It felt as though we walked through the night, though it must have been just a few hours. I was chilled to the bone and trying not to shift the oilskin coat where it sat on my dampened skin, for fear a new patch of icy water would douse me. The treated fabric itself seemed to have held out the water, but the wind drove rain through every opening in the coat—down my neck, up my sleeves, and across my exposed legs.
At last, a strange orange glow materialized ahead, barely visible through the storm. Another bolt of lightning revealed it to be light spilling from the city of Baylore.
When we finally stumbled up to the gates, I was close to collapse. The walls towered overhead, stark and foreboding in the occasional flicker of lightning, and the heavy wooden gates stood closed.
While I hung back, Mother strode to the door and pounded on it with her fist.
“Open the gates!” she called, her voice almost lost in the wind and the thunder. “In the name of Queen Ammeline, let us through!”
I doubted anyone was awake to hear us. It had to be well past midnight, and there was no reason for a guard to be posted unless the city expected an attack.
I pulled my chin into my coat, letting the deep hood fall over my face until I couldn’t see and my breath warmed the enclosed space. Shivers wracked me, and I could hardly move my hands. Normally the way I drew energy from those around helped me ward off extreme cold, but I was so exhausted that I suspected my power might be malfunctioning. That had never happened before.
I could not die here. My life had barely begun—to cut it short just moments before I returned home would be cruel. Yet I hardly had the energy to remain standing, to keep my eyelids from drooping…
Then a shout rang from above. “Who’s there?”
I threw off my hood to see who had appeared to save us. Water drenched my already-damp hair, but I did not care. Two men with lanterns stood atop the wall, their forms obscured by cloaks.
“I am Queen Ammeline, come to rejoin my husband the king. I order you to open the gates and let us through at once.”
The men looked at each other, their faces distorted in the rain-streaked lantern light. Then they disappeared off the top of the wall.
Mother lifted her own hood from her head and stepped back.
A moment later, the gates swung open.
5
Queen Ammeline
“H ow do we know you’re the queen?” one of the guards asked, raising his lantern to examine Mother’s face. Both were young, no older than twenty-five, which meant they would have been too young to remember the queen who vanished eighteen years ago.
“Take us to someone who would remember their monarch,” Mother said. “And even if you cannot find anyone who recognizes me, we are going to die if we remain out here any longer. Do you want that on your conscience?”
The guards looked at each other. One of them shrugged, and they stepped back to let us through the gates.
Before I caught more than a glimpse of the city, they ushered us into the guardhouse. Even from what little I saw, it already seemed inviting—streetlamps lined the main road that stretched away from the gates, glowing with what looked like an enchanted light, and these lent a soft radiance to the brick walls. Water streamed down the streets, and pockets of hail had gathered atop barrels and window-boxes, but otherwise the cobbled roads looked clean and well-kept.
An older guard snoozed in the guardhouse, but he jolted awake when his fellows joined him.
“What’s this?” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Why’ve you brought people here?”
“These two just appeared in the storm—mad as anything, I’d say, traveling in this weather—and this one claims she’s some long-lost queen.” He lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “You know, the one whose child was born cursed.”
All three guards suddenly turned to stare at me. They must have noticed our resemblance, because the older guard said in a hushed voice, “That would mean you have a forbidden talent. We can’t let you into the city, young missus.”
“You can if she is King Baltheor’s rightful heir,” Mother snapped. “Take us into custody if you like, but bring us before the king tomorrow morning. If you threw us out of the city now, we would die of cold, and the king would have your heads.”
The men looked at me again and seemed to notice for the first time that I was shivering violently. I tried to stop, to save my pride, but every few seconds another tremor ran through me.
The older guard drew his two younger companions to the opposite side of the tiny room and consulted with them in an easily audible whisper.
“I never saw the old queen except from a distance, so I can’t be sure this is her, but she looks close enough to be cautious. We would be in much more trouble if she did turn out to be the queen and we had treated her poorly than if we accidentally housed a couple pretenders for the night.”
The two young guards nodded, one of them throwing a glance over his shoulder at Mother.
“What we’ll do is put them up at an inn, and one of you will guard their room. Then you can escort them to the palace tomorrow morning so the king can have his say.”
“Right. Who’s going to guard them? I’d like to volunteer my services.”
The other young guard cursed—his companion had thought of a clever way to stay out of the rain.
All three guards turned back to us, and the lucky guard donned the hood of his cloak once again.
“You can take our horses to the city stables,” Mother said. “We won’t have need of them any longer.”
“C-could someone deliver them back to Lameer?” I asked quickly, my teeth still chattering.
Mother shot me a reproving look, though she did not contradict my request.
“If you really are who you say you are, that will be easy enough to arrange,” the older guard said grudgingly. “And I hope you’ll report to the king that you were treated fairly by his city guards.”
“We will have nothing but praise to offer,” Mother said. “Now, you mentioned something about an inn?”
The young guard led us back into the rain and up the main street. We turned right after a short while, and he hammered on the door of a simple but tidy inn whose window-box flowers were looking battered after the hail.
An elderly innkeeper stumped up to the door with a candle in hand. “What’s this about? Oh, pardon me, I didn’t recognize you.” He nodded to the guard.
“Can we get out of the rain?” the guard asked. Before waiting to be invited, he slipped past the innkeeper into the main room. It was a small place, with a table beside each window and a counter at the back.
The innkeeper pulled the door shut behind us and hurried to fetch towels so we didn’t drip all over his rugs.
“I’ve got two potentially important and potentially dangerous visitors here that I need to house and watch over tonight,” the guard said.
The innkeeper raised his bushy white eyebrows. “That’s hardly a comforting introduction.”
“Do you have a whole wing of your inn we could make use of?” Mother asked. “We would compensate you richly.”
“I’ve only got three other guests at the moment, so most of the place is yours,” he said, though he still looked troubled. “Any other requests?”
“We will need two separate rooms, at least ten paces away from one another,” Mother said. “And a hot bath in each. Oh, and if you have any cats or other pets, please keep them well away from our wing.”
Muttering under his breath, the innkeeper waved us to follow him up the stairs and down a long corridor to the right. I was still dripping everywhere despite the towel; I hoped the rugs would survive a soaking.
While we chose our rooms, the innkeeper enlisted the guard to help haul steaming bathwater from a basin heated by the fire downstairs. I stood at the end of the simple bed, shivering harder than ever, as I waited for the innkeeper and guard to finish filling the wooden bathtub. Then I bolted the door behind me and stripped off my sodden clothes before
sinking into the scalding water.
My feet burned and tingled as the feeling returned, and I stopped shivering as heat seeped through me. I sank deeper still, the steam warming my icy cheeks. Here we were at last, in the great city of Baylore. I could hardly believe we had been battling our way through the storm just minutes before; our final approach had felt dreamlike, perhaps because my body had started to shut down in the cold.
Lulled by the warm bath, I caught myself nearly drifting off. I sat up quickly, rubbing my eyes.
It didn’t occur to me until I clambered to my feet, water streaming from my skin, that I had no dry clothes to change into. After I dried myself on the grimy towel I had used to sop up rainwater downstairs, I slipped into bed naked. It felt odd, and I was nervous in case someone disturbed me during the night, but I did not have long to worry. I was asleep almost at once.
* * *
I woke once to the sound of hailstones battering the roof, and did not rouse again until someone pounded on my door. When I sat up, goose pimples erupted down my arms, and I remembered I had nothing to wear. The knock sounded again, so I tugged a sheet from the bed and wrapped it around me like a cloak.
It was the guard. “My shift is ending now, so you’d better get ready to head to the palace.” His eyes were red from exhaustion, his hair tousled. I wondered if he had fallen asleep in his chair.
“I don’t have any dry clothes,” I said, my face growing hot. “Could you find some for us? If you ask my mother, she’ll pay you for your trouble.”
“She’d better,” the guard said under his breath.
Not long after, he returned with a blue dress that was simpler than the fashions Mother had sketched yet finer than anything I had owned before. When I thanked him profusely, it was his turn to flush with embarrassment.
Bolting the door once again, I pulled on the dress, enjoying the feel of the delicate fabric on my skin. As I searched the room for a comb, I spotted a mirror leaning against the far wall beside my bed. I lifted it carefully and balanced it on the dressing-table, eager to see my true reflection at last.
I had Mother’s mahogany skin, so I had always imagined myself as a younger replica of her, but where her eyes were deep brown with flecks of gold, mine were black, and my nose was flatter than hers, my lips fuller. It was a strange feeling, to encounter myself as though I were a stranger, and I could not take my eyes from the reflection for a long time.
Then someone was pounding at the door again, and I had done nothing about my hair. It was still braided—I had not dared to let it out in the bath last night without a way to tame it—but tendrils were escaping in every direction, sticking up above my head and snarling around the once-tidy braid.
“Coming!” I called. Pressing the top of my hair down several times until it no longer stuck up quite as noticeably, I hurried to the door to see who was summoning me.
It was Mother this time, and she had tidied herself up much more effectively than I.
“We ought to leave now, before this poor guard falls asleep on the spot,” she said. “I had hoped to wait until the rain slowed, but we have asked enough of these good people already.”
I left most of my clothes where they were—I would have no cause to wear peasants’ garb in the palace—but I fetched the battered old raincoat and pulled it on. If it was raining as hard as the drumming on the roof indicated, my skirts would be drenched even with the coat.
When we joined the guard and the innkeeper in the main entryway, the innkeeper handed us long oilskin cloaks that would cover our dresses down to the ankle. I pulled mine on over the coat I already wore, not caring that I looked foolish.
“You are very generous, sir,” I said.
“As is your mother,” he said warmly. His change in demeanor was remarkable—Mother must have compensated him well for the trouble we had caused.
Overhanging eaves protected us from the rain until we reached the main road, but as soon as we stepped onto Market Street—I could see the sign now, in the grey daylight—the wind whipped at our backs, fiercer than ever. Rain slammed against us, and the gusts propelled us forward.
Hardly any others were out. It looked as though most shops were closed for the day, and the warm glow of candles and lamps lit windows down every street. The buildings lining Market Street were narrow, two-storied stone structures built one against the other, and I occasionally caught traces of industry from the shops at street level: clanging blows echoing from a foundry, the yeasty smell of bread rising from a bakery, and the squawking of chickens sheltering in a doorway.
Eventually Market Street opened onto a wide square with a fountain in the middle. I pulled back my hood enough to see the two buildings dominating the square: one a towering stone structure that I recognized from Mother’s description as Baylore Cathedral, the other a mighty palace with dozens of towers, each wing built with conflicting styles that gave it a haphazard charm. Each type of architecture would have been regal on its own, but married up with those around it, the overall effect was diminished.
Mother gave my hand a brief squeeze, her skin even colder than mine. “Welcome home, Kalleah.”
A high wall encircled the palace, and at the front, a pair of gilded gates allowed a view up the stairs to the grand entrance. Our guard marched smartly up to the gates, where he tugged on a bell-pull.
Almost immediately, a small door beside the grand entrance opened to reveal a palace guard in a smart blue-and-gold uniform with a plumed hat.
He hurried down the steps to the gates. “Do you have an appointment with anyone in the palace?” he demanded.
“No, but I have a message for King Baltheor.” Mother stepped closer to the gates and pulled back her hood so the palace guard could see her face. “Tell him the one he has waited eighteen years for has returned at last.”
He frowned at her, as though he remembered her but was not sure why. “At once, Milady.” Still frowning, he turned and bounded back up the palace steps. The feather in his hat sagged from the rain.
We did not have to wait long before the small door opened once again, this time to reveal a man wearing a crown and a heavy velvet cloak. Even from a distance, I knew who this was. My heartbeat sped up as he approached beneath a canopy carried by four guards. My father’s skin was a touch lighter than mine, but he had the same flat nose as I did, the same black eyes.
“Open the gates,” he commanded in a booming voice. “My wife has returned.”
6
A Bitter Homecoming
O ne of the guards dropped his corner of the canopy and hurried to do the king’s bidding, and the gates swung open just as the king reached the foot of the stairs.
For a long moment, the king and Mother stood motionless, staring at one another. The king’s mouth worked, though I couldn’t tell whether he suppressed a smile or a scowl. At last, Mother stepped hesitantly forward.
“We are here, as we promised. Our daughter is a young woman now, ready to present her claim to the throne.” Mother curtseyed deeply before him, taking his proffered hand and kissing it. Then the king pulled her to her feet and kissed her cheek, whispering something in her ear as he did.
“And Kalleah.” The king held out his hands to me. “Welcome home.”
I held my head high as I strode forward to meet my father, disregarding the rain that coursed down my cheeks and caught on my eyelashes.
“You look every bit as beautiful as your mother. And as proud.” He did allow himself a smile then, and I curtseyed before him, uncertain. I had anticipated a more joyous welcome; this was how I expected the king to treat an honored guest, not his long-lost wife and daughter. “Come. We ought to get out of the rain. Your rooms will be readied at once.”
Mother and I ducked under the canopy and followed the king up the stairs. At the top, I glanced back to see the city guard staring after us, openmouthed. He must not have believed our claims of royalty.
The entrance hall towered before us, more than two stories tall, tapestries lining
the walls. As I ventured into the solemn, imposing palace, my trepidation grew. Had Mother lied to me? Did the king wish us gone? Deeper still we walked, up two grand flights of stairs, my nerves stretching taut. I felt I would be trapped forever in this tomb of a palace; if I vanished here, no one would know. No one would care. The only windows were small, cut high into the walls, narrowing my world to this muffled, dead hall.
Eventually we reached a section of the palace where the style changed from dark stone to a paler, peach-colored variety with more windows and archways and spires. My chest loosened at the sight of the stormy sky, and I felt I felt I could breathe once more. This wing began with a short staircase that led around a corner to an airy passageway suspended high above the ground, and it was at the base of this staircase where the two guards escorting us halted.
“This is our family’s wing of the palace,” Mother said. “The other ruling lines have their own wings. Ours is called the—”
“The Cheltish wing, isn’t it?” I asked. This was one of the many facts I had memorized over the years. “There’s a Ruunan wing, a Darden wing, a Forest wing, and a Mountain wing, right?”
“Exactly,” Mother said. “The shared spaces in the palace mainly belong to the original structure, so they are known as the historic wing.” That would explain the lack of windows, though the knowledge was little comfort. I felt lost, trapped in a forest of stone.
The king paused in the elevated corridor, resting one hand on the sill of a high, arching window. “We need to present you before the court. Kalleah can use the west tower for her bedroom; I will order a proper wardrobe for her this afternoon. You are welcome to join me in our old room, Ammeline, or we can arrange separate quarters. It has been so long I feel I hardly know you any longer.” The king sighed. “This was not a good time for you to return. We will make do, of course, but there has been unrest enough without the issue of Kalleah’s forbidden blood resurfacing.”
Forbidden Queen: A Court Intrigue Fantasy (The Forbidden Queen Series Book 1) Page 4
