The Queen Underneath

by Stacey Filak

There was an ache in his eyes, a depth of emotion that was too much for her to look at. It wasn’t fair that he could dampen all the rage within her with just one expression, but she had loved him too long not to see the devastation within him. A wisp of pity snaked its way through the barely caged violence within her, and she hated him for it, even as she allowed it to grow.

  “Will you let me explain? I want to tell you everything. And then I swear by the goddess, if you think I should die, I will bare my throat for your blade.”

  She forced herself to look into his blue eyes, which suddenly seemed like an unknown sea, when she had so often swum in their familiar depths before. She nearly gagged as she thought of Melnora—ashen eyes staring blankly at the sky. And Fin—gutted from neck to navel.

  Her mind cleared. She had trained for this all her life. She was good at what she did—good enough to be queen—and she wasn’t going to sit here and heave yesterday’s luncheon all over his lap. Prick that.

  She stared into his eyes and was filled with regret. She couldn’t tell him about the baby now. That future was lost to her. Her words sounded like a death rattle. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “Yes, you do,” Devery said, leaning toward her once more. “But there were things I could not share with you. I’m so sorry, Gem. May I?” he asked, reaching for Gemma’s hand. “I want to show you something.” He moved slowly. Gemma had produced another blade that was bare in her hand, and she could almost see his blood coating its edge. It wouldn’t take much to push her to violence. “Put your hand here.” Yesterday, that would have turned into a lewd jest, but today, she doubted that Devery would ever hear her laugh again.

  She nodded, though she kept her right hand firmly on the handle of the knife in her lap. She placed her fingertips on his scalp.

  He moved closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “I was born in Vaga sixty-eight years ago.”

  She couldn’t help her shock. She had expected nearly anything but what he said.

  “Here,” he said, bending his neck and guiding her fingers along his scalp. “Do you feel this one?”

  Her lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. The tips of her fingers brushed through his tangled hair, and the moment she felt the raised scar on his scalp, she knew what she was feeling. It had been easy to assume that they were the scars of his trade, but she began to weep as he said, “That is the mage mark for long life. It was placed upon me when I was twelve, and it has slowed down my years to a crawl.” She hated that he had unnerved her. She hated that that wisp of pity was growing within her, even though she couldn’t explain why.

  He reached out and brushed away a tear that ran down her face as he moved her hand to another scar. “This is the mage mark for speed,” he said, then moved to another, “and this is the mark of the light-footed.” He moved her hand half a dozen more times, naming scars for strength, stamina, intelligence, dexterity, calm and cunning, while tears continued to stain Gemma’s face.

  “Who did this to you?” she choked, though she was sure she already knew the answer. A new, darker hatred was growing within her as she thought of the woman downstairs.

  He licked his lips, then looked down at the floor and said, “My mother. What do you know of mage work?”

  She shook her head, then wiped her face on her sleeve. “Almost nothing, really.”

  He met her gaze and said, “Of the female population of Vaga, only one in ten thousand women is a mage, and there has never been a man who can do the work. It is a mystery as old as the goddess herself, but only a few very honored women are capable of being trained. The marks are the written word of Aegos herself, and very few are gifted with the ability to imbue their marks with the goddess’s power. Those who are gifted are celebrated and respected throughout Vaga—they are our priestesses and our queens. The more mage work that a woman does, the longer her life span. Those who are most gifted have been known to live for five hundred years, but if a woman stops working magic or if she does very little, she begins to age more quickly.”

  Gemma opened her mouth, then closed it again as she thought of the king’s mage women, who were kept like chattel and only allowed to do mage work at the king’s bidding.

  “You see it, now, don’t you? The Kings of Above have slowly been killing them.” He sighed, and though she wanted to look away, the desperation in his eyes held her gaze. “My mother is the youngest daughter and sister of the mage women kept in the palace. The other three are Brinna’s elder sisters; Jaree, Manil, and Valone. My mother was very young when the Mage War broke out, and Hannai, her mother, would not let her come to Yigris to fight.

  “Hannai was a lesser Queen of Vaga, third in command, but she had gained a great deal of support during the war against Yigris. The greater queen felt threatened by her popularity, so at the signing of the peace accords, she signed away the lives of Hannai and her daughters in exchange for a greater share of Yigris’s gold mines. She caught two fish with one hook by crippling Yigris economically and ridding herself of her closest competition.”

  Gemma chuckled bitterly. “And people think that we’re criminals.”

  He watched her in silence for a moment. “Brinna was only thirteen when the greater queen signed away her family, and the greater queen thought she could be controlled. My mother played her part, but in her heart she vowed she would do whatever she needed to get her family back. First, she poisoned the greater queen’s tea. Then, my mother spent a lifetime training herself, honing her skills and learning even the most obscure mage marks. She became one of the greatest mage women in Vaga. She took a lover, and when I was born, she took another—until a daughter was born.”

  Gemma remembered the strange look on Devery’s face the night before, when she had mentioned Iven’s wife. Another piece of the puzzle slipped into place. “Princess Elsha,” Gemma’s voice was thick.

  Devery nodded. “My mother has spent her entire life trying to rescue her family, and this is the reason that I was born. For most of my life, I had no reason not to go along with her demands, and then suddenly, I had every reason in the world to. When Brinna realized how much I cared for you and Elam, she gained a hold over me. I would do anything to keep the two of you safe, even if I had to murder everyone in this city.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “I’d have helped you free them all.”

  Tears filled his eyes, and he couldn’t look at her. “It isn’t enough anymore for my mother that the mages be freed, Gem. House Daghan has to fall. And … I knew you’d never turn against Melnora. I didn’t have a choice.” As the tears streaked down his face he said, “You don’t understand my family.”

  “I thought we were your family.” She hated the weakness in her voice. She hated the way she’d let him hurt her. “And your daughter? I heard her voice. She can’t be more than eight or nine. How could you lie to me like that?”

  He closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, they were wet. “I didn’t …” He sighed, running his hand across the top of his head. “I didn’t know about her. Not at first, and then … by the time I found out the truth, it was too late to introduce you to Katya as my daughter.”

  A sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh escaped her lips. Katya had been hers. She had worked hard to earn her trust, to get close to her. Now he was taking away the child whose hair she’d braided, whose wounds she’d stitched, the strange, somber child whom she had seen so much of herself in … the little girl whom Gemma saw as her heir. Gemma’s heart twisted within her. She should have seen the truth. It was her job to see the truth.

  She flopped back onto the bed, tears flowing unhindered. “How many other children do you have running around that I don’t know about?”

  “It isn’t like that,” he said. He was still kneeling in the center of the room, but there was more heat in his words. “I wish I could have told you, all those years ago, but … I was half a man for such a long time. My wife had died, and I thought the child sh
e carried had died with her. I’d come to Yigris to run away from it all and avenge my family, to become the killer I’d been born to be. I closed off my heart for so long that I didn’t even know how to tell the truth anymore. I hated myself, I hated what I’d become, I hated this city and its people and its prickling king, and all of this would have been as simple as breathing if I hadn’t fallen in love with you. Because everything got complicated then. And at the same time, everything got much, much simpler.”

  The truth had blown a hole in her chest, but rage filled it back up. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know this isn’t just another lie to make me … to get me to …” She couldn’t even imagine what else he could want from her. He’d already taken everything. She wanted to hurt him worse than he’d hurt her, but she couldn’t think clearly. She couldn’t see past the storm swelling within her. She knew there were questions she should be asking him. About his wife and child, and other things, but she just couldn’t do it.

  He pulled the collar of his shirt down, baring his throat, and tipped his head to the side. “I submit to your judgement.”

  Something in his voice—utter resignation—made her believe. Brinna had used him, had created him and toyed with him, had broken him until he fit the mold she wanted him to fill. The fact that anyone could do that to their own child filled Gemma with black rage. She covered her belly protectively. The fact that anyone could do that to Devery twisted her in knots. She wanted to hate him, for Fin and Melnora and everything, but she found that she couldn’t. She sighed and patted the bed beside her.

  He sat down. The smell of him overwhelmed her and tears fell anew. She leaned into his chest and sobbed until her eyes ran dry, knowing now, for the first time, that her time with him might be less than infinite.

  Time passed without either of them speaking. A soft knock on the door jarred her from her daze. Devery stood, moved across the room, and opened the door. “I asked the cook to put together some breakfast for you,” he said softly, returning with the tray that the maid had brought. “It’s been too long since you’ve eaten.” He set the tray on the bed in front of her and waited. When she made no move to eat, he touched her hand hesitantly. His fingers drew a pattern across her knuckles. It had the distinctive shape of a mage mark.

  “What was that?” she asked, yanking her hand away.

  “I don’t possess any magery, Gemma. I … it was the Vagan word for love. I love you, Gem. Please, at least a bite of bread and some tea.”

  If he’d only told her about the mage women, she’d have sneaked him into the palace herself. No one in Under held with keeping someone against their will. Sure—if you crossed someone in Under, they’d gut you like a fish—but they’d never hold you prisoner. Slavery, torture and rape were weapons of the Above. Why hadn’t he known her well enough to know that he could trust her?

  Full of only grief and emptiness, she picked up a slice of bread oozing with melted butter. She took one bite and put it back on the plate. She coughed, choking it down.

  He picked up the cup of tea and pushed it gently into her hands.

  She sipped at it, and as soon as she swallowed it, she felt her throat begin to close. She couldn’t get any air as she cried out, dropping the cup to the floor. Her hands flailed at her throat as she sputtered.

  “Gemma!” Devery screamed, taking hold of her hands. “What’s happening? Goddess, what’s wrong?”

  She let out a wail before slumping, boneless, to the bed.

  He fumbled at the collar of her robe, feeling for a pulse. As the edges of her world went black, panic filled his voice as he bellowed, “Mother!”

  Prick, she thought as the room was swallowed by the abyss. I should have seen that coming.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BRIGHTHOLD

  Tollan opened his eyes to find himself staring at a bug’s eye view of a carpet of grass and Wince’s boots. “Goddess, am I dead?” he groaned, rolling onto his back. Every inch of him hurt as if he’d been tossed around ship’s quarters during a hurricane.

  “He’s gone,” Wince said, voice tight.

  Tollan pushed himself up, then regretted it immediately. “Who?”

  “Brother Silken-Pants,” Wince growled. “We’re absolutely pricked, and I don’t mind saying I wasn’t thrilled that our only ally was a whore from Under, but at least we had someone.” He gestured wildly around them. “Do you even know where the prick we are?”

  He tossed Uri’s coin in the air and caught it, the way Tollan had seen him do a thousand times before.

  From the back of the house, a voice called, “You’re just across Thieves’ Row in Brighthold, and, frankly, Master Quintella, I prefer to be called Brother Tight-Pants or simply Silky. No need for formality among friends.”

  Elam came around the corner, his arms laden with loaves of bread, a wheel of cheese and two bottles of wine. His pockets bulged with what Tollan presumed was some sort of round fruit. “Breakfast is served, gentlemen,” he said, tossing a loaf to Tollan and grinning broadly at Wince.

  Tollan tore the loaf in half and passed the other piece to Wince, then stifled his own laughter by tearing off a large bite, and chewing ecstatically.

  “Robbing houses, then?” Wince asked, staring down at the bread in his hands.

  “I understand that you have some misgivings, but, really, there is no one who’s going to mind. I suspect that until we figure out what is going on with those mage marks, nearly every citizen in Yigris is going to stay sleeping like a babe in arms.” Elam pulled the cork on a bottle of wine and raised the bottle toward the sky. “To the goddess,” he said brazenly, “May she protect us from the rough prickery ahead.”

  Wince choked on his laughter, and Tollan exhaled, relieved. He needed the Wince who told ribald jokes and remembered how to laugh. He didn’t think he could handle the world if Wincel Quintella stayed serious forever.

  “What do you mean about the mage marks?” Tollan asked as he caught an apple that Elam tossed in his direction.

  Elam took a bite of his own apple, chewed it properly, then swallowed before answering. “I went in that house last night. There’s a whole household in there—two maids, a nursemaid, a man and his fat-but-lusty wife, and a spit of a kid—and no matter what I did, I couldn’t wake a soul.”

  “Are they … dead?” The apple turned to ash in Tollan’s mouth.

  Elam shook his head. “Snoring away, perfectly peaceful. They just can’t be awakened.”

  Wince snatched the bottle of wine from him, and tipped it toward the sky. “Aegos. The whole prickling city is asleep?”

  Elam stood, motioning for them to gather the rest of their breakfast. “I suspect so, but let’s go have a glance, eh?”

  Tollan’s body ached from sleeping on the ground, and by the time Elam stopped an hour later and said, “We’re close to the safe house,” he was grateful for the reprieve. “I want to have a look before we go up to the door and make sure that we weren’t followed and that no one is watching the place. I don’t want to expose Gemma or you, Your Grace.”

  Tollan nodded, and he and Wince stayed in the shadows of a tall manor house.

  “Do you think Gemma will call the Ain?” Wince asked once Elam had disappeared.

  Tollan thought for a moment. “Can’t say. I’d like to think she would, but I don’t think the girl who was bouncing on the bed and spitting on my cock is the same girl who killed that man at Canticle Center. I think it all depends on what’s happened since we left her and what she’s found.” He didn’t want to think about what would happen if things had gone badly. Gemma Antos was the barrel he was clinging to in this storm, and if she and her Ain couldn’t help him float, he’d most likely go under.

  Elam came from behind them. “I don’t know,” he said softly, his brow furrowed as he removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Something is … odd.”

  Tollan arched an eyebrow at him.

  “We haven’t seen a living soul anywhere, rig
ht?”

  Tollan and Wince nodded.

  He went on. “As I was watching the safe house, a little girl approached and knocked on the door. Devery’s mother, Lady Brinna, opened it—I saw her, and hers is not a face I’m likely to forget. She let the girl in, and—”

  Wince shrugged. “This is a Guild safe house, right? So anyone in the Guild could have made their way here. Perhaps the kid is one of your street rats.”

  “That’s what’s odd. I recognized the girl, too. She’s one of the urchins. But this isn’t a safe house that’s known to the Guild. This is a secret place. Only Gemma, Devery and I know it exists.” Elam’s amber eyes held real fear. “But stranger still, why isn’t Lady Brinna asleep?”

  Tollan looked at Wince. “What do we do?”

  “We can’t go in there,” Elam said, turning his gaze upward. “Not until we have a better idea of what’s happening. Something here isn’t right, and I think we should stay put until we figure out what it is.” He grinned at Tollan. “Come, Your Grace. I’m going to teach you the first rule of bloodwork.”

  A shudder ran down Tollan’s spine. “And what’s that?”

  “Get to know your victims as well as you know yourself.”

  Quicker than Tollan would have thought possible, Elam picked the lock on the back door of a tall manor house, and the three of them scuttled inside. He balked at the idea of breaking into someone’s home, but Elam laid a gentle hand on his lower back and guided him in. Wince began to search the first floor for any danger.

  Elam brushed past Tollan. “Let’s get the lay of the place,” he said, but Tollan was still focusing on the warmth that remained where the prayer keeper’s hand had been. All his life, he’d pushed that part of himself aside. He was to be king, and the king must have a queen, because the king must have an heir. Desire had nothing to do with it. He shook his head.

  Elam was moving through the kitchen. He bent over a trapdoor in the floor. He pulled up the handle and quickly disappeared. An instant later, his head reappeared. “Root cellar,” he said, grinning. “We can stay down here tonight. We’ll be able to have light without anyone seeing.”