Kill the Queen (Crown of Shards #1)

by Jennifer Estep

  His words made me think of the miners I had seen when we’d left Svalin. Of the guards cracking whips and forcing the workers into the carts. Those were just some of the people Vasilia had already hurt, and her war with Andvari would devastate the citizens of both kingdoms and beyond.

  Unless I stopped her.

  Over the last few months, I had learned how to stand up for myself. Even more than that, I had enjoyed it. I had enjoyed carving out my place in the troupe, becoming a gladiator, and showing everyone that I was a force to be reckoned with. And now I had a chance to stand up for all of Bellona, for everyone that Vasilia could potentially hurt, the way that she had hurt me for so many years.

  You have to protect Bellona. Promise me you’ll do that. Cordelia’s voice whispered in my mind.

  When I had made that promise, I had just been trying to comfort my dying queen. I hadn’t thought that I would get off the royal lawn alive, much less survive this long. But here I was now, months later, and I finally had a chance to honor that promise, along with the one that I had made to myself to never be weak and helpless and useless again.

  Perhaps I hadn’t escaped Seven Spire and all the hard lessons I’d learned there. Perhaps I could never escape being a Blair and doing my royal duty to my kingdom, to my people. Or perhaps I just wanted a chance to finally get my revenge on Vasilia for all the heartless things she’d done to me. But I couldn’t sit by and let her plunge two kingdoms into war just because she wanted more power.

  Not even if it cost me my own life.

  I sighed, giving in to the inevitable. “Even if I did battle Vasilia in a royal challenge, she almost killed me with her magic during the massacre. She could easily do that again, or run me through with her sword. Vasilia is a highly skilled warrior, and she’s always been better at fighting than me. I never won a single bout against her, not even when we were kids.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Sullivan said. “You saved yourself from her magic when she blasted you off that cliff. You won when it really mattered.”

  “Just like you won against Emilie in the arena,” Paloma chimed in.

  “And against the turncoat guards during the massacre,” Xenia finished.

  I looked at them all in turn. Steady Cho. Hopeful Paloma. Sly Xenia. Strong Sullivan. Determined Serilda. They really thought that I could do this. That I could actually challenge Vasilia for the throne—and win. Their confidence warmed my heart, if not my cynical mind.

  “All right,” I muttered, and looked at Serilda again. “All right. I’ll be your royal stand-in. One last time. But don’t blame me if it ends in disaster, and we all wind up dead.”

  A smile spread across her face, and she dropped into a perfect Bellonan curtsy. I wasn’t sure whether she was mocking me or not.

  “Oh, stop that. I’m not queen yet.”

  Serilda rose, her smile sharpening. “But you will be, if I have anything to do with it.”

  She marched over to the armoire, threw it open, and grabbed some of the clothes inside. Then she turned around, came over, and slapped the clothes up against my chest.

  “Get dressed and meet me in the courtyard. Your training starts now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Serilda, Cho, Sullivan, and Xenia headed out of the bedroom, leaving me alone with Paloma. I got dressed, and she led me to the courtyard.

  By this point, it was midafternoon, and people moved through the castle, going about their chores. Everyone was far more relaxed than they had been last night. Apparently, the Ungers took that vow of friendship very seriously. Several Ungers were working side by side with Theroux and the kitchen staff to prepare the evening meal, while others were playing darts and games with the gladiators in the common rooms.

  Paloma and I stepped out into the same courtyard where I had performed the dance. The chairs were gone, and it was a courtyard again, except for one thing—the musicians were set up in the corner with their instruments.

  Xenia was talking to the musicians, with Serilda standing next to her. Paloma and I walked over to Cho and Sullivan, who were leaning against the wall next to a table covered with weapons. The two men stopped their conversation and straightened at our approach. Paloma shifted on her feet and chewed on her lip, as if she was debating whether or not she should bow to me or something silly like that.

  “Don’t do that,” I snapped in an angry voice. “Don’t you dare do that. Any of you.”

  “Do what?” Paloma asked.

  “Treat me any differently than you would have before.” My hands curled into fists. “I don’t want to be different.”

  “But you are different.” A low, sad note rippled through Sullivan’s voice. “You are very different now, highness.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m still the same Evie, and I’m still your friend. I’ll always be your friend.”

  Paloma and Cho nodded, accepting my words. Relief filled me. I had worked too hard and had come too far to lose them now. Especially since they were the first real, genuine friends that I had ever had.

  And Sullivan, well, I didn’t know what Sullivan was to me. He didn’t nod, and I could almost feel him pulling away and stepping back behind that same invisible wall he had put up when I had told everyone who I really was.

  “Will you still make me pies?” Cho asked in a hopeful voice. “Every once in a while?”

  I let out a relieved laugh. “Yes, I will still make you pies.”

  That broke the tension, and Paloma and Cho peppered me with questions about the massacre, Vasilia, Seven Spire, and everything else. Sullivan listened, but he didn’t say anything.

  A door opened, and Halvar and Bjarni walked over and bowed to me. I glanced at the others, but Sullivan shook his head, answering my silent question. Xenia and Serilda hadn’t told them about me yet. Good. The fewer people who knew that I was a Blair, the better.

  “You’re looking quite well today, Evie,” Bjarni said. “How are your feet feeling?”

  “Much better. Thank you for asking.”

  Halvar wasn’t as polite, but he wasn’t quite as hostile as before either. “How did you learn the Tanzen Freund?”

  I gestured at Xenia. “Your aunt beat it into me with that bloody cane of hers.”

  Halvar’s eyes narrowed, making me wonder if I’d said the wrong thing, but then he threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, she does love that cane, doesn’t she? You wouldn’t believe all the times she poked me with it whenever I would misbehave as a boy . . .”

  And just like that, Halvar and I were fast friends.

  Halvar regaled us with tales of Xenia and her cane until the lady herself came over to our group, along with Serilda.

  “My ears are burning from all your lovely stories,” Xenia said in a dry tone.

  Halvar cleared his throat. “I was just showing Evie and her friends a bit of hospitality.”

  “Well, you can go show the kitchen staff some hospitality by helping them prepare dinner,” Xenia ordered. “You too, Bjarni.”

  Bjarni had been snickering at his friend’s chastisement, but his laughter cut off. The two men smiled at us again, then went inside the castle. Xenia followed them, leaving me in the courtyard with Paloma, Cho, Sullivan, Serilda, and the musicians.

  “Now that they’re gone, we have work to do.” Serilda gestured at the musicians. “If you will all be so kind.”

  The musicians nodded at her, smiled at me, and started tuning their instruments.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Why are they here?”

  “The music is going to help with your training, just like it helped you perform the dance.”

  “Someone told me that dancing is not fighting.” I looked at Sullivan, who shrugged.

  “The principles are the same. Step and counterstep. Strike and counterstrike. You’re just battling for your life instead of moving to music,” Serilda said. “Besides, if Xenia can teach you to dance, then I can teach you to fight.”

  Surprise rippled through me. “You? Yo
u’re going to teach me? Not Sully?”

  “Lucas can’t teach you what I have in mind.”

  “And what is that?”

  Instead of answering, Serilda turned toward the table. I thought she might grab one of the swords or spears, but she ignored them and went over to a black cloth bundle lying on the corner. She took hold of the bundle and unrolled the cloth so that it was lying flat on the table.

  Three items gleamed a dull silver against the black fabric—a sword, a dagger, and a shield.

  It was the same set of weapons that I had noticed hanging on the wall in Serilda’s library. Now that I was seeing them up close, I realized that small shards of midnight-blue tearstone had been set into the hilts of the sword and the dagger, as well as into the center of the shield. They all formed the same, familiar design.

  A crown.

  My gaze dropped to my wrist. The exact same crown that the tearstone shards formed on my bracelet.

  I tapped my finger on the crown crest in the sword’s hilt. “Alvis made these, didn’t he? This shard design, this crown design, is his signature.” I shook my head. “I didn’t even know that he could make weapons.”

  “Yes, Alvis made these,” Serilda said. “He used to make all sorts of weapons. He gave these to me a long time ago for safekeeping.”

  I waited, expecting her to say more, but she fell silent, so I tapped my finger on the crown crest again. “Icy crowns made of frosted shards. Do these weapons have something to do with that old fairy-tale rhyme?”

  Serilda and Cho exchanged an inscrutable look, then Serilda cleared her throat.

  “Alvis always told me that he liked the look of that crown crest.”

  Once again, I waited, and once again, she didn’t offer any more information. So I picked up the sword, the dagger, and the shield all in turn.

  They weighed much less than the weapons that the gladiators usually trained with, and even less than the sword that Serilda had given me before we had left the Black Swan compound. The sword, the dagger, and the shield felt as light as, well, feathers in my hands. I drew in a breath. And they all smelled cold and hard, just like my bracelet did. Surprise filled me.

  “These are made of tearstone.”

  Serilda nodded. “Yes, they are.”

  Tearstone might be used in jewelry and found in columns like the ones at Seven Spire, but tearstone weapons were rare. The stone could be temperamental to work with, especially when you were trying to shape it into a sword, and it had a tendency to shatter, unless the master who was crafting it knew exactly what he was doing. I had thought that my bracelet was exquisite, but this set of weapons easily outstripped anything that I had ever seen from Alvis. But even more than that, I could smell how strong they were. And given that tearstone could both absorb and deflect magic, Alvis could have sold the weapons for an immense fortune.

  “Those tearstone shards are blue, so they will deflect a fair amount of magic,” Serilda said, echoing my thoughts. “The weapons should help bolster your own immunity when you face Vasilia.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “So you think Vasilia will kill me with her lightning after all?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  Serilda rolled her eyes, but she gestured at the sword, and I picked it up again.

  “Tearstone is also surprisingly lightweight,” she continued. “You don’t have the upper body strength to use a traditional sword and shield like the other gladiators do. Those weapons are far too heavy, and all they do is slow you down. This sword will help maximize your speed. So will the dagger and the shield. You showed everyone how well you can move during the Tanzen Freund. Your speed, movement, and fluidity are weapons too. All we need to do is combine them with that sword in your hand.”

  “Now it almost sounds like you think that I have a chance to defeat Vasilia,” I drawled.

  “You’re far more powerful than you know,” Serilda murmured.

  I got the sense that she was talking about more than my meager fighting skills, but I didn’t ask her to explain. She wouldn’t tell me anyway, just like she hadn’t told me everything she knew about what it really meant to be a Winter queen.

  “And once I get through training you, you will be more than a match for Vasilia and anyone else who dares to challenge you. All you have to do is trust me. Can you do that, Evie?”

  Serilda held out her hand, a serious expression on her face. Cordelia had told me to get Serilda to train me. But now that the moment was here, I wasn’t sure that I was ready for any of this. But there was no backing out now, so I nodded, blew out a breath, and put my hand in hers.

  Quick as thought, Serilda spun her body into mine and flipped me over her shoulder. My sword flew out of my hand, and once again, I ended up flat on my back on the ground, trying to keep my eyes from spinning around and breathing through the pain pulsing through my body.

  Serilda leaned over me. “First lesson—never trust anyone.”

  I groaned. It was going to be a long day.

  * * *

  It wasn’t just a long day. It was one long bloody day after another.

  From sunup until well past sundown, all I did was train. I crawled out of bed, ignored my many aches and pains, and stumbled down to the courtyard. Serilda was always there, always waiting, always ready, willing, and eager to attack me.

  And she wasn’t alone.

  The musicians were always in the courtyard too, their instruments at the ready. Cho, Paloma, and Sullivan joined us as well, although not nearly as early. Sometimes, Halvar and Bjarni would train with us too. Xenia preferred to watch from her cushioned chair on the second-floor balcony, her silver cane tapping out a steady beat.

  Serilda took an entirely different approach to training me than Captain Auster and Sullivan had. She treated each fighting sequence like a dance, complete with music, and made me learn all the steps first. When to attack, when to retreat, how to whirl out of the way and then move back in for my own strike.

  Once I had mastered that part of each “dance,” she went on to the hand movements, or weapons portions. How to hold my sword, dagger, and shield, and how to block, parry, and attack with them. When she was satisfied that I sort of knew what I was doing, she made me put the steps together with the weapons, until I had learned the complete “dance.”

  To my great surprise, her methods actually worked.

  Perhaps it was the fact that I had always loved dancing and music, but I had far more success training with Serilda than I’d ever had with anyone else. Even when I wasn’t training, I could still hear the music playing in my mind, and I often twirled down the hallways, moving through the fighting sequences. In a way, I supposed they were like sections of a dance. Only these dances ended with blood, pain, and death, instead of bows, smiles, and claps.

  Serilda was also right about the sword, dagger, and shield. The tearstone weapons were so lightweight that they felt more like extensions of my hands, rather than something separate, just like a morph’s talons or a magier’s lightning where a part of who and what they were.

  Every day was different. Sometimes, all I did was work with the sword. Sometimes, only the dagger, or only the shield. Sometimes, all three together. Sometimes, no weapons at all, except for my fists and my wits.

  My sparring partners were also different. Cho, Paloma, and Sullivan were always there, but I battled them in different groups, from one-on-one to all three at once. Sometimes, Halvar and Bjarni joined in as well, trying to cleave me in two with their maces. All the while, Serilda circled me, barking out orders to keep my hips square, my sword up, and my eyes on my enemy.

  While I trained, the rest of the troupe integrated themselves quite nicely into Castle Asmund. Everyone from the acrobats to the gladiators to the bone masters practiced their routines, skills, and magic, keeping themselves sharp, and fascinating the Ungers with dazzling displays of acrobatics, fighting, healing, and more.

  One morning about three weeks into my tra
ining, I stepped into the courtyard to find it deserted, except for Serilda. But instead of sitting on the table, sipping mochana like usual, she was standing in the middle of the courtyard, holding her own personal sword and shield.

  I eyed the weapons. They gleamed a dull silver and were made of tearstone, just like mine, and they bore Serilda’s swan crest—jet shards with a blue tearstone eye and beak. I wondered when Alvis had made the weapons for her—and why—but I didn’t ask. She wouldn’t tell me anyway.

  Serilda gestured for me to face her. I sighed and did as she commanded. This was going to hurt.

  “Today, you are going to fight until you can’t fight anymore,” she said.

  “And then what?”

  “And then we’ll see how much progress you’ve really made.”

  I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but she raised her sword and attacked. I snapped up my own sword and shield, and the fight was on.

  And I lost spectacularly.

  I had never fought Serilda before, but I quickly realized why she was the leader of the Black Swan troupe—because she was the best fighter. Cho, Paloma, and Sullivan were all skilled warriors, but they couldn’t compare to Serilda, who was faster, smarter, and far more ruthless. We were barely three moves into the fight before she disarmed me, flipped me over her shoulder, and pressed her sword up against my throat.

  “You’re dead,” she snapped. “Now get up.”

  I shook off the blow, got back onto my feet, and grabbed my sword and shield. And once again, she attacked and killed me in only a few moves.

  “Again!” she snapped. “Again! Again!”

  I rapidly came to despise that word. It was painfully apparent that I couldn’t beat her—that I was never going to beat her—but every time she killed me, I got back up and braced myself for another attack.

  After the twelfth—thirteenth?—time that Serilda flipped me over her shoulder and onto my back, she glared down at me, disgust stamped all over her features. “You’re thinking too much. You need to react, defend, attack. You need to just fucking move like you did during the Tanzen Freund. You’re too worried about everything else.”