by Janeal Falor
“And your name is…?” I ask
“Faya.”
“Well then, Faya, yes. Someone attacked me.” I glance at Jem. “Anyone who attacks me is dealt with accordingly.”
The room grows quiet after that, as if no one dares speak.
The ladies pull out things to work on, like little sewing pieces stashed in their voluminous skirts. If I pull out what’s stashed in my skirts, some of them will faint on the spot. Like my daggers.
“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” Faya says. “We would like to know where we can find your family, to move them into the palace.”
“Why would you want to do such a thing?” The closest thing I have to family is Daros, and having him here is not going to happen.
“It is one of our duties, as ladies-in-waiting.”
“Well, it is one duty you won't have to worry about.”
Jem narrows her eyes, and a few others look on curiously, but none of them contradict my words.
“What about your name?” Faya asks. “What can we call you, My Lady?”
“It seems you have plenty of names for me as it is.” I don't want to admit to being nameless. I've never wanted to before, and I feel even less inclined to now.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but we need to call you Queen Something. What can we fill that in with?” Faya persists.
“Nothing. You will call me only Queen.” I put sufficient bite in my words that the ladies-in-waiting shouldn't ask more questions.
And they don't, but they do give each other bewildered glances. It's not like people such as me exist. Everyone has a name, unless they belong to Daros, and I'm the only one who belongs to him.
They continue sewing. It makes me want to pull out those daggers to gouge my own eyes out. I can't handle this boring busywork.
A while later, I've had enough. There's only so much sitting around a person can do. It doesn't matter that I was taught to emulate those around me. There's no reason to, and I'm more bored than a knife can be dull.
I stand, and the ladies hurry to their feet, putting away their sewing.
“Is there something you need?” the oldest one, Faya, asks.
“Yes. Take me to my room.”
“I wish I could, my lady, but it's almost time for the feast to begin.”'
“What feast?”
“The one in honor of you becoming queen. Lord Ranen should have told you all about it and what to expect. It's always held the afternoon after a new leader is chosen.”
Either he didn't, or I was paying less attention than I thought. “When should I attend this feast?”
She glances at the clock. “In another twenty or so minutes.”
I clamp my teeth together and sit back down. This is ridiculous. I thought I'd left my mandates behind, but it seems not. Even as queen, you're subject to others.
We wait, them doing their handwork and fussing over me for what seems more like forty minutes before Jem stands. The others follow suit, Faya more slowly than the others. At this point, I'm so grumpy of doing nothing at all that I stay in my seat to be contrary.
“It's time for us to go, Your Majesty,” Jem says.
“I'll go when I'm good and ready.”
Jem gives me a shocked look, like she doesn't believe what I said. The others look just as horrified.
“You can't do that,” one of them says. “We have to be on time.”
“I'm the queen. I can do whatever I want.” And if they're going to bore me for hours, I can make them wait for me. I couldn't pull such a ploy with Daros. Being able to do so now has me hiding a smirk.
I sit here, casually thinking of the best poison to use on annoying twits. There are so many wondrous options. Not that I would really do it to such innocents, but it’s entertaining to think on.
They all stare at me, aghast. I haven't enjoyed myself this much in a long time. Maybe having to sit here for hours, doing nothing, was worth it. Fifteen minutes later, I stand. The others look relieved and lead me to the door.
As we make our way to the feast, I can't help but think I may figure out a way to fit in here. Until I find out who sent the assassin, that is. After that, I will see if I choose life or death.
Chapter 6
My earliest memory is of being on the street.
Cold.
Hungry.
Alone.
Strangely enough, that's how I feel now, though I shouldn't. The room’s the perfect temperature, and I sit in front of a table full of food, surrounded by people. There’s food to feast on for weeks, and I get sick looking at it, knowing how starving I was yesterday. It's all here, nonetheless—a celebration in my honor.
But there's nothing to celebrate. My plate is filled for me, my glass kept full, yet all I can do is sip and remember those days on the streets. I was mostly numb, but there were times when I badly wanted something like this. And now that I have it, I no longer want it.
Don't deserve it.
I pick at my food, hunger forcing me to eat but despair making it dry within my mouth.
Jem and the other ladies in waiting are close by, along with Ranen. This is the most uncomfortable meal I've ever lived through, and I've lived through some very uncomfortable meals, with Daros threatening people and once going further than a threat. Eating on the floor as punishment when I did something wrong was preferable to being at his eye level and risking his wrath.
At least no one here tries to talk to me. For having a party in my honor, they don't seem to care about me.
Everyone here appears to be part of the Kurah class—fine clothing, fancy hair, makeup for the girls. It's all a little over the top. Lots of gold and jewels being flaunted about. Where are the rest of the people I'm supposed to be queen of? Or is this some sort of show for the cream of society?
“Your Highness.” A servant bows low, holding a serving tray out toward me with one hand. On it sits the very same chalice I drank from and became queen.
I grab it, eager for its contents. If I drink from it again, the spell may be undone. I may die like I was supposed to. Like I couldn't let myself before.
I lift the cup to my lips.
“Your Highness,” the screechy man sitting next to me says, “if I may be so bold, you are to give a speech before drinking.”
A speech? What in all of Valcora would I say? There are no words left inside me. Nothing left but a tumble of emotions I can't deal with. Guilt stings me with the blood, cold on my hands. Hatred toward myself and the daggers and poisons I use. Shame for ever listening to Daros.
Forget protocol.
I chug down the contents of the cup without a single word. The room is silent. Some of the liquid spills out and rolls down my chin. As soon as the drink is gone, I slam my cup down, waiting for pain.
Of course, just like before, it doesn’t come. Instead, something tickles at me. It’s almost like the thread of a memory, but I can't imagine what type of memory it could be. It’s not familiar.
The crowd watches me with a mixture of confusion and disgust as I grab a linen napkin and wipe the spill on my chin. When they continue to stare at me and do nothing, I say in my loudest voice, “I am the queen.”
I stand, and the entire group stands as well. They bow low to the ground. What is with these people and bowing? I stride away from the room, putting as much anger as I can in each step. This was the worst possible feast I could attend.
I don’t stop when I pass the guards. Don’t stop when I get to the hall. Don’t stop even when I lose my way. I stretch my legs, my skirts rustling as I go. Footsteps follow me, but I ignore them. I'm not going to have a moment to myself as queen, it would seem.
I try to outrun the feelings jumbled in my chest. My eyes sting in an unfamiliar way. The thing that finally makes me come to a halt is a dead end. I slouch against the wall and rest my forehead on the cool stone, wishing it would fall atop me.
Why do I never have good ideas?
It would be better if I gave a speech. If only I wasn’t so eage
r to drink from the cup that made me queen. I should have known it wouldn't kill me. That I'm stuck in this position.
Why did it choose me? Why couldn't it have chosen one of those other girls, like Jem or Faya, after it killed me off? A burning desire to understand fills me, but as far as I'm aware, no one knows how the cup works.
When I turn around, heat sears my face. A guard is watching me. I knew he was here, but I didn't expect him to be staring at me.
He's young, though a couple years older than my seventeenish years, I think. He's several inches taller than me, with brown hair several inches long. He's strong, evident by the muscles where his shirt doesn’t cover, though his armor prevents me from seeing much. His armor is like everyone else’s of the guard. A light steel vest with black breeches, high black boots, and a black cape so they can blend in if needed. He has a sword on one side and a couple knives strapped to the other.
Mostly, it's his eyes that capture me. They’re hazel, with hints of blue. He lowers his gaze making me miss the view. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn't mean to intrude. I'm to keep you safe.”
A heavy sigh escapes me. There's one benefit to this. No longer being lost, though I’d almost rather stay here at this cool, dead end. Almost. “Would you please take me to my room?”
He gives a short bow. “Of course.” He turns and walks away, though he looks over his shoulder every once and a while.
I move next to him, though I’m in no hurry to do so. We wind through more hallways than I've seen in all my life. I suppose I saw them on the way out, but I was too angry to really see them.
When we've been walking a full minute or so, the guard slows. I linger behind him, but he doesn't continue on. He faces me, gaze still lowered. “It's not my place to say anything—I know I could be put to death for it—but I want to know. Why would you risk your life to become queen?”
I can't help the smile that tilts up one side of my face. Finally someone here who's not a coward or rude. “What's your name?”
“Nash. What is yours, my queen?”
“I have no name.”
He widens his eyes, and his mouth tilts open.
I clench my jaw. “Show me the way to my room.”
He bows yet again and moves forward, like he didn’t ask the question to begin with. There's no apology in his movements. No sorrow in his steps. We pass other people, who bow as I walk by. I ignore them.
When we reach what I believe to be my rooms, Ranen is waiting for me with a retinue. I grit my teeth. I'm already sick of him.
“My lady,” he says, “we were worried about you. Especially after the attack. You need to stay where we can find you.”
I open my mouth to explain myself, but then realize if there's anything good about being queen, it's that I don't have to explain myself any longer. “Leave.”
“My lady?”
I turn to the other admirers, still bowing to me. “All of you, leave now.”
They stare at me, aghast. They'd better get used to it. As a matter of fact, I'd better get used to it.
“Except you.” I point to the guard who helped me find this room, who is turning away. “You come with me.”
Without watching to see if they will obey or not, I turn the knob on my door and hurry through. The guard, thankfully, follows.
“Shut the door,” I tell him.
Once he does so, I take the time to look around the first room. I was here earlier, when I bathed and dressed, but I passed through the sitting room quickly and didn't stop to look at the details, of which there are many.
It's a big room—much bigger than my bedroom at Daros's—and gaudy, with gold clinging to every place I look. Real gold, if I had to guess, taken from one of the man mines in Valcora. Cluttered with the furniture as it is, it holds no appeal. The chairs and sofas look more uncomfortable than a torture device, and I know my torture devices. I wince and focus on the walls. Landscape paintings are all there is, besides a window.
I huff and move to the bedroom. The guard doesn't follow. Smart man. I kick off my shoes and climb on the high bed. Once I'm situated and certain my skirts maintain my modesty do I call him in. Not that I care, but I find myself wanting to make an impression on the only person who’s spoken to me like I'm real.
He enters, showing no hint of discomfort at being called into the queen's very own bedroom.
“Sit,” I say.
To my astonishment, he leaves the room. I'm befuddled until he walks back in with one of those horrid chairs.
“You're not going to sit in that, are you?” I scowl.
He lifts an eyebrow, places the chair directly across from me, and sits.
“Well, well, well… you've certainly proven you don't care for comfort.”
“I care for propriety.”
I can't help myself. “And yet, here you are, in my bedroom.”
“Only because you care for comfort.”
Huh. “Tell me about how things work here.”
“That's a lot to cover.”
“It's what I need to know.” I pause and then add, “From someone other than Ranen.”
“What? You don't like him?”
I snort.
“That's very queenly of you,” he says.
“I try.” I attempt not to squirm. “Now, what do I need to know?”
Chapter 7
“What have you learned this far?” Nash asks, sitting closer to the door than to me.
My face heats. I turn toward my window so he won't notice. “Um… nothing.”
The room fills with silence.
“They haven't taught you anything yet?” He sighs.
“Well, they tried, but I wasn't paying attention.” The admission costs me more than I want to admit. Could it be that I care what he thinks of me even more than I thought? I can't imagine why.
“Are you sure you want me to be the one to teach you? There are people who know the protocols better than me.”
I shrug, turning to face him again. “Protocol doesn't concern me. I want something useful. Tell me—what do you know of the secret tunnels in this place?”
“You're going to have to learn it one way or another. It can't be ignored.”
“And you can't ignore my question. Secret tunnels?”
He shakes his head before moving closer. “Those exist, but I know of only the well-used one the guards use to get from place to place or to intercept threats to those living here.”
“Are there threats often?”
He gives me a level glance. “You've already been threatened. It will continue to happen.”
So much for knowing who was behind the assassination attempt. If such attempts are frequent, it's a matter of time before another happens. I must figure out if I want to live before the next one. This way, I'll be prepared to choose—death or fighting.
“Why are there so many threats?” I suspect several things. Mostly people who either want to be queen or want the queen as their puppet.
Though spoken with care, his words confirm this. “You have a highly sought position. All it takes for it to be open again is your demise.”
“Do you know who sent the man that's now in the dungeons after me?”
“I regret to say I do not. Isn't Lord Ranen trying to find out?”
I shrug. “He said he would, but I haven’t heard any word on it. Doubt that he’s trying very hard, but it’s possible.”
“I can ask around—see what the guards know. But don't be surprised if I come back with nothing.”
That's generous of him. More so than I'd expect. “Let me know if you discover anything.” Apparently, I still care about my life.
“I will.”
I contemplate asking for the secret tunnel he’s familiar with, but it’s of no use to me if it’s frequented often. What else do I need to know? I'm somewhat familiar with parts of the palace, but it's so huge, it's difficult to perceive it all. I got lost in it moments ago. “Can you draw me a map of this place?” I ask.
&n
bsp; “I can do one better. I'll ask a servant to bring us the plans we have. They aren't comprehensive, but they are a good place to start.”
“How does a guard learn about these plans?”
“I studied them in an effort to understand the best ways to move around. I serve the queen and therefore need to know about the things surrounding her that concern her possible safety.” He stands. “If you'll excuse me, I'll send for them.”
He leaves and closes the door behind him.
I focus on the window. It's like the one back at Daros's. A nice view, but so small it highlights my captivity. Because I feel like a captive, even as the queen. Like the last one, this window too is barely large enough for me to climb out of, which will come in handy.
The door opens, and Nash resumes his seat. “It will be here as soon as they can fetch it.”
And in the meantime, what? It's not the first time I've encountered silence. Daros used it to great effect. It had a better result when I was younger, though. Now I'm accustomed to it.
Nash apparently doesn't feel the same way. “What else would you like to learn about?”
I purse my lips and tap a finger to them. “What do you know of the other guards?”
“Some are loyal to the crown. Some are loyal to one person or another.”
“Which group do you belong to?” Not that I expect an honest answer.
“The crown, though I know it's hard to believe. My parents raised me right. Taught me honor and respect. My loyalty is now meant for you.”
His words stir something to life. What, I can't be sure. “It's true, I have a hard time believing it, but I hope you prove me wrong. Which guards can be trusted?”
“Afet, Stird, and Wilric are all loyal. I'd stake my life on it. Eldim may or may not be. It's hard to tell with him.”
So few? I can't be surprised with what I know, but it remains a bit of a shock. “How do you know they're loyal?”
“They almost gave their lives for the last queen,” he says. “A man broke into the palace. It happens on occasion. Be prepared for it. He was wielding a sword and hacking at anyone who got in his way. Afet, Stird, and Wilric ran toward him when he neared the queen, while the rest ran away. All three sustained injuries but have since recovered. The last queen gave them gold as a reward, but they remained here, doing their duty.”