The Queen Will Betray You

by Sarah Henning

  “Could that preclude him from the crown?” Ferdinand asked.

  “Perhaps.” It was the youngest councilor who answered—Joseba. “He can be disowned, but his mother’s claim would be weak at best with no blood in it.”

  Ferdinand spoke up again. “But what if Renard’s paranoia was justified and his mother was trying to usurp his crown through marriage?”

  Geneva made a dismissive noise. “Inés’s chance at a joint kingdom via heir died with Sendoa. There is no one available. The boy king of Myrcell married last year. If it were advantageous to him, Domingu would’ve taken Inés’s hand after Louis-David’s last breath.”

  “That did not stop those same men from pursuing Amarande.” Koldo gestured to the marriage contracts, now stacked in rolls on a sideboard, one step from being filed away.

  Satordi pinched the bridge of his nose—the man enjoyed nothing more than appearing put out by women. “No, that was a clean way to join kingdoms. The princess has the blood; Inés does not.”

  “Blood is not the only way to take a kingdom,” Geneva argued. “Conquest can do the job, too.”

  Joseba, as erudite as he was, could not leave it at that. “Of course the Warlord’s Torrent is the best example of this, but one might argue King Domingu took his crown by both blood and conquest.”

  Ferdinand built upon Joseba’s analysis. “What if Taillefer is using Amarande for both means—via conquest with her murder of Renard, and by blood, using a loophole?”

  “Did the princess not say that she tried to kill Taillefer?” Garbine asked in answer to his question, having only as a guide Satordi’s description of the events during Amarande’s arrival.

  “She did,” Koldo confirmed. “But judging by Taillefer’s own wits, it’s still a worthy gamble.”

  After a long moment, the king searched the room for more answers. “If Taillefer married Amarande, could he take Ardenia, too? Would she still be elevated to queen?”

  Satordi exhaled thinly and straightened under his thick ivory-and-gold robe. “Our laws did not foresee such a difficulty.”

  Difficulties that could become very ugly, very quickly. Geneva looked to the king. “We should draw in the troops from the borders. Fortify the castle.”

  “No. That will only mean a fight on our doorstep.” Koldo leveled her steady gaze on Ferdinand. “And, if Amarande arrives with Pyrenee to take Ardenia, my soldiers and their loyalties will have to choose between the princess they’ve known, or the new king and his lies.”

  “The army fights with you, Koldo,” Garbine argued. “Those men and women will take your orders.”

  “The army fights for Ardenia. My orders will only be suggestions when my best soldiers address split loyalties.”

  “Then we are back to the beginning, and wasting time with this conversation.” Geneva rapped the polished tabletop with a small fist. “I agree—we must avoid war at all costs. If we capture Amarande and Taillefer, we own the narrative. General, you must reclaim the princess.”

  Koldo pointedly sought the king’s opinion. Geneva was not in charge here and she would never be, no matter what she believed.

  Ferdinand raised his eyes to Koldo’s. “If anyone can retrieve her, it is you.”

  That she could. “I will leave at once.”

  “And if you’re able to nab Taillefer, do,” Geneva added. “He might come in handy if Amarande doesn’t murder him first.”

  The general nodded in acceptance of the Queen Mother’s order and stood to leave—but then the king’s chair scraped back and he was standing, too. Eye to eye, he put a hand on her shoulder, a twin good-bye to the one she’d given him upon Amarande’s arrival.

  “Stay safe, General.”

  Koldo swallowed, a lump unexpectedly in her throat. “Of course, my king.”

  Then the general turned to leave. Geneva was right about one thing—she should’ve left hours ago.

  CHAPTER 21

  IT was truly a travesty that Amarande was on this journey with Taillefer and not Luca.

  By midmorning, it had become increasingly clear they were not being followed and, thus, the prince began his jovial form of narration, which in this case amounted to questions seemingly with the sole purpose of annoying her as they raced across the russet, arid landscape of the Torrent.

  First: “Did your stableboy enjoy it here more than he let on?”

  Then: “Did he go with that Torrentian kidnapper? The girl with the deadly blade? I must say her bloodlust is extremely enticing. Does he think so?”

  Next: “Were you always planning to meet him here? Perhaps expecting to be imprisoned in your own home after your claim was stolen out from under you by your long-lost brother and then rescued and accompanied by your sworn enemy?”

  By the time that last question was lobbed, they’d left behind the endless wall of semi-connected buttes she’d called the Dragon’s Spine, and made a turn northwest toward the refreshment of the Cardenas Scar watering hole. The sky was a cloudless, endless blue and the heat was such that it shimmered off the ochre sands and into the atmosphere, blurring the lines between where solid land ended and the sky began.

  Not for the first time, Amarande considered knocking out Taillefer, stealing his vial of nasty potion, and going it alone. But given his vices and ambitions, for the moment it seemed best to keep an eye on him. And so she finally answered. “Yes, I have visions. This is going exactly as planned. I want nothing more than to be hunted in the desert with you.”

  Taillefer knew sarcasm when he heard it and laughed heartily.

  “Given our head start, if Ardenia truly wanted to find you, they would have by now. Which means instead they’re fussing over how to contain the fact that an entire castle’s worth of people now knows you are alive and well despite what the kingdom was told.” The prince pointedly leaned in his stirrups toward Amarande, his brow arched. “If anything, once word gets out about the escape at the Itspi, my mother will only want us more. Indeed, her attentions are occupied with planning both a wedding and an invasion, but the woman never misses an opportunity to solidify her position.”

  Amarande hated that he was right. About all of it. Still, she had the Warrior King’s reputation to uphold, and even though she knew Ardenia’s famed army could not handle a war on multiple fronts, Taillefer did not. “No matter her position or Domingu’s, an invasion will not happen. General Koldo will not allow it.”

  Taillefer examined his reins. “Strange, I did not see Ardenian soldiers near the Pyrenee settlements either time I crossed the border in the past week.”

  She had not seen them either, despite being told that regiments had been sent to every border after the threats that accompanied the funeral procession. Moreover, Koldo had gone to the Pyrenee border to warn her contingent there, and the general had never been one to bluff—though Ferdinand’s whole existence shed a new light on Amarande’s understanding of the general. “Not strange, strategic. A threat doesn’t have to be visible to be deadly.”

  “I do not disagree, Princess.”

  Up ahead, a smudge on the horizon stood out from the cinnamon dust and brilliant blue—trees. Amarande dug her heels into Bastian’s flanks and shot forward without a word—which, once he caught up, led to another Taillefer question, shouted over the thundering hoofbeats of the twin geldings. “Is that water?”

  “Yes.” And something else, too.

  On approach, the sliver of trees surrounding the watering hole was quiet, and Amarande focused on her secondary task first. It was an errand she wished she’d made during her harrowing search for help in healing Luca’s snakebite. If she had, everything might have turned out differently.

  When it was clear none of their plausible hunters were hiding deeper within the copse of trees, Amarande dropped from her horse and made a beeline to a very specific hollow stump.

  “Where are you going?” Taillefer asked upon dismounting, waterskin in hand.

  “To improve our chances of success.”

  The prince
ss bent to the stump and inspected the cavity within both for deadly predators—a Harea Asp or Quemado Scorpion were never out of the question—and the items she intended to regain. Satisfied, she carefully reached within the stump and retrieved the remains of her gold necklace setting, stashed away when she’d freed her diamonds as means for trade.

  The prince craned to improve his view over her shoulder, but before he could load whatever pithy question he was planning she answered. “Currency.”

  “You … plan to trade a mangled necklace?”

  “We need currency for food and information. Gold can be melted for medicinal purposes,” she replied—something she’d learned the hard way when the healer Naiara had laughed off a diamond as payment for treating Luca. That mistake had cost them her horse. “Or into bars. Being of Pyrenee, you should know these things.”

  Taillefer reached into his trouser pockets and produced two small pouches, both tinkling with gold pieces. “Yes, I do. And I bring my gold fully prepared. Not half-baked.”

  Amarande’s eyes narrowed. “What else do you have?”

  Taillefer unlatched his saddlebag. “Almonds, prunes, dried meat, horse bread, an extra waterskin.”

  The princess’s saddlebags were full of a single waterskin and air. He’d packed both and had clearly given her the empty one on purpose. She’d been so focused on moving forward, she hadn’t interrogated him about it. “And you were going to tell me this when?”

  “When you trusted me enough that I felt it right to share.”

  “Taillefer, you are the most petty individual I’ve ever met.” She plucked his entire pouch of dried meat from the open saddlebag, tore off a heavy strip of it, and stowed the rest in her own bag. Chewing, she stomped toward the water’s edge. “If you don’t fill that extra waterskin, I will.”

  Parchment crinkled as he unfurled her father’s map. “And if you don’t want to tell me where we’re going, you must suffer my guesses as to the location in this vast wasteland of your Luca as we replenish our waterskins.”

  Your Luca—that was the first time Taillefer had used her beloved’s true name instead of “stableboy”—and it caught her broadside. Her father had always taught her never to refer to an enemy by name and it was likely Taillefer had been exposed to a similar sentiment within the viper’s nest of the Bellringe, yet a drop of unease settled within her at his change in terminology. “The Warlord’s Inn.”

  Taillefer crinkled the map pointedly. “Let’s see, given our early shot straight west along the line of plateaus and then our turn west- north-west and, well, the complete dearth of marked water sources, I’d say we’re currently at the Cardenas Scar, yes?” Taillefer was not truly looking for confirmation, but she grunted anyway. “Then the inn is … that way.” He pointed to the north and west.

  “Yes, and it will be a long ride during the hottest part of the day, so let’s get our water and get going—”

  The princess halted, smacked in the face by a sudden, putrid stench. Bastian struggled against the reins in her grip, planting his front feet and wrenching his muzzle away. Beside her, Taillefer and Balkan froze, and for once the prince’s lips opened but no words came out.

  The Cardenas Scar was quiet, but it was not empty.

  Bodies lined the creek bank—two, three … no, five—and two more floated in the shallow waters. No blood stained their sun-bleached clothes, no stab wounds obvious, no wounds at all. The toe of Taillefer’s right boot brushed against one of the corpses—a young woman’s. She wore the undyed roughspun of the Torrent, her golden eyes blank as they gazed sightlessly into the pitiless glare of the sun, her lips forever stretched open. In her clenched hand, a waterskin.

  Taillefer knelt to her, unafraid, his gloved hands gently prodding for an answer as to what had happened. And though the princess did not know the natural arts as well as the prince, her father’s last moments, as described by Koldo, flashed before her mind.

  A sip. A cough. Death.

  “The water.”

  It was all Amarande needed to say. Taillefer nodded, still examining the woman. “They’ve been poisoned. Recently.”

  “How long ago? Based on…” She gestured to the woman’s state.

  Taillefer stood. “A day, maybe two? The sun hastens things, but there is more shade here than most parts of the Torrent.”

  The creek trickled along merrily without a definitive answer, but upon closer examination, fish floated on the surface—bloated and caught in the weeds. Snails and water snakes, even a Quemado Scorpion, too. Her preliminary guess was correct and the only question in her mind was if it was the same silent murderer that stole her father’s breath.

  “Would the Warlord poison his own people?” Taillefer again unfurled his map. “There are only four marked water sources on this map. What happens if they’ve all been tainted?”

  Amarande felt ill. “Control. That is what happens—eliminate access, and regulate safe sources and who is allowed to use them. In the Torrent water is everything. Control the water, control everything.”

  Including rebellion.

  “Let’s go. We need to get to the inn as soon as possible.”

  CHAPTER 22

  FERDINAND did not know what to do with himself in his new chambers—a vast maze of thick-walled rooms that had most recently belonged to the father he’d never met.

  The quarters were a must after the coronation, the Queen Mother said, in the same breath that she announced she hated it all—heavily suggesting he adjust everything from the furniture to the sconces to make it his.

  Ferdinand wasn’t convinced the chambers could ever shed the presence of King Sendoa, no matter the changes—and he wasn’t sure he wanted to plaster over any trace of his father anyway. He liked the small finds—a jar of candied lemon peel squirreled away in the desk, satchets of sandalwood stuffed in pockets, the blocks of juniper berry soap stacked precariously by the claw-foot tub—that told him more about who his father had been than anything, or anyone, else in this place.

  Still, having been raised in the wide-open spaces of the Torrent—no walls, no rooms, no prolonged shadows—the king found he could only stand to stay within the interior of his chambers for small amounts of time while awake. After more than an hour, the walls felt too close. Too stalwart. Too suffocating.

  And thus, he was sitting, thinking, on his open-air balcony when his mother burst into his chambers unannounced, the three council members trailing in a clamor of staccato footsteps.

  Without preamble, Geneva located him outside and thrust a wax-sealed scroll into Ferdinand’s face. “My king, read this immediately. It just arrived from Basilica.”

  “Basilica.” Ferdinand squinted at the parchment. “Not Pyrenee?”

  Pyrenee was whom they’d expected, yes? Basilica had the elderly king—Geneva’s grandfather. Domingu—the man who stabbed his brother on their father’s deathbed to claim his crown.

  “Yes, Domingu’s seal, and addressed to the Crown, not to you specifically. It must have been sent before your coronation.” The Queen Mother’s agitation was clear. “No news is ever good news from that man. Well? Open it, open it!”

  Ferdinand accepted the scroll and examined it. He broke the seal, surprised that his mother had not already done so. Perhaps she was trying to uphold appearances before the Royal Council. The king unfurled the parchment and began to read.

  “The sovereign Kingdom of Basilica is saddened to announce the death of Queen Nania.”

  A gasp from Garbine. “She was but a child!”

  The Queen Mother shook her head, grave. “Given my grandfather’s predilections, I assure you it was not a natural death.” To Ferdinand she asked, “Is there more?”

  Satordi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Likely there is the rest of his plan, Your Highness.”

  That there was. Ferdinand continued.

  “Though we mourn, the Kingdom is honored and delighted to announce the joyful nuptials of our esteemed King Domingu and Dowager Queen Inés, regent
to the Kingdom of Pyrenee, long may they both reign. The ceremony will take place on the twelfth day of summer at the chapel on the grounds of the Aragonesti.”

  As Ferdinand’s voice died into the afternoon air, silence hung for a long moment while the shadows crept in from the corners. Ferdinand’s mind rang with Amarande’s words from the night she returned to the Itspi, covered in Renard’s blood.

  Renard believed his mother to be making moves in a concerted effort to steal his ascension to the throne.

  The plan was clear now:

  Remove the heir—Renard.

  Marry a king—Domingu.

  Join two thrones—Pyrenee and Basilica—for control of two of the four standing kingdoms in the Sand and Sky.

  Ferdinand’s mind raced. Poison a king and destabilize a rival kingdom? Could that have been part of the plan? With the Warrior King dead and Ardenia headless unless Amarande married, Ardenia would have been easy pickings. Until he arrived.

  “The twelfth day of summer … is tonight,” Joseba confirmed, squinting across the grounds as if he could see Basilica, in the distance, though it was more than a hundred miles to the south.

  Geneva drew in a long breath and began pacing across an open section of the balcony. As she passed him, Ferdinand caught the words she muttered under her breath. “Pure Domingu. And, it appears Inés has finally made her move.”

  Satordi reached for the letter and Ferdinand let him have it. “Is Ardenia not invited to the wedding? That is most unusual.”

  The king shook his head. “This isn’t an invitation, it’s an announcement.”

  “It is clear Renard was correct about his mother’s ambitions—Inés and Domingu likely struck this deal within our walls as her sons dove into the Torrent after Amarande’s disappearance,” Satordi said, his dark eyes skimming the lines of text as if he could see what had happened between them while the whole of the Itspi was distracted.

  Geneva nodded. “Her ambitions are one thing but Domingu does not do anything for love, and none of his wives have died by chance. Everything is calculated. Inés is simply his latest avenue to his lifelong aim: to unite the continent under one rule—his.”