Nameless Queen

by Rebecca McLaughlin

“You can’t immediately start speaking for the Nameless,” Esther says. “Not to the Royals and not like that. They won’t give you anything you ask for. You have to wrap your request in something more palatable.”

  I scratch at some melted wax on the edge of the desk. “You mean like when people give medicine to children. Or so I hear.”

  “Exactly,” Esther says. “Think of the Royals like impertinent, impatient children. If you tell them the Nameless are missing, they won’t care. If you tell them there’s a threat to the Nameless that also threatens them, they will listen. When I took a stance against you, I was giving you a way forward. If you get any indication at all of what’s happening, you can position it as a threat against them. Then they’ll act.”

  I sigh. “That’s stupid. Something terrible is happening to people in Seridan, and they’ll only care about it if it’s someone they know.”

  Esther grimaces. “The truth may not be preferable, but it is still the truth. That’s the system we currently have. But giving the speech will be a great step forward with them.”

  A wave of anxious energy rises through me. A speech. I have to give a speech in front of all the Nameless, denouncing them. And the council expects a handwritten copy for approval.

  I squint up at the ceiling, and Esther peers at me.

  “Here’s the thing,” I say. “I can’t read.” And now that I’ve said it, I look at her more directly. “I’m sure that delights you. I’m every bit as unqualified as you believe me to be.”

  She studies me for a moment and then sighs as if she has given up trying to understand what I’m thinking. “You’re not unqualified. Or at least…you’re not as unsuited for this as I thought you were. The way you discussed terms with the Royal Council today was impressive. Did you get everything you wanted? No. But you got them to meet you halfway. Everything you’ve learned from Eldritch, everything you’ve learned from…wherever you learn things…let you lead for the first time.”

  “Here’s the second thing,” I start. “I need to make this speech. I know that. But I’m afraid that if I give the wrong speech, I could make everything worse. Will you…?” I pause for a long time.

  Esther’s confusion slowly transforms into amusement as she realizes what I’m trying to ask.

  “Will you help me?” I force the words out.

  “Did it hurt you to ask?” Esther says.

  “Only my very soul,” I respond. “I practically feel faint. Are you going to help me or not?”

  “While my stance on your position as the heir is quite clear, I believe we share a genuine concern for the well-being of the city. It is in Seriden’s best interest for me to assist you.”

  I appraise her for a moment. “See, now you have to help me, because you just admitted that you don’t like me, but you also kind of complimented me. You’re very good at saying two things at once.”

  “Meet me in the palace library,” she says, “and I’ll help you write your speech.”

  I study her aura, searching for any sign of deception. Her aura reminds me of a wrought-iron gate—the kind I’ve seen protecting gardens in the Royal Court. She is firm and cold, but protective. She cares about Seriden more than I ever could.

  I cycle through a couple of sarcastic remarks before speaking. “I’ll join you within an hour. I have to stop off somewhere first.”

  She taps a fingernail against the edge of the shelf she’s standing beside. “She’s not really on a schooner called the Delicate Crest, is she?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. Then, with a mild but respectful bow, I depart.

  If Esther suspects Hat is still in the city, surely there are others on the council who feel the same. I stop off in a few rooms for ten minutes at a time to make sure no one is following me.

  I enter Med Ward and find Hat where I left her. In the oversized Legal dress, she’s smaller and paler than I remember.

  “How are you doing, Hat?” I say as I crouch beside her.

  “I’m all right,” she says with a trembling voice and a breathy cough.

  For a moment I’m worried that she’s caught an actual illness.

  But as she grasps my hand, her whole demeanor shifts. She speaks in a clear, quiet voice. “As it turns out, I am a fabulous actor. They really should hire me for the stage plays. I should be getting paid for this.”

  I sigh in relief, pulling her hand up against my forehead for a moment. “I could kill you or kiss you.”

  “If you’re going to try to kill me, this is the right place for it.” She grins.

  “Not funny,” I say. “Are you having any trouble? Do you think you can stay for another day or so? I…did something.”

  “What did you do?” She knows me well enough to know that it isn’t good news.

  “I took a stand against the Royal Council,” I say.

  “That doesn’t sound bad,” Hat says, “which makes me think that you’re leaving something important out?”

  I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I took a stand…by refusing to turn you over. In front of all of them, I prioritized you over the welfare of the entire city. Yeah. I did that.” I search Hat for a reaction.

  I realize now that being able to sense the auras of the Royals and Legals has made it more difficult to read people. On the streets, I studied faces and body language. I read people the way others read books. But now I’m at a loss without being able to sense her aura.

  I examine the slight crease between her eyebrows, trying to decode it. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking. I used to be good at this.”

  Hat readjusts on the soft bed. “I’m conflicted. On the one hand, that kind of sounds like a bad choice. On the other hand, I really like not being executed.”

  I laugh. Even now, as she pretends to be on her deathbed, hiding from a city hunting her, she smiles, she laughs, and she jokes.

  “Well? What did you tell them?” she asks.

  “I told them Devil’s lie that you were on a fast ship heading south and that I had absolutely no regrets. And then I commanded them to start a search for the missing Nameless.”

  “Do you think they’re going to do it?” she asks.

  “No. I don’t,” I say. “I think maybe I just asked them to do it so I wouldn’t feel so guilty about not knowing what’s happening. I can’t help but feel like I’m being selfish here.”

  Hat gives me a puzzled look. “It’s not selfish to help other people. You did something that no other sovereign has ever done in Seriden’s history. You cared about the Nameless, about us. You’re allowed to care about yourself, too.”

  When she says this, my heart almost breaks. “Isn’t that what I’ve always done? Cared about myself? Survived? No matter the cost. I’ve always cared about you, Hat, but I’ve never cared for you. All I’ve been doing is letting you down, over and over again. Isn’t it foolish to think I’m doing this for anyone else? The only reason I’m here at all is because you were in prison. I never cared about Seriden, about its Legals and Royals—or even its Nameless.”

  “So why are you still here now?” she asks. “If you really only cared about yourself or about me, why aren’t we on that ship? You’re acting like it’s selfish to survive, but it’s not. And now you’re fighting for the Nameless and you’re fighting for the city. That doesn’t sound selfish at all.”

  I consider her words for a long time, wondering when it was that she grew up, and when it was that she became—of all the things she could have become—kind and wise.

  “I’ll be delivering a speech out in the city tomorrow night to quell the chaotic masses,” I say, “and I’m hoping you can lie low until then. Apparently, interrupting an execution doesn’t go unnoticed.”

  “Makes sense,” Hat says. “I think I’ll be good for another day or so. They think my name is Shirley, and that I’m
a Legal girl who sneaked out of her house in her sister’s dress to go to a play, but then I got sick.”

  “Nicely grifted,” I say, patting her shoulder. “You did great. Did you give them a—”

  “Last name? Nope,” she says. “But if they get suspicious, where should I go?”

  I don’t want to send her to the city alone or, worse, to Marcher. Instead I tell her about a walk-in closet six doors down the corridor with ample hiding places.

  “I’ll be back as soon as the speeches are over, tomorrow evening, okay?”

  Hat pats my shoulder this time. “Don’t get shot. I’ll be okay.”

  “I should hope so,” I say as I rise to my feet. “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to keep you alive. Do your best to stay that way, yeah?”

  She looks worried for me, maybe even scared. I wonder how much of her vulnerability is a con and how much of it is because of what she went through in prison.

  “Stay here, and be ready,” I add. “And be safe. Promise me you’ll be safe.”

  Hat lifts an eyebrow. We don’t make promises like that. Ever. It’s cruel to promise impossible things. We only ever promise to do our best and try to survive. She taps her fist gently against her heart—a signal we’ve used in countless cons to tell each other that we’re strong and we’re ready.

  “I promise.”

  CHAPTER 13

  I join Esther at the palace library, which is much smaller than the public library out in the city. Of course, beyond the leather bindings, metal hinges, and illuminated drawings, books don’t mean much to me. They’re good for propping doors and throwing at people, and paper’s a great insulator. Last winter, I spent many of my nights in Seriden’s library. I would lock myself in a small room and stack books in front of the windows to keep the cold out. Here, the books are more like ornaments, delicately arranged. A small man with gray hair slowly makes his way up and down the aisles. He has a soft white cloth in his gloved hands, and he’s wiping dust from the tops of the books.

  “Is there a reason we’re meeting here?” I ask. “As opposed to a place with more paper and fewer books?” I scrutinize the bookshelves suspiciously.

  “Books are made of paper,” Esther corrects. “It’s a library. Where else are we going to write a speech? Besides, there are a few books here of speeches from old queens and kings of Seriden. They’ll make good study material. Then we can get to writing yours in a couple of hours.”

  I purse my lips.

  Esther crosses her arms impatiently. “What’s wrong? Can’t muster enough focus for a couple of hours?”

  “Can’t you just tell me about the speeches?” I ask.

  “Of course not,” she says. “I can’t simply summarize old speeches for you. That defeats the purpose. The spirit of a speech isn’t in what is said, but how it’s said. With the right words and the right passion, you can move a city to peace or war.”

  I shift my weight from one foot to another as if trying to convince my legs not to run.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Esther asks. “You’re acting stranger than usual.”

  “Remember, I can’t read,” I say. “How am I supposed to study old speeches?”

  A sad smile threatens to overtake Esther’s lips, and I hold up a cautionary hand. “I want your advice, not your pity. Neither of us gets to control what we bring to this table. You bring refinement and leadership skills and entitlement. I bring impatience and illiteracy and cleverness. Maybe you don’t want the things I bring, but you have me either way.”

  Her sad smile turns kind. “I was planning to read the speeches aloud to you.”

  My cheeks flare with heat, and I sit at the table. “That’s what I thought.”

  * * *

  We spend the rest of the day, all night, and the following day in the library, breaking only for a few hours to sleep. On the first day, Esther reads speeches aloud to me, and I talk through my main speaking points. Esther helps me refine it, and she writes it all down. On the second day, she helps me memorize it.

  “How do you think it will go?” I ask after I’ve managed to recite the speech a couple of times without any mistakes.

  “We are making some bold statements,” Esther says. “But we will not apologize for being bold.”

  “Do you think the council will approve it, though?”

  “They already have. I delivered it to them this morning,” Esther says. “But don’t worry. I didn’t give them this speech.”

  I grin and tease her. “Have you done something dishonest?”

  Her hands flutter in her lap. “My father always told me that honesty is a privilege. In every moment we can, we must seek it out. But there are moments that require dishonesty to spare a life or spare pain. I think this falls into both of those categories, don’t you?”

  “Your father sounds like a nice guy,” I say. “Except for giving me a death-sentence tattoo.”

  Esther shifts in her seat, and I bet she’s repressing the urge to chastise me again for not being grateful.

  “It is beautiful, though,” I say as a way of softening my words.

  She stares at the tattoo on my arm, pensive. “Beauty doesn’t mean much without context. It’s beautiful, maybe. Powerful, definitely. But the history of magic is long and complicated.” She scoffs. “Gaiza, it’s short and complicated too.”

  I tilt my head. “Did the former heir apparent befoul her tongue with dark words?” I gasp in mock offense, and Esther laughs. For a moment, it’s strange, but we’re almost getting along.

  “We don’t have much time left,” Esther says. “How are you feeling about the speech?”

  I jump from foot to foot energetically. “I’m ready.”

  “You seem…nervous,” Esther objects gently.

  “Yes. I’m scared. But ready doesn’t mean not scared. Ready means ready, despite everything. I’m ready.”

  “Well, aren’t we a pair,” Esther says. “The former heir apparent and the impossible queen. I think, under the right circumstances, we could tear the world to pieces.”

  “Do you see the way the Royals and Legals look at me?” I say. “I think we already have.”

  “So you’re ready, then,” she says, standing up tall.

  I’ve gotten very little sleep, but I mirror her posture and take a deep breath. “Ready.”

  By the time we get to the North Residences, the sky is dark. Belrosa insisted that nighttime would be best for the speech, and I’m still not sure why. She said it was to discourage rioting, that people could go to bed after the speech instead of having an entire day to simmer and stew. I’m not convinced. The riots I escaped were at night, not in broad daylight. But I couldn’t explain that without also explaining that I was at the first riots.

  As people gather along the street in front of the Legal residences, it’s difficult if not impossible to see the Nameless. Maybe this is what she wanted: for me to speak to my city but not to my people. The Nameless wear dark clothing, typically scavenged from the Legal’s trash. They are like shadows at the edge of the crowd, invisible in the night.

  I wear a bright yellow long-sleeved shirt with an armored vest over it. Esther said it makes me look strong, and I agreed because it’ll protect me if someone gets too close with a blade.

  Two Legal servants set up a podium, and the Legals in the crowd shift uncomfortably.

  This, of course, is another calculation by Belrosa. Not only am I a Nameless out of my station and rank, but the Legals are serving me and the Royal Guard is protecting me. I am a misplaced puzzle piece. Worse, I’m a puzzle piece glued to the center of an otherwise beautiful painting. And the painting is on fire.

  I am the thing that doesn’t make sense.

  Faint insults are shouted from somewhere, and I don’t even try to find the source. I move forward to help adjust the podium, and one of the
Legals is startled by my motion and flinches. The whole podium angles dangerously to the side, and I immediately withdraw, trying to look apologetic as the audience’s grumbling increases. I adopt a somber expression and speak out of the corner of my mouth to Esther.

  “What’s the likelihood someone assassinates me right here?” I ask.

  Esther’s aura flares in alarm, and she checks the nearest rooftop and alley.

  “Relax,” I tell her, putting a hand on her elbow. “I’m joking.”

  “Except you really aren’t, though,” she says.

  I toyed with the idea of telling her earlier that someone might take a shot at me, but I didn’t want her to worry, and I needed her to focus. I thought about not telling her at all, but if something goes wrong, she should be prepared.

  She twists a thin black ring on her finger nervously, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake as an unfamiliar grip of paranoia wraps around her, smothering her aura.

  We’ve practiced this dozens of times throughout the day. I’ve done everything she has said: tilt your head here, allow for a moment of silence there, let your eyes roam the crowd here, be firm and strong and unwavering. I move to the podium, and the crowd is as quiet as they are restless. They’re a sea of shifting limbs and dagger glares. I spot Belrosa among them.

  I glance to Esther to see if she’s noticed her. Esther encourages me forward anyway, and I have a brief fear that Esther and Belrosa are conspiring together. What would be better than having me give a speech in front of everyone where I start raving about unity and laws and putting a stop to all executions? If Belrosa interrupts me before I can finish the speech, it could make things worse instead of better.

  I clear my throat and begin.

  “We can be stronger,” I say. “Together. The city is as strong as its most unified force, but it is as weak as it’s disjointed. We just need something to pull us all together.” At this point in the speech, I’m supposed to make a grand claim about being able to put the city back together, to resolve hundreds of years of disputes. But something feels wrong about saying that. The crowd, mostly Legals with a few Royals scattered throughout, draws closer to listen to me.