I laughed. “You know me too well. No, I wanted advice on what to do about Chelt.”
“Asking for their aid, you mean?” Baridya asked.
I nodded. “They’re too closely allied with Whitland to support us directly, but if they opposed us—”
Mellicante drew her finger across her throat.
“Exactly.”
“Chelt is not as loyal to Whitland as you might think,” Baridya said. “Remember, the First Fleet assembled in Chelt before fleeing to Itrea. The port towns sheltered thousands of refugees and kept them hidden from Whitland. Chelt’s government is completely dependent on Whitland’s support, because it doesn’t have an army of its own, but many of its people would happily join forces with Itrea if they could.”
Looking at her earnest face, her shining eyes, I remembered suddenly that Baridya had grown up in Chelt. Of course she felt loyal to her country of birth, and of course she would be aware of the nuances of Cheltish politics.
“Why doesn’t Chelt have an army?” Mellicante asked. “I always wondered that.”
“Because Whitland realizes how powerful Chelt’s fleet is, how wealthy the country is, and how well-connected they are to the rest of the world. If they had a standing army, they would likely make a bid for power over Whitland.”
“I wish they would,” Mellicante said. “The Kinship Thrones would be much happier under Cheltish rule.”
“Until power corrupted Chelt, as it inevitably would.”
As Mellicante argued for her vision of a merchant empire united under Chelt, I realized we had not touched the scones or the tea. “Go on, eat!” I interrupted. “I didn’t bring these just to clutter up the table. I’m famished after this morning.” I poured tea into our glasses and took a bite of a scone, which was fresh and tangy from spring onions and parsley and dill worked through it, even though the usual cheese had been withheld in Magreeda’s rationing.
For a moment, we ate in silence, the cries of gulls shrilling far overhead.
“Anyway,” Baridya said, brushing crumbs from her trousers, “I think you ought to write to certain influential families in Chelt whom we can trust. If we keep the news from the rulers, we might be able to raise support without Whitland’s knowledge.”
“Who can we—”
“Leave that to me. My family still lives in Chelt, when they’re not sailing, and they have plenty of friends. I can make sure the letters reach the right hands.”
Just then, I caught raised voices from behind a row of hedges. My friends fell silent, listening.
“…act as though the world has been so unfair, when you were given everything from birth. It’s you who ruined your life, and it’s your job to bloody well fix it.”
I thought the voice belonged to Kamarri, the Curse-Weaver, and tensed as I waited to hear the response.
“I know. Plagues, I know. But it’s not that easy.”
Mellicante stared at me in horror. The second voice belonged to Viko.
“You don’t understand, do you?” Kamarri snapped. “People like Queen Kalleah have fought every moment of their lives for the small amount of respect they could win. And you had that from the start. Yet you threw it away. That’s so selfish it makes me sick. I don’t even know why you’re here, always moping around or so drunk you can’t remember who you are. Queen Kalleah deserves better than you.”
This time Viko’s voice was so soft I hardly caught it. “I know.”
“Who does she think she is, bullying Viko?” Mellicante growled. She set down her teacup with a clunk and marched off, pushing her way through a gap in the hedges instead of following the proper path.
“Kamarri can be a bit difficult, can’t she?” Baridya asked softly.
“Yes. She can.”
Just then, distant shouting rose from behind the hedges.
“Stay away from Viko!” Mellicante bellowed. “You’re as bad as he is, and I don’t want to deal with you right now.”
Their voices moved farther away, so I could not hear Kamarri’s heated reply.
Baridya and I looked at one another and sighed.
* * *
The following morning, Viko did not show up for breakfast. Mellicante searched for him in his room and all over the gardens, but he had left no trace.
“I bet he’s gone back to Larkhaven,” she muttered when I questioned her about it. “It’s all that stupid Kamarri’s fault. She thinks her cause is so righteous, but she’s too selfish to care about anyone else.”
“Gods,” I said softly. “What is it going to take to keep Viko safe?”
“I don’t know. He’s determined to destroy himself. Nothing I do seems to help.” Mellicante sighed. “Have you finished those letters for the Kinship Thrones?”
“What are you thinking?”
“I—wanted to go after Viko.” She crossed her arms, fingers tapping against her elbows. “I may as well accomplish something while I’m at it. I can deliver the letters to the harbormaster, and he’ll put them on the next ships bound for the right ports.”
Mellicante’s distress was plain on her face. I was not accustomed to seeing her this distraught; she liked being in control, and her complete lack of power over Viko’s situation combined with guilt at the part she had played in his downfall must have eaten at her.
“Do it, if you must. But be very careful. If you’re seen, it could ruin everything.”
* * *
I watched from an upstairs window in an empty bedroom, my stomach twisting with apprehension, as Mellicante walked confidently down the road toward Larkhaven later that day. I had given her four sealed letters that she tucked into her belt and hid beneath her shirt, and Baridya had given her careful instructions to pass on to the harbormaster regarding the letter to Chelt.
Baridya joined me in the empty bedroom just as Mellicante disappeared over a rise. “I’m worried. I know I shouldn’t be—she can handle herself—but so many things could go wrong.”
I linked my elbow through hers. “I know. But Mellicante can take care of herself.”
Baridya smiled weakly.
I studied her out of the corner of my eye—her dark eyelashes, her light brown skin, her prominent cheekbones and exotic facial structure that came from her mixed Cheltish, Ruunan, and Lostport blood. Even here, she drew stares everywhere she went. “I meant to ask you earlier—you know so much about the world beyond Itrea. And you evidently care far more for trade and travel than palace affairs. Why did you take the position as my lady-in-waiting?”
Baridya laughed. “It was for my parents—they wanted to see me secured in a position that gave me opportunities to rise in the world. But I never cared for court life. I thought working for you would be a good chance to make connections so I could start my own sailing business when I had the resources.”
“And instead you ended up tangled up in my messy affairs. You would have been better off if you’d never met me.”
Baridya shrugged, still smiling. “I don’t know about that. The world is changing. I may never have the chance to start the business I dreamed of, but I do know that I want you on my side. If war is coming, I think I’ve chosen my allies wisely.”
* * *
We sat up together until late that night, waiting for Mellicante to return. Since we could not see the road from my room, we dragged a pair of settees and a low table into the empty bedroom. Huddled in blankets around the table, we drank bitter hot cocoa and played Kins using a battered set we had found in our search for weapons. Half the pieces were missing, but with only two players, it did not matter too much.
The elaborate grandfather clock in the main hall ticked loudly in the silence around us, reminding me every so often that I needed to retreat so I did not drain too much energy from Baridya. In these intervals, I paced the echoing halls and climbed up and down the stairs of the manor, the space too cavernous for comfort. Oddly, the governor’s home felt larger than Baylore Palace at times, likely because the Cheltish wing had been cozy and contained. Th
at small piece of the palace had felt like home, even if the towering ceilings and vast official rooms of the historic wing had been far too large for comfort.
At one point I even ventured into the garden, where the steady pounding of the sea and the cool light of the gibbous moon helped calm my nerves.
We were nearing the end of our game at last, Baridya pulling ahead after a slow start, when I glimpsed torchlight on the road.
I jumped to my feet and pressed my forehead to the window. “There! That must be her!”
Baridya joined me, her blanket still draped over her shoulders. “What’s that?”
As she spoke, three more torches appeared over the hill. Then another six.
“No,” I whispered, adrenaline flooding me. “We’re not ready.”
15
Torches in the Night
“W e’re under attack!” I shouted from the second-floor landing.
As my voice echoed down the halls of the sleeping manor, doors began banging open and lights flaring to life.
Quendon barreled up the stairs, still in his bedclothes. “What is this? Who’s attacking?”
“I don’t know, but there are at least twenty torches heading this way fast.”
“Time to test the reinforcements we’ve put together.”
I nodded jerkily. “Can you take command? I don’t know how to lead troops.”
“At once, Your Majesty.”
Even though I knew nothing of directing battle, I had memorized the defensive plans Mellicante, Quendon, and I had drafted. As half-dressed servants, children, and untrained fighters began running in every direction, shouting in confusion and fear, I bellowed orders as loud as I could.
“Children into the rear of the third floor! Anyone who doesn’t want to fight, help supervise them. Everyone else, grab weapons. Archers, to the second-floor windows. Swordfighters, into the entrance hall.”
Kamarri sidled up to me, fully dressed, looking as though she had been waiting all night for this. “What about talented magicians? How are you going to use their strengths to your advantage?”
“You can ask them to gather here,” I said brusquely, not wanting to deal with her just now. Afraid of upsetting the delicate balance between magic and non-magic races, I had not brought up the subject with my supporters; I only knew the talents of those who had divulged them without prompting, and had not thought to keep track.
The Curse-Weaver marched away, though not before I saw her look of disappointment. Yes, she was difficult. But she also made me uncomfortably aware of my shortcomings.
There was no time to worry now.
“Soldiers, in two lines,” Quendon shouted from downstairs. “If they breach the door, we have to keep them from climbing the stairs.” When he turned and saw me watching, he called, “Make sure the archers are ready to provide backup if the Whitish make it inside.”
When I nodded, he directed two of the largest soldiers—farmers who at least had the strength to wield swords, if not the skill to do it properly—to shove the huge cabinet we had readied in front of the main doors. It was filled with rocks now; I hoped it would hold.
As I relayed Quendon’s orders to the archers, I prayed it would not come to a fight in the hall. Our archers were so unreliable that they were more likely to hit our supporters than the enemy.
My fear must have shown on my face, because a boy scrunched up his nose and said, “What if we’re not good enough to shoot the mark yet?”
“Don’t take risks. If there’s any danger you might hit one of our allies, set aside your bow and take up a dagger or a bludgeon or a sword or anything.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The boy looked relieved.
In the next room, Baridya was directing the archers with sharp efficiency. She reminded me of a ship’s captain—I could easily imagine her as a child, yelling orders at much larger men from the deck of her parents’ ship.
“They’re nearly here,” she said grimly when she noticed me.
I raced to the now-open window and saw the mass of torches bobbing and trailing flames as they descended on the front yard. The wind lifted the smell of sulfur through the window.
“They’ll see our lights,” I said. “They’ll know we’re ready for them. But we can’t afford a fight. If we lose lives now, we’ll never stand a chance against Larkhaven.”
Not a second later, someone pounded at the front door. “Let me in!” Mellicante’s voice carried clearly through the open window; she sounded desperate, her voice higher than I’d ever heard.
“The door is barricaded!” I called down. “I don’t know if we have time to open it!”
Now she was looking directly up at me; I knew I was clearly silhouetted against the brightly lit manor. “Then I’ll fight as best I can.”
“No,” I breathed.
Shoving an archer out of the way, I sprinted down to the entrance hall. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“Mellicante is outside,” I shouted at Quendon. “We need to let her in, and close this again before the Whitish get here.”
Without hesitating, he bent to shove the cabinet away from the door. Two other soldiers pitched in at once.
When the door opened a crack, Mellicante darted in, dragging Viko behind her. Both looked shocked. Mellicante held her sword in front of her face, though she lowered it a fraction once she had skirted the cabinet into the hall.
Just as Quendon heaved the great door shut again and slid the bolt into place, the force of many bodies slammed against it.
The wood groaned but held.
“Come on, move!” Quendon shouted, and every soldier nearby helped heave the cabinet back into place.
I ran down the stairs to where Mellicante leaned against the railing, gasping for breath, fingers dug into the side of her ribs. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you—later. But someone was watching—the road to the manor. They—were waiting for me when I left town.”
I wondered briefly if Viko had betrayed us, or if it was the man who delivered our food every day. Or perhaps the Whitish soldiers had seen through our lies at last.
Quendon grabbed my arm. “Unless you’re planning to fight, get yourself upstairs,” he said gruffly.
I was glad to obey. Mellicante and Viko remained in the entryway, still recovering from their sprint to the manor; Mellicante held her sword limply at her side, while Viko sank onto the bottom step, face in his hands.
Outside, the Whitish shouted at us to let them in. Torchlight flickered beyond the sheer curtains on either side of the door. Something flared brighter than ever, spreading upward, growing as it went—they had set Lord Jofran’s banner alight.
Standing at the top of the stairs, my heart hammering in my throat, I felt useless. I was no warrior, no battle commander; I was just a nineteen-year-old who had once called herself queen.
“Your Majesty?”
I whirled—Kamarri stood right behind me, watching over the entryway with her brow furrowed. Behind her stood a cluster of unarmed or badly-armed men, women, and children.
“These are your magicians,” she said. “Can you make use of us?”
I scanned those assembled. None of them were silver-haired Weavers, and none had the red hair common to Flamespinners, so I could not recognize any of them on sight.
“Most of our powers are not suited for battle,” I said.
Below, a rock smashed through one of the windows beside the door. Soldiers scattered, shouting, and glass rained on the marble floor with a sound like chimes.
With an effort, I turned back to those assembled. “But we can try. What are your powers?”
The young man who had bonded with a dolphin spoke first. “I’m a Rider, like I said.”
I nodded impatiently. What good was a dolphin in war?
“I’m a Minstrel, Your Majesty.”
“My power is Metalsmithing.”
“I-I’m a Dark Potioneer.” This last was a tiny girl no older than five with black ringlets and
serious green eyes.
This was no use. None of these talents would be any help in a fight.
Arrows whizzed through the windows from the soldiers outside—thwap…thwap…thwap.
“Fall back!” Quendon bellowed.
Rona screamed.
She staggered several steps back, and as she turned away from the door, I saw the arrow buried in her shoulder.
I hadn’t even realized she was among the soldiers; she wore a heavy wool coat and a helmet that covered her grey curls.
With another howl of pain, Rona wrenched the arrow free and hurled it to the floor. Hoisting her sword with her left arm, she fell back into her place in line.
Now that I looked, I realized Magreeda was among the soldiers as well.
“Archers!” I called down the hall. “We’re being fired on! Aim for the men with bows.”
“We’re trying,” Baridya’s voice called back. “But they have shields, and it’s hard to shoot a target in the dark.”
I turned again to the magicians around me, sure I was wasting my time. “Does anyone have a power that might be useful in a fight?”
The cluster of magicians shifted and looked at one another; no one spoke.
“Fine. We’ll think of battle strategies another time, when we’re not in the middle of a fight. For now, all of you need to get upstairs and stay safe. You are far too valuable to risk until you know how to defend yourselves.”
“What about you, Your Majesty?” Kamarri asked. “Extractors have deadly power. Surely you can help in some way?”
I snorted lightly, more in panic than amusement. “Yes, if the soldiers are happy to remain where they are for two hours, I can end them all!”
“Ah.” With a disappointed frown, the Curse-Weaver shepherded the rest of the magicians up to the third floor.
Downstairs, the door rattled alarmingly on its hinges. We had scoured the land near the governor’s manor and removed any driftwood and heavy branches that could serve as a battering ram, but someone appeared to be chopping away at it with a hatchet.
Renegade Queen : A Court Intrigue Fantasy (The Forbidden Queen Series Book 3) Page 15
