Death's Queen (The Complete Series)

by Janeal Falor

  The painter certainly portrayed me in a flattering light. “Thank you for your hard work.”

  He bows. “It was an honor to paint for Your Majesty.”

  “We'll make certain the country is aware of who painted the masterpiece,” Jem says.

  Not sure that I'd call it a masterpiece because of the subject matter, but I appreciate what Jem is trying to do.

  Jem motions for the servants to leave with it, and the painter follows after them. She picks a seat across from me. “They are working on copying it and sending it throughout Valcora.”

  Joy. “Very well.” It took some time to complete the painting, even after I was done sitting for it. Maybe it will take time for it to be passed to the citizens.

  Jem daintily clears her throat. “I have news for you, concerning Shillian and Carver Nilmac.”

  Already? I lean forward. “What did you and Wilric find out?”

  “Wilric would have come with me, but Jaku had an errand for him.”

  I wave her concern away. “What did you find?”

  She studies me before saying, “As far as we can tell, they are upright citizens. It’s true that Carver had some gambling problems, and that they were very poor during the famine.” As was most of the country, from what I understand. Jem continues. “Several neighbors remember them having a little girl. They said one day she was just gone. When they questioned the parents about it, they said they gave her away to someone who could take care of her, keep her belly full, and prevent her from getting almaca.”

  I want to pace, but don’t want to turn my back to her. “Do you believe they are my parents?”

  “Yes.” It comes out as a whisper.

  My parents.

  The tumult of emotions isn’t something I’m prepared to deal with. They’re a tangled mess, writhing inside me. I don’t know what to do with them all.

  How can this be? How can I believe it?

  How can I not?

  These aren’t things I can ask anyone but myself.

  There is a real question that needs asking, though. “Are they connected to Daros in any way other than their giving me to him?”

  She shakes her head. “No. It appears Daros paid off Carver’s debts, and in exchange, they gave him their three-year-old daughter.” Her voice holds the tiniest note of disgust.

  I can’t say I blame her. I’m thoroughly disgusted myself. Wanting the best for a child they couldn’t take care of themselves is something I understand, but they should have checked what type of person Daros was. How he was going to treat me. Raise me.

  In their defense, I don’t think Daros ever raised a child before. Or since.

  But knife it all. Why did they have to give me to him? Why couldn’t they have kept me or given me to someone who wouldn’t raise me to be a monster?

  I want to throw a dagger at the wall but don’t want to lose my temper in front of Jem, so I keep seated. Calm and collected.

  Another thing catches my attention. She said I was three when taken. Three. I wasn’t given to Daros as a baby. I grew at least a little with parents who hopefully loved me. Why can’t I remember any of this? Why are my only memories of childhood harsh and unrelenting?

  “And you think that child was me?” I ask.

  “By all accounts, yes,” she says.

  Dagger it all, I can’t believe it.

  I have parents.

  And they gave me to Daros for money.

  My stomach rolls and lurches. I swallow the bile, hating the acidic taste in my mouth. Hating it all. “How did they find out that Daros would take me in?”

  “I don’t know. Wilric and I weren’t able to find out.”

  Who knows, then? He came to them and offered a lump sum in exchange for their child? I clench my teeth. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. “Thank you for your assistance in this matter. I trust you and Wilric will be tight-lipped about it.”

  “You have my assurance that we will be.” She twists her hands together—a very uncharacteristic behavior for her.

  Either she’s lying, or another thing is making her nervous. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yes.” She hesitates, dropping her hands to her side. “Would you teach me to fight?”

  I would never expect this. I don’t know what to say.

  “I’ve shocked you.” She sits demurely, hands finally holding still.

  “I admit that. Why do you want to fight?”

  “Because there are many dangers in court, not all of them barbed words.”

  I snort. She gives me a look that says I shouldn’t be so unladylike, but I ignore it. The idea has merit, though I’ve never trained anyone before, unless you count sparring with Nash. I can’t touch her in order to train her—not without causing her death. As much as I trust Nash to keep our touching a secret, I don’t trust Jem to do the same. She’s very rule abiding, though it would mean her death if she did. Still, I'm not sure I want to risk either of it.

  “We’ll have to enlist help.” Nash is the first who comes to mind, but I’m not sure he’s the right person for this job. He trains hard as it is. Too hard. I don’t want to give him another excuse to overextend himself. But there is someone else I trust. “What about Wilric?”

  The corners of her mouth tug upward for the slightest moment. “He would work.”

  “Are you certain you want to do this? I won’t go easy on you, and I won’t allow Wilric to either.”

  Her fingers knot together. “It’s needed.”

  And if there’s anything Jem seems to like, it’s doing what’s needed. I, on the other hand, follow too many of my wants. “Would you like to go on a walk with me?” I ask.

  “Certainly. The gardens?”

  Perfect. I didn’t even have to suggest it. “That would be nice.”

  Together, we make our way out into the hallway, where my guards join us. It’s not what I want—we’ll draw far too much attention to ourselves with an escort—but facing Jaku’s wrath for not taking them isn’t something I’m in the mood for. Besides, they’d probably ignore me if I told them to go away.

  We’re silent on the way to the gardens—the best place to talk, though that’s not why I want to go.

  When we step outside, Jem says, “The weather is lovely.”

  “Indeed, it is.” Though that’s not my reason for wanting to come here either, it’s a nice side effect. There’s a crispness to the air, but the sun shines through the fluffy pink clouds. There’s a scent about, something like apples, almost. But more than that, it’s the sound that makes me quicken my pace. The noise of blades, clashing together.

  Is Nash out there?

  Of course he is. He’s so rarely elsewhere these days.

  “Is there something you wished to discuss with me?” Jem asks, as we continue on to the gardens.

  What can I say? I doubt she wants to talk about training when there are others around to hear. Fighting would be more interesting than any discussion subject I can think of. Before I make up my mind, those training come into view. I let my gaze flitter there and back. It’s all I will allow, but it’s enough to see Nash in full guard dress, sweat beading on his forehead as he blocks his opponent.

  My throat tightens, my heart feeling as if it leapt out of my chest to join him.

  “Your Highness?” Jem whispers.

  Though I’m no longer looking at Nash, guilt slices through me. I shouldn’t be so concerned over him when I’ve a country to run and Daros to look out for. Besides, I’ll never be able to have him.

  I clear my throat. “I thought a walk would be nice.”

  “It is.” She comes to a halt, facing the soldiers in front of us.

  There aren't words enough for the praise I want to heap on her for that action. It leaves me free to watch Nash unhindered by expectations. He's got a sheen of sweat across his forehead, his arm muscles rippling as he thrusts his sword forward toward his opponent. With his swift movements, I can't see his missing pinky, but I know it
's gone. How has it changed his fighting?

  Whatever the difference, he appears as much able to take care of himself as ever, if not more. He's rapidly wearing down his partner with maneuvers that send my heart pounding. I wish it was me up there against him. My body aches with repressed movements.

  I realize I'm leaning forward and force myself to straighten like Jem is beside me. She doesn't hold my attention long, though. Nash fills my senses even from so far away. I remember the smell of him. The way he feels when he puts his arms around me. The taste of his kiss. And watching him fight is like an agonizing sort of joy.

  Just seeing him is reassuring to my soul, but not being able to do more than look tears me to shreds. I have to focus on something else or I'm going to lose my tight control. I take a look at the man he's fighting. I believe it's a guard named Piru. He's been helpful in the past, and I'm grateful he's continuing to be so with Nash now.

  Despite knowing I should keep control, my gaze flits back to Nash. He doesn't appear to have spotted me, which is for the best. Other guards keep glancing our way, but he keeps a firm grip on the fight.

  It's just as well he doesn't notice me. My heart wishes otherwise, but it's really for the best. I force myself to turn away from the fight and say to Jem, “Shall we?”

  “Let's. I'm looking forward to spending time in the garden.”

  We wander away, my back burning like someone is watching me, but it's probably just my wishing that Nash was focused on me after his fight was over. I turn my attention to Jem. “I'd like a way to get to know you personally a little better.”

  “What would you like to know?” There’s the faintest note of surprise in her tone.

  “What about your family? Tell me about them.” I worry I made a mistake by asking. I’ve never heard any of the ladies-in-waiting speak of family, except when I first became queen and they offered to let my parents stay at the palace too.

  Of course, I had no parents to speak of.

  “I haven’t seen them in about a month, but they write every week. Last I heard, they were doing well. It’s hard to think of them when I feel so removed from them.”

  They’re alive. I hold back a sigh of relief. “Is it the distance? Couldn’t they come to the palace as well?”

  “Only the queen’s family joins her at the palace. Ladies-in-waiting aren’t to be distracted by anything, from serving Her Majesty.”

  “That doesn't seem fair.”

  She shrugs. “Perhaps to you. It’s so ingrained into me from childhood, I hardly think about it. It’s a little odd how much you don’t know about your country and customs.”

  “Because of how I grew up.” It was nothing like her experience.

  “I suppose so.” She grows quiet.

  “Tell me more about your family,” I prompt.

  “I’m an only child. Which might explain why they had a hard time letting me go, despite preparing me for it.”

  We reach the gardens, and my guards enter before us, as the sound of blades clashing grows faint. I want to stay and watch Nash, but I don't want to draw attention to him more than I already have.

  She says, “Mother cried the entire way to the castle when they were dropping me off. It’s been twelve years, but I remember the tears streaming down her face.”

  “What about your father? Was he sad to see you go?”

  “I believe so, though he was always more reserved with his feelings. He never once cried, but his eyes were red when I last saw them that day. But he handed me a note, which I’ve kept. He wrote many things in it, but mostly about his love for me.”

  What would that be like—to have the love of parents I’ve known my whole life? It’s hard enough, getting to know them now, let alone returning the love they claim to feel. “Are their letters like that, still? If it’s not too personal to ask.”

  “I don’t mind. The truth is I love talking about my parents, but I don’t get an opportunity to do so very often. They’re very supportive of me. I think they were grateful you drank the Mortum Tura and became queen instead of me. Not only did they fear I wouldn’t live through it, they also knew the responsibilities would be heavy on my shoulders.

  “I do know they prefer me as a lady-in-waiting, where I can be of influence and high in the government, but without so much pressure or death hanging over my head. They don’t know how close I’ve come to seeing you die, though, or they'd have begged me to come back home.”

  “We did have that close call…” An attacker came crashing through the window, back when I wasn’t sure I liked Jem. I’m still not entirely sure, but I definitely like her more than I did.

  “And I wasn’t far off when you fought Daros at the ball.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “Yes. I was nearby, until one of the guards saw me and hustled me away. Which is probably for the best, but another reason for”—she glances around—“what I asked you earlier.”

  “It would probably be for the best.”

  We continue to talk, but I’m stuck on how to teach her to fight. Nash would be a much better teacher, but maybe Wilric will be good too.

  Chapter 7

  Lunch time, and I invited my parents.

  My parents. Such a strange thought.

  It’s quiet and awkward at the table.

  I’ve hardly touched my food. Instead, I glance around the small room. It’s meant for informal luncheons, like this. We’re seated at a round table with a turntable in the middle where the dishes are for us to serve ourselves. Light from three narrow windows brightens the room. I almost wish it were dark. Then I wouldn’t have to look at anyone.

  After how talkative they were before, I expected them to be the same now. Maybe my accepting them to a degree made them as unsure of what to say as it did me.

  My parents look like they haven't been eating. They shovel in big spoonfuls, instead of dainty bites, and when they do speak, it’s with their mouths full of food. I had no idea my time at the palace turned me into such a snob, but apparently it did. Or maybe I’m looking for something—anything—to focus on besides them.

  It’s only when I glance at them out of the corner of my eye that I catch them watching me.

  “How are you enjoying your rooms?” I ask.

  “They are wonderful,” Shillian says. “I’ve never been in one like them before. Thank you for the accommodations.”

  “Certainly.” On the chance of being rude, I must ask, “How long do you plan on using them for?”

  She drops her gaze.

  “We are at your mercy,” Carver says. “You see, we would love to spend time with our daughter, but we know how busy you must be. We can only hope you will be comfortable with us staying awhile, but we will go whenever you’re ready for us to. Don’t feel shy about kicking us out.”

  I want to do that, and yet I would like to know them better. It’s a mess. How is one supposed to act around parents that abandoned them? “What about your jobs?”

  “I’m afraid I lost my job last month,” Carver says.

  That doesn’t bode well. “And what was that?”

  “I am a mason.”

  I nod. Maybe I can find work for him, and then he’d have no reason to stay. Or maybe I should use it as an excuse to keep them close. I don’t know what I want. “A good profession, to be sure.”

  “It’s hard work.”

  “But honest,” Shillian says.

  “And you, Shillian? Do you have a job?” I ask.

  “I take in laundry when I can get some, but more and more of my clients are turning to other laundry ladies.”

  Why is that? I want to ask, but I’ve been rude enough as it is. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It is what it is, Keera.”

  I bristle under the name. That’s not who I am. “You will call me Ryn.”

  Her face turns the same color as her rouge. “Oh. Forgive me. I’ve called you Keera so long in my mind, it’s hard to think of you with any other name.”

  “It’
s fine. I just prefer Ryn.”

  Is it wrong to choose a name of my liking instead of the one my parents gave me at birth? I don’t know the right answer, but I’m Ryn. I have been for a while now, and I don’t want that to change because the couple who didn’t raise me gave me a different name.

  The discussion lulls again. What are they thinking? Are they judging me for using Ryn? No matter. I’m not changing my mind.

  I find myself wishing Nash or one of my ladies-in-waiting were here. They’d know what to say and how to get out of this awkward conversation. Or non-conversation. Why did I choose to dine with them again?

  In an effort to break the silence, I ask, “What was I like as a child?”

  Shillian beams. “You were precocious. You walked and talked early, always babbling about something. You seemed genuinely happy and rarely cried, even when we couldn’t feed you enough.”

  That statement disturbs me. I wasn’t upset about not having a full belly, but they still gave me away. Granted, I might have died, had they not given me away, but my heart doesn’t want to listen to that.

  I wait for her to say something more, but nothing comes. The air is heavy with unspoken words, and it’s pressing on me. This isn’t what I want to be doing, or where I want to be doing it. As much as I want to hear about my childhood, it hurts.

  “If you will excuse me, I have to attend to my duties.” I stand.

  They rise as well, bow, and give thanks.

  “I will see you later. Please feel free to enjoy the palace. Any of the servants can help you with whatever you may need.”

  “Will we see you again soon?” Shillian asks, a tender note in her voice that makes my heart quiver.

  “When I can get away from my obligations.” It’s the best I can offer, for now.

  I head out of the room, my usual entourage surrounding me. I’d like to be alone with my thoughts. Too many of them are crowding my head. I could burst through them and run away, like I did after my first dinner as a queen. When Nash followed me and showed me back to my rooms. That would be much preferable to now.