The Last Queen: The Book of Kaels Vol. 1 (The Book of Kaels Series)

by Wendy Wang

  When they finally reached the falls, Neala scrambled up the granite hill so she could look down at the wide pool of water flowing into the stream they’d been following.

  Peter followed her up and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t get too close to the edge.”

  “You scared?” she teased, a grin tugging at her lips as she wrenched her wrist out of his grip. A row of stones cut across the edge of the falls and she stepped onto the first one, just out of his reach. Water flowed over the top of her boots. “If you’re scared, just say you’re scared. I won’t tell anybody.”

  “I’m not scared,” he said indignantly, moving a little closer to the water’s edge. He shook his hand at her. “Come on, quit fooling around. This isn’t funny. You could fall and break your neck despite whatever affinity you have for water.”

  A giggle escaped her lips, and she edged closer to the center of the waterfall. Her boot slid on the slick, moss-covered rock and she wobbled. “You’re worried I might fall?”

  “Jerugia’s crown. Come back here, Princess.”

  “You won’t jump in and save me?”

  “No, I won’t” He crossed his arms and took a step back.

  “Oh, that’s right. You have no affinity for water. Maybe that’s the real reason you hate the Casilladins so much. Maybe you’re just jealous, because you can’t do this.” Holding her palm up and concentrating on pushing the water around her feet, the strong flow of water swelled behind an invisible dam. The split in the stream caused it to gush around her, but her boots were no longer submerged.

  “Ok. That’s enough, Princess. Seriously, this isn’t funny anymore. Please come back here.” Anger flashed across his face and a deep line formed between his eyebrows. Peter waggled his hand at her, hurrying her.

  Neala sighed. “Spoil sport.” As soon as she lowered her hand, the water crashed down from its invisible barrier and a fast-moving wave hit her mid-thigh, knocking her backward. The trees spun above her, green leaves blurring into blue sky, as the roar of water competed with the sound of her screams.

  Plummeting towards the pool below, the world slowed down. Her arms flailed, grabbing air, until finally she slammed into the water and sunk into the gloom. Once her feet hit bottom, she pushed off, fighting against the weight of her clothes. As she broke through the surface, her mouth opened, ready to defend against the onslaught of complaints she expected Peter to heap on her, but he was not there. Her eyes scanned the top of the falls, and then the path leading to them.

  Her heart thundered up to her throat. “Peter!” Turning herself in a circle, she looked for any movement, any sign that might be him. Fatigue settled in her arms and she headed towards shore, cursing him for leaving her. What sort of warden was he to leave her? Her clothes ballooned around her the closer she got to edge of the pool and she stood up, her eyes still scouring the trees.

  Something splashed behind her, and she spun around too fast and found herself chin-deep in the water. Then she saw it. Her heart froze in her chest. Peter’s hand floated as pale as the gray-white underbelly of a dead fish. Her body reacted faster than her mind could, and she dove beneath the surface, eyes burning in the cold water as she searched for him.

  A dark shadow came into view and she grabbed at it, her hand wrapping around the black fabric of his shirt. Towing him with one hand, she fought against the weight of his wet clothes and her own, struggling until finally her feet grabbed onto the pebble-covered incline of the shore. She dragged him out of the water and knelt beside him, putting her ear to his mouth, listening for breath.

  “No. No. No. No. No,” she muttered as she flipped him onto his stomach and pumped his back to get the water out of his lungs. “Come on, Peter. Breathe. Please. Breathe.” She flipped him onto his back and listened again. Still nothing. Jamming his mouth open, she cleared his airway, took a deep breath and blew it into his mouth. His chest rose with the motion, and she repeated blowing air into his mouth until finally he coughed and spit up water. She turned him on his side facing her and patted him on the back. “That’s right. Spit it out. Just spit it out.” Peter blinked and gasped in air.

  “Are you okay, Princess?” he croaked.

  “Me?”

  “You look panicked,” he said.

  “Grizelda’s ghost, Peter! You almost died. How did you even end up in the water?”

  “You fell. I jumped in after you.”

  “You can’t swim!”

  “I know.” His blue lips shivered and he pushed himself up to sitting.

  “What were you thinking?!” Neala moved closer, rubbing his arms up and down, trying to warm him. She was in no position to offer her coat. It was soaked, but her affinity for water protected her from its frigid chill.

  The strings of her hair hung in her face and he reached up, tucking it behind her ear. His fingers brushed across her skin, stopping to cup her cheek. Her breath hitched in her throat. His face was close enough to feel his breath on her skin and for a second, she thought he might lean in and kiss her.

  “I guess—” he sighed. “I guess I was thinking, how am I going to explain this to the Queen?” His eyes glinted with mischief and a wry grin curved his lips.

  “Oh, you.” She scowled at him, pushing him away.

  He laughed through chattering teeth. “Can we head back, now? I think I’ve had all the fun I can stand today.”

  “Of course.” She stood up and held out her hand for him, helping him to his feet.

  ******

  “You wanted to see me, Mother?” Neala asked as she approached her mother in the Queen’s Office of Affairs. Her mother had immersed herself in work the last two months. The gauntness of despair that had made her mother look too old for months had faded and Neala was glad to see her mother’s face full of color again.

  “Yes, darling. Come in, come in.” Her mother scribbled her name across the bottom of a piece of paper and dotted the ‘i’ in her name before laying the pen down on the desk. “Come, let’s be more comfortable.” Her mother guided her towards the sofa and chairs in front of the fireplace. In her hand, her mother gripped a folded piece of paper. Neala sank into one of the fat, gold chairs across from the sofa and plunked her boots on the delicate table between them. Her mother slapped the toe of the well-worn leather before giving her a warning glare. Her mother seated herself on the soft, floral sofa with shoulders back, straighter than a ruler. Putting on a pair of half-moon glasses and unfolding the paper, her mother dotted her thumb down one side. Finally, she handed it off to Neala.

  “This is the preliminary list for your match.” Her mother sighed. “I’m afraid there are fewer boys than I’d hoped because of all this nonsense with Casilladin, but there are still some good names on the list. I’m still receiving applications, but I wanted you to take a look because you’ll be required to dance with each of them at the Spring Festival.”

  “I hate dancing.” Neala frowned and took the list from her mother. Her eyes scanned the names quickly and her heart dropped to her knees when she saw his name. “Mother, this can’t be right.”

  “Oh, it’s right, dear.” Her mother smoothed her skirt.

  “Caius Declan? Caius Declan!” Neala hopped to her feet and started to pace. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Calm down, Neala,” her mother warned.

  “How am I supposed to be calm? He’s almost ten years older than I am and on top of that, he hates me! Why is his name here at all?” Neala stopped and stared at her mother.

  Unruffled, her mother shrugged. “He applied. He’s a good candidate. He’s powerful, smart, from a good family and handsome.”

  “You’re forgetting rude, insensitive and he has no sense of personal boundaries. I hate the way he stares at me when he talks. He doesn’t blink!”

  “Oh Neala, you’re being ridiculous,” her mother scolded. “Of course he blinks.”

  “I’m not joking, Mother. He’s like a fish or a snake or something. It’s odd,” Neala said.

  “You know what I
find odd?” Her mother sat up even straighter and caught Neala’s gaze.

  “What?” Neala asked warily.

  “I find it odd that you are pitching such a fit about someone who is very unlikely to be your match.”

  “So?”

  “So, it makes me wonder what all these dramatics are really about,” her mother said.

  “Don’t do that,” Neala said, pointing at her mother.

  “What am I doing, besides being your mother?”

  “You know what you’re doing. Don’t read me. It’s not fair,” Neala said. “And you don’t have permission.”

  “I birthed you. That gives me permission for the rest of your life, whether you like it or not. But this isn’t about some random thought I’ve picked out of your head. It’s about something else.”

  “What?” Neala asked.

  “You’ve been different the last two months. Lighter. Dare I say it? Happier.” Her mother teased her.

  “No, I haven’t.” Neala scowled and stared down at the paper in her hands. If her mother hadn’t read her before today, she would definitely try to now. “I’m the same as I’ve ever been.”

  “I beg to differ. All I have to do is look at your face, my love. Whoever he is, I’m glad you’re having fun, but I truly hope you’re not investing your heart.” Her mother’s words shocked her.

  “I’m not investing anything in anyone.” Neala laughed but it sounded too high-pitched and staccato in her ears and she knew her mother heard it as a lie, even if she wasn’t reading her.

  “A dalliance is fine, as long as that’s all it is,” her mother said. “In less than two months, you’ll be matched. And a month after that you’ll be married. I would hate to see you start a marriage with the shadow of a broken heart hanging over it.”

  “I’m not having a dalliance.” Neala crumpled the paper and threw it on the table. She sat down hard and folded her arms across her chest, sulking. Part of her wished Peter could apply, wished there could be a chance of their time together turning into more than a dalliance. Almost every day she followed the secret tunnel out of the city to the river and they wandered up the mountain, talking, laughing. When she was with him, none of this mattered—not her position, not her match, not her mother’s plans for her. She sighed and decided to test the waters. She shrugged. “Someone told me that Peter Declan was on the list.”

  “Hmmm.” Her mother scrutinized her and Neala felt her face fill with heat.

  “Hmmm. What?” Neala asked, coming dangerously close to sassing her mother, which she knew would not end well.

  “You know he wouldn’t be approved,” her mother said. Final word.

  “I know he’s not chief commander, but he is a lieutenant and he’s from the same family as Cai,” Neala said.

  “Yes. He is those things. But he also has a less than stellar reputation.”

  “So? What does it really matter? He’s not pristine enough to marry me because it won’t help you further your agenda?” Neala knew she had pushed it too far.

  “No. He’s not,” Patches of red streaked her mother’s cheeks and her tone was full of warning. “He has brought shame to his family and his community. Is he who you’re spending your time with?”

  Neala blinked hard, running scenarios in her head of her answer. If she told the truth, her mother was likely to explode and if she lied, her mother would see through it. Damned either way.

  “We’re friends. We talk about things.” Neala thought about the last time she saw him, which was just a couple of days ago. They had climbed to the rock outcropping and laid on the granite like lizards while they discussed the painting of Nescien. What it would be like to pass through it and what it might take to get back. For just a second, she thought he might kiss her when he leaned in close and picked a bug from her hair. His breath had been warm and sweet and oh, so close, but then he pulled away.

  “What things?” Her mother’s eyes narrowed.

  “Nothing important. Books, ideas, art—” Neala cast her eyes down, her stare so fixed on the rug she thought she could burn a hole through it.

  “How very cultured for a boy who has been known to lose his whole pay at the Ridollo tables,” her mother said. Neala could feel her mother’s stare, but didn’t look up.

  “Lots of people gamble, Mother.” Neala shrugged her shoulders.

  “Indeed they do. But not you. No more gambling with your future. You are not to see him again. Do you understand me, Neala?” Her mother’s voice was low and smooth and full of warning.

  “I am beyond the age where I need your permission to spend time with someone.” Neala bristled.

  “I want you to listen to me very carefully.” Her mother leaned forward, something she was not normally known to do. Her mother’s hands had balled into fists, signaling that she meant business. “You are too close to your match to be influenced by this young man. You are risking everything, Neala. Do you understand me?”

  “What if he’s my match and he’s not allowed to participate? Then you’re damning me to a life alone.” Neala found the courage to meet her mother’s unwavering gaze.

  “Is that what it’s going to take for you to believe? Let’s say I allow him to apply and he’s approved to partake in the ceremony. What happens if you are not matched? What will you do then? It’s obvious you have some sort of feelings for him.”

  “I—I don’t know.” Neala stammered, not knowing how to answer. Her mother was right. She was far too attracted to him.

  “Exactly. You don’t know. Would you give up everything to go be with him? Your position? Your family? Your fortune.”

  Neala’s stomach flip-flopped. She had thought none of this through. Would Peter Declan be worth giving up her whole life for? He hadn’t even tried to kiss her. “Would you disown me if I did?”

  Her mother leaned back on the couch, fists still balled against her skirt. A frown etched her forehead as she seemed to wrestle with Neala’s question. Would I? The thought was strong enough to escape her mother’s head and enter hers. “Yes.” Her mother finally nodded. “I would.”

  If her mother truly disowned her as princess she would be exiled to another realm, forced to live off the kindness of others or to find a way to support herself. Living without her position or fortune didn’t frighten her as much as the idea of never seeing her family again. Once something like this was set in motion, there would be no stopping it.

  It was a hard line her mother had drawn. One Neala wasn’t willing to cross for the sake of a relationship that didn’t even exist.

  “So we understand each other?” her mother said.

  “Yes, Mother,” Neala whispered. “Perfectly.”

  ******

  Neala dressed early and slipped down to the kitchens for a slice of toast and an apple. She stopped at the door to the hallway and peeked around at three of the security wardens standing near the entrance. Captain Gubler had his back to her.

  One of the other wardens noticed her and nudged him, indicating with his squinty eyes that she was waiting for him.

  “Good morning, Your Highness.” Captain Gubler turned towards her, his eyes glittering with good humor. “I was wondering if I was ever going to see you.”

  She took a deep breath, straightened her spine and stepped into the hallway. “Good morning, Captain.”

  “So, Highness, where are we off to today?” he said.

  “Dress shopping,” She walked towards the door and didn’t wait for him to open it. It didn’t take more than a couple of strides for him to catch up with her.

  “Dress shopping it is, then.” He nodded. They walked in silence, winding their way through the streets. When they came to Madame Folger’s Dresses and Alterations, Neala entered the shop and Captain Gubler stayed outside.

  Silk, lace and velvet, linen and cotton all brushed their softness against her palm as she dragged her hand over the dresses hanging from the middle racks.

  “Your Highness.” The squat, round-faced woman came from th
e back of the shop. Shiny metal pins stuck out of the cushion fastened to her wrist and she almost toppled over when she tried to curtsy. Neala grabbed her by her thick forearm, steadying her. Madame Folger stood up and grinned wide. “I have the drawings you requested. Would you like to see them?”

  “Yes, that would be wonderful.” Neala smiled. The dressmaker signaled for her to follow her to the back of the shop. The large table, mounted on a stand that could be tipped at an angle, and the table filled with pens and pots of paints reminded Neala of her painting easel.

  The dressmaker’s thick, deft fingers thumbed through several leather folios on a nearby shelf before finally finding the one she wanted. She pulled it from its place and laid it on the drafting table. Madame Folger opened the folio and spread out four drawings. She let out a heavy breath and smiled. “There you are, Your Highness. Now, of course, if none of these suit you, I can do more. You just tell me what you like and what you don’t and we’ll go from there.”

  The first was typical in its full skirt, fitted bodice, circular neckline and poufy sleeves. The only thing interesting to Neala was a silver detailing against the warm cream of the fabric. In the second drawing, the dress was much simpler. Sleeveless with a slight V-neck, the bodice cut just under her breasts, and the long, flowing skirt grazed the model’s toes. Neala wasn’t quite sure she could carry off the mauve ombre silk. The scarlet color of the third dress intrigued her. Her mother sometimes wore red and it never seemed to clash with her hair, but the cut of this dress might make breathing almost impossible. Neala hated corsets. The last of the drawings was perfect for her. The wide, rounded collar draped over the shoulders, closing with a silver button just above the model’s small breasts into a slight v-neck. Hidden buttons pulled the bodice tight to the waist and was belted by an intricate, silver belt. From there the dress split, flaring out at the hips, hanging over a pair of matching pants that narrowed at the ankle. A pair of silver slippers with pointed toes finished the look.

  “They’re all so beautiful, but this one…” Neala touched her finger to the crisp drawing paper. “This one is truly special.”