I searched the field for Sten, but he had vanished in the smoke and fire.
Still I stood, listening to the shouts. Men emerged from the chaos, moving away from the city, running, dropping their weapons on the ground as they went. The first few were men on my side, hidden among the ramshackle army to inspire cowardice in others, but more followed, and more, scrambling to escape that immortal wrath.
One man on horseback whirled around, galloping after the fleeing men. And once that noble had broken ranks, all of his men broke with him, the already disorganized army scrambling over themselves to get away.
“Your Majesty.” Holt stood in the gate tower, just out of sight. I did not turn to look at him. “You should come back now. Where it’s safe.”
“No. I have to stay here.” I had to watch my fears play out. Many of the men who’d emerged from the smoke now fell to their knees, staring up at me, a mix of terror and awe in their eyes.
Then the rain came. A downpour, bursting out of nowhere. The raindrops hit a few uncatalyzed spots of iodine and aluminum, creating more bursts of purple smoke and flame. If anyone believed the rain was for Sten, that smoke would disabuse them of those hopes.
As the smoke cleared, I saw Sten, standing at the edge of the chaos, refusing to surrender but unable to proceed as the Forgotten came down around him. Someone was standing in front of him, shouting at him, gesturing with a sword—
Fitzroy. He’d been out in the field? I hadn’t told him he could join the battle. My stomach twisted in fear, but he was unharmed, shouting at Sten. Telling him to surrender.
I stepped off the side of the wall. “I wish to go down there,” I said to Holt.
“Your Majesty—”
I nodded at him and descended the stairs. The city gates swung open, guards standing alert on either side as I stepped onto the field of ash and fear.
“Your Majesty,” the men on their knees murmured, the words forming a chant that flowed through the air. And then, as if the word had more meaning, as though it meant more respect, “Freya. Freya.”
I stepped through them, my head held high, to where Sten stood, weaponless now, glowering at me.
“I did not kill your friends, Sten. I did not want them dead. I know you didn’t, either. But I am queen now, and I will protect my kingdom from anyone who attacks it. And the Forgotten will protect me as I do.”
And with no weapons, no army, no one left to support him, Torsten Wolff could hardly disagree.
THIRTY-THREE
“I SWEAR ALLEGIANCE TO QUEEN FREYA, THE ONE TRUE queen of Epria.”
I sat in my throne, crown on my head, as a soldier knelt before me, head bowed. I nodded at him, hands folded in my lap to hide my nerves. “Thank you,” I said, and I put all my happiness, all my genuine relief, into the words. “You may rise.” The soldier stood, head still bowed, and stepped aside to allow the next man before the throne.
True to my word, every man who had surrendered during the battle had been pardoned. Even those captured fighting were pardoned and recruited into my army, if they agreed to swear loyalty to me. And so I had sat on my throne all day, hearing oath after oath, dwelling in the relief that I was alive, I had survived. No one else needed to die now.
But there was still the problem of Sten. He was in the dungeons now, and I had to decide how to deal with him. The assumption, of course, was that I’d have him executed to ensure he never posed a threat again. To show the cost of rebelling against the queen. But I meant what I had said, about wishing to avoid more bloodshed. I didn’t want anyone else to die. Not even those who’d been trying to kill me. But I couldn’t let him go, couldn’t exile him. He could easily try to gather forces and attack again.
So was I to leave him in the dungeons for the rest of his life? Somehow, that didn’t feel like justice, either.
At least he’d be easier to deal with than any lingering threat in the city. My show had convinced most people—what else could have caused all that smoke and light?—but I couldn’t have convinced everyone. There would always be doubters, and if they chose to put that doubt into action . . .
I shook my head. I was safer than I had been. I had followers of my own now, and love and respect, besides. If anyone plotted to kill me, they wouldn’t find much support.
And then there was Madeleine. Beautiful, charming Madeleine, who had helped me in the end. If I told anyone else what she had done, they’d scream for her execution. Madeleine would deserve it. But I couldn’t bear to see that happen. I couldn’t see what good that would bring.
No more bloodshed. No matter what.
When the last soldier had sworn his allegiance, the old throne room emptied out, leaving me and my advisers alone. I stood, my legs aching after too many hours on the throne, and stretched. “That went well.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Holt said, striding to my side. “But there is still work to be done.”
I walked into the middle of the room, taking in the somber stone, the desperate attempts to make it appear anything other than a prison. It wasn’t enough. This place was too cruel. “I want the court to move back to the palace.”
“Your Majesty?”
“This place isn’t fit for living anymore, and we’re not going to hide here in fear.”
“But Your Majesty, the implications of that—”
“It will mean we carry on.” I looked back at the golden throne, my throne. “The kingdom needs money. It needs more. So we’ll sell a lot of the gold in the palace, the statues, tear down the ridiculousness of it all. Create a new home for us. Have the palace banquet hall turned into a memorial for those who died. But we cannot stay here.”
Holt nodded. “It is a good thought, Your Majesty.”
“Then we’ll do it. And Sten can remain here, for now. Where he can’t cause any trouble.”
Holt pursed his lips. “Your Majesty, I really do advise—”
“No more death, Holt. Not even for that.”
He looked at me for a long moment, then bowed. “That may be wise, Your Majesty. Or it may be folly. But I would like to see it as wisdom.”
I continued toward the door. “Your Majesty,” Holt said. “I must apologize, for my attitude regarding William Fitzroy. I must admit that I may have been—biased, in that regard.”
It was probably all the admission of fault I could expect. Quite a big capitulation, from a man who had been so convinced before. “I can’t trust you,” I said, “if you will not trust me.” He and I did not always see eye to eye, and sometimes his motivations were puzzling to me, to say the least. But he did genuinely, passionately support me as queen. And he understood things that I could not, things about the Forgotten, things I needed to know. “But I am grateful, to have you as my ally.” I slowed my walk. While we were being honest . . . “May I ask you a question?”
“You may ask me anything, Your Majesty. You are queen, after all.”
“Why didn’t you side with Sten?” He stared at me, and I smiled. “He was the safer option. The known quantity. And he was a reformer, too. Why did you choose to support me, when I looked like the losing side?”
“Because I thought it was the right side, Your Majesty. Maybe the Forgotten put you here, and maybe they didn’t, but you’re intelligent. You’re thoughtful. And it’s your throne by right. I thought it was best, for the kingdom.”
“Then thank you. I hope I live up to your expectations.”
“You have already exceeded them.” But his attention was distracted by movement at the entrance to the throne room.
My father stepped through the doorway, looking as he always had. Not much thinner, not much more worn, except by travel. He smiled as our eyes met, lowering his head slightly in respect. “Apologies for my lateness, Your Majesty. Do you have time for one more pledge?”
I ran to him, my heels clinking on the floor, and threw my arms around him. My momentum nearly knocked us over, and my father laughed. “Steady, Freya. Try to have some queenly decorum.” His words were warm,
vibrant. I hugged him tighter. He patted the back of my head. “It’s good to see you, too, Freya.”
I stepped back slightly to look at him again. “You’re all right? You look like you’re all right. I was worried that—”
“I do have some ability to charm people,” he said. “It worked on your mother and her court, after all.” He shook his head. “Sten thought what he was doing was just. Not kind, maybe, but just. I think he genuinely believed you were responsible. And he had no proof I was involved.”
“Still,” I said. If anyone had been captured by my side, if my advisers had had their way, they would not have remained unscathed. My advisers thought they were being just, too, but their view of justice had become slightly twisted. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“You too, Freya.” He cupped my chin with his hand. “Your mother would be so proud of you. She was always proud of you, but if she could see what you’ve become . . .” He swallowed. “I’m proud of you, Freya. I know we haven’t always understood each other, but—I am proud of you.” He cleared his throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable, and stepped back. “Well,” he said. “I suppose we had better start rebuilding your council. There is still a lot of work to be done.”
“Yes. Of course.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back. “I’ll leave you and Holt to catch up.”
With the duties of the day done, I wandered down to my laboratory. I would have to pack everything away again, all the notes, all the instruments . . . I’d proven the value of a scientist queen, and I wasn’t going to put that aside now. My experiments had saved my life, more than once.
Fitzroy was waiting inside. Of course he was. My heart jumped when I saw him, but I had no idea how to feel about him now. Everything had been so focused on survival, but now we had survived, and he was still here, still Fitzroy, still my friend, still someone who had lied to me. What could I possibly do with all that?
He looked up as I closed the door. “Freya. I was hoping you’d come here.”
“I’m bound to show up eventually.” I walked farther into the room, taking in the instruments on the walls, the strange stains on the floor. “We’re moving back to the palace. We just decided.”
“Putting things back to normal?”
“Not quite. But something like that.” I ran my hand along the rough wood of the center table. “I’ll miss this place.” I’d made so many discoveries in this dark, depressing space, truths about science, truths about myself. It would be strange to let it crumble into history again.
“You could come back,” Fitzroy said. “To the lab, at least.”
I shook my head. It was a makeshift lab for a makeshift queen. Things would be different now.
I caught Fitzroy staring at me, and quickly looked away, pretending to shuffle through my notes. But there was no reason for me to look at them now. No distraction for us, no way to work through the awkwardness. I felt like I had to say something, but I didn’t know what. I couldn’t be honest when I didn’t even know the truth of my feelings, myself.
“I’m sorry,” I said eventually, almost too soft to hear.
“Because you locked me up?” He didn’t sound accusatory, just—like he was checking.
“Because I had to.” It was all the truth I had to offer.
Fitzroy nodded. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t—you have to understand. I thought I was protecting myself, but—I was wrong. I should have trusted you.”
“You should have,” I said. “I trusted you.” It was too late to change it now. He opened his mouth, like he was going to say something else, and I could feel the weight of it in the air, the way things would shift . . . and then he turned away, shaking his head. “You know there’ll be consequences,” he said. “For claiming the Forgotten chose you. People are going to expect a lot.”
“It can’t be worse than execution.” I forced myself to smile. “And how do you know I’m not their chosen one? You saw that lightning.”
He didn’t seize the joke. He stared at me, his expression still serious. “You don’t believe that.”
“No. But others will.” I looked back at him, William Fitzroy, not a prince but son of a king. Far kinder and far cleverer than I had ever imagined. My friend. My—something. But he had lied to me. I understood why, but . . . he hadn’t trusted me.
And I’d imprisoned him.
It was a poor basis for any kind of relationship. Not insurmountable, but it would linger. I didn’t know where things would go from here, but . . . it wouldn’t be easy.
I wanted to say something, something bold, but the words wouldn’t come. I stood a foot away from him, wanting to move closer, wanting to touch him, wanting to act, willing him to act. But I had no reference for this, no theory to work from, so I stood, waiting, hoping, until Fitzroy spoke.
“What are you going to do about Madeleine?”
And the moment was gone.
I looked about the room again, at the stool where Madeleine had sat. “Leave Madeleine to me.”
I knew, in my heart, what I needed to do.
It was the dead of night when I returned to Madeleine’s rooms and opened the door. And there was Madeleine, as elegant as ever, her legs tucked beneath her as she slept in an armchair. I paused for a moment, watching her, letting myself remember all the good of our friendship. Then I crept forward, and Madeleine opened her eyes.
“Freya,” she said. “Have you come to deal with me now?”
I tossed a bag at her. “Take this. It’s money, food, a map. Take this, and leave.”
Madeleine stood. “Freya?”
“I don’t care where you go. But you have to leave this kingdom. You have to go, and never come back.”
“Freya—”
“If I ever see you again, if you are ever heard of in this kingdom again, I will have to kill you. You know that I will.” She stared at me, refusing to look away. “I don’t want to have to kill you, Madeleine. I really don’t. But I will, if I have to. So go, and do not come back.”
Madeleine nodded. She clutched the bag to her chest. “Thank you. Your kindness—”
“Don’t.” My voice shook. “Please just—just leave.”
Madeleine nodded. She sank into a curtsy. Perfectly composed, even now. “You are a good queen, Freya,” she said. “A good queen, and a good friend. Don’t forget that.”
She stepped forward until she was level with me, and then she paused. For a heartbeat, our eyes met. Madeleine nodded a final time, and hurried out of sight.
I sighed into the empty room, my eyes settling on the sweeping mural that Madeleine had left behind. The kingdom, as she saw it. The thing she wanted to protect, and the thing she had nearly destroyed.
I stared at the sweeping red paint until my eyes blurred, and then I walked away.
The sun filtered through the palace’s high windows, lighting the ruined corridors. They had been ransacked, looted, fragments of urns dusting the floor . . . but there was potential, too. There was hope.
I walked slowly, savoring the brightness of the morning, until I reached the council room. Mila and Carina walked behind me, promoted to chiefs of my guard now, wearing their new uniforms embroidered with my crest—a bolt of lightning on a violet field.
The door to the council room was ajar, and I stepped inside. The chamber had already been stripped of its most extravagant decorations, leaving a map of the kingdom on the far wall, a single large table, and several shelves of books on history, agriculture, language, and religion. Fitzroy smiled at me as I entered, and I smiled back, before glancing around at my council, mine, with my father, with Holt, with Naomi, with Norling, with several seats left empty for the people who could fill them, for people whose advice I could trust, whose different perspectives would help me know what to do.
I might not truly be the chosen queen. I should never have stood here, with the crown on my head. But I was here now, I had held my place, and I was going to rule well, or as well as I could. I was going to make sure all the bloodshed led
to something good after all.
I slipped into the chair at the head of the room.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s begin.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Long May She Reign wouldn’t exist without the support of many amazing people.
First, my wonderful agent, Kristin Nelson, who makes everything possible. Her wisdom, hard work, and sense of humor keep me going when things get overwhelming, and I would never have even started this story without her enthusiasm and support.
My editor, Catherine Wallace, was the person who made this story click. Her suggestions made all the difference, and I couldn’t have done this without her insight and advice. Massive thanks are also due to the whole HarperTeen team, for all the amazing behind-the-scenes work they do.
Rachel Thompson answered endless questions for me in my struggle to make the science in this book as realistic as possible. She opened her super-scientist brain for the picking, found resources for me, and generally guided me through the key scientific thoughts that tied this story together. All remaining mistakes are entirely my own. Rachel also provided incredibly helpful feedback on early versions of this book, for which I’m really grateful.
Phoebe Cattle also gave me a lot of science help, and never once freaked out when I sent her weird messages like, “So, if you poisoned someone with arsenic . . .” and “So, when you dissect a body . . .” The gruesome details she provided on the latter question didn’t end up making it into the book, but I still learned a lot from her, not least that I am definitely not cut out to be a biomedical scientist.
When I was halfway through the second draft, Alex Zaleski was the reason I kept going. She read that messy half-a-first-draft with her pompoms at the ready, and has provided endlessly helpful feedback on the many versions of the book since. Thanks so much to her for all her cheerleading, support and advice, and for always believing in me.
Thanks to everyone in Black Scabbard for constantly inspiring me with our adventures; to James Cattle, Pascal Gilbraith, Matt Goodyear, Kim Jackson, and Oz Shepherdson; plus, of course, Rachel and Phoebe, for all the drama, laughs, and goblin cookery courses, and for letting me take inspiration from their characters for the gods of Freya’s world.
Long May She Reign Page 30