[2018] Reign of Queens

by Melissa Wright

  It was quiet, harder to fight the thoughts that were trying to creep in. I began to run songs through my head for distraction, mangling the lyrics and humming through the parts I couldn’t remember at all. My fingers tapped soundlessly into the dirt, until a flicker of movement just outside stopped me. I held my breath for what I was sure was impending, and painful, death, and saw it again.

  I released the breath, which was not, in fact, my last. A soft white rabbit loped in front of the bushes I’d posted for a doorway. My stomach was interested, but I’d never prepared meat. I’d only ever gathered berries and vegetables that someone else had grown. I didn’t have the first idea how to make a bow, let alone shoot one, and I’d never killed anything. Except plants. And a bird. But I had no idea if an animal killed by magic was edible. I thought of the thistle, its black roots, how it had turned to ash. The rabbit sniffed at the air in my direction and continued on its way, answering the matter for me.

  I was sitting in a hole, utterly alone, and it was beginning to get dark. Night bugs chittered, their high-pitched keens rising with the loss of light. I lit a thin flame to practice fire magic, leaning forward as I danced it back and forth above the ground. My control had progressed a good deal since my training had begun; it seemed almost easy to navigate a small flame. I smoothed it out into a line and traced arcs and then more intricate designs. The designs started to resemble portraits and I had to concentrate hard to keep from seeing them, so I focused on landscapes, but those grew from tiny village houses and trees to rolling hills and curving creeks. Before long, the hills rose to mountains that melted into unidentifiable monsters. I snuffed the flame with a wave and the den was black with night.

  Eventually, the clouds broke and the soft glow of moonlight filtered in through the opening. I leaned onto an elbow to examine the glistening patches of light on the skin of my outstretched hand, twisting it from day to night, pale to dark. Weary and trancelike, I lowered my head, tucking my arm back as a pillow, and fell into a deep sleep.

  Steed

  The early morning sun streaked through every break in the makeshift door, lighting the entirety of the hollow. I considered covering my head with that damp dress and sleeping the rest of the day, but my stomach ached for food and Chevelle might not be far behind. I crawled out, rubbing and squinting my eyes, and was able to locate a few roots and greens. It would have to be enough to tide me over until I could figure out a way to hunt.

  After knocking the brush away from my shelter, I slung the pack over my shoulder and trudged north once more. There was an abundance of streams running through the hills, and a few patches of fat, amethyst berries along the way, so I couldn’t complain. And the route was undemanding; the ground was smooth, nothing too overgrown to make passage difficult, none of those nasty snarls that could form from a maze of thorn trees or the network of vines that could tangle your legs. The grass was tall, but soft, so it rolled over, hiding no more than the occasional field mouse or vole. Sporadic wildflowers dotted the hills, small sprays of pinks or spiky yellowbird. The sky was cloudless and blue, the sun a constant companion as I carried on through the days and hills.

  Each new day was something unexpected, and the trip became less daunting than it might have otherwise been. I was moving every moment of light, and so exhaustion pulled me into sleep every moment of darkness. I concentrated on each step, breathing in the new scents, counting trees, anything I could to keep myself on task and the past out of mind.

  I was counting fallen catclaw seeds when I crested another hill and spotted a bridge in the valley. I hesitated, slowly making my way down. A bridge might mean a village was nearby, and a village meant elves. I didn’t want to get caught, not after all this, so I was fully prepared to run by the time I reached the crossing. Its stacked gray stones were bulkier than those that had been appearing more frequently on my path. Water flowed beneath, smoothing the stones at the base. They were so worn, it must have been in place for centuries.

  The leather soles of my shoes skimmed over ancient stone, the bridge curving gently before flattening out into a worn dirt path on the other side. It was more traveled than I would have liked, so I swung wide, through the trees instead. The wind shifted and the scent of roasting meat assaulted me, dragging my attention, my feet, its way. Despite my concerns about other elves, my stomach tightened, my mouth watering as I followed it through the trees.

  They broke into a small clearing, and there in the center stood a cloaked figure, kneeling down as he turned a meat-covered spit. Pressed tight behind an oak tree, I shuffled sideways to get a better view. I was sure it was an elf, male, from his size. The smell of real food was consuming, and I was watching the cooked meat roll over the flame as I moved again. A dry leaf crushed beneath my foot.

  “Come then, there’s plenty for both of us,” the figure called.

  I cursed. Caught, I walked cautiously out of the trees. He turned, tossing the cloak aside as he propped one leg onto a rock. I had the strangest notion he was posing. He scrutinized me, and I resisted the urge to straighten my hair and brush the dirt from my clothes.

  “Don’t be shy.” The stranger beckoned, gesturing to an upturned log beside the fire. The meat sizzled and popped as I crossed to him and sat obediently. It was too late to hide; I might as well at least have something decent to eat.

  Its smell was unfamiliar, but I didn’t care. It smelled like food. He reached down and tore a hunk from the spit, tossing it to me with a wink. When I blushed, he smiled a wicked smile. My mouth went dry. He was tall and broad with dark hair and eyes. Like Chevelle. Handsome too, I supposed, though I could tell even from these few gestures he was a bit cocky. He reminded me of Evelyn, always so proud of herself for finding me out.

  The stranger watched me as I ate. When I devoured the first piece, he laughed and threw me another. I hoped I looked appropriately abashed. As I finished the second serving, he stepped closer to sit on the misshapen rock that rose through the earth beside me. He held his hand wide and a canteen flew up from a pile of things on the other side of the fire. He passed it to me, and I tilted it back, expecting cool water. I almost choked when warm wine hit my throat. He leaned forward to get a better look at me as I lowered the container.

  He looked as if he thought I might spook, otherwise I guessed he had plenty to say hidden beneath that smirk. It didn’t stop him from moving uncomfortably close, though, or eyeing me with what I was certain was the same look I’d just given my meal. I cleared my throat, thinking I’d made my sense of discomfort clear when he started to move, but he only stood, which brought him even closer. Well, parts of him.

  I turned toward the fire, tugging the pack tight against my shoulder as I prepared for a graceful exit. For departure from food and warmth.

  I jumped a little when the first tree uprooted across the clearing. It was only a sapling, but the second and third tree followed.

  “You look like you’ll need shelter, sunshine,” he explained.

  I stared in disbelief as the trees split to form a low lean-to. He shot me another wink; I couldn’t be sure he was kidding. The tearing and popping noises ceased, and I examined his creation. Quite impressive really. He didn’t even seem to be watching, let alone concentrating. And no blessings on it, no thanks to Mother Earth. It seemed he was just enjoying himself, not being responsible to the magic.

  Magic that I needed. That I wanted. He was good enough, there was no question of that. He’d definitely be able to teach me. I started to ask, but fell short. I had no idea who this was and I probably shouldn’t let on who I was.

  He noticed my open mouth, blank expression, and sat again, eyeing me questioningly, all humor gone.

  “You seem to be really good at magic,” I offered.

  He chuckled. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, well, I… I need to learn.”

  “Learn?” The humor was gone again. “What do you mean learn?”

  “I’ve never, well, except for fire, and I need someone to teach me…
and you’re…” I waved a hand in his direction.

  His brow rose. “I don’t understand,” he said, clearly concerned about my mental state. Maybe I was a few nuts short of a bushel.

  “I’ve lost my mentor. Can you teach me magic? Help me, so I don’t do something out of order, hurt myself?”

  His eyebrows drew down, coming together as he began his reply, but a fallen branch cracked at the edge of the clearing and his head snapped toward it. I sucked in a harsh breath as Chevelle strode toward us. The elf who had been sitting with me was now in a fiercely protective stance in front of me. I leaned around him to see, placing my hand on his leg as I angled my head past it. That broke his stare and he glanced down at me.

  I watched Chevelle, still walking casually toward us, as if there weren’t two angry panthers preparing to pounce on him. But I must have appeared about as threatening as a kitten, because the leg I was gripping shook with laughter. My angry gaze turned on my new acquaintance and he raised his hands in surrender, still chuckling.

  “I take it you know him?” he asked.

  “He’s following me,” I announced, too loud.

  His eyes were concerned, so I let down my guard, moving to stand behind him. Chevelle approached us, staring directly at me as if there were not the broad, tall form of the stranger between us. He let me see his irritation for one long moment before his features melted back into their standard sternness. For some reason, it infuriated me, and I nearly berated him right there. But I remembered I was on the run. I remembered this strange elf in front of me. I decided to keep my mouth shut before I dug a deeper hole.

  An arm wrapped around my shoulder and drew me forward. “Introduce us, buttercup.” I grimaced. My companion was certainly enjoying himself.

  Chevelle held his hand out in a formal greeting. “Chevelle Vattier.”

  “Vattier, eh?” I thought I heard the stranger mutter under his breath, “Well, you can call me Bonnie Bell.” Chevelle waited unmoved for his response. He finally held his hand out in return. “Steed. Steed Summit.”

  They shot me a glare as my giggle slipped out.

  Steed stared at me. He especially didn’t seem to think it was funny. “Our lineage is long and we breed the best stallions in the land.”

  Chevelle spoke up. “Yes, I have heard much regarding the lines of Free Runner and Grand Spirit. Tell me, is that what brings you out this far?”

  They carried on the exchange and Chevelle explained we’d be needing horses. I sat back down, defeated. This was it. He was here to drag me back to the village. For my sentence by council. I listened as plans were made for a trade, Steed agreeing to bring in the herd so Chevelle would be able to choose in the morning. They kept talking, settling into conversation. Steed offered Chevelle what was left of the roast and they sat, Chevelle beside me and Steed across from us.

  I picked up the canteen and choked down more wine.

  The evening carried on and though the conversation still held a formal tone, neither man talking of anything personal, they seemed to be getting along. I faded in and out of the various discussions, listening occasionally but never talking. Steed seemed very aware of me, watching me in a way no one ever had. It must have been obvious, because when he excused himself to check the herd, Chevelle studied me, sliding a strand of my now-black hair through his fingers. “It suits you.”

  It was a familiar gesture and it should have made me flinch. Maybe it was the wine, but as I looked at him, my anger was fading. The way he’d reacted when Fannie had struck me, the caress against my cheek, those were not the actions of a council elder. As we sat so near, it was hard to believe the concern wasn’t real. His eyes burned with intensity; they seemed even darker now. Dark… like mine.

  I looked away.

  Steed broke in through the trees, gesturing toward the direction he’d come from. “They aren’t far. Ready and able for a morning adventure.” As he approached, he glanced at me and then Chevelle, still close beside me. “We can get an early start.” He lifted a pack from beside the fire and said, “Bluebell?”

  I stood, following this stranger without question, not missing the irritation on Chevelle’s face. He unclasped the pack to roll the blankets out with a flip, smiling and nodding good evening before stepping away from my hastily constructed hut. I unlaced my vest and threw it down, kicked off my shoes and fell into the blankets, stretching happily to finally have something like an actual bed. The conversation outside quieted and I slipped off to sleep, trying not to think about my capture and coming return to the village.

  “Freya.”

  A low voice broke into my dreams of gently rolling hills and soft gray stone. I peered through slitted eyes to see Chevelle standing outside the entrance, back to me as he watched a dull red horizon. I sat up, lacing the vest over the thin material of my blouse, and slid on my shoes to join him.

  “It’s dawn,” I complained.

  “And good morning, sunshine,” Steed called from atop a large, black stallion. The beast’s nostrils flared, breath steaming in the cool morning air. Two more of the animals pawed in the distance behind him. Steed chirped a whistle and they walked forward, the slim, muscular one moving to stand beside Chevelle as a mammoth crossed in front of me and knelt. I drew in a startled breath at the sheer size and nearness of it.

  Steed shot me a mischievous wink. “Well?”

  I was speechless, mouth agape. The thing seemed as large and black as a starless night. Steed was pleased with my reaction, but Chevelle’s eyes rolled heavenward. He didn’t comment, though, simply holding out a hand to help me mount before swinging onto his own.

  “I will ride with you as far north as Naraguah and then make my way east to trade with the imps at Bray,” Steed told Chevelle.

  I swung a shocked look at my watcher, who simply nodded. Steed saw my confusion and gave a disapproving glance in Chevelle’s direction. He sat straighter, leaving me alone with Chevelle as rider and horse shot past us, a long black tail whipping in their wake.

  I stared at Chevelle. “North?”

  He looked back at me, his calm a contradiction to the thundering beat of my heart.

  “You aren’t taking me back? You are going… we are going north?”

  “I’m sorry, Freya,” he said. “I let you down at the creek.” His gaze fell to my hands, which closed instinctively into fists, protecting the newly-scarred palms. “I was distracted. I should have been paying closer attention. I should have prevented this.” Regret was thick in his voice. I could only stare at him, mystified. He explained, “It’s too late now. You’ll never rest until you’ve followed the map.”

  He was wrong; I’d forgotten my plans, surrendered to my captor. I had thought it was over.

  “Yes,” I answered boldly, the word echoing with the thrum of my pulse. It made no sense, but I didn’t take the time to think it through, didn’t give him a chance to change his mind. I smiled, kicking my heels hard into the horse’s sides.

  The animal jolted forward. I gripped the saddle with all my might as its hooves cut the earth. I’d never ridden a horse. There weren’t any near the village and I’d only ever seen one from the occasional visitor. This beast was huge and I could feel his power as the ground rushed beneath us. We were gaining on Steed as I glanced over my shoulder to find Chevelle, his horse running, but not with the same determination as mine. Wind whipped my hair as we caught Steed, who gave me a wide smile and edged beside us.

  “Enjoying the beast?”

  I smiled in return, but as the horse kept up speed, we started to pass him, and I realized I didn’t know how to slow down. I didn’t know how to stop. For nuts’ sake, I didn’t know how to ride. My head jerked back to find Steed, the exhilaration replaced by fear.

  Recognizing my panic, he let out a short, sharp whistle and the horse slowed at once, falling in beside his. Our legs almost touched as the animals loped in tandem. “Never ridden?”

  “No.” My voice was shaky, along with my hands and legs.

>   “We only train them with commands for the imps. Just use your magic.”

  I tamped down an image of the horse bursting into flames. “I haven’t learned animal magic.”

  His lip pursed, one brow dropping low, the same strange look he’d given the first time I’d mentioned learning magic. “Just feel it, Elfreda.” I ignored the slight annoyance that Chevelle must have told him my full name.

  “I don’t understand,” I told him.

  “You don’t learn magic,” Steed said. “It’s a part of you. Feel it. Think about what you want the horse to do.” My confusion must have still been evident. He shook his head. “It’s like a muscle. You didn’t think about lifting your leg to get on the horse, you just knew you wanted to climb on and your leg lifted.”

  Chevelle caught us then, riding up and cutting off Steed’s explanation with a clipped, “This isn’t the time for a magic lesson.”

  All three horses slowed to a walk as Chevelle shot Steed a glance. I could only think of our lessons, of the fire in the clearing. It had been so obvious once Chevelle had urged me to control a stronger flame, I guessed because I had been using the power in small doses for so long. “What about your hands?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” Steed said, ignoring Chevelle’s warning glance.

  “Why do you use your hands, if you just think it, I mean?”

  He laughed. “That’s simply a quirk, I guess. Habit. Like when you’re playing flip ball and you want your piece to go in so bad you lean hard to ‘help’ it.”

  I remembered the game from when I’d first come to the village. The children would be bound from magic and have to throw an odd-shaped piece into the corresponding hole on a game board across from them. They would lean forward after they threw, sometimes bouncing and chanting, “Come on, come on,” twisting like somehow wishing would make the ball respond. The game had held no interest for me. I didn’t have to be bound to not have magic. It wasn’t a novelty, it was everyday life.