Kill the Queen

by Jennifer Estep

  “My proposals would make us strong again,” Vasilia hissed. “A force to be reckoned with, just like Morta is. Something that you know nothing about, especially since you tried to betroth me to a weak, spineless man with no real power to his name.” She stabbed the pointed toe of her boot into Frederich’s body. “I can’t believe that you expected me to marry him. Third in line for the Andvarian throne. What a bloody insult. Really, Mother. You could have done so much better.”

  The Andvarians growled and lifted their swords, and I could almost see the wheels turning in their minds as they debated how they could avenge their fallen prince and ambassador. A few of them even crept forward, like they were thinking of charging at Vasilia.

  She gave them a bored look, then flicked her fingers, shooting a few small streaks of lightning at them. The magic slammed into the ground, scorching the grass at their feet, and the Andvarians yelled and scrambled back.

  Vasilia eyed the Andvarians a moment longer, making sure that they were properly cowed, along with everyone else. Then she turned back to her mother.

  “What did you think was going to happen? That I was going to fall madly in love and start popping out babies like Madelena? That I would forget about becoming queen? Please. You should have known better. The only reason to even suggest such a ridiculous marriage was so you could ship me off to Andvari and get rid of me.” Vasilia tilted her head, studying her mother the way that other people might examine a bug they were going to squash beneath their boot. “Or perhaps you were planning to have me assassinated in Andvari and eliminate me altogether.”

  “That was absolutely my plan.” Cordelia’s voice was as cold as Vasilia’s was.

  Shocked gasps rippled through the crowd, including one from my own mouth. She’d been planning to assassinate her own daughter? But my surprise lasted only an instant. Despite my dislike of her, Cordelia was a good queen in that she always did what was best for Bellona, and Vasilia’s policies would do nothing but plunge us into war, just as Cordelia had said.

  The queen looked at everyone on the lawn. The remaining Andvarians, her royal cousins, the nobles, the servants, the few loyal guards. For a moment, she focused on me, and something like remorse sparked in her eyes. Then she looked at her daughter again.

  “You, my dear, are a power-hungry bitch who has no regard for anyone other than herself.”

  Vasilia laughed. “Do you think that’s an insult? I consider it a fine compliment.”

  “Of course you would. But the truth is that killing you would be a mercy to all the people of Bellona and beyond.” Cordelia smiled, but it was a grim, resigned expression. “My only regret is that I waited too long to do it. I kept hoping that you would change, even though I knew deep down that you never would. Silly sentiment, on my part, staying my hand.”

  How long had Cordelia been planning Vasilia’s death? And who was going to help her kill her own daughter?

  “I should have done it months ago,” she continued. “As soon as your two new Mortan friends came to Seven Spire.”

  Cordelia looked at Nox, then Maeven. What did the kitchen steward have to do with this? The answer came to me a moment later. Maeven had poisoned the champagne. I had wondered why she’d wanted me to taste it earlier. A test, most likely, to make sure that the poison worked—and it probably would have. I might be immune to magic, but I didn’t know if I could survive a bellyful of wormroot.

  Cordelia glanced back and forth between Nox and Maeven, and for the first time, I noticed the resemblance between them. Same golden hair, same amethyst eyes, same sharp, angular cheekbones. The two of them were related. I was sure of it. I didn’t get the sense that they were mother and son, though. Maybe aunt and nephew? Cousins?

  Maeven had been at Seven Spire for more than a year, and Nox for about nine months. Other than Nox’s scandalous relationship with Vasilia, both of them had gone about their jobs like everyone else. How long had they been plotting this? How many people were involved? Was the plot supported by the Mortan royal family?

  My mind spun around with questions, but no answers were in sight. Only death for the queen and everyone else.

  “I had hoped that you would come to your senses.” Cordelia focused on Vasilia again. “That you would do your duty and put Bellona first, above your own ambitions. What a fool I was to think that you would ever do anything so selfless.”

  Vasilia rolled her eyes again. “I am so bloody tired of you harking to me about duty all the time. But mostly, I’m tired of waiting when I should be queen.”

  “Queen Vasilia has a lovely ring to it.” Nox grabbed Vasilia’s hand and gallantly pressed a kiss to her fingers, even though they were covered with Prince Frederich’s and Lord Hans’s blood. Then he shot Cordelia a saucy wink.

  The queen’s nostrils flared with anger. “I don’t know what he’s promised you, but you can’t trust him.”

  Vasilia let out an amused laugh. “Of course I don’t trust him. Just as he doesn’t trust me. But who needs trust when you have a common goal?”

  “And what would that be?” Cordelia snapped.

  Vasilia smiled at her mother again, and for once, the expression was quite genuine. “Why be queen of a single kingdom, when I can rule an entire empire?”

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Cordelia looked from her daughter to the two dead Andvarians to Nox and then finally over to Maeven, who was still standing quietly in the background. Understanding flashed in her eyes, and she shook her head.

  “You will never be queen of any empire.” Cordelia spat out the words. “The Mortans will use you to get our land, our resources, our magic. And then, when they are ready, they will take Bellona from you. They will slit your throat, burn your body, and grind your bones to dust, like they do to everyone. And the sad part is that you won’t even realize what’s happening until it’s too late.”

  The princess waved her hand, dismissing her mother’s concerns. “You should know by now that no one takes anything from me—ever.”

  Vasilia slid her dagger back into the scabbard on her belt and drew her sword. Nox raised his weapon as well, as did all the turncoat guards. Captain Auster stepped up beside the queen, as did the few remaining guards who were still loyal to him.

  An eerie silence descended over the lawn. Then, with one thought, one breath, one roar of sound and motion, everyone sprang into action.

  Chapter Seven

  Vasilia and Nox charged forward, attacking the people closest to them.

  “Guards!” Captain Auster roared. “To me! To me! Protect the queen!”

  Despite the fact that they were terribly outnumbered, the guards formed a tight, protective circle around Cordelia.

  “Back!” Auster roared again. “Retreat!”

  He was trying to get the queen away from the center of the lawn and back inside the palace, where he could better protect her, or perhaps even get her to safety altogether. But there was nowhere for them to go. The turncoat guards had formed a ring around the lawn, penning everyone inside their ranks like animals in a slaughterhouse. The turncoats surged forward, their swords flashing like lightning bolts in the sunlight. Only instead of striking the earth, these bolts had far more sinister targets—all the people gathered here.

  Screams and shouts ripped through the air, along with blood—so much blood. In an instant, the coppery scent of it filled the air. The sickening stench slithered down my throat and made me want to vomit again. Blood spattered everywhere, like a sideways rain soaking everything in its path. Tables, chairs, dishes, people. A couple of drops hit my cheek, and I hissed at their sudden, stinging warmth and slapped my hand to my face, like they were bees that I could shoo away.

  Several magiers, including my Blair cousins and the Andvarians, tried to summon up their power so that they could fight back, but the wormroot had done its job, and they got the same pitiful results as Cordelia—all sparks and no sizzle. Their magic was so weak that I couldn’t even smell it over the thick, heavy scent of all the bloo
d.

  Some of the morphs tried to shift into their larger, stronger shapes, but the wormroot had dampened their magic too, and they were stuck in their weaker, human forms.

  The only one who successfully shifted was Lady Xenia, given the loud roars that spewed out of her throat. She must not have drunk any of the champagne. I couldn’t see her face through the crowd, although I did catch a glimpse of the long, pointed black talons on her fingertips as she laid open the throat of a turncoat who attacked her.

  With their magic out of reach, people were forced to rely on their own physical strength, speed, and fighting skills, and they tried to force their way through the ring of guards. But that’s when the second, sinister phase of the wormroot kicked in, and several people pulled up short, including the Andvarians, clutching their stomachs, doubling over, and vomiting up the champagne they’d drunk, along with mouthfuls of blood. Their sudden sickness made it easy for the turncoats to step up and finish them off.

  The guards cut down every single person with merciless efficiency. Servants, nobles, royals. Men, women, even the children. No one was spared as the traitors hacked and slashed their way through the crowd. The guards were particularly vicious when it came to my Blair cousins, stabbing them over and over again and then slitting their throats for good measure. And the guards had plenty of magic to help them with their murderous rampage. Most of them were mutts, with extra strength or speed, along with a few magiers and morphs.

  They were all equally brutal and ruthless.

  Through the mass of moving, screaming, fighting bodies, I spotted Maeven still standing close to the palace wall, a small, satisfied smile on her lips. Felton was beside her, staring at the chaos with a calm expression, holding his red ledger. I thought of that list I’d seen in Felton’s book, the pages with all those check marks. He’d been keeping track of the Blairs and other guests and making sure that they were all here before Vasilia had sprung her trap.

  Vasilia had planned this very carefully. Not only were she, Nox, Maeven, and Felton going to kill the queen, but they were also going to assassinate every single person here with even a drop of Blair blood. They were going to eliminate anyone who might miraculously survive the massacre, rise up, and potentially challenge Vasilia for the Bellonan throne later on.

  Including me.

  A guard ran his sword through the man in front of him, then pulled his weapon free and charged at me, the next person in his path. Panic filled me, and I stepped back, bumping up against the table again. My hand hit something slick and hard—the crystal vase of snow pansies that I’d admired earlier. Cold determination surged through me, freezing out my panic, and I snatched up the vase, my fingers curling tight around the top of it.

  The guard charged at me, and I found myself thinking of the strangest thing—all those recent dance lessons with Lady Xenia. I didn’t know why, but I could almost hear the music playing in my mind, and I listened to the strange phantom beat. The guard raised his sword, even as the music in my head swelled to a roaring crescendo.

  Move, Everleigh! Now!

  Xenia’s voice snapped in my head, the way that she had snapped at me during those lessons, and I pivoted to the side, out of the way of the guard’s slashing sword, like it was a sharp blow from Xenia’s cane that I was avoiding.

  The guard rushed past me, slamming his weapon into the table instead of my chest. The blade stuck in the wood, and he cursed, trying to yank it out.

  Before he could free the weapon, I stepped up and slammed the vase into the back of his head.

  The crystal shattered, and the guard screamed. Somehow, I wound up with a long, dagger-like shard in my hand, which I rammed into the guard’s back. He screamed again, but I didn’t stop. I yanked the shard out and then stabbed it into his back over and over again until he finally quit screaming and slumped down onto the table.

  I dropped the bloody shard and staggered away, breathing hard. The guard’s head lay on the table, his mouth open in a silent scream. I’d killed him. I had actually killed him.

  It had been a long, long time since I had killed someone.

  “Evie! Evie!”

  I whirled around. Isobel was running toward me, doing her best to avoid the swarming guards. Our gazes locked, and I saw the fear and panic in her eyes.

  More determination surged through me. I had to protect her. I wasn’t going to lose her to an assassination plot the same way that I had my parents.

  I shoved the dead guard out of the way, stepped up, and took hold of his sword, which was still stuck in the table. I had to brace my foot against the wood, but I wrenched the weapon free. I staggered back, holding the sword, and something slid off the table and landed in the grass at my feet.

  The memory stone.

  The opal was glowing with a soft white light, telling me that it was still recording. Vasilia murdering Prince Frederich and Lord Hans, her confrontation with Cordelia, the guards attacking everyone. The stone had recorded everything. I had to take it with me.

  I dropped the sword, yanked the black velvet bag out of my pocket, and fell to my knees. I tapped on the opal three times to stop the recording, then shoved it into the bag and yanked the drawstrings tight. My hands were shaking, but I looped the strings around my wrist and tied them together so that I wouldn’t lose the bag. Then I grabbed the sword again and surged back up onto my feet.

  “Evie!” Isobel screamed. “Evie, look out!”

  Two guards had realized that I’d killed their friend, and they both charged at me. I wasn’t a great warrior like Vasilia was, but Captain Auster had spent a fair amount of time training me over the years—or at least attempting to train me. I desperately tried to remember just one of those lessons, but I heard that phantom music in my mind again, and I let it carry me away.

  Whatever it was, it worked.

  I sidestepped the first guard, whipped around, and sliced my sword across his back. He screamed and tumbled to the ground. I stepped up and kicked him in the face, making his head snap back. Then, while he was still dazed, I rammed my sword into his chest. The guard gurgled once, then was still.

  “Evie! Evie, look out!” Isobel screamed a third time.

  The second guard whirled around and lunged at me. Even as I turned toward him, I knew that I wasn’t going to be fast enough to avoid the blow. I grimaced and braced myself to die—

  At the last instant, Isobel raced up and latched on to the guard’s arm, stopping him from killing me.

  “Get out of the way!” the guard growled.

  He shook her off, then stepped forward and shoved his sword into her chest. The guard must have had some mutt magic that gave him extra strength, because he thrust his sword so deep into her body that it punched out her back. Isobel hung there on his blade, eyes wide, gasping for breath, like a butterfly pinned in place.

  “Isobel!” I screamed. “Isobel!”

  I moved around her and lashed out with my own sword. The blade stuck in the guard’s neck, and blood erupted like a fountain from the wound. He shrieked and tumbled to the ground, losing his grip on his sword and taking mine with him as well. Isobel staggered back, the guard’s sword still buried in her body, and crumpled to the grass.

  My legs buckled, and I dropped to my knees beside her. It took me only a second to grab her hand, although it seemed much, much longer. I was no bone master, but even I could tell that there was nothing I could do. Not given the sword still stuck in her chest and all the blood that had already soaked into the grass underneath her body.

  Isobel gasped for air, even as tears of pain streamed down her face. Her head lolled to the side, and her gaze fixed on mine. “There’s . . . my . . . girl . . .” she rasped. “There’s . . . my . . . Evie . . .”

  Her eyes warmed, her face softened, and her lips curved up into a small smile. Then she shuddered out a breath, her chest sagged, and her hand slipped out of mine.

  “Isobel!” I screamed. “Isobel!”

  But she was gone—dead.

 
Even though it was no use, I shook Isobel’s shoulders and screamed her name over and over again, although the continued chaos of the fight drowned out my hoarse, heartbroken cries.

  A guard ran past me, chasing one of the servants, and his leg clipped my shoulder and sent me toppling over onto Isobel. For a moment, I got a whiff of her scent—powdered sugar mixed with cinnamon—the one that had always made me feel so warm, welcome, and safe. Then her blood gushed over my hands, hot and sticky, drowning out that sweet scent and replacing it with the coppery, rotting stench of fresh death. My heart squeezed tight, tears streamed down my cheeks, and bile rose in my throat again—

  A sharp whimper sounded, and my head snapped to the right. Gemma, the Andvarian girl, had taken refuge under a nearby table, one of the few that was still standing upright. She was huddled on her knees, trying to make herself as small as possible, although her blue eyes were wide with fear and shock.

  The turncoat guards hadn’t noticed the girl yet, but they would soon enough, and then they would kill her too—unless I saved her.

  I hadn’t managed to protect Isobel, and I had no illusions that I could do any better with Gemma, but I had to try. That was what Isobel would have wanted. She would have wanted me to do my best to save this lost little girl, just as she’d taken me in when I had come to Seven Spire.

  And I realized that I just might be able to do it, thanks to Lady Xenia.

  Xenia let out another loud bellow, picked up a guard, spun him around, and slung him into a pack of men coming at her, knocking them all down to the ground. That created an opening in the ring of guards, and Xenia charged forward, raking her talons across the stomach of another guard, and widening the gap between the turncoats. A few people took advantage and darted past her, sprinting for the palace doors.

  But they didn’t count on Maeven.

  She snapped up her hand, and bright purple lightning flashed to life on her fingertips. I could smell the stench of her magic all the way across the lawn. A magier. She was a fucking magier, and a very strong one at that. Of course she was. Because this couldn’t get any worse.