The Evil Queen

by Showalter, Gena

  As he washed away dirt, sweat and debris from my back, I did my best to breathe through the pain and almost hyperventilated. “You must heal,” he said. “We are in the middle of an argument, and you need to heal and finish it. Don’t be a quitter.”

  Quit, yes. “Stop, please stop,” I beseeched.

  “I’m sorry, sweetling, but I must. The worst is almost over.” He smeared some kind of numbing cream over my back, and I experienced my first moment of relief.

  Once, he’d had the magic touch. Today? Not so much.

  Clutching the sliver of enchanted glass to my chest, I pleaded, “Send someone else to bandage me. Your touch sickens me.”

  “You are despised kingdom-wide. I’m the best you’re going to get. I don’t trust anyone else to tend to you properly.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Everly.” Anger layered his voice. “Tell me what happened.”

  “And relive the worst moments of my life? Hard pass.”

  Still, he pushed. To distract me—or himself? “Rumors suggest you murdered my father seconds after your wedding.”

  Should I tell him about the second, secret ceremony? Why waste my breath? He would never believe me. In the end, I just said, “Rumors are always true.”

  He stiffened further.

  “What are you going to do with me?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” His ministrations remained gentle as he applied other salves. “I’m furious with you. Furious with my sister and father, too. Furious with Noel and Ophelia. Mostly furious with myself. And shocked. And in mourning.”

  With my cheek pressed into a pillow, I studied him more intently. Lines of tension branched from his eyes. Eyes that were haunted, and haunting, and filled with despair. The lines bracketed his mouth, as well—a beautiful mouth that had kissed me one moment and condemned me the next.

  He said, “I don’t know if you are evil or innocent. Or both. I’m afraid to find out. I hate what you did to my father, and I hate what was done to you. I hate the pain you are suffering.”

  His word elicited a familiar pang, but I said, “I don’t care.”

  “This morning, I escaped an upside-down dimension with Saxon. We intended to hunt for your sister at long last, but Noel and Ophelia sent word of my father’s marriage and death. Saxon flew to the palace, and I rode the horse to ground. Then I ran.”

  Pang, pang. “Don’t care.”

  “Before coming to your room in the tower,” he said, “I sent my most skilled trackers to find Hartly.”

  PANG. “Get out. Please! Before I rip open my wounds and try to kick you out.”

  He must have sensed my seriousness because he finally left, closing and locking the door with an ominous clink.

  I traced my fingertip along the edge of the enchanted glass, my entire body shaking, new tasks taking shape in my head.

  Escape with Truly. Remove the torque. Set up a new altilium. Strengthen myself, and weaken everyone else. Return to the forest. Maybe Hartly and her troll would let me crash at their place.

  My final task: destroy the Charmaines.

  Until I’d dealt with them, I would never be safe.

  * * *

  Over the next week, I slept whenever possible and hurt constantly, fury my constant companion.

  Roth visited three times a day to change my bandages and bring me a meal worthy of a queen. I never had to worry about poison, since he acted as my taste tester.

  One morning, he even gifted me with a full-length mirror, despite knowing I could scry when I wasn’t torque’d. Either Farrah had blabbed, or he’d connected all the dots on his own.

  I wanted to ask why he’d given me such a gift, but I didn’t. I could guess the answer: (A) I was weak, and couldn’t use magic; and (B) he hoped to ease his conscience for my mistreatment.

  Whatever. There were two silver-lined clouds in my crapstorm of misery. I used my abundance of free time to spy on Nicolas and Ty, Hartly, and each of my enemies, and I had friends!

  To my surprise and delight, Phobia had shown up with another spidorpion I’d named Webster. Currently the two spidorpions were positioned at the head of the bed, observing me as I tried to sit up.

  —Rest. Friend heal.—

  “I will,” I told him. “But first I need to pee.”

  Roth had entrusted the ultra-smug Annica to help me with my personal needs. Because, according to her, “He trusts me. He loves me.”

  Having his former girlfriend slide a bedpan between my legs and clean me up afterward... I seethed with humiliation. I would do this on my own or die trying.

  “Why don’t you guys do something helpful,” I grumbled. “To escape, I need to get out of the torque. To get out of the torque, I need a fairy.”

  They scampered away, disappearing beyond the wall.

  I shouted, “No! Come back. Please, come back. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  But they didn’t come back. Rather than break down and sob, I gathered what remained of my determination and continued my battle to leave the bed. Blistering pain shot down my spine, but I finally, miraculously, achieved an upright position. Three cheers for me!

  Dizziness swamped me as I threw my legs over the side of the bed. Movement of any kind was sheer torture, pulling on both scabbed and raw tissues, but I slowly added weight to my feet, until a ray of sunlight and warmth streamed over me. Success!

  Remaining hunched over, I hobbled across the cell, used my bucket and hobbled back to the bed. Yes! I’d done it!

  Though my body demanded rest, I sat, then stood. Sat, stood. Lay down, sat up, stood. The more I practiced, the easier the actions became. Finally, I could stand without praying for death.

  As a reward, I lay on my stomach and freed the sliver of enchanted glass from the stuffing of my pillow. “Show me Hartly.”

  Yesterday, I’d checked on my nymphs. During my battle with Farrah, I’d nearly drained them, and I had yet to forgive myself.

  My sister’s image appeared, a beam of happiness lighting up my soul. She’d finally taken a bath. Dressed in a pretty pink gown, she sat atop a tree stump, holding court for a pack of wolves. Thor perched on her lap, king of all he surveyed.

  “Make the animals go away,” the troll commander demanded, pacing before the group.

  “Sure thing, Warick,” she said, petting a wolf behind the ears. “Just as soon as you vow never to harm my sister.”

  “My men are holding off your friends as gently as possible because I decreed it so. An act of mercy on my part,” Warick said. “One word from me, and a massacre will occur. Make. The. Animals. Go. Away.”

  “Make. The. Vow,” she snapped. “Until then, the animals will continue to protect me.”

  “I am your protection. I told you I would never hurt you.”

  “You are my captor. There’s a difference.”

  Pride suffused me. Gisno Hisnartlisny!

  “I am your future husband. Me,” Warick said, beating on his chest. “You are my war prize. You bow to my dictates, not the other way around.”

  “Yes, but why was I given to you?”

  He ran his tongue over his teeth. “To spare your sister. Which I have done. Which I will continue to do.”

  “And?” Hartly insisted.

  “And, I have done everything you’ve required of me. I have stopping using my venom and walked away from potential kills. Things I did to make you happy.”

  “And?” she repeated.

  “And nothing,” he said through gritted teeth.

  A long moment passed, various emotions flashing over her features as she weighed her options. When her eyes widened and her jaw dropped, I knew she’d stumbled upon a revelation.

  She shooed the wolves away, stood and crossed the distance.

  Warick watched h
er with an aura of wariness. “Why did you send the wolves away, when I did not give you what you wanted?”

  “I like you, Warick, despite everything, and I’ve decided to give you my trust, without getting a promise from you. I see your heart, even when you try to hide it from me. You are a good man. Hopefully you see my heart, and what Everly means to me.”

  He inhaled sharply, exhaled heavily. “Your heart is too soft.”

  “So guard it well,” she said.

  He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then he closed his eyes and inhaled with more force. Facing her, he snarled, “I will command my armies to protect your Everly, when the time comes. I vow it.”

  “Really?”

  His nod was clipped, even angry.

  Hartly unveiled a slow smile before throwing her arms around him. After a slight hesitation, he returned the hug, all of his angst vanishing. Then he just appeared shell-shocked.

  I sympathized. Hartly had made a kind gesture, and he’d reciprocated. If only my captors could be won over so easily!

  Warick stiffened and frowned. Palming a dagger, he spun in a circle, scanning the area. “Who is there? Show yourself.”

  I cut off a groan. With the enchanted glass, people always sensed me. I ended the connection, lest I be found out.

  “Show me Truly,” I said.

  A chamber appeared, the focus on a large bed with a gossamer canopy flowing over four posters. The walls were vibrant pink and patterned with roses, with golden crown molding up top, and matching wainscoting below. A plush rug boasted a colorful tree of life, the branches pointing to a rose quartz fireplace, a gold desk and a vanity made from diamonds.

  Truly crouched on the floor, with her back pressed against the bed, and another beam of happiness lit my soul. Whatever our differences, I would never forget the way she’d defended me.

  Now she was using a table knife to remove a foot-long sliver of wood from the bed frame. Then she carved an arrowhead at one end. Ohhh. Was she planning to fight her way out?

  When she finished, she rushed to the desk, then used a quill and jar of ink to scribble a note on a small scroll. Airarian princesses are prisoners in Sevón. Send help.

  After wrapping the scroll around the arrow, she sealed the paper closed with hot wax and Aubrey’s signet ring. I whooped with surprise. Truly had saved it!

  She grabbed her bow and moved to the balcony, where she aimed and fired, her magic ensuring the arrow reached her intended target, whatever the target happened to be.

  “Show me Roth,” I said, bracing. The sight of him always screwed with my mind. And my heart.

  Truly faded as the prince materialized. No, sorry, the king materialized. His coronation had taken place yesterday morning, with thousands of subjects flocking to the palace to bear witness.

  Excitement had been palpable. What I would have given to tailgate!

  Mortals and creatures of myth had come, most I’d recognized, some I hadn’t. I noticed the lack of trolls, however. And the lack of sorcerian—at least, none that I could tell.

  When the ceremony had ended, the crowd had cheered with wild abandon. Everyone loved Roth and rejoiced over the evil sorceress’s defeat. Heck, even I lov—liked him. Despite everything that had happened between us, I craved his time and attention. Why, why, why?

  In the glass, Roth strode out of a mine. I watched, dumbstruck, as he ripped off a blood-soaked shirt.

  Mouthwatering prince. Soot covered his cheeks. Gashes and blood littered his chest. Even injured, he pulsed with strength and vitality.

  A group of men huddled nearby, their wounds being doctored by the avian who flew in with medical bags.

  “I found the last one,” Roth croaked, “but he didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

  The others bowed their heads, grieved. There must have been a cave collapse.

  My head bowed. I should have done more for the miners when I was in charge.

  Different people tried to speak with Roth, but he motored on. One man offered a coat, but he declined, seemingly unaffected by the cold. His hair was a mess, damp with sweat. Thicker-than-usual stubble adorned his jaw.

  No doubt he’d rushed to the mines straight from training. He wore black leather pants and combat boots with blades attached to the toes. A spiked ring adorned each finger. The cuffs around his wrists were spiked, as well. Sheathed at his waist, daggers with brass knuckle handles.

  When he reached the village, different citizens approached him. Some flirted, some played coy. Roth greeted each newcomer with less and less patience, his expression becoming harsher, his voice becoming gruffer. That gruffness intimidated his legions of admirers, both male and female, sending them fleeing.

  Farrah waited at the border of the village. She fell into step beside him, a fancy yellow gown swishing around her ankles.

  I nearly choked on my deepest, darkest fury.

  Twirling a dagger-sharp icicle between her fingers, she said, “We need to talk, Roth.”

  “Not now, Farrah.”

  “Please, Roth,” she beseeched. Breath misted in front of her face. “Roycefus told me you’ve missed meetings. Important ones. Every day your mood grows fouler. I fear your new duties are destroying your happiness.”

  The responsibility of running a kingdom was a heavy burden to bear, but Roth had the necessary skills and stamina. In that regard, we were alike. Ruling his people would satisfy him as nothing else ever had, putting his need to protect others to good use. He needed only a good foundation of support—something I hadn’t had.

  “I know the answer to your problems. You require a wife, Roth.” She twirled the icicle faster and faster. “Someone to help you navigate these trying times. Queen Violet promises war, and our people blame you. They think you are dishonorable for ending your engagement with Princess Truly. Of course, they don’t know she is the sister of a sorceress. If we host a ball, we can invite available princesses from other kingdoms. You can wed the one of your choice. The right one will double our armed forces and give our people a new queen to adore. They’ll forget about Truly, and Father’s murderous bride.”

  They entered the palace. In the foyer, Roycefus inserted himself between the royals to tell Roth about some rescheduled meetings. Farrah’s ladies-in-waiting trailed behind, Annica among them.

  With the heel of his palm resting on the bridge of his nose, Roth rubbed his temples, his fingers on one side and his thumb on the other. “I need an hour,” he told his advisor, then switched directions.

  Visibly upset, Farrah said, “No, you need to finish our conversation. Please, Roth.”

  He ground his teeth, but offered a stiff nod. “Come.”

  The princess and her ladies dogged him. But a glare from Roth caused the ladies to stop. Only the royal siblings entered the throne room. The king eased onto his throne and appeared to bite his tongue as Farrah prattled on.

  “I’m in no mood for a ball or a wife,” he finally snapped. “I’m not certain other kingdoms are even interested in forming new alliances. They are dealing with prophecies of their own. Chaos reigns.”

  I released a relieved breath.

  Farrah wrapped her arms around her middl, as if to protect her vital organs.

  Roth tensed, guilt flashing over his expression. “I didn’t mean to shout at you. My apologies.”

  What a sap! So why did I admire his kindness?

  “Do you desire Father’s murderer?” she asked, the icicle shattering in her grip. “Saxon told me you couldn’t keep your gaze off her during your travels. Now you visit her every day.”

  I practically foamed at the mouth with curiosity, desperate to hear his response.

  Annica did, as well—neither Farrah nor Roth realized she stood behind the door, listening to their conversation, anger tightening her features.

  Roth pressed his lips into a thin line. “Everly is...a probl
em, but she’s my problem.”

  Ugh. If he had feelings for me, he’d just denied them. As Peter had done. Could no one want me and admit it to others?

  “You know what?” he said, a calculating gleam in his eyes. “We should throw a ball—for you. You may have your pick of royals. Your marriage will double our armed forces and appease our people.”

  As she floundered for a response, I snickered. Sucks when the tables are turned, doesn’t it?

  She closed the distance, crouched next to the throne, and clasped his hand. “This isn’t about me. Let me plan the ball, brother. We’ll start small. Princess Ashleigh of Fleur has acquired four dragon eggs, which makes me think her fairy tale is ‘The Little Cinder Girl.’ She would be a powerful ally. Or what about Azul? Reese’s sister—a siren duchess—can compel, like you. Already you have something in common. Were you to marry her, all of our water problems would be solved.”

  The muscle jumped beneath his eye, faster than ever before. “Very well. Plan your ball, invite the Azulians. But I will not be choosing a bride.”

  A cool tide of relief washed through me.

  Farrah beamed. “Thank you, brother. You won’t be disappointed. Now, if you would be so kind as to grant one last boon... I would like to visit Everly. Before you say no—don’t say no! I hurt inside, hurt so much, and I need her to hurt, as well. Then I can heal.”

  “You will stay away from her,” he barked, startling her. And me! How could he be so terrible and so wonderful at the same time?

  Tears pooled in Farrah’s eyes. “But, but...why? Have you forgotten what she is? What she’s done? What she’ll do?”

  Hate her!

  “I’ve forgotten nothing, but I do not want her harmed.” His tone sharpened. “I love you, Farrah, but you are not to whip her again. You are not to strike her, or put a bruise on her, or scratch her. Do you understand?”

  “She’s evil! Her family killed ours. Have you forgotten what happened to our mother and brother inside the overlord’s altilium? Everly herself slayed our father and an entire coven of witches. She tried to strangle me. Prophecy says she’ll attempt it twice more. Stop protecting her.”