Innocent Queen: A Court Intrigue Fantasy (The Forbidden Queen Series Book 2)

by R. J. Vickers

  “I think you need to see this.”

  Saniya led me through the empty palace halls toward the main doors. Mother, Cal, Baridya, Deance, and Mellicante followed, and nearly twenty guards surrounded us. I expected to hear shouts or some other sign of rioting outside, but the entrance hall was silent apart from our clacking heels.

  When we reached the palace entrance, I opened the side door a crack and looked out at the main square.

  Thousands upon thousands of townspeople dressed in white filled the space, like a foamy river threatening to burst its banks, holding torches in a silent vigil. Every one of them supported the Truthbringers. The crowd spilled down every street leading onto the main square, wave upon wave of enemies showing themselves at last.

  “What are we supposed to do about them?” I muttered.

  “We can’t arrest them all,” Mother said from behind. “The cells are already strained from the riots.”

  “Can we force them outside the city?”

  “Our entire guard force would not be able to subdue that number,” Mother said softly. “I do not recommend trying. It would only prove to our people how little power we have.”

  “I’ll ask if our guards know anything,” Quendon said.

  I stepped aside and let Quendon slip through the door, descending the steps to the line of guards that stood just within the palace gates. Several turned to him and spoke quietly, and one passed a rolled-up paper to him.

  When Quendon turned back to us, his expression was grim. He retreated to the entrance hall, closing the door behind him. “The traitor you arrested earlier today has escaped, Your Majesty. Apparently the crowd overwhelmed our guards.”

  “Varse,” I whispered. How was I supposed to root out my enemies now? “Is Ornan safe?”

  “As far as I know.”

  Quendon handed the paper to me; I started to unroll it, but Mother put a hand on my arm. “Should we return to our wing?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said.

  As we hastened back to the Cheltish wing, my worry mounted. What did I hold? Was it word that my father had died? A declaration of war from Larkhaven? Further lies from the Truthbringers?

  Once I was safely closed away in the queen’s study with Mother and Quendon, I unrolled the paper with clumsy hands.

  At first glance, it looked like an ordinary law proposal, similar to the one I had recently written up with the ban on Truthbringers. But as I continued to unroll the paper, I realized the rest of the page was covered in signatures. Thousands upon thousands of them. The back was covered as well, each name crammed onto the paper in miniscule writing, some smooth and refined, others childlike.

  Turning the page over once more, I began to read the proposal, my grip tightening on the arm of my chair. Beneath my sleeve, the leather straps of my concealed sheath dug into my wrist.

  Charges Brought Forth Against Queen Kalleah

  We, the people of Baylore, humbly request that Her Majesty Queen Kalleah Reycoran appear before an impartial court of law for a trial regarding charges leveled against her. If she is found guilty, we demand she be removed from power and replaced by a more suitable candidate.

  The charges brought forth against Queen Kalleah are as follows:

  ~That as a practitioner of a forbidden magic, she is not lawfully permitted to reside in Baylore.

  ~That she is not the true daughter of King Baltheor and, as such, has no rightful claim to the throne.

  ~That she did, either by her own hand or with the help of an accomplice, murder innocent civilians within Baylore.

  ~That she has raised taxes with the sole aim of increasing her personal wealth.

  ~That she seeks to sow discord and provoke rebellion within Baylore by showing favoritism toward magic (Makhori) races while overlooking the rights of non-magical citizens.

  I set the parchment aside, hands shaking.

  “I was told there are nearly ten thousand signatures,” Quendon said gravely.

  Mother snatched the paper from the desk and read it quickly, her eyes darting from side to side. “I fear we cannot ignore this. But to stand publicly on trial…” She shook her head. “It is unheard of for a monarch.”

  I felt faint. “I don’t know what to do. We need to speak to the Lord Chancellor. He might have a better idea.”

  Mother and I sat in silence while Quendon dashed off in search of the Lord Chancellor. From outside the office, I could hear the worried voices of my friends and supporters.

  Less than five minutes later, the Lord Chancellor arrived, bobbing his head in respect. “I was advised you received a petition from our populace to put you on trial.”

  I handed him the page with its ten thousand signatures. “What are my options?” I could not stand on trial—my people would see the guilt written plainly on my face, and they would destroy me.

  The Lord Chancellor read the document and set it aside. “You could ignore the petition and wait to see what transpires. Your subjects will lose faith in the fairness of their justice system, but you will save yourself the humiliation of public questioning. Or you could submit to the trial, bring the best witnesses you can procure to speak on your behalf, and hope the evidence against you is not convincing enough to sway a population that is already set against you.”

  “Is there a third option?” My voice shook.

  The Lord Chancellor smiled grimly. “You could flee, Your Majesty. Leave the throne and this mess for Prince Leoth to deal with.”

  I turned to Mother, sure she could see the panic I was barely restraining. “What do you think?”

  “You will lose all respect if you stand on trial—or worse. I would avoid it at all costs.”

  23

  The Bloodstained Tower

  I did not meet Morrisse in the garden. He was unlikely to trust me again after learning I had granted sanctuary to a suspected murderer, and I did not have the heart to continue that game any longer. The fact that I felt genuine affection for him made everything worse.

  I had no idea what to do about the charges leveled against me, so for now, I did nothing. I could not enforce my ban on Truthbringers yet, not while the whole city stood beside them, but I now had the power to take action against them the next time they caused trouble.

  Instead I concentrated on my plan to interrogate Wistin. I had to see if I could learn who else was working with him; if he admitted his guilt, he would need to be locked away somewhere he would never be found.

  On the evening I had arranged to join Wistin for dinner, Mellicante and I went up to my old tower just beforehand. She was the only one who knew about Misha’s death, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  As soon as I pushed open the door, my stomach twisted as the memory of the brown sludge, the oily smoke, returned. Gods, how was I supposed to face Wistin here, in this wretched tower?

  “Are you prepared for me to torture him if he won’t talk?” Mellicante asked. “Or to silence him if he shouts for help?”

  I didn’t like it, but I had no other choice. We needed to know what the Truthbringers were planning. “Yes,” I said tightly.

  She gave me a hard look. “You haven’t made peace with what we did to Misha’s body, have you? Are you sure you want to be here for this?”

  “I won’t leave you to do my dirty work for me alone.”

  Mellicante shook her head. “An admirable sentiment, though not a decision most queens would make.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. Mellicante positioned herself behind the door, which we had left open, her thin sword drawn. As I waited for Wistin to arrive, a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm me. I sank onto a window seat to wait, looking over the darkened city. I was doing this for Baylore—for the magic races who faced discrimination and worse at the hands of the Truthbringers, for the stability of the country as a whole. I could not think of it as betraying someone like me. Wistin was no victim.

  And until I rooted out the spies and enemies around me, I was in danger every day. The Truthbringe
rs would not relent until I lost my throne.

  Far too soon, footsteps thumped up the stairs, and I stood to greet Wistin. My smile felt brittle.

  When Wistin ventured into the tower room, looking smart in a doublet and trousers he must have borrowed from someone, I caught his eyes darting to the exact spot on the floor where Misha had died. I made a fist behind my back, reassured to feel the straps of my concealed dagger press into my left wrist. Wistin looked paler than usual.

  “Thank you for joining me,” I said quietly.

  Wistin froze. “Where is our dinner?” His eyes flicked around the room, taking in the lack of food or a table.

  Mellicante slammed the door shut, and Wistin jumped. As she locked the door, he did not take his eyes from her sword.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  Mellicante rounded on Wistin, bringing her sword in a swift arc up to the hollow at the base of his neck.

  He stumbled back a step.

  “Sit on the bed. If you even think of shouting for help, you’re dead.”

  Wistin scrambled to obey. Once he was seated, hands gripping the quilt, Mellicante’s sword at his throat, I stalked over to stand before him.

  “You killed a nursemaid named Misha,” I said flatly. “I’m fairly sure you killed another man as well.”

  Wistin’s eyes widened.

  “Are you in the Truthbringers’ employ?”

  Wistin opened his mouth as though to speak, but no words came out.

  “Tell me!” I barked.

  Mellicante pressed the tip of her sword deeper into Wistin’s neck; blood leaked around the steel.

  Wistin yelped softly. I waited a moment, and he finally gasped, “Yes. I’m working for the Truthbringers.”

  “Are you really an Extractor? Why would you work for someone who despises people like you?”

  “I—” Wistin drew in a sharp breath in pain, and Mellicante relented, withdrawing her sword a finger’s width. “I’m deeply in debt, and the debt collectors were after me. I couldn’t leave Baylore, because the guards at the gate had my description, but if I stayed, I’d get locked up. Then a friend told me the Truthbringers were looking for an Extractor to help them in exchange for good pay.”

  “Did you know what you’d be forced to do?”

  Wistin stared at me, eyes glassy with fear, before finally nodding.

  “And you—” I broke off. There was no point trying to unearth his twisted sense of reasoning. I needed to learn more about who my enemies were. Before I could ask, another thought occurred to me. “Your brand—it’s new. Did the Truthbringers mark you when they employed you?”

  Wistin nodded quickly. I wondered if they had intended the brand as a backup; if Wistin failed in his task or if they no longer needed him, they could simply report that I was harboring Extractors and reveal his brand to everyone, as they had done with Ornan.

  “Which guards were working with you?”

  “I don’t know,” Wistin said.

  “Don’t lie!”

  He drew back instinctively as Mellicante’s sword jabbed into his throat once more. “It’s true! I don’t think they trusted me, so they didn’t tell me much. They just said I’d receive instructions. It must’ve been several guards working for them, because it wasn’t the same people either time they let me out of the room. I don’t know their names.”

  “Who gave you the instructions, then?”

  “They were written. The—the handwriting was very nice, not like a servant’s. I th-think there’s someone in the palace giving orders to your guards, but I don’t know who.”

  Who could it be? Olleack or Leoth would be obvious guesses, though of course Leoth had been away until recently.

  “And what were you planning to do next?” I asked.

  “Misha’s death was supposed to be the end,” Wistin said breathlessly. “It was here, in your tower, so it was supposed to look like your fault. An accident, but proof that you were too dangerous to be allowed in the palace. Only…no one ever found out she died.”

  “And a good thing, too. Did you receive any further orders?”

  “Just to—to wait. It sounded like whoever it was planned to kill someone important next—maybe your mother. They had to make sure everything was in order.”

  My knees went weak. I had let this man into the palace. If he had managed to kill my mother, it would have broken me. “Would you have done it?” I asked softly.

  Wistin blinked, his eyes focusing on mine. “I—I don’t know. I didn’t realize how dangerous it would be, working for them. If they’d ordered it…”

  I took a step back. What sort of monster was this, that he would kill the former queen of Itrea without asking questions? He had seemed such a kind, friendly man, but inside he was cold and cruel. How desperate did you have to be to obey orders from your enemy without question, just to pay off a simple debt?

  But we could use this. If Wistin confessed before the holden monarchs, we would have proof of the Truthbringers’ scheming.

  “The queen has jurisdiction over sentencing a murderer,” I said. “I may spare your life—if you promise to confess before an audience what you’ve done and who employed you. Will you do this?”

  Wistin nodded quickly.

  This could be it—my chance to make a decisive move against the Truthbringers. I didn’t want to reveal my complicity, but I had to seize the chance. Besides, Wistin didn’t know what I had done with Misha’s body.

  “You’ll still need to serve time, of course. But you’ll live.”

  Wistin nodded again.

  “Stand slowly, and—”

  Just then, Mellicante stumbled and fell to her knees. I turned to her in surprise as her sword arm dropped, the blade clattering against the floor. What was wrong?

  Then I realized what we had done. Plagues. Two Extractors together would have drained her energy much faster than one.

  Before I could say anything, Wistin surged to his feet and kicked Mellicante in the stomach, sending her sprawling backward. He dropped down, one knee on her chest as she struggled sluggishly, and scrabbled at the hand that still held her sword. But Mellicante held tight.

  “Leave her alone!” I shouted. “She’s done nothing to you!”

  Wistin put a hand around Mellicante’s throat, pressing down, and she gasped as she struggled for breath. Still she did not release her grip on her sword.

  I seized Wistin’s shoulders, trying to drag him off Mellicante, but he was stronger than me, and his whole weight bore down on her. Mellicante’s face drained of color; I could no longer hear her breathing.

  Then I remembered the dagger at my wrist. My fingers were clumsy as I dragged up my sleeve and yanked it free. I stood for a few heartbeats, dagger raised, paralyzed with horror.

  But Wistin tugged Mellicante’s sword from her at last and wrapped his own hand around the hilt.

  Before he could turn it on her, I plunged my dagger between his ribs.

  Wistin grunted and slumped forward, catching himself with the hand that he had pressed against Mellicante’s throat. She groaned and dragged herself away from Wistin.

  “What’ve you done?” Wistin gasped. “I promise I’ll—never gamble—again. I don’t want—to die. Will you—forgive me?”

  “Never.” I must have missed his heart, but I had hit something else vial; blood was leaking from his doublet and dripping onto the floorboards.

  Wistin sagged to the floor, his sandy hair falling in his face, and my eyes filled with tears. How did everything go so badly wrong? My dagger still protruded from his back, blood blossoming around it.

  As I stood there, rooted in place, Wistin choked and twitched and finally slumped into stillness. When I knelt to see if he was still breathing, my stomach heaved, and I vomited up my lunch all over the floor. Shaking, I pressed a finger against Wistin’s branded wrist and confirmed what I had already known—his pulse had stilled. Just like that, my chance to expose the Truthbringers was gone.

  24
r />   The Raid

  M ellicante’s groan reminded me she still lay on the floor, barely conscious.

  “Can you make your way downstairs alone?” I asked weakly. “You need to get away from me.”

  “What about that?” she croaked, gesturing at Wistin’s body.

  “I’ll deal with it.” As my eyes lit on the bloodied dagger, my stomach heaved once more. “Just go.”

  Mellicante rose to her knees and crawled to the door, where she used the handle to pull herself to her feet. Slumping against the rail, she started down the stairs.

  Once she was gone, I stood on unsteady feet and crossed to lock the door.

  Then I had to face Wistin’s body.

  Kneeling beside him, careful to avoid the pool of blood and vomit, I curled my fingers around the hilt of my dagger. It was wedged deep in his flesh; I tugged and strained and had to use both hands before it finally slid free. Sinking back on my heels, the blade dripping blood, I retched again. Nothing came up this time, though my mouth still tasted of sick.

  What the plagues was I supposed to do with his body? And how had I gotten myself into this mess? I had granted him sanctuary out of kindness, and this was my repayment. The death of two innocent servants and blood on my hands.

  I crawled away from Wistin’s body and leaned against the bed, tears welling in my eyes. I couldn’t see how to fix this. Any of it—the way I was losing control of my kingdom, the hatred and suspicion heaped on me, the growing influence of the Truthbringers, and now the man I had killed. I could see no way out of this mess.

  * * *

  Hours later, a key rattled in the lock. I had been sitting on the ground, my arms curled around my knees, tears drying on my face. Wistin’s body still lay in a pool of blood and sick so close I could smell it.

  I did not have time to move before the door swung open. It was still nighttime, the sky outside black.

  “Kalleah. What the bloody Varse are you doing?” It was Mellicante, evidently recovered from our influence. She closed and locked the door swiftly behind her and approached, glancing from me to the body.