The Queen's Choice

by Cayla Kluver

  Marissa grinned and curled up on her side. After kisses and good-nights, Shea and I returned to the bedroom we jointly occupied, my mind mulling over her version of the tale.

  In Chrior, Sepulchres were just another story told to demonize the humans, who had viewed us as heathens, reprobates, and usurpers, and driven us out of their lands. The Sepulchres had been trapped on the human side of the Road and condemned to death without access to our magic. Humans apparently believed the creatures still existed, while the Fae believed them to be extinct, their species one massive casualty of the war.

  “So you really don’t believe in Sepulchres?” Shea demanded as soon as our bedroom door had closed, hands on her hips. “Because I’ve heard of children going missing, back when we lived in Tairmor.”

  “Tairmor is a big city, and I have no doubt children go missing. But I don’t think Sepulchres are to blame.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  I flipped my hair over my shoulders, exasperated. “I’m not sure. But I do know that as long as monsters and demons are taking the blame for kidnappings, they’re providing excellent scapegoats for real criminals. And I’m Fae, remember? I think I know more about magic and magical creatures than you do. Besides, Marissa and Maggie would have been lying awake all night waiting for some horror to slip through the window if I hadn’t told them what they needed to hear. Isn’t that what’s important?”

  Shea scowled but said no more, though she prepared for bed with a vengeance. I could tell she was still irked, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. I was plenty irked myself. Children didn’t deserve to be scared. Illumina wasn’t much older than Shea’s sisters, and she’d lived most of her life in fear. It had led to her bizarre habits, her unpredictability, a desperation, perhaps, to be more frightening than the things that frightened her. It had taken more than a scary story to subvert Illumina’s mind in this way, but the thought of Marissa or Magdalene slinking into the woods to injure their own bodies the way Illumina did was enough to caution me against beginning the pattern.

  * * *

  Other than collecting the promised map and jerky from Thatcher, I went about my usual business the next day, occasionally ruminating on the best way to find Zabriel. My cousin, according to Queen Ubiqua, had his father’s spirit. I’d seen it in him, though I hadn’t known the human Prince of the Fae whom some had viewed as an interloper, others as a blessing. Zabriel had always been focused on the next thing, the lands he wanted to travel, the people he would meet or, in the interim, the worlds he invented in his mind. There was always that elusive adventure up ahead. Now I wondered if it had been a way for him to escape his painful present. In any case, the current day had never mattered as much to him as someday.

  Ubiqua had been afraid to let Zabriel cross the Bloody Road in the aftermath of her husband’s death. Her son had no elemental connection, a deficiency that had been obvious from a young age. Most Fae manifested their element within days of birth and learned to communicate with Nature at the same rate they learned to talk, but young Zabriel had feared water, abhorred the dubious flickering of flames, and been helpless against the cold wind. There had been hope for an Earth connection, since he’d loved the feel of dirt under his nails and the sun on his skin, but an incident with poison berries dashed that hope. Even as toddlers, Earth Fae instinctively knew the difference between kind plants and cruel ones, and Zabriel was oblivious. It was normal in light of the evidence that Ubiqua should fear for her son’s life against the curse of the Road. In her zeal to protect him, she’d forbidden him to go near it, and had kept Zabriel’s birth a secret from his human relatives. She wanted no incentive for him to leave the Faerie Realm, no eager arms awaiting him on the other side of the boundary. As a result, he’d believed they didn’t want him, maybe even that they blamed him for his father’s death.

  Had Ubiqua suspected Zabriel harbored these fears, she surely would have told him the truth sooner, but she hadn’t done so until he was fifteen, at which point chaos had ensued, and her son’s reckless abandon had steered him to brave a Crossing of his own accord. When he’d gone missing, the entire Realm had been searched; it was ultimately assumed he’d gone into human lands when not a trace of him was found, even on or near the Bloody Road. No news of him had since reached the Queen or my father’s ambassadors in the Warckum Territory.

  Would Zabriel have tried to find his father’s family? It would have been an easy task considering their prominence, another fact I had not shared with Shea. She didn’t need to know of my cousin’s connection to the man she viewed as responsible for her family’s strife. I ultimately rejected the idea that Zabriel would have sought out the Governor—when he’d abandoned his claim to the throne, he’d been tired of expectations and being defined by the blood in his veins. He had no memories of his father, a fact he never hesitated to share with anyone who happened to ripple the surface of his deep-rooted bitterness toward the human for siring him. I couldn’t picture Zabriel pursuing a history and a legacy he did not want.

  Where, then, would he have gone? A place where he would blend in, where he would be difficult to track. A large city. The capital? Tairmor was busy, but it was also the seat of the Governor’s power, and offered little excitement once one adapted to its curiosities and pace. Sheness, however, brimmed with foreigners, trade, new technologies, and adventure, or so I’d heard, and the port city was as far from the Balsam Forest as the continent allowed. It was more likely Zabriel would have traveled there. After all, he saw himself as an abomination, neither human nor Fae, and one was likely to find many abominations in Sheness.

  A shudder passed through me at this thought. Was I now an abomination, too? Shaking off the notion, I forced myself to concentrate only on Zabriel, settling on Sheness for my destination. Two years had passed since his disappearance, and I had to start somewhere.

  I waited until evening to tell Shea of my decision to depart, when we were together in her room. A significant part of me wanted to just steal away, avoid goodbyes and potential trouble with Thatcher, but Shea and I had become friends, and I owed her an explanation. She would be lonely without me, and the resulting guilt I felt was more intense than I had anticipated. I was prepared, however, to deal with her disappointment. To my consternation, when I finally forced the confession past my lips, I encountered resolve rather than disappointment, and I realized how well Thatcher understood his daughter.

  “I’m going with you,” she proclaimed, a stubborn set to her chin.

  I shook my head, but Shea wasn’t put off.

  “What are you going to do, Anya? You have to find a way to live among the humans now. Do you think that’s going to be easy? Maybe in your Realm people respect teenage girls, but they don’t here. We’re bothersome and in the way, too young to be taken seriously and too old to be innocent. The world doesn’t want us, and if we don’t have each other, we have nothing. I need to leave this place, and you’re going to want a friend out there in the Territory. You might even need one.”

  I rubbed my temple, my feelings aligning with hers—I didn’t want to be alone. But how could I say yes when I’d promised Thatcher that I’d turn her down?

  “What about your family?”

  “They’ll be fine without me. I haven’t been here in my heart in a long time.”

  “Your father doesn’t want you to leave.”

  Shea slowly blinked her chocolate-brown eyes, pondering the meaning of my statement.

  “Did my father talk to you?” She read the answer in my expression, and her eyes narrowed. “He has no right to forbid you from taking me with you. This isn’t his decision, it’s mine.”

  I laughed, impressed by her spunk. “That’s exactly what I told him. But there are other things I have to consider.”

  “Then consider. I’ll wait.”

  I sighed, trying to weigh the complications of having Sh
ea with me against the advantages she might present. I wasn’t afraid to leave the Balsam Forest—I’d done it often enough the past couple of years. Still, how many times had I crossed the Bloody Road without incident prior to the loss of my wings? All it took was one time, one unfortunate circumstance. I was less likely to encounter such a circumstance if another person was looking out for me. On the other hand, I’d end up spending part of my time looking out for Shea. She was inexperienced, sheltered, and angry, a surefire formula for trouble. And having her with me would no doubt slow me down, although in truth, so would my sluggish transition to humanity. I wasn’t fully healed and wouldn’t make exceptional time anyway. And then, of course, there was Thatcher’s potential reaction. I was more wary of him than was Shea. To him, I was a meddler, an outsider, someone expendable. Shea was precious to him, while I was a threat.

  “All right, you can come,” I ultimately concluded, the scales tipping in her favor when I remembered how she had saved my life on the Bloody Road. “But dress warm and pack light—we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

  Shea grinned, excitement pinking her cheeks. “Thank you, Anya. You won’t regret this.”

  Without another word, she prepared for bed, humming to herself, and I hoped she understood the gravity of our mission. This wasn’t a game or a lark. The fate of the Faerie people might very well rest on my shoulders, and as for Shea, she would be risking her freedom every time someone laid eyes on her.

  * * *

  I woke with the sun and roused Shea. Without speaking, we packed the supplies we would need, then dressed in thick leggings and boots, topped by woolen shirts to which I added a jerkin and Shea an overcoat. We grabbed heavy cloaks as our final layer; they would double well as blankets at night. Light snow was falling, and I pondered the murky sky through the window, hoping the snow would stay light. According to Thatcher’s map, we were ten miles from the nearest town, a small cattle-ranching community called Strong that was barely considered part of the Warckum Territory. There we would spend the night and arrange for transport to the west.

  By the time Shea and I were ready, the rest of the family had awoken. We entered the main room to double takes and falling faces.

  “Shea, what...?” Elyse queried from her position at the stove, wooden spoon slipping from her grasp. Thatcher looked up from his seat by the fireplace, setting aside the gun he had been cleaning.

  “I’m leaving,” Shea told them without any preliminaries.

  Elyse blanched, while Thatcher stood, his ominous glower compelling Marissa and Magdalene to sidle closer to their mother.

  “No, you’re not, Shea,” he contradicted, his hands raised as though to catch her if she darted for the door. “You have no idea how dangerous it is out there.”

  “I’m not stupid, Dad,” she said, though a touch of regret prevented the words from being defiant. “I know it’s dangerous. But I’m not going to live the rest of my life this way.”

  Thatcher turned toward me, about to redirect his anger, but Shea stepped between us.

  “Don’t you dare blame Anya. You asked her to try to discourage me, and she did. This is my choice, understand? But don’t worry. I won’t put the rest of you in jeopardy. If I’m caught, I’ll accept that it’s my own fault and serve the sentence.”

  Their dark eyes met, and Thatcher’s shame at seeing bravery in his daughter that he himself did not possess became detectable in the slump of his shoulders. He strode past her down the hall, and Shea’s lip trembled in an effort to hold back tears. Then Maggie and Marissa rushed forward and embraced her.

  “You’ll come back, won’t you?” Marissa asked, too young to arrive at the conclusion that was etched on everyone else’s face.

  “I don’t know,” Shea whispered. “But I believe I will see you again someday.”

  Elyse was next, clinging to her daughter until I thought the two of them had melded into a tragic statue. They separated at Thatcher’s unexpected return. Embarrassed, Elyse wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  Thatcher took Shea’s hand, closing her fingers around a leather pouch.

  “Get a belt in Strong and set these bullets. I’ve tucked a bit of money inside for you to use.”

  At his daughter’s nod, he extended a necklace, reaching around her to fasten it underneath her hair. It draped a third of the way down her chest, the gold chain culminating in what appeared to be a small, upside-down looking glass. The necklace was beautiful and no doubt expensive, but obviously meant something more to him than money.

  “Wear it always,” Thatcher intoned, his voice thick. “Don’t ever take it off, not even when you sleep or bathe. It will bring you luck. And if they catch you, tell them where to find me.”

  Shea dropped her gaze, but he grasped her chin, lifting it to reveal the tears she could no longer restrain.

  “Shea, tell them where to find me. Promise you will.”

  She sniffed and brushed a hand across her cheek. “I won’t.”

  “You must.”

  “I won’t. I’m sorry. I’m not about to put all of you in danger. Besides, you don’t deserve that sentence any more than I do. And I don’t trust that the Governor’s men won’t hurt you. That’s not a chance I’m willing to take.”

  Thatcher sighed and shook his head, his disappointment eclipsed by the pride that was written all over his face.

  “Stubborn girl,” he said, voice husky, then he gave Shea a light embrace. “Take care.”

  Extending his hand to me, he made a request. “Keep her safe. You have more experience on your own than she does.”

  “We’ll keep each other safe.” I met his firm grip with one of my own, feeling the weight of his faith settle on my chest. It was heavy, but within my strength to carry.

  We did not spend much longer on goodbyes, for Shea’s expression revealed that if she did not leave soon, she might change her mind.

  “Let’s go,” I said, when we stood outside among the trees that cradled the More house.

  “And never look back,” she responded, sending a prickling sensation down my spine. An image flashed like lightning in my head, an image of Illumina with a small, sharp knife, cutting into the flesh above her right breast, painstakingly carving words of special importance to her: Keep silent your screams and never look back.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BOYS AND BEASTS

  For miles beyond the border of Strong stretched pastureland occupied by cattle, fuzzy with the cold. Their unique stench rolled over Shea and me as we neared the town proper. It wasn’t the kind of scent that made travelers cover their noses, but it wasn’t pleasant, either. I could see how someone who had grown up there might remember it fondly, but to foreigners it was less than endearing.

  No guard or gate blocked our passage as we crossed a quaint bridge over a frozen lake, so we strolled into town in the late afternoon like invited guests. The cobblestone streets were muddy and hay strewn, but the thatched buildings were well kept. Strong was a ranchers’ hub, where folks came for supplies, trade, and company. Of course, at this time of year, most cattle sales had already taken place, so we were likely to encounter only locals. A single inn, the Morrow Bend, offered accommodations to travelers, and I secured a room with the money I’d provisioned myself from previous trips into the human world. After dropping off our packs and cloaks, we settled at a table in the small but welcoming pub that made up the inn’s first floor. Snow had dogged our steps the entire day, and a hot meal would help chase the chill from our bones.

  “I always thought Fae would be vegetarians,” Shea remarked while we sipped steaming mugs of cider, awaiting the food we’d ordered.

  I chuckled. “A lot of humans think that. Too many bad fantasy stories, I guess. We need meat as much as you do.”

  She was no longer listening to me, her eyes instead absorbing the activities
of happy drunks, gregarious waitresses and swarthy bartenders like they were a newly discovered species, leaving little doubt she’d never before visited an alehouse. I hadn’t thought about how green she was to the world outside her father’s hideaway. It was like she’d slept away the past two years.

  We settled in to relax, Shea jabbering more than she ever had around me, asking an endless stream of questions until our food arrived and gave her mouth something else to do. To me, this was a good sign; she had more stamina than I had expected.

  At a pause in our conversation, I pulled my leather passport folder from inside my jerkin and laid it on the table. Shea opened the flaps and removed the thick, distinctive sheets of paper stored inside. The parchment was made from a combination of unique materials, an inimitable mixture designed to resist replication.

  “Travel papers,” I explained. “Forged, as your father surmised. We need to obtain some for you if you’re to venture into the heart of the Territory. I assume the ones you had prior to the issuance of the arrest warrant for Thatcher are useless.”

  “Of course.” She slid my documents back across the table. “I’m sure my name is on every wanted list at every checkpoint in the Territory.”

  “Shea, I’m sorry, but we can’t fix that. I’m just out to find my cousin and bring him home.”

  She was nodding like she understood, but her discontent made me nervous. If she decided to try to get back at Governor Ivanova out of spite, there was no way I could protect her. She’d land herself in prison.

  “We rest tonight, then go north,” I continued, tucking my leather folder back in my jerkin. “The man who supplied me with these works out of Oaray. He’ll provide us with what we need.”

  Shea cast her eyes around the room and red dots appeared in her cheeks. Not sure what had embarrassed her, I glanced over to see a boy at the bar raising his mug to her.