The Caged Queen

by Kristen Ciccarelli

  He was at the edge of the roof, where no reeds or beams lay beneath the shingles. Where there was nothing to support him.

  His eyes met hers and in that moment, she felt his fear. It spread through her like the cracks at his feet.

  She didn’t think. Just flew to the edge of the roof, grabbing his shirt and flinging him hard away from her, back to where the others sat.

  The moment she did, the shingles gave out.

  She fell from the highest roof of the house.

  The last thing she thought was, I wish I were a bird. A bird would take flight.

  The last thing she felt wasn’t pain, it was the hum. She heard her sister scream her name. Felt the bond flare up inside her.

  Bright and alive as a star.

  Fourteen

  Roa’s thoughts spun as she walked through the night-drenched city. She still wasn’t used to Firgaard’s labyrinthine streets. This, combined with her whirling thoughts, meant she didn’t notice when Sirin started taking her the wrong way.

  It was only when they turned down an alley and Roa stood staring up at a green-washed wall—a dead end—that she started to pay attention.

  Roa spun on her heel. Sirin stood before her, bathed in moonlight, blocking her way out. His morion glinted, the steel brim keeping his eyes in shadow.

  For the second time that night, her hair rose on end.

  Instinctively, she called for Essie.

  Except Essie was gone. Roa was alone here, with an armed guard obviously used to taking liberties.

  Roa stared him down. “What are you doing?”

  “Ridding the king of his problem.”

  Sirin’s voice had changed. It was no longer so charming. His smile was long gone, replaced by a grim stare.

  “First, you blackmail him into marrying you. And now here you are, sneaking off in the night to meet with his enemies. Like a traitorous whore.”

  Roa bristled at the words. “I never blackmailed anyone.”

  But the second accusation . . . that rang too close to the truth.

  “The king deserves better.”

  “So you’re here to dispose of me?” Roa narrowed her eyes. “You’d better not fail. If you do, I’ll make sure you never see another dawn.”

  “I’ve been paid too well to fail,” he said.

  Paid? thought Roa. By whom?

  He drew his saber from its sheath, the steel scraping against the leather. His hands shook—just a little.

  Odd, thought Roa. Was he scared of her? Or whoever had paid him?

  Roa stepped back, trying to remember how far the wall was behind her. She had the knife at her calf. But a knife was no match for a saber, and she didn’t want to reveal that she was armed. Not until she had to.

  He wasted no time. The blade sliced through the air, coming straight for her. Roa threw herself hard to the right, narrowly dodging the blow. She felt the air rush against her skin, heard the soft hiss of torn wool. Sirin quickly doubled back, keeping himself between her and her escape.

  Roa’s hands were slick with cold sweat.

  He drew his second saber and walked toward her, trapping her in the corner, ensuring she wouldn’t be able to dodge him again.

  Roa wiped her palms on the wool of her dress, her fingers itching for her sister’s knife.

  No. Not yet.

  Sirin bared his teeth and lunged. His blades flashed in the moonlight as he bore down on her. Only this time, the furious cry of a hawk rang out.

  Sirin stopped, his focus broken.

  Roa’s soul hummed at the sound.

  They both looked up.

  Essie descended out of the dark, white wings spread wide, gold talons sharp and gleaming, ready to claw out the eyes of the man who cornered her sister.

  Sirin raised both sabers, ready to cut her down.

  Roa drew her knife and sprang.

  She grabbed the wrist of his sword arm, digging in her fingernails.

  But Sirin had two arms and two swords. He raised the second and swung at Essie, trying to kill her.

  Before he could, Roa plunged her knife into his throat.

  She felt the sharpened tip sink into soft flesh. Hot flecks of blood splattered her wrist. Both sabers clattered to the ground as he grabbed for his neck.

  Roa kicked the weapons out of reach and stepped back, wide-eyed and breathing hard.

  Essie screeched and flapped her wings, wanting to claw out his eyes.

  Essie, Roa called when he fell to his knees.

  But Essie didn’t stop. She was a flash of white feathers and gleaming talons.

  “Essie!”

  At the sound of Roa’s voice, her sister paused. She shook her white head, as if shaking off her bloodlust, and flew to Roa’s outstretched fist. Sirin’s eyes had gone wide, showing the whites. Blood streamed from the smiling gash in his neck, running down over his hands.

  When he crumpled to the ground, dead, Roa’s body shook from the shock.

  In the silence, she lifted the bloodied knife in her trembling hand.

  She’d killed men during the revolt, but that was different. Those men were nameless. None of them had stood guard outside her door while she slept.

  She remembered the way Sirin’s hands had trembled too. As if he was afraid.

  Roa forced herself to walk. To crouch down over the body of her dead guard and wipe the blood from her knife on his shirt. After sheathing it, she was about to rise when the sight of something half hidden in his pocket stopped her. Remembering Sirin’s conversation with the guard at the gate, Roa reached into the pocket and pulled out a wooden seal with an image carved into the base. An image of a black dragon with a red heart of flame.

  It was Dax’s official seal. He sometimes gave it to Safire or certain trusted members of his staff when he needed to be in two places at once. It was a way for someone to carry out the king’s orders in his stead.

  As Roa stared down at her husband’s seal, taken from the body of her dead guard, a sick feeling festered in her belly.

  He wouldn’t . . .

  Or would he?

  Hadn’t Roa been plotting against him this very night? Wasn’t she a threat to his throne?

  Shakily, she rose to her feet, gripping Dax’s seal hard in her hand. It was only as she walked out of the alley, heading for the palace, that she noticed her sister’s silence.

  “Essie? Are you all right?”

  Essie didn’t answer. Her mind was completely blank.

  Essie’s silence continued all the way back to the palace. Roa asked her where she’d gone, how she’d come back. But it was as if her thoughts weren’t getting through to Essie. As if Essie’s mind were shrouded in fog.

  I couldn’t find my way, Essie had told her that night in the sand sea. I couldn’t remember where home was.

  Roa knew what it meant. Essie was running out of time.

  At the palace, the soldat whose gaze crept over her earlier was surprised to find Roa alone.

  “Where’s Sirin?” he asked, opening the gate for her. The huge, iron door—meticulously cast in repeating patterns of moons and namsaras—creaked as it opened.

  “He needed to rid the king of a problem,” she repeated numbly, stepping through and past the soldat, leaving him to draw his own conclusions.

  It was midnight now, and the palace was quiet. A few guards stood at doors or paced entrances to rooms, but no servants walked. Roa’s footsteps and the soft hush of her gray wool dress brushing against her legs seemed unnaturally loud in contrast.

  As she made her way through long halls and lavish indoor gardens, she couldn’t stop thinking about the blood streaming down Sirin’s throat, the sound of him choking.

  But more than these things was what Sirin said.

  I’ve been paid too well to fail.

  Roa had refused to consummate her marriage and, by doing so, refused to give Dax an heir. She’d made things difficult by insisting on the treaty with the Great Houses and then threatening his council when they refused to
uphold it in the Assembly that morning.

  Plenty of people in his court disliked her. Plenty wanted her gone.

  But were these reasons enough for Dax to want her dead?

  She was trying to puzzle it out when she ran straight into a solid chest.

  Hands reached to steady her.

  “Roa? What are you doing here?”

  Her heart raced. Trapped. She didn’t want to be trapped again.

  Essie spread her wings in warning as Roa pushed the hands away and stepped abruptly back.

  Dax stood before them.

  He wore a white cotton shirt, unlaced at the throat. Dark circles shadowed his eyes.

  “Where are your guards?” he asked, studying her and the hawk.

  Her skin prickled with wariness. She squeezed his seal against her palm as she took another step back. “My guards?”

  “Yes. The four men who follow you around day and night, keeping you safe?”

  Those words sharpened something inside Roa.

  “Sometimes,” she said, “the ones closest to us are the least safe.”

  “Indeed,” he said, his gaze taking in too much. He saw how she trembled. Saw her wrist, still splattered with flecks of blood.

  Roa pulled down her sleeve to hide it.

  His gaze moved over her gray wool gown. It was a practical scrublander dress that came to her ankles. She’d worn it out in the city to keep from being recognized.

  He looked from the dress to the flower tucked behind her ear. A flower she’d completely forgotten about.

  Roa quickly reached to touch the petals of the rose Theo gave her.

  “Someone should let him know you prefer jacarandas.”

  Roa’s fingers froze. “W-what?”

  Dax stepped toward her. Roa tensed, ready to spring away at the slightest threatening movement. But all he did was pluck the rose from behind her ear. He held it in the space between them, its petals swooping elegantly into his palm.

  “You love when they drop their flowers,” he murmured.

  She stared at him, remembering the first summer he came to Song. She and Essie had wanted to explore the ruins of Shade and their mother would only let them if they brought Dax along. Jacaranda trees grew in almost every ruined room, throwing soft purple flowers down and carpeting the dirt floors.

  “That was ten years ago,” she said, squeezing the seal in her hand. “A lot can change in ten years.”

  You most of all, she thought.

  Once he was the boy who sat across the gods and monsters board, soaking up all her friendship and advice.

  Now he was the boy who took every girl but her into his bed. He was the king who broke all his promises. He was the enemy who had stolen her sister from her.

  And tonight . . .

  Had he given the order to strike her down?

  Roa lifted her hand, uncurling her fingers from around the seal, letting it rest on her palm.

  “I think this belongs to you.” She no longer cared if he saw the blood on her wrist. Let him see it. If it was Dax who gave the order, let him know what happened to the guard who tried to carry it out.

  His eyes darkened. Reaching, he said, “Where did you . . . ?”

  The moment he took it from her, Roa stepped swiftly back.

  “You should be more careful next time,” she said, moving around him. “Good night.”

  He fell silent. When she was halfway up the hall, he called after her. “Your rooms are in the opposite direction, Roa.”

  But she wasn’t going to her rooms. There were three other guards standing outside her door. How many of them could do what Sirin had done?

  “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight,” she said, touching Essie’s feathers for comfort.

  Roa stood in front of an arched doorway just beyond the royal quarters. Two soldats stood guard on either side of it.

  She opened the door and stepped quietly inside.

  Lirabel’s room was half the size of Roa’s, and so was the bed. Her friend was asleep in it, curled on her side, while the moon shone in through the windows, illuminating the soft curves of her face.

  Roa stood frozen in the entranceway, watching her sleep, wondering where and when they went wrong.

  She made for the bed.

  Lirabel stirred as Roa pulled back the covers and climbed in. Essie hopped off her shoulder and onto the pillows, curling up near their heads.

  “Roa?” Lirabel murmured, her voice raspy with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

  Essie’s disappearing, Roa thought. I’m involved in a treasonous plot with Theo. And I found Dax’s seal on the guard who just tried to kill me.

  Instead, wrapping her arms around Lirabel, she said, “I miss you.”

  She didn’t realize the truth of it until the words were out of her mouth.

  “Oh, Roa,” Lirabel whispered, pulling her close and kissing her head. “I’m right here.”

  But their friendship had been fraying for months now and Roa wasn’t sure how to fix it. Lirabel kept moving further and further out of reach.

  “Are you homesick?” Lirabel whispered as Roa clung to her. “Is that what it is?”

  Homesickness was the least of Roa’s problems.

  “It’s okay if you are,” Lirabel said, rubbing Roa’s back. “I’m homesick every day.”

  Roa held her tighter, wanting to ask a question, but too afraid of the answer.

  She thought of the conversation she’d overheard from beneath Dax’s bed. Thought of Lirabel crying all alone when he left her.

  “You would tell me if you were in trouble, right?” Roa whispered.

  She felt Lirabel frown. “What? I’m not—”

  “If you needed help—any kind of help—you would come to me, wouldn’t you?”

  Lirabel fell silent.

  “Yes,” she said after a long time. “If I need help, I’ll come to you.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Yes.”

  Roa’s grip on her friend loosened—just a little.

  “No matter what happens,” she whispered, thinking of the baby in Lirabel’s belly. Thinking of Theo and what they were planning to do. “I’ll keep you safe.” Both of you.

  Lirabel wrapped her arms around Roa’s waist, squeezing her tight.

  They fell asleep like that. Holding on to each other.

  Sisterless

  On the night they burned her, the girl couldn’t look away.

  The wind howled with sorrow as she watched them wrap her sister’s body in cotton and lay her on the pyre. She saw them strike the flint, again and again, until the sparks caught the tinder and the fire blazed, devouring the one she loved best.

  She’d seen her sister fall. Heard the sickening crack when her body hit the ground, four stories below. Felt the hum roar in her ears, louder and fiercer than ever.

  But she never felt her sister’s life wink out. Instead, she felt the bond glow brighter and stronger between them.

  It was glowing even now.

  Maybe that was why she didn’t cry. Why she turned away when the messenger came and whispered something to her father.

  “Amina—the queen—is dead. Killed by the king.”

  The girl saw her father’s wet eyes go wide. He turned back, away from the pyre, looking over the fields and down the dirt road, all the way back to the House of Song.

  Where a mob was gathering.

  The sight of their torches made the girl’s breath catch.

  The son of the king was inside that house. Alone and unprotected.

  “They intend to strike at the king by striking his son,” her father realized aloud.

  “Perhaps you should let them,” said the messenger. “That son is responsible for the death of your own daughter. How many more horrors will he be responsible for once he’s grown?”

  Her father was no longer listening. He was grabbing his horse. He mounted, kicked the mare, and was gone.

  The girl looked back to the funeral. To the mourners who’d s
meared their foreheads with ash. To her wailing mother and her weeping brother and that raging blaze.

  Her sister wasn’t on that pyre.

  Her sister wasn’t here at all.

  So the girl went after her father.

  When she arrived at the House of Song, the mob had reached the doors. The girl pressed her horse on, pushing her way up to the house. Men and women wept and shouted. Some wielded weapons and scythes, while others brought only their fists.

  Fists they banged on the doors.

  “Send him out!”

  The girl ducked into the gardens and sneaked soundlessly inside.

  The house was quiet. Servants gathered in dark corners, wringing their hands, looking to the east wing.

  The girl didn’t need to ask why. The answer was coming down the hall.

  She watched her father drag a fighting, sobbing boy into the small room across from her.

  “Hush. This is for your own good.”

  The son of the king swung his fists and dragged his feet.

  “Where’s my mother?” His voice trembled. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I want to see my mother!”

  His eyes caught sight of the girl.

  “Help!” he cried, reaching for her. “Help me, please!”

  The girl stood silent, watching as he begged. Watching as her father shoved him into the storeroom—the only room in the house without windows—and locked the door from the outside.

  It shocked her.

  Scrublanders didn’t lock things. It was a violation.

  Her father fell against the wooden door, his mouth twisting with sorrow as the boy banged from the inside, his questions getting more and more frantic, until they broke into sobs.

  The girl felt nothing.

  Her heart was already broken.

  Her father, however, pressed one palm to the door, then covered his face with the other. His shoulders shook. The girl watched.

  When he finished, when he dried his eyes, he straightened and strode to the front of the house to address the crowd. They shouted at him, demanding he hand over the son of the king.

  “Go home!” said her father. “The boy has been dealt with! He’s imprisoned and will be held here until my daughter is mourned. You will get your justice. I swear it.”