Nameless Queen

by Rebecca McLaughlin

  I clear my throat and sit, trying to sense their auras. Sometimes an aura jumps out at me like an unpleasant smell or a bright light, but most of the time I have to reach for it. It doesn’t take my newfound ability to sense their displeasure. Only one person is excited to be here: a man with scruffy white hair and a beard that thins to a point at his chest. I recognize one face aside from Glenquartz’s: Esther Merelda Fallow sits at the far end of the table.

  Esther is annoyed, her arms tight at her side as she sits with perfect posture.

  Beside me, Glenquartz radiates calm energy. While I’m patient from the waist upward, my legs jitter, and I pick at my cuticles beneath the table. This could be the place—the very moment—where they decide I’m unfit to be queen.

  A woman stands up, collecting everyone’s attention. She’s on edge, her aura as sharp as the decorative sword beneath her Royal Guard uniform, which bears crisp white-and-black decorations on the sleeves and lapel. She clearly outranks Glenquartz. She’s the general of the entire Royal Guard. What did Glenquartz say the general’s name was? Demure. She seems anything but.

  “Good afternoon,” General Demure begins. “Today we gather to discuss our impossible heir, who I am pleased to see has joined us.”

  Saying that I’ve joined them is a bit of a stretch. There may not be handcuffs on my wrists, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a prisoner. And it doesn’t escape my notice that she says “our heir” instead of “the heir,” as if she’s claiming me as property, which, since I’m Nameless, might be how she truly thinks of me.

  In my head I hear what Hat would say: They aren’t claiming you; they’re including you.

  The Royal who is wearing a silver-plated pocket watch and sitting on the other side of Glenquartz speaks up. “Come now, I refuse to accept she is Nameless.”

  Right to business, then. I figured they’d spend a few minutes being official and introducing themselves. But as a woman speaks up next, I realize that these people are all about getting to the heart of the matter.

  “She must not be Nameless if the late King Fallow named her the heir,” the woman says. She wears a purple-and-gold bow in her hair that is encrusted with small amethysts. The bow matches her amethyst and quartz jewelry. Overall, she’s mostly purple.

  The Silver Watch Royal scoffs. “If she doesn’t know her own name, she is as good as Nameless.”

  The Amethyst Royal counters, “Being Nameless and not knowing one’s name are two different things.”

  “Is it?” General Demure says.

  “She could be an impostor,” Silver Watch says.

  Amethyst Woman shakes her head firmly. “The test performed by Esther was conclusive. The only question is whether her loyalties belong with Seriden or with the Nameless.”

  An older woman decked in pearls speaks for the first time. Her voice is quiet and smooth but with an edge, like a glass feather. “My family hasn’t seen the throne in seventy years, and I will not tolerate some worthless street sleeper taking power. The crown should go to someone who knows how to bear its weight. To the Vesania family.” Pearl folds her hands together, and Silver Watch agrees with a slap to the table. Obviously, they are both from the Vesania family.

  “Then why not the Demure family, or the Rident family, or the Otiose?” says Amethyst Woman.

  I realize that I’m categorizing and remembering people based on their possessions, on what I could steal from them. Amethyst Woman, Pearl, Silver Watch.

  Old habits.

  It goes on like this for a while, and this is obviously the argument they’ve been having for the past days. But one thing they all have in common is that they never meet my eye. They’re talking about me as if I’m not even here. I’m the same as I was on the streets: a shadow on the wall. I gather that this council is made up of the heads of their areas: the head commerce keeper, the general of the Royal Guard, the senior judge, and others.

  The only people in the room who haven’t spoken are Glenquartz and me. His facial expressions give him away. He sides with Amethyst Woman and the general, who are on the opposite side from Pearl, Silver Watch, and Esther. The rest of the room, based on their auras, is divided.

  “She is a child among adults,” Silver Watch says at length. “She is obviously outside her class here.” He gestures snidely at my ratty, stained clothes.

  “She was in the dungeon for three days, where we put her,” Glenquartz clarifies, shaking a finger.

  Glenquartz is a good man, I think. Maybe he even believes I can be a successful queen, or perhaps he pities me enough to defend me.

  “Her loyalties are what is in question,” Amethyst Woman says. “The security of Seriden is what’s at stake. The Nameless have been growing more and more restless over these past years. This could be the start of a revolt. We must address the protests.”

  Protests. That must be what Glenquartz meant when he talked about what was happening in the city.

  Silver Watch’s aura sparks with interest. “You talk about her loyalties as if we don’t have another option.”

  A swell of confusion rises through me. “What other option?” I finally break my silence. I’m not going to be invited to talk. Being patient won’t win me anything.

  I run my finger against the flat side of the blade pressed against my arm, keeping a smooth expression on my face even though I can feel the whole room trying to read my features for any reaction. Glenquartz places a cautioning hand on my arm. I feel a ripple of concern and kindness, like cool ocean breeze mixing with warm wind. He wants me to restrain myself. Calm down. Act like a lady.

  “This”—Silver Watch looks me up and down—“anomaly is not the breaking of a pattern or the beginning of a new pattern. Nothing extraordinary will be tolerated, and there is a time-tried tradition for resolving this sort of inconvenience.”

  My nerve endings fray as he continues talking about me instead of to me.

  “You think I’m extraordinary,” I say, pretending to be flattered. “That’s so sweet.”

  “That is not a compliment,” Silver Watch stresses, pointing at me.

  “Isn’t it?” I say casually.

  “Belrosa,” Silver Watch says to the general, “will you please explain to this impossible girl that her best chance at surviving the next five and a half weeks includes that she sit quietly, keep her head down, and listen to the plan?”

  I open my mouth to make a scathing retort, and Belrosa Demure holds up a white-gloved hand. “There is an event called the Assassins’ Festival. Are you familiar with it?”

  I grip the knife under the table and tell myself that cutting out Silver Watch’s tongue wouldn’t actually improve my situation. Instead I give a half-hearted shrug. I don’t know much about the Assassins’ Festival, only that it happens each time a new sovereign takes the throne, and there hasn’t been one in my lifetime.

  “The Assassins’ Festival is a traditional event,” Belrosa says. “In the six weeks after you acquire that tattoo, your magical abilities and the connection with your subjects will grow stronger. At the end of those six weeks, you’ll be at your strongest, and you will have the ability for a single day to peacefully pass the tattoo to someone else. This is the only day you’ll be able to give the tattoo away without dying. You will duel your challengers throughout the day, and if a challenger succeeds, you’ll transfer the crown tattoo to them. Are we correct in assuming you have little desire to retain the tattoo?”

  I don’t want to nod enthusiastically or anything, but I incline my head to show that I understand. “As long as you meet a single condition, General Belrosa.” I say her name carefully, trying to convey respect instead of impatience. “You may have heard the story of how I was arrested in East Market. An overzealous cadet was about to execute a child, and I stepped in to save her. What sort of authority do I have during these next weeks? I’m guessing that the city doe
sn’t suddenly stop working in the meantime.”

  There’s an exchange of uneasy glances in the room.

  Belrosa herself hesitates. “The crowned heir does have many of the authorities that an in-power sovereign has, with a few exceptions.”

  “And those exceptions are…?” I ask.

  “You cannot pass any laws that aren’t already under consideration with the judiciary,” she says, indicating the man with the pointed white beard, who has remained a silent observer—the senior judge. Belrosa continues, “Nor can you broker any new trades or treaties with other cities. And you cannot travel to any other cities as an ambassador of Seriden.”

  I steeple my fingers together. “I didn’t hear any mention of not being able to issue a pardon.” I brandish a courteous smile. “I would like to issue one for the Nameless child who now sits in the prison outside Seriden’s walls.”

  Now their auras feel like marshy mud, and no one is willing to speak first. They obviously don’t like my idea.

  Esther speaks up. “There are a couple of complications with that, Your Highness.”

  “Such as?”

  Esther continues, “You cannot issue a pardon for the Nameless. They don’t have rights and therefore can’t be pardoned.”

  “But they can be imprisoned,” I say. “And, apparently, they can be queen.”

  Elbows shift on the tabletop and people move uncomfortably in their seats, and I can sense that another argument is about to rise. Am I Nameless? Am I queen? I breathe out slowly through my nose.

  I focus on a tight sensation in my chest, and I imagine steam rising from the table. For a second I’m not sure it’s working, but then I hear the murmurs of confusion across the table. Then, as if I’m flexing a new muscle, I imagine tongues of silver fire with the strength of lightning, crackling in the air above the steam and arcing to the high ceiling above. I hear a couple of shocked gasps. Good. If they want proof I am queen, they have it.

  “What are the other complications?” I ask as I let the steam and sparks dissipate.

  Belrosa grimaces as though it pains her to share this with me. “For a Nameless such as yourself, there are far more restrictions than the council has discussed.”

  “If I can have this tattoo on my arm,” I say, “then explain why I can’t have its power.”

  “The council isn’t even sure how you acquired the tattoo,” Belrosa says, and there are several words of agreement through the room. Esther glares at me as if contemplating the best way to separate my arm from my body.

  “So what can I do?” I ask. “It sounds like that is a much shorter list.”

  “You can stay here in the palace,” Esther says, and though I see the welcoming smile on her face, it isn’t in her voice or her aura. “Lieutenant Glenquartz will act as your personal bodyguard and escort you to your sleeping quarters. You will enjoy every luxury the Royals have to offer…for the next five and a half weeks.”

  “And at that time,” Belrosa says, “whether it is by peaceful council election or cession through a duel, that crown will find its proper home.”

  “Yes,” Silver Watch says. “If the council is in consensus on who should take your place, then the Assassins’ Festival will be preempted by a short ceremony to transfer the tattoo right away, and then the rest of the day’s celebration will continue. The council may speak if they disagree, but I believe our top two contenders are the former heir apparent, Esther Fallow, daughter of the late king, and the next highest-ranked member of the council, General Belrosa Demure. All in favor of the heir apparent?”

  About half the hands go up. Silver Watch then says, “All in favor of the general?” The other half of the hands go up.

  Esther bristles, as though she expected this but still isn’t pleased.

  I grin. “All in favor of the Nameless thief?” I put my hand up. No one joins in. Shocker. I shrug and lower my hand.

  “The festival is in less than six weeks,” Silver Watch says, ignoring me. “Between now and then, anyone can sign up as a challenger for the duels, but given the split vote, I think it will probably be two duels of note: one with Esther and one with the general. The sign-up sheet will be posted outside the dining hall within the hour.”

  “It seems as if the only thing you agree on is that I shouldn’t have the tattoo.” I frown pensively. “Now. It sounds like it is in your benefit for me to go along with this plan. Believe me, I want to get rid of this tattoo as well, but”—I hold up a finger—“my request stands. For my compliance until the festival, that girl will be released from prison. Now, if you, as the council, would like to be the ones to issue the pardon, then so be it. Have the moral high ground, if you want it. But I will see that girl released, or you’ll never see this tattoo again.”

  After a long, tense silence, everyone turns to the general. Belrosa considers it, but Silver Watch scoffs loudly, drawing the room’s attention.

  He’s obviously gearing up to speak, so I cut him off and say, “I am the heir to Seriden’s throne, like it or not. Your only question is whether I can live peacefully here in the palace or if you should stick my head on a pike outside the Royal Court.”

  Esther grimaces at the gruesome image.

  “Yes,” answers Silver Watch.

  I didn’t expect that. I was trying to put him off, playing to his noble disposition, but his aura is as cold as his eyes.

  I’m not the only one who’s surprised. Everyone is either appalled or shocked. Even Esther is nervous, as if the situation has gotten away from her. Guilt, I think. She doesn’t like me, because I have her crown, but I don’t think she actually wants me dead.

  I wonder how many of my assumptions of her character are coming from what I see of her across the room—sitting in her chair, leaning forward with her fingers tense against the wooden table—and how much is from the aura that I struggle to distinguish in the swirl of auras in this room. Hers is fervent and quick, like the unnerved cicadas of high summer.

  “Come now, you can’t really mean that,” Amethyst Woman objects, but he cuts her off and continues.

  “Yes,” Silver Watch repeats. “We are here to decide whether or not a scrawny, dirty, Nameless orphan can successfully preside over the entirety of Seriden without allowing the city to descend into chaos and riots. Where do her loyalties lie? With Seriden or with the Nameless?” He turns his sour gaze to me. “We are not in the business of doing favors for the likes of you.”

  I want to stuff Silver Watch’s silver watch down his stupid throat, but I have to control myself or I’ll prove his point. His aura teems with indignation. He wants to trip me up, catch me off guard. He’s angry. My best defense is to speak calmly and turn his words against him. Let him be the petulant child with a temper.

  Belrosa stands up before I can. Her chair screeches against the floor, regaining everyone’s attention. “That is enough. We are civilized citizens of Seriden. We do not stoop to threats or insults. Corwin, you do not speak for this council. You speak for your temper alone, and I’ll not have that be what drives us. Dear, your agreement and willingness to negotiate garners goodwill with us. As long as you keep your head down and attend Royal etiquette lessons—to learn our manners and customs, which will help you adjust to life here—I see no reason we can’t meet your demand.”

  It’s at this point that I realize no one knows what to call me. I’ve been “Your Highness” and “impossible heir.” Belrosa even called me “dear.” Esther and Glenquartz must not have told them I go by Coin.

  “I will submit a formal request on your behalf for her release,” Belrosa says. “It may take a week or so to convince the prison guards that the request is genuine and then for the request to be processed through the judiciary. During that time, you can stay here in the palace, proving you can coexist with the Royals and not cause any problems, and I’ll make sure she’s released. As long as you a
gree to pass the tattoo along peacefully during the Assassins’ Festival, there is no reason your stay here should be unpleasant.” She places an arm across her chest, as if a salute means anything to me.

  “Agreed,” I say, rising and extending my hand. I ignore the feeling of everyone watching me as Belrosa walks around the edge of the table toward me.

  She removes her white gloves as she pivots around the corner of the table, and she takes my hand and shakes it.

  Then my whole body turns to fire. It’s like what happened with the Royal in the market and with Glenquartz in the dungeon: I’m inside someone else’s memories and thoughts. Except this time, I’m trapped. Fire and fear coil around every bone and muscle, every sinew and strand of hair.

  Images flash through my mind as fast as Belrosa thinks them: a Nameless man hanging from the gallows, a Nameless woman tied with chains and thrown into the harbor, and a Nameless child having her fingers smashed with the butt of a rifle after picking the wrong pocket. Then, something worse than memories: the image of Royal guards by the legion, stomping and marching down the streets, rounding up the Nameless and shooting them with expensive rifles. Hundreds of Nameless, killed in droves.

  I return to my own body, and Belrosa offers a kind smile, and even her eyes reflect the same joviality, but her hand is ash in my grasp.

  That’s when I lose it.

  I twist her hand inward toward her body, putting pressure on the joints in her wrist with my thumb. Belrosa gasps in pain.

  With a single strike, I could send her sprawling, dislocate her wrist, or snap a bone. A dark flare in my chest wants to do it, to rip her down from her pedestal.

  With my only measure of restraint, I push her twisted arm up against her torso. Beneath my fingers, I feel a muscle spasm radiate through her wrist and arm. I let go, giving her one last shove. She stumbles into the jovial Royal behind her, sending them both to the floor.