The man heaves me aside and sneers at Tristan. “How about I let you go, then shoot you in the back?”
Tristan scowls and twists at his restraints. The man starts to lunge at Tristan when a blast of light blows him to the ground.
“Don’t be stupid, Jarin.” A tall, willowy woman with a gaunt, but unmarred face ambles toward our circle. Tipping her head my way, she says, “It’s been so long since we’ve had guests.”
A long coat with rustic leather trim nearly drags on the ground as she approaches. Knee-high black boots kick up dirt with every slow step. The older woman stops just a few feet from us and peers down over our group. Luminescent magic dances on her fingertips before fading out.
Lady Maxia.
Jarin scuffles to his feet before sidling up beside her with his hands behind his back. He turns his head down, avoiding her hazel eyes. “My Lady, we found these three snooping at the edge of our camp. We’ve extended patrols in case there are more.”
“Very well. Now leave me. All of you.”
“Are you sure?”
“What do you think?” Maxia snarls.
The men and women quickly funnel out of the tent, leaving just Lady Maxia and us behind.
A pit forms in my stomach as the inside of the tent quiets. Thea no longer fights back. She clearly knows who this is.
“Well, well,” Lady Maxia says with a withered grin. “Princess Thea, here at my doorstep. My, how you’ve grown into quite the beautiful young woman. I thought you would be preparing for your Ascension Ceremony, not running off into the woods like a simple Royal Guard. You disappoint me.”
Tristan leans forward. “How dare you speak to the Princess this way. We demand you release us now!”
A pop of lavender light bursts from Lady Maxia’s palms and propels toward Tristan. Energy ripples through the air as he’s sent back against the stiff fabric of the tent. He writhes in pain, then topples to his side, unable to catch himself with hands tied behind his back.
“Did I speak to you, boy?”
“Please stop,” I plead. “Leave him alone.”
Lady Maxia twists her gaze my way, eyes brimming with intensity. “And who is this?”
“She is my Maiden,” Thea says. Chin lifted and shoulders back, she says to me, “Know your place, Maiden.”
Thea knows Maxia mustn’t discover who I am; more importantly, what I’ve become. She’s right, but I’ve never been able to just sit by and watch people get hurt.
“My apologies, Your Highness.” I lower my eyes and play up my best cowering posture.
Tristan manages to return to a sitting position. A streak of sweat trails down the side of his face.
“Let’s get right to it, shall we?” Maxia teases. “Your vile mother has been murdered and the Queendom is in disarray. What I need to know is why you have not assumed power, Princess.”
Thea’s brows draw together. “So . . . this is why you and your mutant friends are moving on my Queendom.”
Magic crackles at Maxia’s fingertips and she lunges at Thea. The Princess scuttles back against the tent. Lady Maxia claws at Thea’s arm and rips off her coat sleeve, exposing her skin.
Maxia gasps, her mouth hanging open in confusion. She tosses the torn fabric to the ground, then crouches down in front of the Princess.
“Where is the Royal marking?”
Before I have a chance to react, my eyes roll back and my mind fades from this tent. Straight away, I’m brought back to the castle, sitting on a warm, soft throne inside the Council Hall. Before me stands a slightly younger Lady Maxia. The streaks of gray in her shoulder length hair are not as prominent as they are now. Her eyes are wide, posture rigid, and a contemptuous glare fills her face.
Maxia steps toward the Council stage. “Our Queendom is at risk,” she says. “Our land’s resources are not as plentiful as they once were. We must demand more of the Relic class. Those peasants have had it far too easy. We must insist that they double their contributions to the Lore Queendom.”
A murmur blends from the Council as they take in Lady Maxia’s words. I stand and step off the dais, my long shawl dragging behind me. “Are you questioning my leadership?”
Maxia takes a step back. “Your Majesty, I meant no disrespect, but times are difficult. We must adapt or we will suffer as the rest of the world has outside our lands.”
“I know very well the situation of our resources. I have no need for my Council to point out the obvious. What I demand are solutions that do not require taking more from people who already have nothing.”
Fire burns in Maxia’s eyes. “They would not be alive if it wasn’t for our generosity. They owe us their lives, and if the weak cannot live on less, then they should be left to die like the rodents they are.”
“The Queen is right,” Lord Fairden shouts from behind me. “We mustn’t weaken our Relic class. They are the foundation of our society. Without them, we would crumble.”
Lady Maxia pivots toward Fairden. “You were not selected to pander to those less than us. The Essence that flows through you should be disappointed.”
My chest flames with anger as the skin on my forearms tingle. I ball my fists and quickly release a purple discharge of energy, a burst that brightens the entire hall. “Maxia, you will stand down from this discourse or I will have you removed. Nor will you challenge the wisdom of tradition, or my Queendom further.”
My magic dims as I relax, and the warmth on my arms fade. Lady Maxia remains still and silent for a moment before she grits her teeth and steps forward, pausing just inches from me. “You are pathetic. Your rule will end this great Lore dynasty.”
I stand over her and snarl, “You have sealed your fate.”
I turn to signal to the Royal Guards who stand in all corners of the Hall. Before I order them to take her, Maxia shoves her palms at me, flinging me backwards into the base of the stage. My back stings with intense pain from the impact and I cradle the magical burn circulating through my middle. I flip my gaze back her way, anger rapidly boiling inside me.
Maxia’s face pales. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . Please forgive me.”
Her violet magic sparks before it vanishes. Four Guards rush to her. A female Guard jabs her staff into the Lady’s back. Blue light bursts around Maxia and she drops to her knees.
All the air is sucked from the hall in a frozen moment. Then Fairden and Lady Albright jump from the stage and reach under my arms to pull me to my feet. The remaining Council now stand with panic etched across their faces.
I push Fairden and Albright from me and square myself. The tingle of electricity moves through my hands and purple magic ignites. I raise my right hand toward Maxia and grit out from between clenched teeth, “I could kill you now, Maxia.” A collective silence steals all other sound in the hall but the crackle of magic sparking in my palm.
Maxia prostrates herself on the floor. “Your Majesty!” she cries out. “I beg your forgiveness. Please have mercy.”
“Mercy?” I snarl. “You have no mercy! Your heart and mind are darkened by the sickness of power.”
Maxia remains with her face to the ground. “No, Majesty. I was wrong. I only desire to protect the Queendom.”
I exhale a sharp breath. The magic in my hand vanishes as I lower it to my side. “Unlike you, I am merciful, Lady Maxia. But you may not stay here. If protecting the Queendom is so important to you, then you may Guard it from outside of our borders. You are, from this point forward, banished. And you may not return.”
Maxia raises her head, eyes wide. “Banished? How is this merciful? There is nothing but a slow death waiting for me outside of the Queendom’s borders. You know this!”
“Take her! I shout. “My decision is final!”
The Guards ignite their magic before Maxia can call on hers. She slumps to the ground, and they drag her limp body from the hall. The double doors slam behind them, and the sound shocks me into a very different scene.
I suck in shaky breath. My arm s
tings as if fire blazes through it. I glance down and gape at my upper arm. A royal fleur de lis illuminated in gold casts its glows through the fabric of my sleeve.
Maxia studies my arm, a single brow arched. “Now this is interesting…” She brings her gaze to my eyes. “Your Majesty.”
Chapter Sixteen
THE TENT FALLS silent, and I flit my attention to Thea, her eyes wide. Maxia is no longer interested in either Tristan or the Princess, instead stepping toward me. Pebbles crunch under her boots as she approaches. I hold my breath and scoot a few inches from her, but there’s no place to go in this small space.
Maxia reaches for me, and I turn my head from her. Teeth clenched, she yanks me to my feet, gathers my sleeve, and rips it from the seam. The nails of her other hand dig into the flesh of my upper arm around the marking.
A cry escapes my mouth. I glance first at the torn fabric in her hand, and then to my tattoo, which has begun to dull and return to normal.
“This is our new Queen?” Maxia jeers. She studies me from head to toe and back up again. “This thing isn’t Royal.” She tightens her grip on me. Her face now inches from mine, she sneers, “No refinement or grace. A mere peasant!” Spittle flies from her mouth and lands on my cheek.
Maxia releases me with a shove. I nearly lose my balance, but catch myself before stumbling over.
“How is a peasant the Vessel of the Queen?” She rounds on Thea again, whose eyes are still as wide as saucers.
“I would remind you that you’re speaking of our new Queen, Lady Maxia,” Tristan says.
Maxia slowly turns her disgusted gaze toward Tristan. “I would remind you, boy, that you do not have the advantage out here. I do.”
Tristan closes his mouth and tenses his jaw. From the low spark of dying embers in his eyes, I know he wants to do something—but can’t.
Maxia purses her lips together for a moment, as if in thought, then finally speaks. “I’ve heard of this before. The stories are old, but it is said that if the Queen dies an untimely death . . . a murder, that her Essence will immediately seek out a worthy soul to reside within.” She glares at me. “Are you a worthy soul? Or did you murder the Queen?”
“I . . . I . . . I’m nothing!”
“Please, my dear,” Maxia coos. “You don’t need to restate the obvious.” She moves her attention back to Thea. “But why are you not the worthy soul?”
“You are lying,” Thea says, ignoring Maxia’s question. “There are no such old stories. I would have heard them, if there were any to be told.”
“These are not stories you hear in the Queendom. Within its boundaries, most of the histories and stories have been repressed. Much of history has been rewritten to suit the will of the Council. I’ve learned much since I left—”
“Left?” Tristan sneers from the corner. “You were thrown out on your a—”
Maxia wheels around Tristan’s way and a bolt of purple light flies into his chest before he has a chance to finish the insult. He drops to the ground.
“Tristan!” I scream.
Maxia turns to me, her eyes nearly lit with flame. “Don’t you worry about your little lover, girl. I only intend to shut him up for a while. Sometimes it’s best for men’s mouths to be closed until what they have to say is useful to you.”
Lover? My chest tightens, and Asher comes to the forefront of my mind. “He’s not my—”
“Oh, maybe not yet,” Maxia says. “But strong, handsome Guards like that almost always end up in the Queen’s bed––if they play their cards right.”
I slide a hesitant glance toward Thea, who’s clenching and unclenching her fists.
Maxia’s lips curl into a satisfied smile. “Now, what is your name, peasant?”
I whisper, “Bel . . . Arabella of the House of Garin.
Maxia straightens her spine and lowers her shoulders. She peers down her nose at the unconscious Tristan, the looks back to me. “Well, Arabella of the House of Garin, it’s too bad you’ll never actually be Queen. Guards!” she calls.
Almost instantly three burly guards fly through the tent’s opening, coming to stand at attention in front of Maxia.
“Take the Princess and Guard from here. Keep their magic bound.” She eyes Thea. “Watch her closely.”
Thea opens her mouth to protest.
“I would watch your tongue if you want to live, girl,” Maxia snarls. “I may still have a use for you, but don’t make me change my mind.”
The Princess slowly closes her mouth and glances at me just as one guard forces her toward the exit. The other two gather Tristan’s limp body and drag him behind Thea.
When they leave, Maxia returns her attention to me. She gestures to two chairs sitting near the wall of the tent and sits on the closest one. I stay standing. “Please, have a seat,” she says.
I slowly lower myself into the indicated chair, my hands shaking behind my back.
“So . . .” Maxia begins in low tones, “now that they are gone, tell me how you ended up with the Queen’s mark. And don’t leave anything out. I will know if you are lying.”
I have no clue if Maxia can tell if I’m lying or not, but I also have no reason to lie to her. I did nothing wrong. Maybe she does still have a heart, and if I’m truthful . . .
I admit my story, from the day of the Transfer of Life Ceremony until now.
“And you have seen the visions of the Queen’s past?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Then, however it came to be, you are the lawful Queen of Lore.”
Hope springs in my heart. I don’t want to be the Queen, but at least if she believes me, maybe she won’t kill me. “You believe me?”
“Oh yes, and it is excellent news.”
“It is?”
Maxia doesn’t answer. Instead, she reaches into the collar of her shirt and pulls out a miniature golden Talisman attached to a chain. The pendant appears nearly identical to the ornate version used in the Transfer Ceremony, but a quarter of the size.
Fairden’s words from the conclave echo in my mind. If the Essence is removed before the Transfer is complete, I will not survive the process. My heart races.
“Wait, what are you doing? You can’t—”
Maxia leans in close, cutting me off. “Oh, I can do whatever I want. You are not my Queen. You banished me, don’t you remember?”
I swallow deeply. “That wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with that decision.”
Maxia angles her head to the side as a smug grin fills her face. “You have the Queen’s Essence. Arabella is no more. All that remains is this shell—the Queen of Lore. But, lucky for you, I will change this.”
“Please, you can’t. Removing her Essence will kill me.”
“Living as a false Queen when you’re really just a simple peasant girl would be a far worse fate to endure. The Queendom needs a true ruler, and she is simply not you.”
Maxia places her hand over the glimmering Talisman as a soft glow emanates from her palm. The jewel radiates a warm, golden light. With her eyes closed, she raises her head up.
“It took me years to craft this replica. I only hope it works as intended. If not, this could be much worse for you than the premature Transfer process.”
I yank on my restraints, but they don’t budge, and only cut into my skin. “Please. Please, there has to be another way. I never wanted a Transfer.”
I try to stand, but a burning wave of pain flames through my entire body, locking me in place. A scream escapes through my gritted teeth.
No, it hurts so bad. The burning. The burning.
Asher’s perfect face pops up before my mind. I’d give anything to clasp his strong, calloused hands right now. I hold onto the thought of him for as long as I can. But as each second passes, it only gets worse. My chest feels hollow, tearing at any bit of air that remains in my lungs.
I’m going to die.
Just when I think I might pass out, the pain is ripped from me, and I gasp for air. I’m drawn back to the
current moment—somehow still alive. Blinking over and over, I fight to regain focus when a burst of light illuminates the side of the tent. Maxia’s no longer paying attention to me. Her interest is pulled to whatever’s happening out in the camp. The magic is gone, and the makeshift Talisman no longer glows.
“No, no, no . . .” Maxia groans. “I don’t have time for this.”
Jarin barges into the tent, and the breeze from the flap flying open cools the sweat that’s formed on my forehead. He pants for air before standing at attention. “My Lady, the Royal Guards have breached the camp. We must get you to safety.”
“I need more time,” Maxia barks, glancing at me. “Bring her to my transport carriage while I deal with these pathetic guards.”
Maxia storms to her feet, knocking her chair over in the process, and marches out of the tent. Jarin approaches me, a smug expression on his deformed face. I stiffen, but the interrupted Transfer process has robbed me of energy. He grabs my arm and practically drags me toward the flap of the tent.
Jarin halts right before the opening. “The Lady wants you alive. Doesn’t mean I can’t beat you within an inch of your life, though, so behave.”
I avoid his eyes. Does he know what I am? Maxia never mentioned it, and she just learned herself. I don’t care what he threatens. I need to get out of here—now.
Jarin peeks out the tent flap and I ready myself, mustering every ounce of strength I can find. Lifting my leg, I drive my boot into the back of his knee. He buckles and drops to one leg, still clutching my arm. Without skipping a beat, he swings his free arm at my midsection. The heavy blow rattles my body and sends me toppling over hard onto the ground.
I can’t breathe.
My eyes close from the pain. I try to suck in air, but I can’t. Not even a tiny breath.
“Stupid girl. Time to teach you privileged scum a lesson.”
I force my eyes open and suck in small wisps of air into my tightened lungs. Jarin stands over me now, fists clenched. Before I can catch my breath, he kicks his foot into my gut, forcing the remaining air from my body. I grit my teeth as he pounds me over and over, each kick worse than the last.
Crown of Lore (Betrayal of Magic Book 1) Page 12