by Janeal Falor
“I heard you were attacked again last night.”
I wave her off. “It was only a trifle.” I'm more concerned with who's behind it.
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Says, “Yes, Your Majesty. Still, we're all glad you're safe.”
I'm in the mood for blunt honesty. “Are you?”
She shrinks back into her chair. “I am. I promise you that.”
I don't know. I get the feeling she's hiding something. “Is that all you wanted to say?”
“No. I wanted to help teach you about court manners. Maybe speak to you about the ball.”
I stand. “I'm not in the mindset for manners today. As to the ball—talk to Nash's sisters and Monkia about that.
“But, Your Majesty, this will reflect on you. We need time to teach you before you're presented and coronated.”
“Some other time. If you'll excuse me.” I stand, not caring if she will or not.
I head to the door and open it. A grimace passes by so quick I almost miss it.
“It's been a pleasure, Your Majesty,” she says with a curtsy.
“I'm sure you have much more pleasant things in your life.” I will never be one of them.
“As you say.” With those brave words, she takes off.
Maybe she has more of a spine than I thought, even if she'd rather have the throne. Or something. I can't pinpoint what she's hiding.
In any case, I want answers from the prisoners. I head out the door, where Wilric, Afet, and a few other guards accompany me.
I studied the maps enough to know where the dungeons are. It takes some time to get there, with my guards trailing behind me.
When we get to the entrance, Wilric stops me. “Are you certain you want to go down there, Your Majesty? There are many criminals down there who would like to see your downfall.”
Many, huh? “I've been in worse places.”
I march forward. The stairs are steep but well lit. The place smells of dampness and body odor. As I climb down the stairs, I think of what awaits. What I don't expect to find is a desk. The man sitting at it is speaking with Nash.
The little room is dank, but well lit, with nothing in it besides the large desk. It has a hallway leading off to where I assume the prisoners are kept. It's nothing like I expected a dungeon to be, but perhaps that's because this is only the entrance.
Nash looks up at me, eyes sparkling until he grows somber. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence, Your Majesty?”
Just being around him makes my insides feel warm and gushy. It's not a feeling I can afford, here in the dungeon. “I want to know what progress is being made with the would-be assassins.”
Nash's expression doesn't change, but the guard at the desk cringes.
“We've acquired no further information from them,” Nash says.
What I was afraid of. “Would you take me to those who have threatened my life?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He turns and after making sure I'm following, heads deeper into the dungeon.
We pass a good dozen empty cells. They are made of bars and have six beds apiece. The beds are bunked together in twos. Other than those and a chamber pot in the corner, the rooms are empty. If they can be called rooms.
We get to the first occupied cell, and I don't recognize any of the faces there. A few turn and give me heed, but none say anything. Several more rooms have people in them, all unfamiliar to me.
“Who are these people?” I ask.
“They have committed lesser crimes, Your Majesty. Such as stealing,” Nash responds. When we come to a cell that has only one person, he stops. “This is the where your attackers start. We keep them sectioned off from everyone else.”
“Wise.”
“They haven't given us anything useful. We're trying our best to get answers from them while still remaining humane.”
What would happen if we weren't humane? It doesn't matter. I won't stoop lower than I previously have. Not that it matters. I'm already blackened.
“Let's question one of them. Pick at random.” My fingers itch to grab a dagger. It wouldn't be the first time I used it to get information out of someone, but I can do better than that. I have to.
“You.” Nash points at the prisoner in the middle cell. “Answer the questions the queen has for you.”
I expect the man to ignore us, but he jumps up and bangs his hands against the bars. He's a big man—burlier than any of the guards I've seen. Bigger even than the man who attacked me last night His facial hair has grown out to be a little longer than scruff. He glares at me with his dark eyes something fierce. “You are not my queen.”
Beside me, Nash tenses.
I cross my arms. “Who is, then?”
His nose flares.
“Come on now,” I say. “If you're so set on having a different ruler, who is it?”
“Like I'd tell you.”
“Is it someone outside the palace?” I watch carefully for signs of recognition.
He scowls but gives away nothing further.
“Is it someone inside the palace?”
He shifts his gaze the tiniest fraction.
“In the palace, then. Someone on the council?”
He laughs, and I have to wonder if I'm off base. If he was sent by Daros, he'd be so well trained that he could give me clues he believed I wanted. It makes me want to punch him in the face. Of course, if he was trained by Daros, that'd be unlikely to give me answers anyway. Even if he wasn't, a good assassin doesn’t reveal anything.
I'm wasting my time.
I curl my lips at him in disgust. “Things would go easier if you told us what you know.”
“You have no idea what you're dealing with.”
I want to roll my eyes but refrain. “The same could be said of you.”
“Would you like to speak to another prisoner?” Nash asks when I step away from the cell.
“I doubt it would do much good. Not without”—torture, and even then it's questionable—“better techniques.”
We pass the three cells, and I expect that to be all, but then we come to another occupied one. “Who is this?”
A muscle in Nash's jaw flexes. “Another who tried to get to you and didn't make it. His intentions were made clear by the other things he's said since capture and the way he was hiding around the palace. The others are in similar circumstances.”
“Others? How many?”
“Besides the three you interacted with, eight.”
Eleven people have tried to kill me? I’ve only been Queen for a few weeks. “And no clue who sent them?”
“Forgive me, Your Highness. We haven't been able to glean anything from any of them.”
“Is it normal to have so many attacks?” I ask.
“You’ve had a couple more than average, but that doesn’t mean much. They could be after you for any variety of reasons.”
Wonderful. I’m a target for so many besides just Daros.
He shows me the rest of the cells. None of the men pay me any mind or act like we're there at all. I could question them. Doubt I'd learn anything without resorting to methods I refuse to use.
“Very well, then,” I say. “Thank you for showing me around. Let me know if any progress is ever made with them.”
“Of course,” Nash says. “I’ll see you out.”
He walks me through the corridor, past the guard at the desk, and up the stairs. Once we're back in the palace hallway, where sunlight is streaming in through the window, everything should be brighter. But it's not. It's a bleak outlook.
“Sooner or later, one of them will kill me,” I tell him, ignoring the guards around us.
His gaze becomes fierce. “I won't let them.”
“It's inevitable. Unless we find out who's sending them all, my life is mine for only so long.” I turn and walk away, ignoring the pressure on my chest.
Chapter 34
The first queen is sitting on air when I see her several feet from me. Her green dress is draped a
round her, as the colors of the sunset fill the air.
“Your life is in danger,” she says.
“That much is clear.” Though it's thrilling to have people attack me.
“Your conclusions are dangerous. I thought we moved past this point.”
I feel her prodding. Looking for something in my mind. I close it down, not wanting her to intrude. “It's fine. I'm well trained.”
“It's easy to tell that's the case.”
“What would you have of me?” I ask.
“Have you made any decisions regarding the changes you want to make?”
I sigh. I wish there was a place to sit.
“You can sit. Think of a chair being underneath you, and it will be.”
I do as she says. Surprisingly, it works, though there is nothing but swirls of color under my feet. “Where are we? Is this a dream?”
“No. This is something more than a dream. A place in between dreams, life, and death.”
“That doesn't make any sense.”
“It does, with magic.”
“Do I have magic? Is there a way to learn it?” I ask.
She regards me solemnly. “You have much power.”
“And can I learn to harness it? Can I cast spells and make things like the Mortum Tura?”
“Did you decide what to do about the laws? What direction you're going to go in, as queen?”
Why doesn’t she answer my questions?
“Why don’t you answer mine?”
“Very well,” I say. “I've not decided what direction I want to go in. I want to help the people. To be a good queen. But I don't know how to do it. I don't want to make a mistake.”
She stands and walks toward me, but stops before she gets to me. “It's all right to make mistakes.”
No, it isn't.
She reaches out, like she wants to touch my shoulder, but I flinch away.
With a sigh, she sits back down. “I promise you're safe here. You can make mistakes. Everyone does—even a queen.”
“Was that what happened with the last queen? Deedra? Did she make a mistake in raising taxes?”
“Is that what you think?”
“I'm asking what you think.”
“I'm here to guide you. But yes, Deedra did raise taxes.”
“Was it a mistake, though? Did you council her for or against it?”
“Let's just say Deedra listened to me less and less, during her reign.”
“Why?” I want to know. Want to understand.
The first queen looks somewhere over my shoulder. “It's hard to explain, but I'll try. Deedra was a very headstrong girl. Despite wanting to end her life, she quickly changed. She knew what she wanted, and that was power. It’s something the Mortum Tura can’t overcome. I tried to stop her—to guide her to a better way of life—but it couldn't be helped. Sometimes queens are like that, despite my precautions. Usually I can find a woman who is after what’s best for the people, and not for herself, but it doesn't always happen. Like in Deedra’s case.”
How sad that must be—to make a way for your country to not be ruled by power-hungry people, only to have one come about anyway. “Did you try to connect with her like you do with me?”
“I tried, but I fear I failed.”
“Even queens make mistakes.”
She smiles at me, soft and genuine. “Exactly.”
Chapter 35
Nash and I go over things for the ball all morning. It's mentally exhausting work, but I'm glad to be getting it done. Only a few days left until it's here.
“Do you know how to dance?” Nash asks.
“Well enough to get by.” I am ready to take on any situation.
“For a queen, you have to do better.” He stands in the middle of my sitting room, the furniture still pushed aside. “If you would please come here, you can show me what you know.”
I don't move. “Without music?”
“The steps are the same whether we have music or not. Unless you would prefer to go to the ballroom?”
Too many eyes there. “Fine.”
I get to my feet and move over to him. He bows. I start to curtsy, but he stops me. “If you were anyone else, you would curtsy, but a queen never lowers herself to anyone.”
Something about that feels wrong, but I press the thought away.
I take his left hand in my right. His palm is warm against mine, hardened with calluses. It's a hand fit for a soldier. Good thing being my Head Advisor hasn't softened him.
He pulls away. “The queen isn't supposed to touch anyone. I’ve been negligent in that area. I apologize.”
I grimace. It was so nice feeling the contact. I wish he didn’t remember that rule. Wish he didn’t want to say he’s sorry.
He puts his hand up, and I raise mine but we keep them a good inch apart. As we circle, the warmth of his skin travels through me, to my arm and up my shoulder, to spread throughout my body. Even without touching, there's something fantastic about being so close. It's unlike anything I've ever felt. As we move our hands away from each other, the feeling leaves. When we switch hands and bring them close together, the feeling returns, stronger than before.
What is this? I can't look him in the eye, though I should.
We move apart, and I face him now. I walk back a step as he stays still. Moving closer to him, I feel his heat.
He steps back as I stay still. Immediately, I miss the closeness. What is getting into me? We continue the dance, moving back and forth, in circles, and around the room. I barely think of what I'm doing, focusing instead on his hands near mine.
“You dance beautifully.” His voice is barely above a whisper.
Heat rises inside me at the compliment, but there's nothing I can do to stop it. “You dance well yourself. How did a guard come to learn this?”
“My mother.”
“Ah.”
We finish the dance, and he bows. I wish we could continue practicing. I should have stumbled. Made some sort of false move. Then we could have continued on for some time. Rather, we take a seat.
“Now,” he says. “About music—what would you like?”
I haven't a clue. “What do your sisters have to say about it?”
“They think getting several different music groups and rotating them throughout the night would be good.”
“It would. We could highlight both the Poruah, Medi, and Kurah classes.”
“Right. It would go right along with our theme. I'm sure we can find groups to play for us if this is what you want.”
“I do. Have at least three different groups.”
“Consider it done. I'll have my sisters and the ladies in waiting help pick them out. Between them, we should have some good variety.”
A thought strikes me. “Have we sent out the invitations?”
“We have, in fact. It was one of the first things we did. Not only that, but we sent out proclamations throughout all of Valcora announcing the coronation ball.”
“If there are no people there, then it won't be because they didn't know about it.”
“There will be people there,” he says. “I think it's time for a break. I have something to show you.” He stands. “Come on.”
I resist the urge to take his hand again. “Where are we going?”
“It's a surprise.” He gives a sly grin.
Once we're out in the hall, he tells the guards to follow us. We make our way through the hallways, as I try to mentally picture where we are going. I know the bottom floor quite well by now, but I don't go on the other floors as much. We head up three flights of stairs.
All this walking up stairs is reminding me of being at Daros's. The stairs were my soothing journey to being alone.
Unless Daros tried to interrupt my solitude that is.
Shoving the negative thought away, I focus on the rest that's taking over my soul. The peace that fills this area. A solemn thing that leaves me wanting to whisper. That could just be remnants of Daros’s house as well, but I’d
like to think it’s more.
We reach another hall, and Nash says something to the guards. Three of them plant themselves at our end of the corridor while the other two make their way to the far side.
The hall is huge in both length and height. What really draws my attention are the pictures on either side. Instead of the usual Valcora landscapes, there are portraits of women.
“Who are they?” I ask in a hushed tone, though I can guess.
“They are past rulers. This is the Hall of Queens.” Nash's response is subdued as well, as if we both recognize the importance of this place.
I look around in wonder, taking in women of all sorts of beauty and different ages. The youngest looks about as old as me. They're all finely dressed, but that's the only thing they have in common. I take them in one by one, reading the names off the bottom of the frame as we go.
None of them looks like the woman from my dreams.
When we’re about three quarters of the way down the hall, the images end and naked stone walls greet us.
“This is where your portrait will hang, once it's painted,” Nash says.
I'm not sure I'm ready to sit for one. Not brave enough yet, even if Daros already found me. “Are these all of the queens?” I ask.
“As far as I'm aware, yes. They are.”
I go back over each portrait, searching. He patiently follows after me, giving me space yet comfort with his presence. I still look around my surroundings often and keep an ear out for trouble, but otherwise I'm focused on the task.
When we're back to where we started, I say, “This can't be all of them.”
“Why not?” He looks puzzled.
Now is the perfect opportunity to tell him about my dreams. About the first queen. “Jem said not all queens got painted before they died.”
“They—uh—got their portrait after they passed away.”
“That's awkward.”
“Yeah. But they are remembered, even if they didn't serve long.”
“What's the shortest anyone's reigned?” I ask.
He grimaces. “Two days.”
I almost beat that. “What's the longest anyone's reigned?”
“Seventeen years.”
That's not bad. But I'm getting off topic. “Are you certain there's no one missing?”