Displaced (The Birthright Series Book 1)

by Bridget E. Baker

  She sighs heavily and I worry she’s changing her mind.

  “I’m still going, right? To New York?”

  “Alora will be here soon,” she says. “We can discuss it then.”

  “Wait, what does that mean?” I ask. “Are you rethinking it?”

  “It’s been a busy few days. I need to read some of the prophecies and think about them all in context with what has happened.”

  Prophecies? There’s more than one? I groan inwardly.

  “I won’t make you promises I can’t keep. You reacted to the ring, and it’s not crystal clear what that means yet. Besides, there’s more going on than you know.”

  “But if I train in New York and give Judica space—”

  “I need some time to consider everything.”

  “What did you want to talk to me about earlier?” I ask. “Can’t you just tell me now? I’m dying to know.”

  She shakes her head. “It requires a longer conversation.” She touches the side of my face gently. “It has been a horrible, exciting, and scary twenty-four hours. I’m sorry about Lark and Lyssa and Cookie. I’m sorry you reacted to the ring, because that pulls you down a path opposite from the one you wanted. I’m sorry your sister hates you. I fear it’s my fault, and that I handled everything wrong, but we have time to make things right, and I promise I will.”

  Mom leans forward and kisses my forehead. Then she slips out.

  I rush to shower and style my hair, toweling off with moments to spare. I pick up the dress from my bed, startled when something heavy rolls out from under it. My old flute case falls to the floor.

  I used it for years when I was learning melodic forms, but I haven’t looked at it in a decade or more. Who got it out? I pick it up and shove it back onto the far corner of the top shelf of my closet. I put on my dress and twirl once in front of my mirror.

  “Look Cookie,” I say. “It’s perfect, right?”

  Except, Cookie isn’t there. She never will be there for me again. I can’t sob into her fur when I’m sad. She’ll never again lick my hand. She can’t eat all the food I don’t want. She can’t curl up at the foot of my bed, or walk so close to my feet that I trip over her.

  But it’s 11:57, and I don’t have time to lose it right now. I need to survive one last party, and after that, no matter what Mom says, I’m headed for New York to escape evian politics for at least a few weeks. I close my eyes and imagine that none of the misery of the last twenty-four hours ever happened. Lark’s safely in New York, and her mother’s with her. Cookie is safe in my room, hiding under my bed because the guests are making her nervous. And I’m mad at Judica as usual, but I have nothing in particular to be angry about.

  Surprisingly, it works. My heart rate slows, and I reach calmly for my door knob, ready to head to my mom’s nine-hundredth birthday party. But before I can touch it, the knob’s already turning.

  13

  I back up against the wall, my body tense, my nerves humming. Who would open my door without knocking first? I can only think of one person, but Mom never enters from the hallway. She always comes through from her room.

  I grab a ruby handled dagger from my chest of drawers and swing it around in front of me as the door opens. Edam inhales sharply before twisting the knife out of my hands and flipping me face-down on my bed.

  “A decorative knife?” Edam asks. “Really?”

  I shove backward and he lets me stand. He drops the dagger on the floor and holds up his arms.

  “Sorry,” he says. “When someone points a weapon at me, I react first and explain later.”

  I guess so. He barged into my room, then disarmed and shoved me down in less than a second. I eye his tuxedo. At least he’s a really good-looking jerk. Even better looking dressed up, and knowing he dumped Judica yesterday doesn’t hurt either.

  I’d probably be into a gorilla if it had recently broken my sister’s heart.

  “I grab a weapon when someone enters my room unannounced. Why’d you come barging in without knocking? I could’ve been naked.”

  He doesn’t laugh or smile. His eyes don’t even light up. I try not to fret that I’ve misjudged everything. “Why were you breaking into my room?”

  He looks like he really doesn’t want to be here. His voice is low and concerned when he says, “It’s your mom.”

  “What about her?”

  “She collapsed.”

  My stomach lurches. “Let’s go, then.”

  He turns and runs out the door and I follow him, lifting my full skirts to keep up.

  My mom is fine. My mom is fine. My mom is fine.

  Thinking the words over and over doesn’t quite convince me. My mom looked sick. Evians don’t get sick. Our bodies gobble up the viruses and bacteria that infect normal humans and spit them out. She’s probably sleep deprived. But adults don’t need much sleep. An hour or two and she should’ve been fine.

  Something was wrong, and I shouldn’t have left her side.

  “We’re going to the ballroom?” I ask.

  Stupid question. We’re standing outside the doors already. Edam pushes them open.

  My eyes scan the room. I can barely see the wooden parquet floor for all the people. Representatives from all six families are milling around murmuring in low voices. Tables laden with all the food my mom and I selected line the walls. The entire room is decorated in gold, pink, and ivory flowers, beautiful fabric crepe, and ribbons. The chandeliers cast a perfect champagne light over everything. It’s enchanting, and it’s perfect for her birthday.

  Until I see the person we’re celebrating.

  Mom’s lying on the parquet floor as still as Cookie was, but with a gorgeous burgundy and silver ball gown spreading out all around her like a puddle of gilded blood.

  “No!” I run to her side and reach for her hand. It’s still but not stiff. If she was dead it would be stiff, right? People stand all around me, looking at one another, at the floor, anywhere but at my face. Some frown, some scowl, but no one says a word. And no one moves toward me or my mom. Why aren’t they trying to help? Why are they all standing around uselessly?

  I scramble across the floor so I’m close enough to lean over her face. I lift her head and cradle it in my arms, but she doesn’t respond. I gently set her head down and press my ear to her chest, as if I don’t already know, as if I can’t already hear what every other evian in the room hears.

  She has no heartbeat.

  I feel stupidly for a pulse like human doctors do on all their TV shows. “What’s been done?” I ask. “Where’s Job?” I scan the crowd. “Where’s Job?!”

  “I’m here, Your Highness.” Job’s built like a brick wall. He’s not the kind of person you don’t notice, but he was standing right behind me, and I didn’t even realize he was in the room.

  “Why aren’t you doing anything?”

  “I tried.” His sky blue eyes widen, urging me to believe him. “She can’t be revived.”

  “You just gave up? What are you, a moron? Crack her chest open and shock her heart. Humans do it all the time. You’ve got to be the worst doctor in the history of the world. Evians heal so well, you basically sit on your hands and do nothing. But obviously you need to be doing something now. Do it. Get over here and save her!”

  Job’s mouth turns down, his eyes clouding with sorrow and something else. I finally recognize the other emotion.

  Pity.

  Because he can’t bring my mother back. No one can. She’s dead, like Cookie. Like Lyssa.

  Job’s lips are moving, words pouring out, but my mind’s no longer processing the data. I’ve cut him off, because I’m unraveling from the inside out. How can this be happening? I saw her a few moments ago. She stood across from me and hugged me. She can’t be gone. I’m shaking all over and I’m hugging Mom and crying. Duchess is frantic next to me, licking my hand and barking and licking my mom’s hand. Someone around me is screaming, but I don’t know who. They sound exactly the way I feel. Like their insides were ru
n through a blender and there’s no healing the slurry of their heart.

  I’m rocking back and forth, cradling my mom to my chest when they come for me, Edam and Balthasar and Inara. They try to pull me away and the screaming cuts off abruptly. My voice croaks, “No! Get away from us.”

  “You need to let go, Chancery.” Inara looks at me like I’ve cracked, and I realize she’s right. I am broken. Lyssa’s death hit me, and Cookie splintered the ensuing crack. Now this, Mom’s ... I can’t even think the words. Mom in my lap with no heartbeat has shattered me into a million pieces and there’s not enough glue in the world to put me back together.

  I can’t. I won’t. It’s too much. They don’t understand, none of them do.

  I wrench my arm out of Inara’s hand. “You let go! Get away from me, all of you!” I shake off their hands, the hands trying to take my mom away from me. I glance around at an ocean of perfect faces, none of them quite right, none of them her, all of them unwilling to meet my glare. The hands return, but I slap at them. “Leave me alone!”

  “Chancery Divinity Alamecha,” a voice says, a voice like winter. A voice that returns me to temporary sanity. A voice I hate from the depths of my soul.

  I turn around to glare at Judica.

  “What?” I stand up slowly.

  Her eyes shine like she’s been crying, but I’ve never seen Judica cry. Not in seventeen years. Not when she’s injured, insulted, sad, hurt, angry, or disappointed. Not ever. “Step back from our mother. Act with decency. Never forget that you’re evian.”

  “What do you know about how to act? Mom’s dead and you’re pretending nothing is wrong. We’re all gathered here to celebrate a birthday for a dead woman, and you’re not even upset. What should I be doing? Making small talk with possible allies? Sizing my head for her crown?”

  She flinches. “No matter what we think or feel, our duty lies before us.” She gestures around her. “The world is here, spinning on its axis, its leaders all watching while you sob on the floor like a child.”

  Hundreds of faces, all blurring in front of me. Hundreds of people who don’t matter to me, not now, not after this. They matter to Judica, though. Everything matters to her. Everything except Mom’s death, apparently.

  “You aren’t even acting, are you? You really don’t care.” I’m suddenly so angry I could scratch her eyes out. “You’re not even upset because now you’re Empress, you sadistic freak.”

  Her eyes widen and she inhales sharply. She takes a step back involuntarily, as though I’ve thrown a knife in her stomach and twisted the hilt. Thanks to her, I know exactly how that feels.

  Finally, she speaks. The words sound forced. “I’m as devastated as you, but I won’t wallow and scream and sob, because queens endure. I’m acting with decorum, in a way taught me by Enora herself. By our mother.”

  “She didn’t teach you anything. You learned from tutors.” I take a step toward her. “You were never around. You didn’t even know her.”

  She clenches her fists and her eyes flare. “I am standing here, ignoring your insults for one reason. My mother asked me for a birthday present. She asked me to get along with my twin for a day, for one single day.” Judica closes her eyes and reopens them. “I choose to honor her last request.”

  She looks carved from stone, and her words are so final. Her last request.

  I sink back down to my knees and pull my mom’s body back into my lap. “Fine,” I whisper. “Fine. It’s what you wanted, Mom.” I turn back toward Judica. “I’m sorry. You’re right and I’m sorry.”

  Judica walks over to where I’m slumped on the floor and crouches down by Mom. “How did this happen?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “She was tired this morning, but she seemed fine. It wasn’t until after breakfast that—”

  Like the first rays of sunlight eradicating the night’s darkness, the truth dawns upon me. I put the pieces together slowly, but when the last one falls into place, I know beyond the slightest doubt.

  I sit up straight and look Judica in the eye, all her pretty words about honoring last requests and the world going on ringing hollow in my ears.

  I slap her, hard.

  Judica’s eyes flash and her hands clench, but she doesn’t strike me back. Her voice is low, deep, angry. “How dare you?”

  “How dare you?” I gently set Mom’s body on the ground and stand. I speak loudly enough that the crowd gathered for Mom’s birthday can hear me, but I’m talking to Judica. “I was there at breakfast this morning. Duchess hates eggs, and I hate eggs. But Mom? Mom loves them. Boiled eggs are her favorite. When Mom tried to give the first bite to Duchess, she’d never have eaten it. Cookie ate whatever Duchess wouldn’t. I also gave Cookie my entire fried egg.” My hands shake with fury and righteous indignation.

  Judica looks at me blankly. “And?”

  “That’s why Cookie died first.”

  Judica looks legitimately horrified. “But nothing that took time to kill a dog would be strong enough to kill our mother.”

  “Mom ate way more than Cookie did because she loves eggs. You know, because you take breakfast with us sometimes. You might have ignored my preferences, but you’d remember hers.”

  “I would never harm our mother. Never.”

  I shake my head. “A few days ago, that might have been true. I don’t know. But after yesterday?” I don’t elaborate, since no one else knows about my role in the EMP. “You were nervous.”

  She’s smart enough to know the EMP and my modified training schedule meant something. Judica was clearly furious when we sparred, but I’m not a threat, not yet. Not unless Mom made me into one, and she was waiting until after her party.

  But Judica couldn’t take that risk.

  “No.” Judica shakes her head and stands up. She backs away from me, almost involuntarily. She’s convincing, I’ll give her that. If I didn’t know her like I do, I might believe her, but I do know her, far too well. Which is why I know what she wants more than anything, and how far she’ll go to keep the throne.

  “Judica Angelica Alamecha, I name you mother slayer.”

  14

  Eyes fly wide all around me and several people gasp.

  Inara grabs my shoulder and whispers in my ear. “That’s a significant and very public allegation.”

  Her heart rate speeds up, and I smell her perspiration. Whether I’ve panicked Inara or not, I won’t retract my claim.

  “It’s true.” I feel it in my bones. Judica killed our mom because she couldn’t stand the thought of me becoming Empress instead of her. Maybe Mom even told her about her plans in a misguided attempt to prepare her.

  The irony is that Judica didn’t have to do it. I didn’t have any desire to rule over this pack of jackals.

  Inara whispers, “Be that as it may, you might have waited to talk to me about what proof we might find before shouting it in front of enemies and friends alike.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say flatly.

  But I’m not, not really. I’m destroyed, I’m broken, I’m livid, I’m scared. I am full to the brim with feelings right now, but not a single one of them is apologetic.

  Judica stares the members of the murmuring crowd down one at a time. “My sister has named me mother slayer. It isn’t true. I loved my mother, and I would never have harmed her. But, it doesn’t really matter either way, does it?” She speaks slowly and her words dispel the fog that has settled into my brain.

  She’s right.

  It’s awful, it’s horrible, and it’s every kind of hideous, but she’s right. Even if she killed my mom, it doesn’t make a bit of difference. She’s the Heir. For six thousand years, two categories of people have had the right, by law, to kill an empress. Another empress as an act of war, or the empress’s own heir. Judica, as the Heir, had a right to do it. It was a law put in place to ensure that if a monarch fell ill or was incapable of governing, the parts of the world she controlled wouldn’t languish. Which means my allegation is meaningless.

&
nbsp; I watch, numb, as Judica bridges the gap that separates her from Mom’s body. She leans over and presses a kiss to Mom’s forehead, and then she leans forward and pulls the sparkling ring from Mom’s finger. It slides off easily, without any pulling or yanking.

  Judica holds it up over her head and proclaims, “I’m Heir to Alamecha by right as the youngest female of the royal line, and by record Mother made eight years ago. I hereby take my place as Empress of the First Family.” The ring sparkles briefly in the sunlight, the colors reflecting from it and filling the room with tiny lights. When Judica shoves it on her finger, the whole room sighs, because it’s done. The murderess has taken control. Heaven help us all, but me more than anyone else.

  Before anyone can speak, Job steps forward. “I’m sorry to interrupt at such a critical time, and I tried to tell Chancery this before, but technically Judica may not be the Heir.”

  Judica drops her hand. “What?”

  Job ducks his eyes and shuffles his feet. “I attended to your mother in her last moments, and she was quite clear and very lucid when she told me that she revoked Judica as Heir and named Chancery in her place. She said it several times. I’m sure the other people present heard it too.” Job glances around him, and several heads nod in affirmation. “So you see, if Chancery has evidence that Judica poisoned Enora... there may be sufficient cause for a trial.”

  Judica looks stricken, but not ready to admit defeat. “She can’t just name a new Heir. It doesn’t work like that.”

  Inara clears her throat. “She cannot, not when the Heir has been declared in a formal document witnessed and sealed by her Council.” Inara gestures to Mom’s chamberlain and whispers, “Larena, bring the Charter. I hate that Alamecha’s family business is being handled publicly, but there’s no way around it now.”

  Silence like a blanket shrouds the masses gathered while Mom’s willowy chamberlain crosses the room, the thick folds of her canary yellow silk gown swishing as she walks quickly toward the exit. Once she’s gone, people shift and murmur in tones so low that even other evians can’t make out their words. Moments later when Larena returns, even those whisperings die off. Inara shoves hors d’oeuvres and silver dishes out of the way on an ornate serving table near the end of the room, and Larena plonks a solid wooden box with the Alamecha family crest carved on the lid onto the cleared space.