.
“How are you?” I asked quietly, my eyes slipping down to the freshly-healed skin around his wrists. Only iron would have left marks that lingered for so long on a New Garg.
I expected him to immediately brush off my concern, but instead he gave a long sigh. “I’m alive and relatively unharmed,” he said.
We’d entered the corridor, and Emmaline fell into step behind me and Oliver. I peeked over my shoulder. Behind her, the troops quickly sheathed their broadswords, formed two lines, and jogged to catch up before they fell into a military march.
Oliver’s eyes flicked to the side, but he didn’t turn to look. The corner of his mouth twitched with what passed for amusement from the stone man. We automatically began tracing a route to Oliver’s quarters.
“What did they do to you? Did they try to demand information, or . . . ?” I trailed off. I wanted to know, and yet I dreaded the details.
“They kept me restrained, and that Fae sorcerer came into my cell with Finvarra early on. They spent quite some time weaving magic around me and sending it through me.” He grimaced at the memory. “It wasn’t painful, but it was intensely uncomfortable. Eldon seemed to saturate me with his magic, somehow.”
“What was Finvarra doing?”
He squinted as if trying to picture the Unseelie High King. “He mostly stood there with his eyes closed. He formed a concentration of magic between his palms.” Oliver lifted his hands out as if he held an invisible beach ball. “The magic Eldon put into me eventually streamed out my mouth, ears, and eyes and into Finvarra’s orb.”
I frowned. “Perhaps they were creating a servitor of your likeness, and that was the man they brought before me.”
Oliver cut a swift look at me. “Brought before you?”
I stared straight ahead and nodded. “They had a man who looked like you, but who’d been tortured. His eye—” I swallowed convulsively. “His eye had been gouged out. He was in bad shape. He looked, moved, and sounded just like you. He even tried to warn me not to enter into any oaths with the Unseelie.”
I pulled my lips in and clamped down on them with my teeth, still trying to convince myself that the image in my mind’s eye wasn’t really Oliver.
“You didn’t, did you? Agree to any binding promises?”
“I thought they were going to kill you if I didn’t go along with them,” I whispered. “But no, I didn’t make promises to Finvarra or Periclase.”
We were silent for several long moments.
“Father, I—I made a choice,” I started haltingly, my chest aching at the memory of the decision I’d made. “I chose to defy Periclase, even though he threatened me with your—your death.”
He watched me, his face pained.
I swallowed hard. “It killed me, but I made a decision that I fully believed meant he would murder you.” My eyes began to brim. Being in public was the only thing keeping me from completely breaking down. I kept my voice low. “It was awful, the worst thing I’ve ever had to do, but I can’t deny that I believed it was the right thing to do at the time. Can you . . . can you forgive me for doing such a thing?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said quickly, almost speaking over me. “It was the right decision. It’s what I would have told you to do, if I could have. It’s what a queen would do.”
I took a quiet, shaking breath in and pulled myself together.
“You must have been in a cell for . . . days,” I said, my voice still watery.
“It was a while.”
“How’d Eldon get you out?” I asked.
“He just showed up at my cell with Nicole, removed my shackles, and took us to a doorway.”
“No one tried to stop you?”
“I don’t think anyone saw us. He used some kind of obfuscation magic. Seemed like a combination of his gloaming and some other optical illusion, though I wasn’t on the viewing side of it, so I couldn’t be sure.”
I was a tiny bit disappointed. I was hoping Eldon had been forced to openly defy Periclase.
“Where did he go?” I asked.
My father shrugged. “I didn’t ask what his plans were.”
We’d reached Oliver’s apartment. He pressed his hand to the door. The magic mechanism in it recognized him and the door unlatched and swung inward a few inches.
Emmaline’s people lined up along either side of the doorway as they had outside the meeting room.
Once inside with the door closed, Oliver pointed his thumb over his shoulder and arched a brow at me. “Nice baby battalion you’ve got out there.”
I flapped my hands and shushed him. “Don’t let them hear you say things like that. They’re taking their job very seriously. And they’re taking a stand in a very public way. They deserve our respect.”
“I suppose they do,” he conceded.
He went to the phone mounted on the wall—there was no wireless service of any kind in Faerie—and called the kitchen to place an order for sandwiches to be delivered.
Oliver’s quarters were spare and not exactly set up for guests. The only chair in the small living room, an old recliner, was his seat by default. I removed my scabbard, laid it on the floor, and sat cross-legged beside it.
My father crossed one ankle over the other knee, propped his elbows on the armrests, and steepled his fingers.
“You need to make a statement, literally and figuratively,” he said. “Something to establish yourself, to make yourself visible as Queen.”
“You have something in mind?”
He leaned back and shook his head. “It’s not the thing itself that’s important. It’s the swiftness with which it happens. You need to go public as Queen immediately.” His intense eyes met mine. “You need to do it today.”
I knew he was right, but my stomach flipped at the prospect of it. I didn’t know how to be Queen of the Carraig, how to make the people see me as their leader. But I was going to have to figure it out fast.
Chapter 10
MY FATHER AND I ate our sandwiches hastily, digging in as soon as they arrived. I was halfway through mine before I froze mid-chew at the sudden thought that occurred to me. What if my roast beef on rye had been poisoned? Oh well, too late. And if I died, at least I wouldn’t have to deal with trying to rally the Carraig around me. I inhaled the rest of my food. And all too soon, we were leaving the peace and privacy of Oliver’s quarters.
We went back to the Opal Room, where Maxen was already waiting.
“Nicole is home resting,” he said. “The medics said everything is fine with the pregnancy, and she’s in perfect health.”
My brows twitched up and then down. Home? Ah, of course. When we’d been in the fortress before, Nicole had shared my apartment. Apparently she’d relocated to Maxen’s quarters. It made sense that her home base was with him, but I supposed I still wasn’t completely used to the idea of them as a couple.
The three of us sat down at the conference table.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Oliver beat me to it.
“Petra needs a formal event, a sort of coming out as the monarch of the Carraig,” he said.
Maxen tilted his head. “You’re right. And the sooner, the better.”
Oliver leaned back and crossed his arms, nodding.
“We’re thinking something should happen before the day’s end,” I said.
Slanting a gaze upward, Maxen pursed his lips. “Yes. A coronation ceremony.”
I tried not to visibly cringe. But he was right. That was exactly the type of formality that needed to take place in our new kingdom.
“You’re the expert on courtly protocol, Maxen,” I said. “How does a coronation usually go?”
“Normally we’d want to invite foreign dignitaries to attend and make a week-long celebration of it,” he said. “But given the short notice and the state of things in Faerie, we’ll have
to skip the pageantry. Pity, as it’s a good opportunity to establish yourself with other rulers.”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Eh, I’ve already crossed paths with a handful of them. Even made a couple of friends, I think.”
“That’s right,” Maxen said. “You met with several in the Summerlands.”
“Maybe we could host a party at a later date,” I suggested, knowing full well it might never happen, given what we were facing with the Unseelie and at some point the Tuatha De Danann.
“Sure,” Maxen said, and I could tell he was thinking the same thing. “For now, you should start notifying your appointees and working on getting their formal acceptances so we can get those jobs filled. Actually, let’s back up a little. The coronation is your first big step. Getting your court and staff set and in order while establishing authority and keeping the peace is your next step. And after that, your focus must be taking action to help your subjects and the kingdom as a whole thrive.”
I pressed the heel of one hand against my temple. I was starting to get a headache.
“But first things first,” Maxen said. “I’ll work on the coronation ceremony.”
He stood, looking down at his tablet and swiping across the screen. I rose, too. I needed to ask him something, but it was a question I’d been dreading. He turned as if to go.
“Uh, Maxen?”
He lowered the tablet and looked up at me.
“Where should I establish myself for . . . you know, work?”
His eyes hardened, but only slightly. If he suggested I take over his mother’s office suite, I was going to have to refuse. There had to be somewhere else.
Maxen shifted his gaze to Oliver. “Would you show her to the offices of the Head Administrator?” To me, he said, “It’s a good layout. We can have it redecorated to your liking.”
He didn’t wait for a response but absorbed himself in the tasks on his tablet and left.
“What happened to the head administrator?” I asked my father.
“She’s Raleigh’s wife.”
“Oh.” I’d known that, but somehow hadn’t made the connection.
Oliver, along with Emmaline and a dozen of her troops, escorted me to Raleigh’s wife’s former office suite. It had a small reception room with a desk, which led into a well-appointed sitting room with a fireplace, and beyond a large office furnished in oak. A skinny door revealed an attached private bathroom. Thank the gods, there wasn’t much in the way of personal items. And not five minutes after I arrived, three pages showed up, sent by Maxen, to clear out the desk and possessions of the former occupant. Ten minutes later, they were gone.
Another page, a young woman of maybe seventeen with a build too thin for a full-blooded Carraig, arrived with a tablet. “This is yours to keep, Your Majesty,” she said. “I was told to stay here. I’ll be your runner, should you wish to summon anyone. I’ll await your orders at the reception desk. Just lift that phone and press the large button at the top to ring me.” She pointed to the hardwired phone on the edge of the desk.
I nodded, eyed the phone, and thumbed the power button on the device she’d handed me.
“I’ll be in my office putting together a plan for security,” Oliver said. He slipped out along with the page and closed the door behind them.
I stood for a moment, alone in the inner office. Behind me, there was a glass-paned door that led out to a small courtyard with a hawthorn tree and a stone bench. Planter boxes were filled with brightly colored flowers. Birds flitted around in the warm Faerie sunshine, and for a moment I was tempted to go out and sit. But I couldn’t afford such a luxury.
The tablet booted up, and I plugged it into the cord that connected to a port. With a little notification ping, a document icon popped up. I opened it and found it was Maxen’s list of positions and possible candidates. I scanned the list, trying to decide where to start. I only had one formally filled—Oliver as Head of Security—and about a bazillion left to go. At least, that was what it felt like.
For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to think of Jasper—his golden eyes, the warmth of his hands, and the touch of his lips. I knew he had important work to do, but for a few selfish seconds, I wished I could look forward to seeing him. But I had no idea when we’d cross paths again.
With a stifled sigh, I faced the list on the tablet. I decided to start with Head Administrator, which was an important and broad-reaching position. Maxen had suggested Amalie, a distant relative of his on his father’s side. I didn’t really know much more than her face and name and that she, like Maxen, had been trained as a diplomat. He’d seemed confident she’d be willing to serve. I lifted the phone and asked my page to summon Amalie.
While I was waiting, I scanned the rest of the list, mentally trying to rank them in order of difficulty. Two appointments popped up, one with a tailor. The other was with Maxen. A moment later one more appeared, and my heart did a hard thump. It was a fortress-wide meeting, summoning all subjects to the auditorium at eight o’clock that night. The coronation.
I didn’t have much time to ponder it because Amalie showed up a few seconds later. With raven hair, large eyes, and great curves, she was strikingly pretty, though she didn’t look a thing like Maxen.
“Your Majesty,” she said, spreading the skirt of her simple A-line dress with her fingertips as she sank into a lovely curtsy.
“Please rise and join me,” I said. I indicated the seat across from me. “Your promptness is appreciated.”
I watched her, trying to gauge how she felt about me on the throne, as she sat, placed her hands in her lap, and looked at me with a pleasant expression. I stifled a sigh. This was probably her practiced diplomat-at-rest face.
“You’re related to Maxen,” I said.
Her brows twitched the tiniest bit, as if she was expecting me to say more. When I didn’t, she nodded. “Yes. We are distant cousins.”
“How do you feel about the death of Marisol Lothlorien?”
Her mouth opened and then closed. She swallowed. “I was quite shocked by the whole sequence of events, from the assassination attempt on your life to the . . . death of Lady Lothlorien.” Her eyes tightened, and I saw the faint pain there before she composed herself.
“It’s okay to be sad,” I said. “It’s okay to miss her. I did not want her to die. I had a great deal of respect for her, until she tried to kill me.”
Amalie blinked and nodded.
“What I need to know is, can you serve me with complete loyalty?” I asked, gazing steadily into her pretty, wide eyes.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I’m of the same mind as Maxen, in that I want to serve our new kingdom. It’s vital that we get through these early days smoothly.”
Understatement of the year.
“But you’re not thrilled about me as your queen?”
“I would have thought that, in the absence of Lady Lothlorien, Maxen would rule.”
A polite way of saying she wasn’t stoked by the idea of the crown on my head.
“I’m sure you’re not the only one,” I said wryly.
She pulled herself up a little taller. “If I may speak frankly . . .”
“Please do.”
“You wouldn’t have been my first choice for the throne,” she said. “But I think I see why King Oberon insisted on you. And if the High King sees a ruler in you, I’m more than willing to assume those qualities are there. It’s just a matter of you demonstrating them, Your Majesty.”
I tilted my head. Had she just said she expected me to prove myself? Faint irritation prickled through me, but it quickly dissipated. She was being honest, and I needed straightforward people around me. I suspected every Carraig subject was waiting for me to prove myself, too, so I couldn’t fault her for the sentiment.
“Do you have the skills and knowledge to carry out the duties of Head Administrator for the Carraig Sidhe?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” she said.
I was fairly certain she’d been a
iming for something much more in her career than the domestic position I was offering her. “But this wouldn’t be your first choice, would it?”
“Well . . . no. My more recent training was in diplomacy, and I was being groomed for foreign relations.”
“If you can help get things running inside the fortress, I would like to see you transition to a diplomatic role,” I said.
Assuming Faerie would be in a state where we actually had a need for ambassadors.
She gave me a careful smile. “I would appreciate that.”
“And I appreciate your willingness to serve,” I said. “Welcome aboard.”
I stood, and she rose, too. I extended my hand across the desk. She looked a little surprised but accepted my offer of a handshake.
After Amalie left, I flopped back, looked up at the ceiling, and let out a whooshing breath. Damn, but it took a lot of energy to be so formal.
I pushed myself forward and looked at the list. Two down. I scanned for more low-hanging fruit on the list. Ah, Royal Chef. That would be an easy ask—I planned to see if the current Chef would continue in his position—though of course there was no guarantee he’d agree.
I rang my page to fetch the man, who arrived in his white uniform and smelling of onions and fresh herbs. A man a bit younger than Oliver, he seemed a bit stunned to be sitting in my office. But he appeared to have no problem with me, and his greatest agitation was being pulled unexpectedly away from his kitchen. Our conversation was short and with a positive outcome. I dismissed him five minutes after he arrived.
Before I could summon another victim, the phone on my desk rang. I picked it up.
“Yes?”
“Your Majesty, it’s time for your fitting,” said the voice of the page, Jaci, who’d taken the temporary role of my receptionist.
“Oh.” I’d lost track of time, and an appointment had crept up on me.
“Your stylist is here to do final measurements.”
“Ah. Okay. Please send her—him?—in.”
“Her name is Vera,” Jaci said in a low voice, as if trying not to be awkward in front of the stylist.
I was already smiling when Vera swept in. She’d helped me get ready for a little voyage into the Duergar realm a few months back, and though she and I couldn’t have been more different, I’d enjoyed her.