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

by Wendy Wang

  “Stop. Just stop torturing yourself. I’ve known him since the day he was born and not even I can read him. Stop blaming yourself. Put it where it belongs, on Peter. All right?” Cai squeezed her hands and gave her a gentle smile.

  “All right. I’ll try.” Neala nodded. She took a deep breath. “Did you contact my mother?”

  “Not yet. I thought I would ask you first. Although I expect she will want a report of what we found so I won’t be able to lie.”

  “No, I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  “I was rather hoping you would want to tell her,” he said.

  Neala shrugged and gave him a half-smile. “Are you trying to get me locked in the tower for the rest of my life?”

  “Not if I can help it.” He laughed, and she found herself joining him, surprised by how much it relaxed her whole body.

  “I didn’t think I could do that anymore,” she said.

  “He can only steal your joy if you allow him to.”

  “I know,” she said. “It’s so strange. It feels like I haven’t laughed in months, but I know that’s not true. It can’t be.” She recalled the day on the beach, when she and Peter had played in the waves and chased each other across the sand. A dull stab in her chest made her lift her hand to her heart. How long would it take before this ache went away? “You know what I don’t understand?”

  “Tell me,” He said softly.

  Her fingers moved to the edge of the blue robe they’d dressed her in and Cai rested his hand over them. His touch calmed her fidgeting and she brought her gaze to his face.

  “That man killed himself. All for some ideology.” Neala shook her head and turned her hand over so it was palm to palm with his. She’d never felt more defeated in her life and they were just starting this battle. “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. But if I’m sure of anything, Peter’s using this man’s ideology to further his own agenda, whatever that may be,” Cai said.

  “You were trying to tell me this, weren’t you? The night of the Spring Festival.” She locked her eyes on Cai’s. His hand gave hers a gentle squeeze and she wasn’t sure if he was just being kind before plowing into a lecture.

  “I could never have foreseen this.”

  “You said you couldn’t read him. How is that possible?”

  Cai gave her a closed-mouth smile and the skin around his eyes wrinkled, making him look much older than his years. “I can’t,” he said simply. “Nor can he read me.”

  “Why?”

  Cai reached inside the collar of his uniform and pulled a round silver pendant on a long, leather cord. “Because of this.” He swung the pendant back and forth. It held a black stone inside it, just like Peter’s.

  “Your lifestone?”

  Cai nodded. “It protects the wearer’s deepest thoughts, allows us to show only what we want to be seen. If you could have read him, you would never see beyond what he showed you,” he said. Neala processed his words, trying to recall what she knew of the Wood Kael’s affinities. It was her weakest ability, one she’d never had much interest in exploring.

  “But you could read my deepest thoughts, couldn’t you?” She narrowed her eyes, concentrating on his mind—trying to hear him. All she heard was the sound of a wheel squeaking down the hallway.

  “Only if you gave me permission, and even then I would be hesitant,” Cai said.

  “Is that true of all Wood Kaels?” Neala asked.

  “Most of us follow the law,” Cai said.

  “Peter didn’t,” she said softly. She thought of all the times he had read her without her permission. All the times when he’d said it was a warden’s privilege to be above most laws.

  “He read you.” It was a statement, not a question, and judging from the growl in his voice it upset him.

  “All the time. After a while, I just—” She sighed. “I stopped fighting it. It was easier.” Neala closed her eyes and frowned, feeling the skin of her forehead tighten and wrinkle. She pinched her thumb and forefinger together and touched them to her breastbone. “I feel—so stupid. Like the naive little princess he always said I was.”

  “Look at me, Highness.” Cai shook her hand and her eyes flew open. “You are not stupid, and I’d wager any naiveté that you once possessed disappeared the day you watched your father die. Peter targeted you, plain and simple. I don’t have an answer as to why—anything I offered at this point would only be conjecture,” he said. The first tears fell and she bowed her head so he wouldn’t have to see them. “But I do know this —he saw something in you—something he thought he could turn to his advantage and when he couldn’t, he resorted to poisoning you.”

  “Do you think he’s going to come after me again?” She whispered the words because she couldn’t bring herself to say them any louder.

  “I wish I could tell you no. But I don’t want to lie to you,” Cai said. Neala sniffed back her tears and raised her head to peer into his face. “That’s not what we do, is it?”

  “No, it’s not,” she said. “We tell each other the truth, even when it’s hard.”

  Cai nodded. “I expect there will be more attacks and he may try to get to you again. But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep you and your family safe.”

  “Will you do something for me?”

  “Of course,” Cai said.

  “Will you train me?”

  “Train you? How?”

  “Like a warden. Teach me how to use my affinities for protection.”

  Cai opened his mouth, then closed it as he seemed to think over her request. She thought he was going to say no from the way his expression kept changing. Finally, he pressed his lips into a flat line before he said, “All right, but it may be a few weeks before I can give you private lessons.”

  “Of course. You’re busy. There’s a whole realm at stake,” she said, trying not to let the disappointment in her voice show.

  “There is more than one, but until we can schedule it, Captain Gubler will continue to be your personal guard.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” she said. “I’m not planning outings anytime soon.”

  “Whatever you want, Highness,” he said as he got to his feet. “And just so you know, when we do train together, I won’t go easy on you.”

  “Good.” Her lips twitched and she fought the smile trying to form. She wanted him to see she was taking him seriously. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  “And you’ll have to listen to me.”

  “I know.” She nodded.

  “Which means no arguing with me.”

  “All right,” she said, unable to fight the urge to smile any more. “I promise. No arguing.”

  “May I have that in writing?” He grinned and she chuckled, thankful that nothing about Cai’s smile was reckless.

  “I’ll have a contract drawn up, if that’s what it will take,” she teased.

  “Sounds good. I have to go. I have duties to attend to. Are you feeling well enough to go home?”

  “Yes. I think so,” she said.

  “I’ll have Captain Gubler escort you.” He nodded and started towards the door.

  “Cai?”

  “Yes, Highness.” He turned to her, his eyes steady on hers.

  “Thank you for everything. For not telling my mother. For trusting me to go with you this morning. For being my friend and for not judging me.” She met his gaze, unwavering. He smiled and nodded.

  “I am always at your service, should you ever need anything. Day or night,” he said. Under different circumstances, she might have brushed his words aside as a Cai-ism. He was, after all, always saying things like that to her mother. But the way he looked at her now made his words feel truer than they’d ever been before. “All you have to do is call for me and I will come.”

  She nodded and Cai bowed his head. In two steps, he crossed the floor to the door and had his hand on the knob before stopping himself.

  “Highness.” He turned his gaze
on her again. “Promise me something.”

  “All right,” she said. “What?”

  “Promise me that once you get your legs back under you, you won’t do anything foolish. No trips into the woods alone.”

  “At the moment, heading back into the woods is the last thing on my mind,” she said, aware that for the first time in her life she didn’t need to be alone. Didn’t need to escape to some other place.

  “All the same. Promise me?”

  “I promise.” All she wanted right now was to go home where it was safe. Where there were walls and guards and where she never had to leave, for the rest of her life.

  ******

  Neala woke with a scream caught in her throat. Her hand went to her neck, rubbing the skin as if she could rub away the images that still haunted her. The dreams clung to her skin like a mist, chilling her, sending a shiver across her shoulders. She glanced around the dark room, making sense of every shape, every shadow. This was her room. No one else’s. And she was alone. It took a few minutes for her to be able to breathe again and she turned on the light, chasing away the darkness. Putting her head in her hands, she waited for the tears but none came.

  The curtains billowed and whipped as a strong breeze wafted in through the open window, rattling the pages of her sketchbook lying on her desk. She got up and grabbed the large, white pad, and a thin, sharpened piece of charcoal. She pulled out the velvet-seated chair, not caring whether her fingers smudged charcoal on the creamy fabric. Folding one knee beneath her, she leaned over and started to draw.

  A few minutes later, an image emerged as she furiously scribbled, shading and shadowing with her fingertips until they were black. When she was done, she held up the drawing, and looked into his black eyes again. She had drawn the man from the woods. His black, wild hair and thick, woolly beard framed his face—even his gray and black teeth haunted her. The image invoked curiosity and terror all at the same time. She wanted him out of her head. She wanted to be normal again. She wished she could wake up tomorrow, put on her cloak, sneak out of the palace and wander the woods again all by herself, but that was never going to happen. She knew too much now.

  The wind kicked up her curtain and knocked a cup holding several paintbrushes onto the floor. Capturing the silky, see-through material in her hand, she tamed it back and went to close the window. She glanced down at the courtyard where she and Francie often took their painting lessons. A blue tiled fountain spilled water over the sides of a larger urn and several benches were interspersed between roses and lilies, her mother’s favorites. Her hand went to her throat and her mouth opened as if she might scream. Sitting on the edge of the fountain was Peter. He stared up at her room. Her heart thudded in her throat and she took a step back. Shutting the window quickly, she locked it.

  She ran into the hallway wearing only her nightgown and ran to the entrance of the family’s private quarters. Two wardens stood guard on the other side of the door. She yanked the door open and they both immediately bowed their heads to her.

  “There’s a man in the courtyard,” she said, fighting the panic that threatened to crush her chest.

  “Are you sure, Highness?” one of them said.

  “Of course I’m sure. Now please go check it out,” she said, crossing her arms, her temper flaring.

  “I’ll take Banting. You stay here,” the one on the left ordered. “Your Highness, I think it would be best if you went back to your room and locked your door.”

  Neala swallowed hard and nodded. “You’ll let me know what you find?”

  “Yes, of course.” They both bowed to her again and pulled the door closed behind her. She stood for a few more minutes staring at the door, blood rushing in her ears.

  “Neala?” The sound of her sister’s voice made her jump and she let out a little cry.

  “Grizelda’s ghost! You scared me, Francie.” Neala hugged her arms tighter around her waist.

  “I’m sorry. What’s going on? I thought I heard voices,” Francie said.

  “I was drawing and I looked out the window and I thought I saw Peter in the courtyard,” Neala said.

  “What?” Francie said.

  “It frightened me, so I have the guards checking it out. It’s probably just my imagination,” Neala said.

  “Come on, let’s get you back to bed. It’s cold out here. You must be freezing in just that nightgown,” Francie said, putting her arm around Neala’s shoulders. Francie guided her back to her room. Neala stood in the center while Francie went to the window and watched.

  “What do you see?” Neala asked.

  Francie pressed her forehead against the glass. “I see several wardens there going through every space in the garden, looks like, checking every corner. I don’t know how he would’ve gotten into the courtyard, Neala. Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

  Neala frowned. “I don’t know what I saw. It looked like him. Maybe it was just my imagination.”

  “Well, you have been under quite a bit of stress. Maybe you dreamed him. Maybe you were sleepwalking. Like Father used to do,” Francie said.

  “I wasn’t dreaming and I wasn’t sleepwalking. I saw something. It looked like Peter. I’d rather they go and check and it be nothing than for me to stay quiet and him bring his whole army down on top of us,” Neala said. Francie turned to her, deep lines etched in her forehead.

  “Do you think that could happen?” Francie said.

  “I don’t know Francie. I just don’t want us to think it couldn’t. I just want us to be prepared,” Neala said. Both of them jumped at the sound of the knock on the door. Francie slapped her hand over her mouth and started to giggle. Neala pursed her lips and shook her head in disapproval.

  “Come! It’s open,” Neala said.

  The door opened and the warden she had spoken to a few minutes ago stuck his head inside. “Good evening, Highness,” He started, but paused when he saw Francie. “Oh. Hello, Your Other Highness.” He waved.

  “Hello.” Francie smiled.

  “I just wanted to let you know we did not find anyone on the grounds. We’re doing a more extensive search now. The chief would like you to lock your door, though,” he said, looking a little embarrassed.

  “All right, thank you. I appreciate it,” Neala said. The warden bowed his head and closed the door behind him. Neala walked over and turned the lock.

  “I’ll stay if you’d like,” Francie said.

  Neala shrugged. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Come on. It’ll be fun just like when we were little girls. I’ll tell you a story.” Francie practically sang the last few words, as if she were almost excited about having to put up with Neala’s paranoia.

  Neala sighed. “What sort of story?”

  “A romance.” Francie grinned. Neala made gagging noises and put her hands to her throat to feign choking herself. “Come on, you’re gonna love it. It’s about a dashing, handsome chief commander and a beautiful, but willful, princess.”

  “Sounds terrible.”

  “Come on, don’t be like that. You used to love my stories—even the romances.” Francie grabbed the sleeve of Neala’s nightgown and pulled and pushed her sister as she gave her a silly grin.

  “Fine,” Neala huffed. She could never say no to Francie.

  “Good. Good. Good. Good.” Francie clapped her hands together, her face alight with glee.

  “There had best be a happy ending, though,” Neala warned. “I could really use a happy ending about now.”

  “Absolutely.” Francie linked her arm in her sister’s. “I think we all could.”

  Nine

  Neala leaned in close to apply the last stroke to the painting. With her feet apart, she closed her eyes and let the energy from the earth move up through her legs, like roots drawing their life into a tree. Every element moved in unison around her, swirling and converging, tingling over her skin. Taking a deep breath in, she blew it out slowly across the canvas, imagining the very air she exhaled breathing
life into the scene, creating a passageway to the place in her imagination, now made real.

  “Beg pardon, Highness, you have a visitor.” The booming voice of Braedin, her mother’s butler, startled her from her near trance. Neala sighed and opened her eyes. The waves she had painted still hung, mid-crash against the shimmering gray sand. Her heart sank at her failure. After dozens of tries, she still couldn’t bring the painting to life.

  “Who is it?” She reached for a clean cloth, her hands brushing past the clutter of supplies on the nearby table. Pigments, brushes, a mortar and pestle, a bottle of linseed oil—all of these posed as obstacles to the stack of cloths at the very back. She grabbed one of the blue strips of cotton, wiped the tip of her brush and laid it on the table.

  “Chief Commander Declan. Shall I let him pass, Highness?”

  “Of course, Braedin. Please show him in.” Neala faced the butler. He bowed at his waist and the bald spot on his head competed with the shine of his shoes. Braedin clicked his heels together and left without another word. A few moments later, he emerged through one of the many glass-paned double-doors that looked out on the tiny courtyard. Chief Commander Declan followed Braedin, standing nearly a head taller than the old man who had been butler at the palace when Neala’s grandmother still reigned. Neala’s lips stretched wide and as the chief approached, she found herself feeling lighter and happier. “Cai, this is unexpected.”

  “I hope I’m not intruding,” he said as he bowed his head. She returned his bow and took his arm, hooking it into hers, as she guided him to one of the carved benches overlooking the center fountain.

  “Of course not. It’s wonderful to see you,” she said.

  “And you,” he said as they both took a seat on the bench.

  “Why have you not come to see me sooner?” she asked.

  “I was instructed not to.”

  “By who?” Neala wriggled her nose.

  “I believe your mother wanted to give you a chance to recuperate without the burden of visitors.”

  “Of course she did.” Neala frowned and rolled her eyes as she shook her head. “I wish I had known she was acting as gatekeeper. I would have told her to stop.”