It took me a few more weeks and several more beatings, but I eventually took his advice. Oh, I still did my schoolwork, memorized the dances, and trained with the other kids, but I didn’t raise my hand in class anymore, and I didn’t volunteer to demonstrate anything. As much as I hated it, I always made sure that I never challenged or outshined Vasilia in any way.
Alvis was right. After she was satisfied that I had learned my place, Vasilia ignored me. No, it was worse than that. It was like she forgot that I even existed, despite the fact that I saw her every day. Which, of course, broke my heart all over again and filled me with even more rage. I wasn’t even good at being her bloody nemesis.
But there was nothing that I could do to wound her in any way, so I gave up trying to hurt her and started counting down the days until I could finally leave Vasilia and Seven Spire behind forever . . .
A loud snore startled me awake. For a moment, I thought I was back in my room at the palace, sleeping in my old bed. Then the snore came again, and I realized that I was in the barracks. My entire body was tense, and my hands were fisted into the sheets, as though I was still fighting all those long-ago battles with Vasilia and the other children. I drew in several deep breaths and forced myself to relax.
The snores were coming from Paloma, who was fast asleep in her cot, along with the other female gladiators. Everyone was resting up for the big day tomorrow. But I couldn’t sleep, not with all those horrible memories swimming around in my mind, so I got up, threw on a robe, and slipped out of the barracks.
I wandered around the compound, but everyone else had already gone to bed, except for a few guards manning the front gate. A light burned in Sullivan’s house, but I didn’t dare knock on his door. I had no desire to be rejected again. Lights burned in the manor house as well, but I didn’t want to see Serilda, Cho, or anyone else, so I slipped into the gardens.
I ended up at the pond with the black swans.
The two swans were gliding through the water, just as they had been when Serilda had brought me here after the black-ring match. Tonight, instead of eating bugs and plants, they were swimming side by side, nuzzling each other with their beaks.
I watched the swans for a while, enjoying their displays of affection, then looked up at the palace.
Seven Spire loomed over the city, with lights burning on every level. No doubt everyone was still hard at work pulling together the final details for the coronation. If everything went according to her plan, Vasilia would be crowned queen by midnight tomorrow, and everyone in the Black Swan troupe would be dead.
When I had first come to the compound, the thought of facing Vasilia again would have filled me with dread. I had been the useless royal for so long that I had actually started to think of myself that way.
But I wasn’t useless—not anymore.
I thought about all the memories that I’d had of Vasilia since the massacre. How deceptively kind she had been to me those first few weeks. How she had slammed that door in my face once she thought that I didn’t have any magic. How she had stood by with an amused smile and watched while the other children tortured me.
I couldn’t take Alvis’s advice. Not now. I couldn’t give in to Vasilia again. Not even for one second, or she would kill me. And not just me, but Paloma, Serilda, Cho, Xenia, Sullivan, and everyone else I had cared about. She had already murdered our family. I wasn’t going to let her kill my friends too.
Perhaps I should have been thinking about Bellona and all the innocent people who would die if Vasilia declared war on Andvari. Perhaps I should have been thinking about my duty to protect them. Perhaps I should have been contemplating Cordelia’s last words about how I needed to do what was best for our kingdom.
But I wasn’t thinking about any of that. Not really. No, I was thinking about my own heartbreak.
Serilda had been right when she had said that I was full of cold rage. Vasilia was the source of a lot of that rage, and if I was brutally honest with myself, I didn’t want to kill her because of the massacre or the potential war with Andvari or to save Bellona.
I wanted to kill her for me.
For how she had so casually broken my heart. For all the cruel things she had done to me since then. For all the countless times she had tortured, dismissed, and ignored me. I wanted to kill Vasilia for all that and more—so much more.
And tomorrow, I would finally get my chance.
I stared up at the palace for a moment longer, then dropped my gaze and walked back to the barracks to get what sleep I could for the night.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next morning, I stood in one of the barracks bathrooms, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
I was wearing black fighting leathers and sandals, along with my tearstone sword, which was sheathed in its scabbard and hooked to my belt. And once again, I had been made up to look like a black swan, just like I had during the black-ring match. Only instead of paint, an actual mask covered my face today.
The mask was made of black cloth and secured to my head with a thin black band. Several rows of tiny silver crystals fanned out across the mask, arranged in feathery patterns. Blue crystals gleamed at the corners of my eyes, also arranged in feathery patterns, to further play up the swan theme. More silver and blue crystals had been glued to my black hair, which had been slicked back into three knots, all of which were bristling with black feathers. To complete the fierce look, bloodred gloss coated my lips, and silver glitter shimmered on my arms, hands, and legs.
Serilda had insisted on my wearing the mask. She didn’t want someone recognizing me before we got close enough for me to issue the royal challenge to Vasilia. Her reasoning made sense, but staring at the mask and my distorted reflection made my stomach clench with worry.
I still didn’t think that I was a black swan. But I could certainly end up as a dead one—and so could everyone else in the troupe.
So many things could go wrong today, and my death wouldn’t be the worst of it. If I didn’t kill her, Vasilia would make everyone in the troupe suffer in horrible ways that I didn’t want to imagine but couldn’t stop thinking about. So many people could die. So many people could be slaughtered because of me.
The irony of the situation didn’t escape me either. Six months ago, Vasilia had been doing the exact same thing that I was—plotting to kill the queen. To get rid of all the Blairs and anyone else who could stand in her way. To take over Bellona for her own ill ends.
Perhaps I was more like my murderous cousin than I wanted to admit.
A sick weariness filled me, and I leaned down and braced my hands on the sink, letting the feel of the cool porcelain steady me. I could do this. I had to do this. Not just for myself and my friends, but for all the innocent people Vasilia was planning to hurt.
Paloma stepped into the bathroom. She too was dressed in black fighting leathers, with her spiked mace dangling from her black leather belt. Her blond hair was pulled back into an elaborate braid, and gold, feathery streaks shimmered on her face, bringing out her amber eyes.
“It’s time,” she said.
I nodded, reached out, and picked up the memory stone that was sitting on the sink. The opal felt as heavy as a lead weight, but I slipped it into my kilt pocket. My silver bracelet with its tearstone shards glinted on my right wrist. I hadn’t taken it off since I had performed the Tanzen Freund. I traced my fingers over the crown of shards, then dropped my hand and faced Paloma.
“Promise me something.”
“What?”
“That if Vasilia kills me, you will get the others out of the palace. That you will get them and yourself to safety. Don’t do something stupid like try to avenge me. Okay?”
Paloma glared at me. So did the ogre face on her neck. “Don’t be stupid. Of course I will avenge you, no matter what. That is the gladiator way; that is our way.”
I groaned. “You’re not making this any easier.”
“That’s because it’s not going to be easy,” Paloma said
in that matter-of-fact tone that I both admired and hated. “It’s going to be one of the hardest things you’ll ever do. But you can do it, Evie. So buck up, and let’s go kill your bitch of a cousin before she ruins any more lives.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, when you put it that way, you almost make it sound like it’s going to be fun.”
I smiled at Paloma, then hooked my arm through hers. Together, we went to meet the others.
* * *
The wagons were waiting outside the arena. Everyone loaded up their supplies and climbed on board, and away we went.
We weren’t the only ones heading to the palace, and the streets were packed with wagons, people, horses, and gargoyles. Only invited guests and performers would be allowed into Seven Spire to witness the coronation, but it was tradition for the people to line the streets directly across the river from the palace, as well as the bridges leading to the palace itself. Once the queen was crowned, she would walk to the edge of the royal lawn and wave to the people below, letting them know that Bellona was in good hands for as long as she reigned. The crowd would cheer, and the celebrations would last all night.
I was riding in a wagon with Paloma, Halvar, Bjarni, and Sullivan. The three ogre morphs were sharpening their weapons again, even though they were already as sharp as could be. Sullivan had his eyes closed and his hands stuffed in his coat pockets.
Me? I couldn’t sit still. I kept touching the black-swan mask on my face, my sword belted to my waist, and the memory stone in my pocket, checking them over and over again, even though nothing had changed since the last time I had checked them a minute ago. I reached for my sword again, but a hand closed over mine, stopping me.
“Relax,” Sullivan said. “Just relax. Everything is going to be fine.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Yes. And more importantly, I believe in you.”
This was the most he had spoken to me since that night in Unger. Oh, I had seen him every day since then, but he had nodded and gone on about his business as though our conversation at Castle Asmund had never happened.
Sullivan stared at me. I expected him to remove his hand, now that he had done his best to reassure me, but he slowly threaded his fingers through mine. Heat spiked through me at his touch, and I curled my fingers into his. We didn’t speak after that, but we held hands as we rode through the city.
Finally, the wagon rattled across one of the bridges that led from the city over the river to Seven Spire. The wagon stopped in the main plaza in front of the palace, and I peered out the window.
Serilda and Cho had already gotten out of their wagon and were speaking to the guards manning the gates. They had a lengthy conversation, and Serilda showed the guards the necessary papers that proved that she, Cho, and the troupe had been invited to perform.
Vasilia might want the Black Swan troupe here so she could murder us, but the guards still inspected every wagon, including ours.
Paloma, Halvar, and Bjarni tensed and gripped their weapons a little tighter, while Sullivan curled his free hand into a tight fist, ready to unleash his lightning. The guards stared curiously at my black-swan mask, but they didn’t order me to take it off. A minute later, they moved on to the next wagon, and ten minutes after that, we were rolling through the gates. I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
We were in—but the danger was just beginning.
The guards directed us to a courtyard that was used for food and other deliveries. Even though it was just after eleven o’clock in the morning and the coronation wasn’t going to take place until this evening, the area was already a madhouse, with servants carrying food, flowers, tables, and chairs into and out of the palace, across the courtyard, and even back through the gates. Dozens of conversations filled the air, along with the high whinnies of the horses and the low grumbles of the gargoyles.
I got out of the wagon with the others, and we all gathered up the costumes, props, and other supplies for our show.
Serilda was wearing her white tunic with the black-swan embroidery, while Cho looked dashing in his red ringmaster’s coat. The gladiators were sporting black fighting leathers, given the special occasion, and the acrobats, wire walkers, and other performers had already donned their costumes as well.
The guards gave me curious looks, wondering why I was wearing a mask, since our show wouldn’t start for several hours yet. Then Xenia climbed out of her wagon, and she became the center of attention.
Xenia was also wearing a mask to hide her identity, and hers was far more gruesome than mine. Her mask was made of thick, stiff paper that had been painted to look like an ogre’s face, complete with sharp, bloody teeth. The ogre mask matched the morph mark on her neck, and more than one guard shuddered and looked away from her.
We carried our supplies into the palace. The second that I stepped inside, the faint scent of musty paper and crushed rocks—Seven Spire’s unique aroma—filled my nose. I drew in a deep breath, and a thousand memories flickered through my mind.
I just hoped today would be filled with more good than bad.
Eventually, we wound up in a library on the first floor. Normally, this area was used for teas, recitals, and other gatherings, although today, it had been turned into a storage and staging area, and all sorts of performers crowded into the room.
The Scarlet Knights, the Blue Thorns, the Coral Vipers. I recognized the names, colors, costumes, and crests from when those gladiators had come to the Black Swan arena to battle Paloma and the others. Although today, the mood between the various troupes and performers was one of friendly rivalry, rather than the more serious and lucrative business of the arena fights.
Some of the acrobats practiced their flips, while others peered into the mirrors on the walls and applied their makeup. Magiers tossed balls of fire, ice, and more through the air at a dizzying pace, while wire walkers practiced their moves on the cables they had strung up at knee-high level between the bookcases. Conversations trilled through the air, and the powdery scents of makeup tickled my nose, along with dozens of different perfumes and colognes.
“Ah, Serilda, there you are.” A familiar, snide voice cut through the chaos.
I looked over my shoulder. Felton was striding toward Serilda, his high-heeled boots snapping against the floor, his black hair and mustache waxed to a high gloss, and his red ledger dangling from his fingers.
I couldn’t move away from Serilda without drawing attention to myself, so I ducked my head and pawed through a box of feather boas, as though I was looking for a certain one.
Felton stopped right beside me. He glanced at me for the briefest moment before turning to Serilda. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to show up.”
“Really?” she murmured. “Why is that?”
Despite the fact that he was several inches shorter, Felton still somehow managed to look down his nose at her. “Because you’re late. Queen Vasilia abhors tardiness of any sort, but especially today.”
His chiding, superior tone made me grind my teeth. Down in the box, my hands fisted around the feather boas, and I was tempted to yank one out, wrap it around his neck, and squeeze the life right out of him. But I couldn’t do that, since a few guards were stationed around the room, keeping an eye on everyone. If I attacked him now, I would never get close enough to issue the royal challenge to Vasilia. As much as I wanted to kill Felton, I forced myself to settle for strangling the feather boas, instead of him.
“My apologies,” Serilda murmured.
Felton eyed her, wondering if she was being sincere, but he must have been satisfied that he had put her in her place, because he looked at the performers. “It seems like you’re going to put on quite a show.”
“Oh, we’re going to give Vasilia and everyone else something that they’ll never, ever forget.”
Felton’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, but Serilda gave him a bland smile in return.
After a few more seconds,
he opened his red ledger. “I wanted to double-check the list of performers . . .”
Felton told Serilda that the Black Swan troupe would be the last to appear, right before Vasilia was crowned queen. Of course she would make us go last. No doubt after our performance, she would have us all herded out to the center of the lawn and executed.
Felton flipped over to a list of names. He glanced around and started making little check marks next to the names of the more prominent troupe members, including Cho and Sullivan.
My hands strangled the feather boas a little tighter. The bastard was making sure that everyone was here, just like he had before the massacre—
Felton turned to me. “And I take it that you’re the gladiator who won that black-ring match that Queen Vasilia attended a few months ago?”
My mouth opened, but I couldn’t risk speaking for fear that he might recognize my voice. If he realized who I was, Felton would bellow for the guards, and our mission would end right here and now.
Serilda stepped in between Felton and me. “Yes, she is the Black Swan. Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “Queen Vasilia requested that you present only your best gladiators today.”
My hands wrapped even tighter around the feather boas. Vasilia just wanted to make sure that I was slaughtered along with everyone else.
“Oh, this gladiator will do a special performance just for the queen’s enjoyment,” Serilda drawled.
Felton must have picked up on the double meaning in her words because he gave her another sharp look. My breath caught in my throat. If he suspected what we were really up to, none of us would leave this room alive. Felton’s lips puckered, but he had no reason to argue, since Serilda was agreeing to his demands.
“Excellent.” He made another little check mark in his ledger. “I’ll leave you to prepare for the show. Until then.”
Serilda dipped her head to him. “Until then.”
Felton snapped his ledger shut, spun around on his bootheel, and left the library. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. We weren’t caught.
Kill the Queen Page 34