The True Queen

by Zen Cho

  “Go, go!” said Muna, shoving Henrietta, but the Queen came towards them, snarling imprecations in Elfish. Henrietta was closest to her and the Queen reached out to seize her—but before the Queen could touch her, a ball of flame exploded beneath her hands.

  The Queen fell back with a cry. Mr. Stapleton stepped between her and Henrietta, lowering his wand.

  “I regret I must ask you to leave, madam,” he said. He was wholly pale, his wand trembling in his hand, but his voice was steady. “You are incommoding the other guests.”

  He turned to his daughter. “Run along, Henny. Look for your mother and sisters.”

  “Papa—”

  “You will not contradict my orders now,” said Mr. Stapleton, raising his voice. “You are the only one who has magic, and I depend upon you to protect the family. You may set me at defiance at any other time, Henrietta—but on this one occasion you will do your duty, if you please!”

  Henrietta’s eyes filled with tears. She made an abortive move towards him, but then she choked out, “Yes!” Drawing her sleeve across her eyes, she darted off.

  The Queen glared down at Mr. Stapleton in much the same manner as she might have looked down upon an insect that had dared to cheek her. “Who are you?”

  Mr. Stapleton squared his shoulders, raising his wand. “I am the master of this house, and while I live you shall do no harm to anybody under this roof!”

  “That is not to say much,” said the Queen carelessly. “Mortals live for hardly any time at all.”

  Muna was glad Henrietta had obeyed her father, for it meant she was saved the sight of what happened next. The Queen waved her hand as though she were dusting away a mite, and Mr. Stapleton went flying. He hit the wall and slid down to the floor, where he lay unmoving.

  When the Queen turned back to Muna and Sakti, there was a new sharpness in her gaze. An unpleasant smile spread across her face.

  “I must have been blind, or distracted,” she said. “I thought you were a mortal who had stolen the Virtu. But I see I was mistaken. I did not think to find you here, sister! It has all fallen out very well, I declare. I shall finish what I left undone all those years ago!”

  Muna ignored her, meeting Sakti’s eyes.

  “Not against your will,” said Muna.

  Sakti looked grim. “It is not as though we have a choice. Will it hurt?”

  “No,” said Muna. The Serpent stirred within her, eager. “Give me your hands.”

  Sakti’s palms were damp with perspiration, for she was afraid. Muna smiled at her for the last time, until Sakti gave her a tentative smile back.

  To mend the break was simple, as natural as water flowing downhill, or a sapling reaching towards the sun. It hardly felt like magic at all. Muna drew Sakti towards herself and they ran together like drops of rain on a pane of glass.

  * * *

  • • •

  HENRIETTA opened the door to the nursery, confronting a red-faced fury waving a chair.

  “Stay back!” it cried.

  “Amelia,” said Henrietta, “is my mother here? And my sisters?”

  Amelia paused with the chair held aloft. Then she dropped it and flung herself on Henrietta’s neck. Mrs. Stapleton, Louisa and Charlotte crowded around, scolding and questioning.

  Henrietta had arrived at the scene of a lively disagreement. The first thing Amelia said when she could make herself understood through her tears was:

  “Tell my mother she is not to go downstairs, Henny!”

  “Oh, certainly!” said Henrietta, disentangling herself from her sister’s embrace.

  At the sight of everyone’s tearful faces, she put aside her anxiety about her father and Muna. It was clear that a calm head was needed. “It is your duty to stay here with the girls, Mamma. There can be no question of your exposing yourself to danger.”

  Mrs. Stapleton protested, “But your poor father . . .”

  “You need not fear for my father. I shall join him again directly, now that I know you are safe.” Henrietta glanced back at the door. It was a good sturdy barrier, with wards woven into the very grain of the wood, that would repel even a fairy that sought to enter.

  “I shall strengthen the wards,” she decided, “and you must not let anyone in. Papa or I will come and let you out when it is all over.”

  “You don’t mean to go down again?” shrieked Mrs. Stapleton. Her intention to share in her husband’s fate was forgotten. She seized Henrietta’s sleeve, insisting that Henrietta should remain in the nursery.

  “But I am the only other Stapleton that has any magic,” Henrietta said. “You will not let Papa stand against the Fairy Queen by himself?”

  “What of the other gentlemen? I am sure we invited two dozen thaumaturges, at least!”

  “They have run away. Papa is all alone.”

  “Mr. Hobday as well?” Mrs. Stapleton faltered out.

  The last Henrietta had seen of her betrothed that evening had been his retreating back. “Mr. Hobday has taken his leave as well.”

  This could not but sway Henrietta’s mother. Still she continued her remonstrances, though it was unclear whether these were intended for Henrietta, or for an uncaring Fate. “But your Papa is a gentleman and a thaumaturge, and you are so young! I do not doubt you are very clever, Henny, but you are not the Sorceress Royal. A year or two at her Academy is not the same as having two familiars. Besides, Mrs. Wythe is an orphan, who need only account for herself. You have your family to think of!”

  Henrietta froze. But this was not to be the last of the surprises reserved for her.

  Charlotte said, wide-eyed, “Mamma! Did you know Henny has been teaching at the Sorceress Royal’s Academy?”

  “It is one thing to teach, but quite another to meet the Fairy Queen in battle,” said Mrs. Stapleton. “I should never have allowed you to remain at the Academy if I knew this was to be the end of it!”

  “Mamma, you knew . . . ?” gasped Henrietta. She turned to her sisters. Guilt was written across all three of their faces. “You all knew!”

  “A mother that does not know what is in her child’s heart without being told is not worthy of the name,” said Mrs. Stapleton. Despite her distress, being able finally to speak of Henrietta’s secret life was plainly a relief to Mrs. Stapleton. With the air of one unburdening herself, she went on, “And that creature you conjured to take your place, Henny—I don’t say she was disagreeable, for she was civil and obliging enough, but her understanding was not equal to yours! We could not be deceived for long.”

  “You mean my simulacrum,” said Henrietta, feeling foolish. She had thought it such a clever shift!

  “Not Henrietta is not in the least like you,” agreed Louisa. “I wish you would dispense with her. I am sure we could manage without.”

  “If you knew all along, why did not you say anything?” said Henrietta helplessly.

  “I said we should,” said Charlotte. “But Amelia and Louisa would not allow it!”

  “I have always believed a mother should not force confidences from her children,” said Mrs. Stapleton.

  “You meant it to be a secret,” said Amelia with unwonted shyness. “We thought if you wished us to know, you would have told us. We hoped in time you would trust us with the truth.”

  “I never mistrusted you,” said Henrietta, but there seemed to be something stuck in her throat, and her voice emerged faint and wavering. She swallowed. “It is only that . . . I thought you would mind my being a magicienne.”

  “But you have always been magical,” said Charlotte, a little puzzled.

  “You are our own Henny,” said Mrs. Stapleton. “How could we mind anything that you were?” She caught Henrietta’s hands in her own. “We shall tell each other all that is in our hearts, and forgive each other for the secrets we have kept!”

  “Yes.” But even as Henrietta kiss
ed her mother, she freed her hands from Mrs. Stapleton’s clasp. “So we shall—another time, Mamma.”

  “Henny, I forbid you to go!”

  “I must, Mamma.”

  Mrs. Stapleton made a final attempt. “Your father would wish you to remain!”

  “Then this is the last time I shall disobey his wishes, or yours,” said Henrietta. She wiped the tears from her eyes and left, barring the door behind her.

  27

  THE TRUE QUEEN

  SAKTIMUNA CAME TO herself in a strange place. She was no longer in the familiar warm waters in which she had slept for so many years. The air was dry on her scales.

  When she raised herself to look around, she knocked her head against a ceiling. Recoiling, she broke a chandelier. Shards of crystal showered down around her.

  Saktimuna lowered her head, hissing, and caught sight of herself in a glass. Scarlet eyes with black vertical slits of pupils gazed back at her. They were set in an elegant spade-shaped head, covered with shining scales of a deep blue-green, the same shade as the sea where it was deepest.

  The sight surprised her.

  “We are not quite gone yet,” she said aloud. “It is not so bad!”

  But after a moment she could not remember why she said this, or to whom it was addressed.

  The puzzle did not detain her for long, for now she noticed the only other soul in the room worthy of her attention. For many years Saktimuna had longed to meet her again—had dreamt, as she lay half-slumbering beneath the waves, of setting her teeth in that very neck.

  “Sister!” she hissed.

  The Queen of the Djinns recoiled. The scent of terror rose from her. She stammered, “It is you! What a cheap trick, to hide from me!”

  But then she drew herself up, drawing on bravado like a cloak.

  “You need not think you will frighten me,” said the Queen. “I bested you before, when I was little more than an elvet. Now I have ruled over Fairy Within for centuries. Dragons do obeisance to me. Mortals shrivel to dust at my approach! Do you think you pose any challenge?”

  Saktimuna said in wonder, “You have not altered in the least.”

  Her sister had always been given to showing away, flaunting her powers and demanding the admiration of her friends. Saktimuna had loved her all the more for her frailty, knowing it had its source in her sister’s want of confidence—for their parents had not been kind to those of their children they did not favour.

  But love had turned to bitterness long ago.

  “It has been so long,” said Saktimuna. The Queen stumbled back as Saktimuna slithered towards her. The floor was cluttered with mortals and furniture, but these were no obstacle to the Serpent. She glided over them, scarcely noticing the mortals’ cries. “I should have thought you would have learnt better by now.”

  “How dare you speak to me so?” cried the Queen. “I am the Queen of the Unseen Realms!”

  She blasted Saktimuna with a curse, but the Serpent knocked it away. Diverted, the magic showered over the mortals scattered about the room—but they had no cause for complaint, for those that still lived died quickly.

  “Not for much longer,” said Saktimuna. She struck.

  But Saktimuna’s sister was still capable of surprising her. Even as she lunged, the Queen vanished. In her place was a small brown mouse, which shot across the floor.

  The Serpent darted after the mouse, knocking over tables and chairs, rolling over inconsequential bodies. The mouse scuttled into an inconspicuous gap in the wall, and Saktimuna’s jaws closed on air.

  Furious, she butted her head against the wall. The house trembled around her.

  She would bring it down if necessary. Her sister could not hope to evade her for long.

  “Papa?” chirped a small voice.

  It was a yellow-haired mortal who spoke. Saktimuna glanced at her without interest before returning to her task. She could hear the mouse scurrying behind the wall, pursued by Saktimuna’s magic but just outpacing it. If it would only stop for a moment, she would have it.

  “Try something smaller, my love!” cried the Fairy King. Saktimuna had not seen him before, for he was crouched behind an overturned bureau. “A wood-louse, perhaps. She will not soon find a wood-louse!”

  The Queen’s consort would have been wiser to stay silent. It struck Saktimuna that perhaps what she needed was more magic. The best means she knew of gaining more magic was by taking it from others.

  The Serpent’s head swung around, her tongue flickering out.

  “Do not you dare—!” cried the Fairy King.

  It was the last thing he ever said. Saktimuna’s head darted out. She caught the Fairy King between her jaws, lifted him in the air and swallowed him down in three gulps.

  “Good heavens!” cried the yellow-haired mortal.

  * * *

  • • •

  HENRIETTA clapped her hand over her mouth, kicking herself.

  But she was too late. The Serpent turned, fixing gleaming reptilian eyes on her. There was not the smallest spark of recognition in their ruby depths.

  Henrietta could scarcely believe the destruction the Serpent had wrought during her absence. Bodies were strewn upon the floor—men and women she had known all her life, some of whom would never rise again. Towards the other end of the room lay her father, slumped against the wall. Henrietta could not tell if he was dead or alive.

  The air seemed as thick as treacle. Her limbs were heavy with fear, but she forced herself to walk towards the Serpent, clenching her fists to still their trembling.

  This was Saktimuna, then—the Fairy Queen’s sister whose stolen heart, locked in the Virtu, had caused so much trouble. And somewhere inside the Serpent was Henrietta’s friend.

  Muna would not have wanted to be this great murderous monstress, with beautiful, pitiless eyes. Perhaps she was lost forever; perhaps there was nothing Henrietta could do to bring her back. But Henrietta had to try.

  “Muna,” said Henrietta. The name came out on a voiceless croak. She cleared her throat. “Muna!”

  * * *

  • • •

  IT had been such an age since Saktimuna had last savoured fairy ichor that she had nearly forgotten its effect. It bubbled through her veins like champagne, granting exhilaration, forgetfulness of self—and a glorious infusion of power. To extract her faithless sister from her hiding place would require only a flick of the tip of her tail.

  The mortal’s voice was an unwelcome intrusion into a brilliantly coloured world. Yet it would not be ignored. It persisted, as monotonous as the screeching of cicadas in the evening, repeating, “Muna, Muna!”

  Saktimuna could silence the voice, but she had no wish to dilute the taste of fairy ichor with mortal blood. She gave a warning hiss, but it did not deter the mortal. Instead, a small cold hand touched her scales.

  “Muna!” cried the little voice again. “These people have nothing to do with your quarrel. They don’t deserve that they should suffer for the wrongs done to you.”

  It was most irritating. Now that Saktimuna looked at the mortal, she could see that a faint light of magic flickered within its frame. It would not be wholly unprofitable to devour it. She would get the matter over with quickly. Then she could deal with her treacherous sister at her leisure.

  Saktimuna dived, but to her astonishment a stinging hex exploded in her face. She reared back, hissing.

  * * *

  • • •

  FOR a moment Henrietta gaped, stunned by the success of her feint. The spell she had employed was a mere childish cantrip, of the sort Mrs. Daubeney’s young gentlewitches used to hurl at one another when they quarrelled, but it had one advantage she had not calculated on—its novelty. The cantrip was designed to give its target an itch. Evidently Saktimuna had never had an itch in her life, and she did not relish the experience.

 
The Serpent threw herself into outraged coils, neglectful of the people and furniture she crushed beneath her bulk. Henrietta turned and ran.

  “Jade!” howled Saktimuna. “Impudent hussy! You will regret what you have done!”

  Henrietta stumbled over a toppled chair, landing heavily on her wrist. The pain startled a cry out of her.

  The interruption to her flight was fatal. When she rolled onto her back, she looked up into the Serpent’s glowing red gaze. There was no hope of getting away.

  Henrietta shut her eyes.

  Because her eyes were closed, Henrietta did not see the brown ball of fur flash across the floor, as the mouse that had been the Fairy Queen chose that moment to make its reappearance. It transformed as it went, till finally the Queen straightened to her full height, her disguise thrown off.

  “Ah!” said Saktimuna. “I am pleased you have decided to join us again, sister.”

  Henrietta’s eyes snapped open. The Fairy Queen stood before Saktimuna in the form in which she had first appeared that evening— a woman beautiful and strange, more than mortal. Light beamed forth from the bud on her head, setting at defiance the dark shadow of the Serpent looming over her. The Queen raised her hands.

  “I have been too kind,” she said. “I should never have allowed you to live. I have not had a moment’s peace since I ousted you. But let us make an end of this now!”

  But even as the Queen spoke, Henrietta felt magic flood the room, like waters breaking through a dam—fairy magic, potent with centuries of stored-up spite. It was so strong that Henrietta could scarcely endure it. Her head throbbed, her vision blurring. Her hands flew to her temples, pressing down to still their aching.

  The Queen paused, blanching. Her eyes widened as she started to choke.

  “You have forgotten that we learnt all the same cantions at our mothers’ knees,” said Saktimuna.

  This is the Serpent’s magic, thought Henrietta, dazed. It was Saktimuna’s hex that filled the room with this overwhelming pressure, stealing the Queen’s breath and making her sway. This was the power that had lain in the Virtu all along. Little wonder the Queen had been so afraid when the Virtu was lost.