[2018] Reign of Queens

by Melissa Wright

  “We should stop for breakfast,” Chevelle said.

  We hadn’t been riding long, but it wasn’t a suggestion. I didn’t mind; I’d eaten mostly berries for days and I wasn’t quite sure about riding yet.

  “I suppose you’re right. Might as well enjoy the journey,” Steed said, throwing me a private grin.

  We stopped under the canopy of a red oak and Steed grabbed me as I slid awkwardly from the horse. “You may ask him to kneel, Elfreda.” Not that he appeared to mind handling me about the waist to help me down.

  Looking up at him, I pushed the hair away from my face. “Yes, well, I guess I should start practicing.”

  Heat brushed my skin as the fire Chevelle was building flared. It returned to its proper size and Chevelle commanded, “Sit, Elfreda.”

  Steed followed as I walked to a fallen limb by the fire and settled atop the widest part, drawing my legs up from the ground. He sat as well, apparently not concerned about who was finding us breakfast.

  Irritation rolled off Chevelle as he ran into the thick line of trees that bordered the clearing. In only a moment he was back, carrying three large, white birds.

  “Where is your bow?” I asked.

  Steed’s laugh was loud. “She’s a hoot!”

  Chevelle looked as though he could be in danger of losing his temper. I didn’t get the joke.

  “You’re serious?” Steed said, humor vanished as he gaped at Chevelle. “What, she’s a bright lighter?”

  Chevelle was across the gap and in his face almost before Steed could stand. I jerked back in response, but a screeching siren pierced my ears and I doubled over, covering them. It was inside, a screaming, terrible howl coming from my ears.

  I tried to force my eyes open, hoping someone would help me, but they were just standing there, chest to chest, arguing. Did they not see me? I ached to scream for help, but couldn’t get a sound out, couldn’t breathe. They leaned toward each other, oblivious to anything else. My eyes closed as I curled into a ball. The seconds dragged on and I began to wonder if I would die.

  And then it stopped.

  I sucked in a ragged breath, then another. I seemed fine, maybe a little dizzy, but otherwise it was gone. Unclenching my body, I looked around, expecting someone to be leaning over me, attempting to help. But nothing appeared out of place. I pushed up on shaky limbs. Chevelle was by the fire, preparing to roast the birds. Steed stood beside his horse, adjusting the saddle’s straps. Both had their backs turned to me as if they’d not even noticed.

  A wave of vertigo hit when I tried to speak and I fell back against the tree limb to steady myself. It seemed only a moment, but when my eyes opened again the scene had changed.

  Steed reclined beside me, elbow resting on a bent knee as he lazily wound a feather in his hand. Chevelle was across the fire. He looked up at me through his lashes, past his furrowed brow, and then brought me a piece of meat. It was cold.

  I sat stunned. Had they nothing to say? Had they actually not known? I wanted to scream, but the words wouldn’t come. I was too drained. And I was scared. I didn’t know what had happened, what was wrong with me, but I was certain whatever it was, Chevelle would take me straight back to the village.

  We stayed there for some time, a fact for which I was grateful. Even though whatever had happened seemed to have passed, neither man seemed in a hurry to go. Chevelle glanced at me occasionally but kept himself busy around the fire.

  Steed still played with his feather, eventually entertaining me with it. It spun toward me and turned down, tickling my arm and then my nose. I giggled despite my wariness, and reached up to rub my nose where the plume had brushed it. I noticed the map on my palms. “What about spells?”

  He eyed my hands. “Been working spells?”

  “Not on purpose.”

  He smiled. “Yes, spells can be dangerous.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, “but why do you need words for spells and not magic?”

  “A spell can be left, set with a trigger, or larger than your magic. They are complicated and wicked things. And the ancient language is… tricky. Definitely something you should stay away from. Years of learning and practice and you can still wreck a spell pretty good.”

  I thought about that for a moment. Steed jumped up. He held out a hand to me. “What do you say we water the horses?”

  I didn’t have to ask my horse to kneel; Steed just grabbed my waist and threw me up. He was mounted before I had settled into the saddle and our horses took off, galloping north in synchronization. I looked back for Chevelle. He was leaning forward, legs nearly straight in the stirrups as his stallion raced to catch us.

  We were covering distance so quickly I could barely take in the new surroundings. It wasn’t long before we came up on a wide creek. I assumed Steed had control of my horse; I was simply concentrating on staying in the saddle as we ran beside him. The horses edged closer to the creek, splashing along the muddy bank and then the shallows of the water. Silt and cold water sprayed my face as we ran. I wondered if this was what it felt like to fly like the fairies. We followed the creek until it turned west and we kept north, slowing to a walk. I tried to catch my breath. Steed was watching me, smiling appreciatively, and I realized I was wearing a huge grin. And about three pounds of mud.

  The slower pace gave me time to take everything in. The ground had leveled off again, clearing to open meadows of low grass and a few scattered trees. Large gray rocks dotted the landscape. There was a haziness on the horizon but as we rode it began to clear, revealing a mammoth lake ahead. It was a hundred times bigger than the tiny forest ponds I was used to, as smooth as glass. Behind it the haze thinned just enough I could see the outline of mountains.

  The image was like a punch in the chest. Chevelle rode up beside us. “The hills of Camber.”

  I looked at him, my watcher, and thought his features were peaceful for the first time. Junnie had said he was from the North, and I wondered if this was his home. Maybe that was why he’d truly brought me here, a much-needed vacation from the duties of council, the task of being a watcher. They’d never know, as long as he got me back soon.

  When we reached the lake, the horses stopped and in the quiet shadow of this dreamlike encounter, I forgot I was riding. The mountains and lake were almost too much to take in; none of it seemed real. This time, Chevelle was next to me before Steed had the chance. As my horse knelt, he held out his hand and I stepped down beside him. The three stallions followed Steed to a nearby tree where he fed them small green-skinned apples from its branches.

  I glanced back to Chevelle. He was watching me. I wanted to ask if this was where he was from, but was afraid to set off any conversation that might end with me being hauled back to council that much quicker.

  I looked again out over the lake to the mountains. If I was incarcerated for a thousand years in the village, I would want this memory. I breathed deep; the air was cool, moist, and smelled so unlike the harsh floral scents that saturated every part of the village. I could sense the deep green moss covering the rocks at my feet, the fir trees that edged the east bank. Even the soil smelled richer. My eyes were closed as I took it in, and a soft touch brushed my cheek. Chevelle.

  I opened my eyes and realized he had swept debris from my face. I wiped a hand across my forehead and dried mud crumbled away. I looked down; it was caked on the fabric of my pants and splattered nearly everywhere.

  Moving to the edge of the bank to walk in, clothes and all, I waded out until I was waist deep and then relaxed, falling back and gliding under the dark water before it lifted me to float at the surface. The water covered my ears, lapping at my mouth and chin, and I stared upward, marveling at the size of the mountains as they seemed to dissolve into the blue haze of the sky. I wondered if it would ever seem real.

  Eventually, I made my way back, wrapping my arms around myself to control the shivers. I was surprised and more than a little grateful to find a shelter had already been set up for me. The idea of being drenched
hadn’t mattered until the cool air cut across the lake. Chevelle nodded toward the hut as he prepared a fire, and I found my pack on a bed of birch branches, along with a pile of dry clothes.

  As I tugged off my soaked pants to exchange them for the new ones, I wondered if Chevelle had brought both sets or if they’d been packed by Junnie in that small, strange village. I couldn’t fathom why I hadn’t considered he’d so easily be able to follow me when I’d run from there, how I’d been oblivious to the dangers of being caught.

  The shirt was fitted to my shape but of a heavier fabric, and a pair of boots was at the bottom of the stack; it must be much colder in the mountains. It reminded me of stepping out of the cold wet gown on the bank of the creek, finding the scroll, the map. Chevelle’s words echoed in my mind. I’m sorry, Freya. I let you down at the creek. I was distracted… should have been paying closer attention… should have prevented this… too late now.

  The smell of cooked meat cut through my thoughts. I ran a hand through my wet hair and walked out to the fire. The scene wasn’t any less impressive this time, and I sat on one of the large, flat rocks facing the lake. Chevelle brought me a plate of food, settling in beside me. There were berries and roots, and a rich, savory meat that dripped onto my hands as I tore into it. It was a feast compared to what I’d been eating. And even though he was my watcher, my captor, I had to admit I felt less alone with Chevelle there.

  Steed pulled his own ration from the spit and sat on my other side as we all watched the surface of the lake. And beyond it, mountains.

  The mountains at dawn were so much more intimidating and I was hesitant to leave our camp. Everything had begun to seem real. I tried to distract myself as we rode east around the lake, attempting to name the species of plants as Junnie might have made me, but there were so many I had never seen that it started to remind me of the difference rather than distract me from it. So I bantered with Steed regarding horses and imps and everything I could come up with to keep him talking. Chevelle rode quietly behind us, scanning our surroundings. I wasn’t sure if he was enjoying the scenery or playing lookout.

  We rode a few days into the base of the mountains. We had stopped to camp when, over dinner, Steed announced he would be leaving us the next morning, heading east. His easy humor had become a comfort to me during the long days, our quiet evenings a pattern I knew I would miss. The disappointment must have shown on my face.

  He reached a hand up and brushed my hair behind an ear. “Don’t worry, sunshine, I will see you again.”

  I smiled a little and he winked at me. Chevelle stiffened at my side as he often did when Steed touched me so casually, and I couldn’t help but think of being alone with him after tonight. My stomach tightened and suddenly in comparison the mountains didn’t seem like such a big deal.

  The next morning Steed said goodbye privately to Chevelle and then came to where I stood with the horses, stroking one’s neck. “You’ll remember me, butterfly?”

  I smiled in return. “Always.”

  “Yes, well, at least as long as he’s yours.” He patted the horse.

  “Mine?”

  He smiled and swung onto his horse, nodding farewell as he spun and galloped east.

  My horse knelt and Chevelle offered his hand to help me get seated. My grin widened as he mounted his horse and he looked back at me questioningly.

  “I’ll name him Steed,” I announced proudly. Chevelle pressed his eyes closed, shaking his head as I patted the horse’s neck once more.

  Mountains

  We rode through the morning hours. Chevelle seemed content not to talk, but I was wound up in anguish, trying to decide whether I was brave enough to ask him questions. I had no idea how much he would put up with before he called it all off and hauled me back to the village for sentencing.

  Our path became more defined, pushing us through trees and between rocks, trailing upward so minutely I didn’t even realize until I glanced back and saw the base of the mountains beneath us. I appraised the narrow path ahead, snaking high through a vast rock-strewn mountain, and turning back didn’t seem so bad after all. Fists clenched, I pushed out the question I’d been most concerned about asking. I was so tied up, it twisted into an accusation. “Watcher.”

  My skin flushed hot when the word came out harsh. Regardless of how he’d treated me, Chevelle was still a member of Council. He spun on me, but I could not place the expression on his face.

  Panicked, I tried to recover. “You’re my watcher.” It still sounded angry, so I added, “Why?”

  He hesitated. “Frey…” His voice was gentle and he seemed to be searching for a way to answer. He must have decided I had no right to anger, because his face turned hard, his tone formal. “The council was concerned after you tried to choke Evelyn of Rothegarr.”

  I drew a sharp breath. “What are you talking about?” It caught me off guard; I was more than offended. Does he really think I choked Evelyn? I bit down against my words, remembering the trouble I was already in with Council. But that brought on an image of the speaker’s discolored face as he struggled for air, the blackened thistle in the back room at Junnie’s. Evelyn’s expression as she ran from the garden was accusing, and it suddenly seemed right.

  I swayed, my vision losing focus. I didn’t even realize I was falling until Chevelle’s arms were around me; he was quick, catching me before the rocks did.

  He was kneeling, cradling me in one arm as my back rested against his leg. “I’m sorry, Freya. I thought… how could you not know?”

  Humiliation flooded through me. He was right, and not only had I wished her to choke, I had been too much a fool to see I had caused it, just as I had caused the speaker to choke. I squeezed my eyes closed tight in misery, rolling away from him to curl onto a rock. He let me, stepping away to unsaddle the horses and settle onto a seat of his own. We were both still until nightfall, when he retrieved a blanket from the pack and laid it over me. I didn’t thank him, fearing what would come out if I spoke.

  The next morning was quiet as Chevelle saddled our horses. I had plenty to think of besides the questions that had seemed so important the previous day.

  I’d been convicted of practicing dark magic. I had thought it was a mistake.

  The images rolled through my mind as we continued up the mountain. The lifeless body of a small gray bird. A garden of weeds with roots as black as soot. The faces of council as their speaker struggled to breathe. A thistle growing in Evelyn’s throat, slowly choking off her airway. Chevelle’s face when he had asked who had showed me to fuse the crystal with blood. His expression as he’d looked down at me the night before. How could you not know?

  That image haunted me the most. It seemed familiar somehow. He’d let his guard down, and though strained with worry and fear, there was something else there, sadness or maybe just plain sympathy.

  “This is a good place to stop for the night,” Chevelle said, breaking my trance. I’d barely noticed the day pass. A glance at the path behind us showed the lake far in the distance below. It shook me from my stupor.

  I climbed down from my horse to stretch my legs over the trunk of a fallen tree, facing the mountain top instead of the view below, some part of me unable to accept the distance and height we had traveled. Chevelle led the horses to a thickset tree, its limbs stretching low and wide above the rocks. His hand spun to form a trough from the bark and tinder scattered beneath, the horses drinking as he used the same method to gather grasses from the sparse patches on the incline.

  Movement up the mountain caught my eye and I looked to Chevelle in alarm. Though he appeared calm, he was staring in the same direction. A dark cloaked figure advanced in the dusk, the full cape covering every part of its owner, drawn hood shielding their face.

  Chevelle nodded in greeting as I scanned the area for others who might approach. The stranger seemed alone, and reached Chevelle first, since he stood nearer to the horses than me.

  The newcomer whispered to him, and Chevelle’s ey
es flicked my direction more than once. Curiosity burned through me. And then a delicate hand reached out to pass Chevelle a package. Her fingers lingered against his during the exchange and my chest felt like it was blistering inside. They were whispering about me. My watcher. This woman. Chevelle’s gaze brushed mine once more and I hungered to hear what they were saying. I was fixated on it, my mind spinning, convinced that if I were as invisible as everyone thought, if they truly couldn’t see me, at least I could get closer and finally know.

  As I shook my head at the idea, my eyes fell downward. A small scream escaped. My arms were covered in tree bark, blending seamlessly with the stump on which I sat. I bolted upright, batting at them as if my shirt were on fire. Chevelle and the cloaked woman ran toward me and I looked up in panic. When my eyes fell again to my arms, they were normal. Had I imagined it? Was I losing my mind?

  My head came up once more, and the woman gasped. It was Junnie. Her cloak had fallen, her golden curls a welcome sight.

  Relief flooded me. “Junnie!”

  “Freya,” she murmured, reaching out to stroke a strand of my black hair.

  The shock of seeing her disappeared at the reminder. “Are you here for council? To collect me?” My voice was colored with the shame of being a criminal. Bird-killer. Elf-strangler.

  Surprised, she glanced at Chevelle and then back to me, forcing a smile. “Are you all right, Frey?”

  I stood there baffled, and then remembered screaming. I cleared my throat. “I was covered in bark.”

  Her eyebrows turned up as she looked again at Chevelle, who was mirroring her concerned expression. “Maybe it’s time to allow her a few small lessons.”