The Caged Queen

by Kristen Ciccarelli

  Councillor Silva’s gaze narrowed on the king like a dragon on its prey. She stepped away from her seat, her indigo silks swishing as she stalked toward him.

  She was elegance and venom, grace and ire.

  “It is one thing to take an enemy for your wife and make her queen.” The air between the councillor and the king seemed to spark. “It’s another to sabotage this city’s safety to appease her.”

  Appease me? thought Roa. Clearly she misunderstood.

  When Councillor Silva was mere steps away, Safire rose, stepping in front of her. The look in her eye said, Take one more step. I dare you.

  “I can assure you,” Safire said instead, “the safety of this city is my only concern.”

  Councillor Silva raised an eyebrow. “If that were true, Safire, you’d have refused the position of commandant when it was first offered to you.”

  It was strange, how familiar this girl seemed to be with both the king and his cousin. She challenged them so easily and rallied others against them, with no fear of any consequences.

  Who was she?

  “Keeping the gates open for seven days? Allowing our enemies to come and go as they please? Forgive me if I don’t have the same faith in the abilities of a commandant who, upon being appointed, lost half her army to defection.”

  “Councillor, I don’t care who you do or don’t have faith in,” Dax said, rising and stepping down from the dais. “The invitations have been sent and the orders have been given.” His shoulder brushed the councillor’s as he paused beside her, and Roa saw the poison in both their eyes—just for a heartbeat—as Dax leaned in. “The gates will remain open. Firgaard will celebrate the Relinquishing. I look forward to your compliance, Bekah.”

  Dax stepped past her, collected his guards, then moved toward the archway doors.

  Roa stared after him, defeat settling like a heavy stone in her heart.

  Despite all her efforts—the revolt, the marriage, the treaty—the scrublands were still at the mercy of Firgaard. The skral were still considered second-class citizens. And all the while, draksors prospered.

  Dax had just proven—beyond a doubt—that he didn’t care. About any of it.

  This was an unacceptable trait in a king, not to mention a dangerous one.

  Nothing will change, she realized now. Nothing can change with Dax as king.

  It was up to Roa.

  But what could she do? She was an outlander queen without allies. She had no sway with her husband or his council. She was mistrusted and powerless and alone here.

  She needed help.

  Roa thought of her last conversation with Theo.

  Think of how much good you could do for our people. His words rang through her mind. Without him.

  If the gates of the city remained open, if scrublanders were traveling to Firgaard for the Relinquishing . . . how easy would it be for Theo’s men to assemble here in the capital?

  Easy as breathing.

  Without knowing it, Dax had just given her the opportunity to set true change in motion.

  A plan began to form in Roa’s mind. It was reckless and dangerous. But the alternative was to sit by and watch Dax and his council drive her people to the brink of starvation. Dax had proven today that he wasn’t the king this kingdom needed. That under his rule, Roa’s people would continue to suffer.

  A group of councillors approached the king on his way to the doors. They stepped directly in Dax’s path, halting his and Roa’s departure from the Assembly.

  Roa looked to the archway, whose doors were still shut tight. She needed to get a message to Theo and tell him her plan. But the councillors were obstructing the exit.

  “My queen.”

  Roa straightened at that honeyed voice.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you in the flesh.”

  Roa turned to face the tall young woman beside her.

  “Councillor Silva,” she said in cold greeting.

  “Please, just Rebekah. Silva is my father’s name.” The girl was even more beautiful up close, with elegant cheekbones, wide brown eyes, and long black lashes. Like a tapestry woven in the richest threads. “But where is your pet bird?”

  The word pet made Roa stiffen.

  “Essie doesn’t like places where she can’t see the sky.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Roa ached with her sister’s absence as she looked to the domed roof above them.

  “I see.” Rebekah flashed that sweet smile and changed the subject. “I’m hosting a dinner tomorrow night. I’d like for you and Dax to come.”

  A warning bell chimed inside Roa. Rebekah had used the king’s name, not his title. And she hadn’t bowed to Roa, as was the custom. More than this, she’d made it perfectly clear mere moments ago that she didn’t consider a lowly scrublander girl worthy of reverence—even if she was queen.

  So why was she inviting Roa to dinner?

  Roa tried to think of a compelling reason to refuse, when Dax called her name. She turned to find the king walking back toward her. His dark blue tunic showed off his tall frame and broad shoulders. But the look on his face was a complicated mixture of annoyance and . . . fear?

  Fear of what?

  “Bekah.” He nodded curtly, stepping up beside them. “Cornering my wife, I see.”

  Bekah. The girl before them winced at the nickname. Or possibly the words my wife.

  Roa looked from Rebekah to Dax and back. Clearly there was history here.

  But what kind?

  “You haven’t come to see my father in months.” Rebekah’s attention was on the king now. “He’s beginning to take offense.”

  Dax slid his hand around Roa’s wrist.

  Her skin prickled at his touch. She twisted free.

  “I’ve been a little . . . preoccupied.” Dax’s hand paused awkwardly in midair before falling to his side. “How is your father?” His eyes were on Rebekah, but he didn’t sound interested in the answer.

  “The same.” She seemed almost sad about this. “Still collecting his little relics.”

  Dax reached for Roa’s wrist again, this time tapping her bone with his thumb. Twice.

  Roa looked down at his fingers.

  What is he doing?

  “You know how Father is. Spending his time on things no one else sees the value of.” Rebekah looked to Dax’s grip on Roa. “In fact, a shipment arrived just a few days ago. If you came to visit, I’m sure he’d love to show you its contents.”

  Roa was about to twist her arm away again, when her thoughts snagged.

  A shipment.

  She remembered Asha’s letter, still lying on the floor beneath the bed.

  That was where she knew the councillor’s name from. Roa could picture the black ink scrawled elegantly across the parchment: Three days ago, a shipment from Darmoor was due to arrive at Baron Silva’s stronghold.

  It was the message Roa had never delivered to Dax.

  “You’ll have to give Baron Silva my apologies,” Dax said, gripping Roa’s wrist tighter. Again, his thumb tapped. “Tell him I’ll visit as soon as I’m able.”

  “How about tomorrow night?” Rebekah pressed. “I’m hosting a dinner at the stronghold. Father asked specifically for you—both of you—to be in attendance. He very much wants to meet the new . . . queen.”

  Roa’s mind whirred, remembering the night in the sand sea, inside Theo’s tent. He said the Skyweaver’s knife was in transit from Darmoor. That a baron in Firgaard bought it for his private collection.

  And then Asha’s letter mentioned a shipment from the same city—Darmoor. What were the chances that shipment was the same one Theo mentioned? What were the chances the Skyweaver’s knife was in the possession of Rebekah’s father?

  “I’m afraid we’ve only just returned from the scrublands,” Dax was saying. He stepped back, taking Roa with him. “After such a tiring journey, my wife—”

  “I would be honored,” said Roa.

  Dax looked at her sharply.

  A smile slid across R
ebekah’s lips. “Excellent. I’ll have the cooks prepare something special.”

  If the Skyweaver’s knife was in Baron Silva’s possession, Roa intended to find out. She wanted to see it with her own eyes.

  “Oh, Roa? Bring your pet.” Rebekah’s eyes sparkled. “My father loves birds.”

  Before

  The night after Essie capsized Theo’s boat, Roa couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about what Theo said. About all the things she thought she knew and didn’t.

  Essie growled from beside her, half-asleep. “Roa! Stop squirming!”

  Though they had two beds, they always slept in the same one.

  Roa fell still, waiting for her sister to fall back asleep. Trying to fall asleep herself.

  But her thoughts kept returning to the boats. And Dax. And the way he never refuted Theo’s words.

  Everyone knows how you feel about her, Theo said.

  It was nearly the same thing Essie said, not so long ago: You’re the one he likes.

  Roa turned over.

  Essie’s pillow came down hard on her head.

  “Next time I’m going to push you onto the floor.”

  Smiling, Roa slammed her own pillow back at her sister. Before Essie could retaliate, she escaped from under the woven blue blankets, raising her hands.

  “Truce?”

  Essie sat up. “Where are you going?”

  “For a walk.”

  Maybe a walk would tire her out.

  As she stepped into the hall, Essie chucked Roa’s pillow through the doorway. But it was dark, and she missed by a lot.

  The pillow hit the wall and fell to the floor.

  Roa grinned.

  Beyond their room, the House of Song was silent. Everyone had gone to bed a long time ago. But as she made her way from the bedroom to the kitchen, she noticed a glow coming from her father’s study.

  Which was odd. Her father was always the first one to retire.

  Crossing to the door, Roa pushed it open to find someone sitting at her father’s desk. Or rather, sleeping at his desk.

  Dax’s crooked arm cradled his head of dark curls and his fingers were stained with ink. Beside him glowed a candle nearly burned down to the base of the brass holder.

  Roa crossed the room and shook him awake. “Dax.”

  He startled, arms flailing, nearly knocking the candle over. Roa snatched it up before that happened, spilling wax on the floor.

  He squinted through the soft light. When he finally recognized her, his spine straightened.

  “What are you doing in here?” she asked.

  Dax looked from the rush pen to the alabaster inkwell. When his gaze fell on the scattered parchments laid out across the desktop, he immediately tried to shuffle them all into a pile.

  Roa touched his shoulder and Dax stilled. Setting down the candle, she reached for the piece on top of the pile.

  It was a letter.

  From Roa.

  She’d been sending him letters all winter as part of her lessons. It was practice, her tutors told her, for the day she became mistress of the House of Song.

  She stared at her own elegant handwriting. He’d circled various words from her letter and copied them over and over all down the back of the parchment. It was an exercise one of her own tutors had given him last summer, to help with his reading and writing difficulties.

  She glanced up from the page. “I thought they never reached you.”

  Dax stared miserably into his lap.

  “Why didn’t you send any back?” she demanded.

  “Why do you think?” he whispered, his knee bouncing nervously.

  “If I knew,” she muttered, “I wouldn’t have asked.”

  “Because I couldn’t read them!”

  Her lips parted. This was part of the reason he’d spent last summer in the House of Song, learning from her tutors—because his own tutors had failed to teach him.

  Roa had thought he’d been getting better.

  “You didn’t read them? Not any of them?”

  His silence confirmed it.

  For some reason, this made her angry. “You’re the son of the king, Dax. You could have had someone read them to you.”

  That blush crept into his cheeks again.

  “You could have dictated a response,” she continued. “People dictate letters all the time.”

  Dax glanced up at her now, looking even more miserable. As if she didn’t understand at all.

  Roa looked down to the parchment in her hands, her attention catching on her name.

  He’d written it over and over in shaky black letters, all down the page.

  Her pulse sped up at the sight of it.

  “What if Theo’s right?” he whispered, staring at the quill and the inkpot. “What if there’s something wrong with me and I never learn how to do this?”

  The thought of Theo and the things he’d said in the boats that morning made Roa burn with anger all over again.

  “Listen.” She hoisted herself up onto the desk in front of him. “First of all, Theo is a bully.” Dax stared at her bare legs, swinging loose between them. “And second of all, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

  He glanced up. “Then why can’t I do something that comes so easily to everyone else?”

  Roa didn’t know the answer to that.

  Seeing it, Dax turned his face away and pushed the chair out.

  “It’s late. We should go to sleep. If your father—”

  Roa reached for his arm, stopping him. Dax went immediately still.

  “I have an idea,” she said, getting down from the desk.

  He watched her build a small fire in the fire basin, then sit down on the carpet. When she told him to bring the stack of letters from the desk, he picked them up and cautiously came to sit beside her.

  Roa unfolded the first one and started to read.

  She read him every letter she’d written that winter. The boring ones about working in the fields. The personal ones about her fights with Essie. The serious ones about her fear of one day inheriting the House of Song. And even the one where she admitted that she missed him—or at least, missed playing gods and monsters with him.

  As she read, she followed each word with her finger, so Dax could know both the shape and the sound of the words. She read until her voice grew hoarse and her eyes grew heavy. She read until her head started to droop.

  They fell asleep there, on the carpet of her father’s study. And when Roa woke at daybreak, the sun hadn’t yet risen, but the world hummed blue-gold in anticipation. She turned to find Dax fast asleep beside her.

  Roa watched his chest rise and fall. He was thirteen this summer, just two years older than her, and not only was he taller, but his shoulders were wider than she remembered. She could see the curve of muscle as his elbow cradled his head.

  A startling warmth spread through Roa as she watched him sleep. Her gaze traced the arc of his throat. The line of his jaw. The soft shape of his mouth.

  She felt guilty about it.

  It was Essie who liked Dax, not her.

  She should have risen right then and slipped silently away. That would have been the right thing to do.

  But Roa didn’t do the right thing.

  Instead, she pushed herself up onto her elbow, studying Dax’s face in the early-morning light. Again and again, her gaze moved to his mouth.

  What would it be like, she wondered, to kiss the son of a king?

  Roa leaned in.

  As if sensing the breach, Dax stirred.

  Roa tore away, heart thundering, and lay back down, pretending to sleep. She could hear Dax wake beside her. Her pulse pounded out its betrayal as she listened to him turn and stretch.

  Roa opened her eyes and saw him look away, rubbing at the back of his neck, as if it were sore.

  From the gardens, the roosters crowed, heralding the start of day.

  “We should get out of here,” he said, looking to the windows, where the smoke from several chim
neys curled across the morning sky. “Before your father finds us and chases me out of his house.” He half smiled, half winced at the thought.

  Heat rushed up Roa’s neck at the implication. He was right. They were no longer children. They couldn’t be seen like this. In here. Together.

  Roa rose first.

  Together, they crept to the door. Roa opened it and peered out, but there was no one in the hall. Dax would have gone straight through the central pavilion, but Roa grabbed his hand, stopping him. He looked down at her and she shook her head. The servants would be lighting the fire in there, warming the room up for her father. Her fingers slid through his as she tugged him the other way, to a darkened hallway nearer the guest wing.

  Their hearts hammered in unison until they arrived at his bedroom door, where Dax let go of her hand.

  Before he could disappear inside, Roa reached for him, pulling him back, remembering the shape of her name in his shaky handwriting.

  “Dax . . .”

  He looked down at her.

  Roa’s cheeks burned. What was she doing?

  Dax must have known. Because he touched her, his eyes searching hers, and leaned in.

  Before she could think twice about it, Roa pushed up on her toes and kissed him.

  It was clumsy and short—more of a bump than a kiss—but for a moment, with his lips warm and soft against hers, Roa thought she felt the hum flare up inside her.

  Except . . . no.

  This was something else.

  When he stepped back, Dax smiled the shyest smile she’d ever seen.

  A sound from down the hall made them step away from each other. But no one was there. No one had seen. Still, Roa gave him a gentle push toward his door, then turned away, leaving him behind.

  She glanced back once to find him staring after her, still smiling.

  Roa looked away, smiling, too.

  It would be the last time either of them smiled for a very long time.

  Thirteen

  Meet me at moonrise.

  Roa folded Theo’s message—a response to the one she’d sent after the council meeting.