Queen of the Unwanted

by Jenna Glass

  “Yes. Pair that with their obvious preference for Delnamal, and it is far from surprising that King Khalvin responded with hostility.”

  True, it was not. But it also meant that Alys had no chance of trading with Khalpar—even on the unfavorable terms that were the best she could have hoped for—for iron or gems. If she wanted to build any kind of an arsenal for her minuscule army, her only choice would be to deal with Nandel.

  “Perhaps you were right all along,” she said, hating the admission. “I should not have burned Waldmir’s message without even reading it.”

  Tynthanal shrugged as if it hardly mattered, and she was more thankful than she could have said that he chose not to rub her nose in her mistake. He was still angry with her over her refusal to allow his marriage to Chanlix, but at least he was not cruel about it.

  “Waldmir can’t know for sure whether his flier successfully made the journey to Women’s Well,” Tynthanal said. “After all, they do fail sometimes.”

  It was true that a harsh storm could knock a flier right out of the sky, maybe even damage it enough that its spell died and left it nothing but an inert carved bird. And Nandel was very much a land of harsh storms.

  “If you send him a flier and make no mention of having received one from him previously, he might assume it never reached you,” Tynthanal continued.

  She made a vague sound of assent, though she rather doubted Waldmir would give her the benefit of the doubt. His reasons for scorning women—and disrespecting someone claiming to be a female sovereign—might not be religious, as King Khalvin’s were, but they were just as deep-seated. If not more so.

  Hating the very thought of trading with the man who had threatened Jinnell’s life and happiness, she reminded herself for the thousandth time that the well-being of her principality had to come before all else.

  “I’ll send Prince Waldmir a flier,” she said.

  * * *

  —

  Norah had spent several sleepless nights trying to figure out what—if anything—she should tell her sisters about Mairahsol’s ultimatum. It was dishonest of her not to tell them of the threat that hovered over them all, but she did not want them to suffer as she was now suffering. She wasn’t sure how she would ever sleep through the night again, as every moment of quiet stillness gave her mind the freedom to conjure appalling images of the long and agonizing death that would be hers if Mairahsol followed through on her threat.

  It was on the third of those sleepless nights, when exhaustion dragged her to the edge of a restless sleep, that she finally saw how she’d allowed her fear to overwhelm her faith.

  Norah firmly believed that the Blessing was the work of the Mother of All, and that She had no intention of allowing Her children to reverse it. But that didn’t mean that She would not guide the faithful to safety.

  Norah gently shook Sister Melred awake from a sound sleep in one of the junior abigails’ dormitories. She covered the younger woman’s mouth with her hand so that she wouldn’t cry out, then put her finger to her lips when she saw Melred had awakened. Melred nodded, and Norah moved her hand.

  Silently, Melred slipped out of the bed. Norah glanced around at the other beds, trying to see if anyone else was awake. Mother Wyebryn had been careful in her assignment of beds, grouping the abigails so that the Mother of All worshippers were together and could leave their dormitories without being betrayed by their fellow residents, but Mairahsol had, of course, inserted several of her spies in their midst. Norah had gotten very skilled at sneaking sleeping potions into drinks.

  No one else stirred as Norah led Melred out of the dormitory. Melred yawned and rubbed her eyes, but she followed obediently and asked no questions as Norah steered her to the row of playrooms that was just down the hall from the dormitories. It was late enough at night that none of the rooms was in use. Melred raised a curious eyebrow as Norah carefully peered into the first room, making doubly sure that it was empty before entering.

  There were no windows in the playrooms, so it was dark when Melred and Norah first stepped in. Norah lit one of the room’s many luminants, revealing the plush bed with its rich counterpane of red velvet. The beds the abigails slept on were rock-hard and covered in coarse, threadbare sheets, but the beds in which they entertained the Abbey’s clientele were a good deal more luxurious.

  Melred closed the playroom door gently, then turned to Norah. Pretty and sweet-natured, Melred had spent many hours working in the Abbey’s playrooms, and she had continued to do so after it had become no longer strictly mandatory. Norah herself had been too old when she’d first arrived at the Abbey to be forced to sell her body, yet still every time she stepped into a playroom, something deep inside her shuddered at the thought of what so many of her sisters endured. Just because they would no longer be beaten or starved for refusing to work the pavilion didn’t mean those who still did so were happy with their lot.

  Norah’s discomfort must have been obvious, for Melred smiled at her mischievously. “Working the pavilion is not a contagious disease,” she teased, “and I promise you won’t catch it merely by setting foot in a playroom.”

  Norah was fairly certain she blushed like a schoolgirl. “I figured this would be a place we could talk without anyone overhearing or interrupting us.”

  Melred hid a yawn behind her fist, then sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back comfortably on her hands. “You are certainly being quite mysterious, Sister Norah,” she said with no hint of anxiety.

  Norah hated to shatter the young woman’s peace of mind, but it was a necessary evil. Melred was already the strongest seer in the Abbey, and Norah felt certain she had not yet tested the limits of her strength. In all likelihood, she could survive the poison that had killed Sister Sulrai and thereby trigger the most powerful vision their Abbey had received in recent memory.

  Reluctantly, cringing inside, Norah told Melred about Mairahsol’s threat. The young woman blanched, and her hands crumpled the velvet counterpane as she absorbed the horror. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, and her lower lip trembled.

  “We are doomed, then,” she whispered, bowing her head and clasping her hands in her lap. “We couldn’t undo the Blessing even if we wanted to.”

  “No,” Norah agreed, sitting on the bed beside her and putting a steadying hand on her back. “But I think we must have faith that the Mother of All will protect us.”

  Melred sniffled and brushed away a few stray tears. “But how?”

  Norah’s lips curved into a faint smile, for that was the same question she had struggled with the last three nights, and the answer was obvious—once she let the fear fall away. “Through a vision, of course.”

  Melred blinked, and her brow furrowed in thought. “But we’ve been triggering visions constantly since the abbess claimed we were going to invent some new seer’s poison. And we’ve seen nothing that would advance her cause.”

  Norah nodded. “True. But our seers have been triggering visions never intending to ask the Mother of All for guidance. We were solely focused on impeding Mairahsol’s progress.”

  Melred frowned doubtfully. “But the Mother shows us what She wants us to see, not what we ask for.”

  “That is true. And if She sees a way to protect us while leaving the Blessing intact, She will show us what we need to do.” Norah reached into a pocket in her robes and pulled out a small vial of green-tinged liquid.

  Melred flinched backward, as if afraid the poison would leap out of the capped vial and force its way down her throat. Norah shivered and hoped she was doing the right thing. Melred was a naturally obedient sort, and Norah knew her own rank—both within the Abbey in general and their worship group—meant the girl would do as she was asked, despite any misgivings she might have.

  Being a seer, Melred was well familiar with the range of seer’s poisons available in the Abbey, and she knew at a glance the potency
of the green poison. She swallowed hard, staring at the vial in Norah’s hand.

  “I have never taken one so strong,” Melred said, her voice little more than a frightened whisper. No doubt she was thinking of how badly she had suffered from the last powerful poison she had downed. As was Norah.

  “I know,” Norah replied gently. “I believe you can handle it, and we need as clear a vision as the Mother can give us. You are our best hope. But it is up to you, of course. I would not force you to drink it even if I could.” Guilt stirred in Norah’s center, for though it was true that Melred could refuse, the girl’s nature meant it was a foregone conclusion that she would not.

  Melred bit her lip as she tentatively reached for the vial. “I suppose death by seer’s poison is preferable to the fate we face if the Mother of All doesn’t show us a way out.”

  And if Melred did not have a vision that would steer them to safety, Norah wondered if she and all of her fellow Mother of All worshippers would be best served by drinking the Abbey’s entire supply of seer’s poisons to avoid arrest. It would not be an easy death. But it would be far easier—and quicker—than what they would suffer at the hands of the inquisitor.

  Melred blew out a deep sigh, then opened her Mindseye, scanning the room for the elements she would need to complete the poison’s spell.

  “May the Mother of All guide and keep you,” Norah murmured as Melred tossed back the contents of the vial and swallowed with a grimace.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Of all the amazing and impossible spells that had been produced in Women’s Well, the talking fliers—talkers—were by far Alys’s favorite. Ordinary fliers carrying letters had once seemed a perfectly adequate means of communicating, though depending on distance and wind patterns, they could take days to reach their recipients. A conversation full of back-and-forths could take weeks, if not months, to complete. And of course meeting in person with anyone—especially a sovereign—who lived in another kingdom was a far from simple affair.

  Alys sighed quietly as she fed a mote of Rho into the talker that was paired with the one she had sent to Queen Ellinsoltah. Much as she loved the talkers, she wasn’t overjoyed to be contacting Ellinsoltah under the current circumstances. A slow and almost impersonal letter would have been a much more pleasant way to deliver bad news.

  Eventually an image of Ellinsoltah took shape in the air, floating insubstantially over the dressing table on which Alys had lain the talker.

  The Queen of Rhozinolm was dressed for evening in a deep purple gown with a fashionably low-necked bodice and a matching headdress, both sparkling with diamonds and trimmed with pink-tinged pearls. Alys suffered a twinge of envy, for her mourning would allow her to wear nothing but black. She had flouted that convention only once, disrespecting her father’s memory by wearing red and gold in addition to black when she’d parleyed with Delnamal to avert his attack. Her logical mind knew her decision had had nothing to do with her daughter’s death—Jinnell had already been dead by the time Alys donned the gown—but she honestly wasn’t sure if she could ever wear color again, even after her official mourning was over.

  “Please forgive me for disturbing you at this late hour, Your Majesty,” Alys said.

  Ellinsoltah flashed her a warm and friendly smile. “No need for apologies, Your Royal Highness. I presume that someday, the novelty of your talkers will wear off, but that day is still far in the future. We have already spoken in person, as it were, more times than your father and my grandfather ever did throughout their long reigns. It is a marvel.”

  Alys smiled, thinking that with their predecessors’ temperaments, it was just as well they had rarely met in person, else their kingdoms might have fought more than just the one war over the course of their reigns. “I suppose it is,” she agreed, though by this point she had used the talkers often enough that she was dangerously close to taking them for granted. “Unfortunately, at this moment they are making it quick and easy for me to deliver bad news.”

  Reluctantly, she told Ellinsoltah what had happened to the trade caravan and the “bandits” who had attacked it. She hoped that the two of them had established a good enough relationship that Ellinsoltah would not think this was a lie meant to delay delivery, no matter how outlandish the truth sounded. She was sure previous kings, both of Aaltah and Rhozinolm, had more than once engaged in similarly dishonest dealings, but it was still an affront to the rule of law.

  “I believe it’s worse than you think,” Ellinsoltah said grimly when Alys was done. “My ambassador in Aaltah reports that there appears to have been an off-the-record meeting between Delnamal and the Nandel ambassador. Apparently, Rhojal of Nandel made a rare appearance at a ball, and both he and the king were seen leaving the ball at approximately the same time and were gone for at least an hour.”

  Alys grimaced. She had had few dealings with the Nandelite ambassador when she’d lived in Aaltah, for she had avoided court intrigue to the best of her abilities, but she knew that he never attended feasts or balls except on the most momentous occasions. She very much doubted it was a coincidence that he’d decided to be sociable when Delnamal had a caravan of stolen goods he wished to unload. She wondered how much additional iron and gems he’d been able to purchase under the table. Thanks to their previously warm relationship, Aaltah was already well-stocked for war, but it did not bode well for either Women’s Well or Rhozinolm if Delnamal was acquiring additional raw materials for weapons and spells.

  “Needless to say,” Ellin added, “my people—especially my council—are concerned about what that secret meeting might portend. Our sources tell us Aaltah is building its military despite the limitations of its treasury, and many see Delnamal’s cancellation of our trade agreement as a direct rebuke of our alliance with you. If he should find a way to weaken us further by undermining our relationship with Nandel…” She shook her head. “There are too many in Rhozinolm who remember the ravages of the last war between our kingdoms.”

  Alys shivered, seeing all too easily the threads that could lead to the destruction of Women’s Well. “If your council decides that your relationship with Women’s Well is putting you at risk of war with Aaltah…” Her heart thudded against her breastbone in fear. It seemed she could not have chosen a worse time to break the news about the caravan.

  “That is my fear,” Ellin admitted. “However, I do not see how it would improve our situation if Delnamal were to seize control of your Well, so let me reassure you that I don’t intend to cancel our alliance because of this setback.”

  Ellinsoltah might not intend that, but Alys wondered if the same could be said of her council. “If Aaltah and Nandel ally against us, then I don’t see how we can survive.” She felt as if she were about to start screaming and never stop. Her life consisted of one crisis after another, each one hammering at the raw and bleeding nerves of a mother still trying to survive the aftermath of her daughter’s death. She took a shaky breath and reminded herself that she had no choice but to cope with everything life threw her way.

  “We cannot hope to defeat Aaltah and Nandel in battle,” Ellin agreed. “So we must defeat them before it comes to battle. Ours must be a different kind of war. A women’s war. Our weapons are not swords and spells, but diplomacy and trade and creativity.”

  It was said with a great deal of confidence and conviction, and Alys couldn’t help being stirred. But Ellinsoltah was barely twenty-two, and though she’d clearly matured quickly over the short span she’d been queen, she still saw the world with the idealism of youth. Alys feared her confidence was unfounded.

  “To that end,” Ellin continued, “it is more important now than ever that we arrange a marriage between my cousin and your brother. My lord chancellor is a loyal man whom I trust implicitly, and if we can make sure my lord chamberlain is heavily invested in the well-being of Women’s Well, it is unlikely my detractors will have the support they need to unseat me.
Have you made any progress in removing the impediments?”

  “Yes,” Alys answered smoothly, though so far the potions Tynthanal had tried had failed. Alys reasoned it could be considered progress that he had agreed to try them at all. And saying no was out of the question under the circumstances.

  “Good,” Ellin said. “I will send Kailee on her way immediately. Before I report the attack on the caravan, lest such news make Kailindar think twice about the arrangement.”

  Alys smiled, feigning an ease she didn’t feel. There were so many reasons why Ellinsoltah might choose to sever her relationship with Women’s Well, and so few for her to stay true. Alys had never been especially devout, but she was nonetheless tempted to pray to the Mother that one of her potions would work. She did not want her brother forced to marry a woman he did not love, but the marriage felt more vitally important every day.

  “I look forward to meeting her,” Alys said, making sure to keep her qualms out of her voice and smile. “And I vow to you that I will find a way to get a caravan to you as swiftly as possible. No amount of diplomacy and creativity will help us if I am unable to fulfill my trade agreements. I don’t imagine Delnamal’s imaginary bandits have retired from the field, and I haven’t the men or equipment to send better guarded caravans. Even if you are willing to forgive my failure to deliver, I doubt other sovereigns would be as kind.”