The Rebel Queen

by Jenny McKane

  Escolen’s eyes widened. “You will be able to defeat her?”

  Mother Asta smiled. “Let’s just say that all the elements are there, Escolen. Our new queen might find that she wakes up looking a little different to how she went to sleep.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Disella opened her eyes and stretched, yawning. Today was the day. She was going to try to send word to Agnor that the plan had been successful.

  She glanced around the tent, burrowing deeper beneath the heavy blanket. It was getting so cold. Why did the queen insist on camping out in such weather? If she had been the real Rebel Queen, she would have commandeered a great castle. Somewhere with roaring fires and expensive furniture. A long table to hold feasts. What was the use of being a queen, if not to live it up?

  She sat up, slowly. She could hear the camp going about their morning business. The smell of frying eggs wafted toward her, making her stomach churn. She would have to sidle up to some little camp and smile and preen until she was offered breakfast. She still found it laughable that the queen didn’t have a cook of her own. If she was queen, she would have a retinue to attend to her every whim.

  That is exactly what I am going to do, Disella thought suddenly. When I finally get to the city to rule alongside Agnor, I am going to have a tribe of servants and a wardrobe full of luxurious gowns. I have been in exile long enough. I have paid my dues, in that isolated realm, studying and practicing spells.

  There had to be some benefits to being the great ruler’s daughter, even if she were a long lost one that no one had ever heard of.

  That still miffed her if she were being honest. She remembered the looks of surprise on all the commander’s faces, back at the safe house, when she had said that she was Agnor’s daughter. Dear daddy had obviously not advertised the fact that she was alive. She shouldn’t be surprised, of course. He had banished both her and her mother to life in that far off realm. It had only been the two of them for years, and then he had separated them.

  The thought made Disella’s stomach tighten. She still remembered the day, when the guardians had come, taking her mother away. For security reasons. Because they needed her. Her mother had wept and said that she was not going anywhere without her daughter, but they had ignored her.

  Disella’s last vision of her mother had been on her horse, surrounded by Grey Guards.

  She had been alone ever since, locked in that remote castle and forced to study. Her father had never visited, but then she had never seen him, not once, even when her mother had been there. Why would he start playing the doting father now? She knew that she was just a pawn on his gameboard, just like her mother had always been.

  Well, the pawn is about to become a major player, she thought smugly.

  She rose slowly. What should she wear today? She snorted. A silly question. The Rebel Queen was not given to advertising her rank with beautiful gowns and elaborate cloaks. No, she would be wearing just another plain tunic and leggings, almost the same as what she had worn the day before.

  She bent down, pulling on the leggings. Were they too long? That was strange. It must be an ill-fitting pair. She rolled up the cuffs on them then pulled on a pair of Avalon’s boots. They were too big for her. What on earth was going on?

  With a thudding heart, she pulled a tunic over her head, letting it fall. It fell to her knees when she knew that usually they only reached to mid-thigh. It was way too long.

  A cold feeling of dread descended over her. Had something gone wrong with the ritual?

  She turned and walked toward the looking glass in the corner. She could feel her skin break out into a sweat. She felt like running away, but she knew that she must know for sure.

  She gazed at her reflection then almost dropped the glass onto the ground. She had to steady herself in order to peer into it again.

  It wasn’t Avalon’s face, staring back at her. The face that looked back at her was one she was very familiar with.

  It was her own.

  Her own grey eyes stared back at her instead of Avalon’s brown ones. The high cheekbones of the queen’s face were gone, and in their place, were her own round, full cheeks. The queen had full lips, but Disella’s own were thinner.

  And the hair that fell from her head was pitch black instead of brown. The length was similar, but that was it.

  Disella lowered the looking glass, her heart pounding, hard. What had happened? She had followed the ritual precisely. Quickly, she went over everything in her mind. She had been naked, as was required. She had found a source of water. The herbs had been correct, and the three drops of frankincense oil. She had lit the black candle at the right moment and incanted the chant precisely.

  She knew that it had worked at the time. The clothes had fit her when she had dressed after the ritual. She had plaited her hair before bed, and it had been Avalon’s color. How had the spell gone wrong while she slept? It didn’t make any sense!

  What could she do to salvage the situation? She couldn’t stay in bed all day. People would come in to see what was wrong, and there simply wasn’t any way that she could let them see her in her true form. It would be a disaster. They would know, obviously, that she wasn’t their queen.

  Could she slip down to the fjord and perform the ritual again? But no. It was broad daylight. Someone would be sure to see her and question her. The gig would be up.

  “Good morning, my queen.”

  Disella froze, staring into the looking glass. It was the old Mother’s voice.

  She turned around slowly. There was a man, standing beside her. What was his name again? That’s right. Escolen.

  “Your clothes seem ill fitting, queen,” drawled the man, his eyes scornful.

  There was no surprise on their faces. Disella realized the truth suddenly. They had come in here expecting that she wouldn’t be looking like the queen. They knew that she had been impersonating their queen, and they had done this to her. But how?

  She smiled slowly. “Bravo,” she said, clapping softly. “Really, I am impressed.”

  Mother Asta raised an eyebrow. “Did you really think that it would work? We know Avalon. Nothing about you has added up—right from the start.”

  Disella’s smile broadened. She stared at the sword in Escolen’s hand. They were planning to kill or imprison her, that much was obvious.

  “It was worth a try,” she said, tossing her dark hair over her shoulders. “And I have succeeded anyway. Your precious queen’s reputation is in tatters. The people in the Far North are wanting her blood, and your little rebellion has come tumbling down around you.”

  “That is where you are mistaken,” replied Mother Asta, calmly. “Even if Avalon’s reputation was irredeemable, the rebellion is bigger than one person. We have toiled away for years, and we have never lost hope or stopped the fight.”

  Disella glared at them. “It is all for nothing,” she spat. “You will never defeat Agnor in the South. Never! Just because you claim the wilderness of the Far North, does not mean that you will claim the whole of Agnoria.”

  “Well, that’s not for you to say, is it, sorceress?” hissed Escolen, advancing on her. “Your time is up.”

  He lunged his sword at her, but Disella was too quick. She circled him—like a cornered wolf ready to spring.

  She glanced around the tent, searching for a weapon, but there was nothing.

  Retreat was the only option. She couldn’t afford to get captured. Agnor would be angry with her. He would be angry with her, anyway, once he heard that she had been exposed. But if she turned up at the Palace and explained, he would understand eventually, surely? He was her father, after all, even if she barely knew him. He would see that she had accomplished quite a bit regardless.

  He had put the responsibility of it all on her, and she had risen to the occasion, even though she had just finished her training, and had little experience. He would give her a second chance. He must.

  “It has been a pleasure,” she said sourly. “But I am af
raid that I must depart. Things to do!”

  She turned and rushed through the tent. Escolen pursued her, shouting to alert the camp.

  Disella ran to her horse and quickly mounted, spurring it out of the camp.

  “Stop her!” yelled Escolen, mounting his own horse. People looked up at him, dumbfounded. They had seen the queen running towards her horse and speeding away. They hadn’t had time to register that she looked different. All that they saw were her clothes.

  “What is happening?” cried a man, frowning.

  “Get on your horses,” yelled Escolen. “We need to pursue her. She can’t get away. I will explain later.”

  The people gaped, but a few rushed to do his bidding. Escolen didn’t wait to see who was with him. He spurred on his horse, pursuing the woman over the plains.

  He cursed himself, as he rode. They should have informed the others. They should have had several men come to get her, and people waiting outside the tent. The whole camp should have been informed and been on alert. She was a sorceress, after all, and slippery. However, they had wanted to take her by surprise, as soon as she had awoken and before she had time to re-cast her spell and turn into Avalon again.

  They hadn’t been confident that it had even worked. Escolen had fully expected that they would confront her, and she would still look like Avalon. Mother Asta had told him after she had completed her ritual to break the sorceress’s spell that it still might not work. The woman’s powers were mighty, after all.

  But it had worked. And now the sorceress had escaped to start causing trouble elsewhere. If only he had managed to kill her outright.

  He spurred his horse onwards. They must find her.

  ***

  Mother Asta watched Escolen ride back into camp a few hours later. Hansa was by her side, licking her hand, imploring. She gazed down at the wolf, frowning.

  “It’s alright, Hansa,” she said softly. “We will get to them, but I must find out what has happened to the sorceress.”

  The whole camp was in shock. First, there had been the sudden and inexplicable command to pursue their queen, and then Mother Asta had told them that the woman was actually an evil Jarle sorceress and not Avalon at all. A few remembered, now, that the woman who had mounted her horse in such a panic had not looked like the queen.

  “I thought that her hair was darker,” said one woman to another. “But it all happened so quickly that I told myself I must be imagining it.”

  “She was shorter, too,” said the other woman, nodding. “Her clothes hung off her.”

  Mother Asta gritted her teeth, watching Escolen slowly dismount. She couldn’t see any of the other riders, who had gone with him.

  “Well?” she said, rushing to him. “What has happened?”

  Escolen wiped sweat from his brow, breathing heavily. He didn’t look happy.

  “We couldn’t find her,” he said slowly. “One minute she was there, visible, and the next…well, it was like something had swallowed her up. A mist or something.” He shook his head. “This is my fault, Mother. We should have alerted the camp and had more men there.”

  Mother Asta nodded. “Yes, we should have,” she said. “But it is not your fault, Escolen. I was the one who insisted on confronting her straight away. I was just so fearful that she would quickly change back her form if it had worked at all.”

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now,” he said. “I have left the others to look for her, but I do not hold much hope.”

  Mother Asta nodded, again. “Do not worry, Escolen. She will be retreating somewhere to lick her wounds and start planning something else. We have some space, now, at least. And we really must get to this safe house and try to free Avalon and Skyresh. That must be the priority now.”

  He nodded quickly. “I will start preparations for the journey there.”

  Mother Asta turned, walking back to her tent. She had much to get ready for the journey. She prayed to the Goddess that they were not too late.

  ***

  Everard walked into the kitchen, frowning as he opened the pantry door. He could see a few wilting vegetables and a container of porridge, which was almost empty. The food was almost gone.

  He shivered, backing out of the space. He wouldn’t eat. He would leave what little food was left for the others. It was the least that he could do, considering that he was the reason that they were imprisoned here. Guilt tore at him.

  He glanced back into the living room. Avalon was sitting down, studying books intently. He knew that it was just a way to distract herself from the direness of their situation. Skyresh was standing at the window, staring out. Everard could see that his fists were clenched.

  Skyresh didn’t take well to being constrained. Well, no one did, but the man was like a caged animal; every day, he would prowl the house restlessly. Pacing the rooms and staring out the windows. That was when he wasn’t glaring at him. Everard could feel his resentment and anger emanating like a force field.

  Everard hardly blamed the man. What had he said to him? That Everard was like the bad penny that kept showing up and ruining everything. Everard had to admit to himself that it was true, even though he was hardly controlling it. His memory had been wiped after all. If that hadn’t happened, he would never have returned to the Jarle despite his ambivalence about the direction his life had taken.

  It was funny. Ever since the spell had been lifted and his memory had returned, he felt freer somehow. Lighter. The awful memories of his years in the lair were still there, but they seemed softer. Subdued. He felt that he had the strength to deal with them now. If only that had been the case when they were in the Safe Zone, at Mother Oda’s. Then, Avalon might not have been burdened with that decision to wipe his memory.

  And things would be different now. They wouldn’t be stuck in this house.

  He sighed, still staring at them. He had meant what he said. His mind was clear; there was no conflict anymore about what side he should be on. The Jarle had been prepared to sacrifice him. They had no loyalty to anyone. It was only about staying in power for them. And Avalon, the woman who should have killed him, had spared his life out of her loyalty to him.

  But it was more than even that. He was suddenly angry about what they had done to his village and his family. He could no longer be complicit in their evil for his own benefit. His father wouldn’t have wanted him to; he saw that clearly now. His father would have wanted him to stand up and make life better for all the Stromel, not just himself.

  He watched Skyresh turn and gaze down at Avalon. She didn’t see him; she was absorbed in her book. But Everard saw him. He watched as the man’s gaze softened and a fierce love came into his eyes.

  Everard’s own eyes filled with tears, watching him. He recognized that love. It was the same, as he had always felt for her. He knew that she had been haunting him, the woman in his dreams. However, he saw also that she was being torn apart by the love that they both felt for her—unable to choose out of loyalty to them both.

  It was unfair.

  Skyresh deserved her. He was the one who had stood by her all these long years. He had saved her when she had been an enemy agent. He had sensed something else in her, a clear destiny that they both shared.

  Everard watched as Skyresh sighed then turned back to the window. The man wanted to tell her; there was no doubt about it. Yet, Everard knew that there was a complication, another woman, who was wanting a formal commitment. They had been friends for years, apparently, and had fought alongside each other since they were young. Avalon had briefly told him about it. He had sensed the sadness within her when she had spoken of it.

  He watched Avalon turn her face from her book and stare at Skyresh. The love that he had seen in Skyresh’s eyes only moments ago was reflected in her own.

  If only they could look at each other when that love was shining in both their eyes.

  Everard shook his head ruefully. He should be trying to win her over again; he still loved her. Or did he? Was it a m
emory of her that he loved? The girl from his dreams, from all those years ago. He knew that she had never looked at him like she was looking at Skyresh now.

  He was no longer sure of anything.

  It hardly mattered anyway. They were doomed to die in this house. The animals had been gone for days, and there was no sign that they were returning. Avalon had tried to speak to the Goddess through the water bowl many times since, but the power within it had dissipated. There had only been enough to speak to the animals and send them on their mission.

  He shivered again. The fire was burning low, and there was little left to fuel it anymore. Soon, they would start to freeze, as they slowly starved.

  The wind started howling around the house, like a harbinger of doom.

  ***

  Avalon gazed out at the snow falling relentlessly around the house. The day was disappearing. Soon, shadows would start to fall, signaling that the sun was descending behind the mountains. Another day gone. Stuck in this house.

  She was starting to lose hope. It had been days since Hansa and Sidsel had gone, and she knew how fast they were. They should have made it back to the camp relatively quickly and alerted the others. She had been expecting them all long before now.

  Something must have happened. Either the animals hadn’t made it, or the camp had been compromised by the sorceress. They had no way of knowing, and no back up plan. She had desperately tried to invoke the Goddess to help her reverse the spell that bound them here so many times that she had lost count. It was all to no avail. The water bowl, the source of the sorceress’s power that she had tapped into, had lost its magic.

  She shivered violently. It was no use. She was standing here with blankets over her to try to fend off the cold. The fire had finally sputtered out, and she was starving. The food was gone, as well.

  They were going to die.

  Suddenly, she saw a dark shape outside. In the distance.