Renegade Queen : A Court Intrigue Fantasy (The Forbidden Queen Series Book 3)

by R. J. Vickers

  “Have you told Mellicante that?” I asked softly.

  “No.” His voice was very small. “I don’t want to talk about it with her.”

  “So you’d rather discuss it with the queen of Itrea?” I said with a half-smile.

  He reddened. “Sorry.”

  “No, don’t apologize. It’s just funny that Mellicante intimidates you more than I do.”

  “Well, you were here lurking in the woods just like I was. I almost forgot who you were.” He gave me a sideways look. “Why were you here, anyway?”

  “Because no one wanted to partner with me for sword practice. I came here to drag you out for entirely selfish reasons, I’m afraid.”

  Viko’s expression lightened. “Well, if that’s the case, I’d gladly join in.”

  Smiling to myself, I led the way back toward the lawn, where I fetched a pair of unused practice swords. Viko didn’t want pity; he just wanted to feel necessary. Well, I could arrange that.

  We ran through the drill several times, each taking turns attacking and blocking. Unfortunately, we would never be able to simulate a real fight without heavy padding and a helmet; even the practice swords could do serious damage if we rapped a partner’s knuckles or skull too hard. The movements never quite worked out as fluidly as they had in Leoth’s demonstration, and I kept letting Viko’s sword graze my hand. I would have lost several fingers by now if this were a real fight.

  Soon Leoth approached and stood watching us with his hands clasped behind his back. I tried not to let his watchful gaze throw me off balance, but I swung a bit too hard at Viko and whacked him hard on the shoulder.

  “Sorry!” I squealed.

  “I’m all right.” He rubbed his shoulder with a rueful grin.

  “Who is this?” Leoth asked, nodding at Viko.

  “No one wanted to partner with me, so I found an unwilling participant to drag into your lessons.”

  “Hmm. Well, you’re aiming for his sword, not his head. Can I take a turn?”

  Viko stepped back graciously.

  “I want you to swing as hard as you can at my head,” Leoth said. “Don’t worry about hurting me. I’ve been in hundreds of duels before where the stakes were real, so you need to trust I can block you. Take a step forward with your right foot as you do, and…” He trailed off as his eyes locked onto mine. Warmth flooded me, and I felt the weight of everything still unspoken between us. He was too close. I craved his embrace, his touch.

  “What makes you think I’d be reluctant to give your head a good whack?” I teased, trying to ease the tension.

  Leoth chuckled. “Come on, then. Let’s see what you can do.”

  I fell into the fighting stance, left foot forward, right foot back, knees bent. Leoth held his wrapped sword loosely by his side. I expected him to raise it in preparation, but he did not.

  Gritting my teeth, I swung my sword fiercely at his head.

  Quicker than a snake, his sword darted up to catch mine. While I was still trying to react, my momentum carrying forward into Leoth’s blade, he lifted mine to the side with a light movement, stepped back, and touched the point of his sword to my throat. All of it happened in the space of two heartbeats.

  I stepped back, letting my sword fall to my side. This was useless. Leoth had the grace and skill of a lifelong master of the sword, and the Whitish army would be the same. How could I ever compete with that?

  “Well, you certainly didn’t hold back,” Leoth said with a chuckle. “That was much better.”

  “Aside from the fact that you managed to kill me within seconds.”

  “That was the whole point of the exercise. Let’s switch, and you can see how well that works.”

  I fell into the sword stance once more, blade held at the ready over my right shoulder. I hoped Leoth wouldn’t attack me as fiercely as I had gone after him—I wouldn’t be able to block in time.

  With a swift, fluid movement, his sword arced through the air toward me. I reacted quickly, twisting my wrists and raising my blade to catch his. But this was where I got stuck—I had to pause and consider for a moment before completing the movement.

  “That’s right,” Leoth said. “Now practice that another hundred times, and you’ll get used to doing it without thinking.”

  “Thanks,” I said sarcastically.

  Leoth gave me a wry smile and walked on, but not before he threw Viko a questioning look.

  “Is he jealous? Of me?” Viko asked once Leoth was gone, a smile spreading across his face.

  “You are rather good-looking, you know,” I said drily. “If you can get the rest of your life sorted out, you’ll have women flocking after you.”

  Viko chuckled. “You know, it would almost be worth it to see that look of shock on his face again.”

  * * *

  As the days went on, I could see that my ragtag band of supporters was finally becoming something more. Under Leoth’s guidance, his charisma and firm leadership, they were forming an army.

  He was the ruler I would never be—beloved of his people, unmarred by forbidden blood. Watching my followers march and raise their swords as one, obeying his orders without hesitation, I realized Itrea would rise against Whitland much more effectively beneath such a king. And that scared me. I still did not know his secret; if he decided to turn on me halfway through the battle of Larkhaven, my people would follow him without objection. I did not think that was his intention, but I was certain of nothing. Until I understood why he had betrayed me the first time, I faced the risk that he might do it again. I could not give him such power until I was certain of his loyalty.

  The words he had spoken atop the cliffs muddled everything further still, but I could not allow that to distract me. He had once professed love, with the depth of true emotion, only to turn against me.

  I put off the inevitable confrontation. I feared Leoth would turn away from me forever if I pushed him too far, but at the same time, there was no point continuing as we were. Either I would learn the truth, or Leoth would leave.

  In the meantime, our numbers continued to swell. Though neither my father nor Dellik had returned, we now had sixty fighters crammed into Lord Jofran’s lodge and camped in the woods nearby.

  Five days before the attack on Larkhaven, I finally summoned Leoth into Lord Gabrin’s study.

  “What is this about?” he asked, stepping inside. His bruises were almost gone, and his confidence had returned. There was little sign of the broken, desperate man who had met me in the forest just fifteen days ago.

  “Could you please lock the door?”

  Leoth obeyed with raised eyebrows.

  I sank into the chair behind the desk and gestured for him to sit opposite me. I did not know how to begin.

  “You have done a wonderful job training my soldiers.”

  “Then why does your tone sound so ominous?”

  I sighed and clasped my hands on the desk, resisting the urge to fidget under his unwavering gaze. “I still don’t know why you betrayed me the first time. Until I learn the truth, I’m not sure I can trust you to lead my army. Part of me still wonders if this is all an elaborate scheme you dreamed up with your father, a way to keep an eye on me and ruin my plans to overthrow the Truthbringers.”

  “You think I got myself beaten half to death on purpose.” His voice was flat.

  “No, I don’t. But I feel as though you’re hiding something important, something that might affect my campaign. And I don’t understand why you were injured so badly in the first place. I know you blocked a few laws the Truthbringers wanted to pass, but surely removing you from the throne would be enough to satisfy them. The violence seems excessive, even for them.”

  “Don’t have me lead the army, then. I’d gladly let someone else take that burden. I don’t want to hurt you, Kalleah. I don’t know what it will take to convince you of that.”

  “The truth,” I said shortly. “I’ve been giving you more and more influence among my followers, and I still don’t unders
tand why you blackmailed my friends to vote against me or why you put the Truthbringers in power when you seemed to realize how cruel they were. Again and again, you say one thing and do another, and I can’t figure out why. I’ve taken you in even after everything you did to me, and I’ve given you the status a prince of Itrea deserves. I need to know I haven’t made a mistake yet again.”

  “I saved your life,” Leoth said bitterly. “Wasn’t that enough to show you my intentions?”

  “And in the next second you gave the Truthbringers free rein in the city, knowing they would turn on our magic races. Besides, your dramatic rescue was only necessary because you sentenced me to death in the first place.”

  “It was the only way to keep the mob from attacking the palace. You wouldn’t have been safe if you had hidden away.”

  He was right. I sighed—he was avoiding my true question. “But why the Varse did you hand the city over to the Truthbringers?”

  He passed a hand over his eyes. “I had no choice.”

  “Why not? You were king. You had the power to put them in their place, because unlike me, you actually had the support of your subjects.”

  Leoth’s shoulders rounded, and his eyes dropped to the table. “My father was forcing my hand.”

  “He doesn’t matter at all! He’s not even a holden king. How could you let him push you around like that?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “What don’t I understand?” I shot back. “Why can’t you tell me?”

  Leoth was silent for a long time. His hands twisted together, and he did not meet my eyes. “I’ve—never told anyone before.”

  I tensed in surprise. Here it was—he had finally admitted he was hiding something. I did not want to push him now; I could sense he was teetering on the brink of a decision.

  At last he raised his eyes to mine once again. A haunted look crossed his face. “I need to tell you.” His hand was shaking as he raked it through his hair. “Kalleah, I…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  I watched him, stomach fluttering with nerves.

  Leoth climbed slowly to his feet. Hands still trembling, he undid the laces on his shirt. I had no idea what he was doing, and for one wild moment I wondered if he was about to force himself on me. When he let his shirt fall to the floor, I started at the deep welts across his chest, the bruising that had yet to fade from his ribs.

  Then he turned his back to me.

  I gasped.

  Running down his back and along both arms were the same puckered, ridged scars that the Curse-Weaver, Kamarri, had shown me.

  “No,” I breathed. His scars were less pronounced than Kamarri’s—the source of his power must have been removed at a young age—but they were still thick and knotted.

  His back still to me, Leoth bent to retrieve his shirt. As he did, a vivid memory flashed through my mind. On the night we had lain together, I had tried to remove his shirt, but he had forestalled me. At the time, I had wondered briefly if he was hiding some disfigurement, but I had considered it no further.

  If I had known then what marked a Curse-Weaver, would I have suspected? Had he feared I might guess his secret that night?

  “My father hates me for what I am,” Leoth mumbled. He shrugged his shirt back on, hiding the scars. “He made me hate myself too. I’ve never shown those to anyone.”

  I stood and approached Leoth cautiously. I could not begin to imagine the torment his life had been—despised by his own parents, terrified of what would happen if the truth came to light.

  Leoth passed a hand over his eyes, his back still to me.

  Tentatively I stepped in front of him and slid my arms around his waist.

  At first he stiffened, but then he sagged into my embrace, face pressed to my hair. His shoulders shook—I realized he was crying.

  “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m an embarrassment. I don’t even know who I am. Everything I’ve ever done has been an attempt to hide this.”

  I held him tight, his tears dampening my hair. His body still trembled. I could find no words to reassure him, but I hoped he could tell from my embrace that I would never turn him away. Not now.

  Eventually he stepped back, giving me a weak smile.

  “Why did you join the Truthbringers, then?”

  He laughed harshly. “My father forced me to do it. He thought I was getting too arrogant, too rebellious. He wanted to teach me what my real place was. Every time I went to one of their meetings, I had to listen to them talk about how evil people like me were, how they would burn us alive when they rose to power.

  “It wasn’t long before I started to believe them. The more I spoke out against the forbidden races, the more I could pretend I was not one myself. It twisted my mind. Sometimes I felt like I didn’t know myself any longer.”

  “Leoth—”

  “You can see why I was so fascinated by you. Even though everyone hated you—even when you heard the Truthbringers call you a demon—you had faith in yourself. You were determined to do the right thing for Itrea no matter what stood in your way. You were confident despite your forbidden blood.” Leoth wiped his sleeve over his eyes, scrubbing away the tears. “You showed me what I might have been.”

  When I reached for his hand, Leoth backed away, his shoulders colliding with the bookshelf. My heart ached for him—I wanted to go back in time and shelter the lost, frightened boy who had grown into this broken man.

  At last I believed him. He was no enemy.

  “And the Truthbringers who captured you?” I asked softly.

  “They figured out what I am. That’s why they nearly killed me.”

  “Leoth…”

  “Listen, I don’t need your pity. You managed, so I will too.”

  I sighed. “No, I wanted to say—Leoth, I still care for you too.”

  He met my eyes at last, and I could see the self-hatred, the fear, the vulnerability that warred within him.

  Just then, someone rapped loudly, hastily, at the door.

  “Your Majesty?” I recognized the voice of the Rider. “There are sails on the horizon.”

  22

  The Island in the Harbor

  “W e can’t do this,” I said blankly. Time seemed to slow, and I took a ponderous step to the door. If I unbolted the latch, there would be no turning back.

  We did not have enough followers to secure Larkhaven as it was. Once the shipload of Whitish reinforcements docked, we would be slaughtered.

  I opened the door.

  The Rider’s hair was tangled from the wind, his cheeks pink.

  “How far away is the ship?” I asked, my voice steady, confident. If my followers saw my doubt, they would never find the courage to take up arms.

  “Too close,” the Rider said grimly. “It will reach Larkhaven in a few hours—by nightfall, at the latest.”

  “Then we have no time to waste.”

  I strode past the Rider into the sitting-room, where most of my followers were relaxing after dinner, leaning against walls or huddled around games of cards.

  “The time has come,” I called out. “Whitland’s reinforcements are near. We must prepare for battle.”

  For a moment, my followers stared at me with mingled expressions of fear and incomprehension.

  Mellicante was the first to rise. “What is your strategy, Your Majesty?”

  Behind me, I heard a soft footstep as Leoth joined me. I wanted him to take charge, to lead as my battle commander, but first I needed to give orders. These people were here to follow me.

  “We must move fast,” I said. “Larkhaven’s port is easy to defend, but if the ship reaches shore, we will be overrun. We must take Larkhaven before nightfall and stop that ship.”

  Now the room descended into chaos. Chairs thudded against the ground, voices rose in a growing din, and bodies collided as everyone tried to move at once.

  “Fetch your weapons and shields and enchanted clothing,” I shouted over the din, “and a
ssemble on the lawn in fifteen minutes.”

  As my followers shoved their way upstairs to the spare bedroom we had turned into a makeshift armory, I returned to Lord Gabrin’s office. It felt as though I walked through a dream, colors and sounds blurring around me.

  I drew on the boots, cloak, and coat the Weaver had enchanted for me. Most of my followers had only one item of enchanted clothing apiece—mainly reinforced coats that could serve as armor—but Mellicante and Leoth had insisted I needed as much protection as possible.

  Just as I finished dressing and buckled on my sword-belt, Leoth, Mellicante, Quendon, Baridya, Lord Gabrin, and Kamarri joined me. All trace of weakness had fled Leoth’s face; he looked every bit the hardened warrior.

  Mellicante spread the rough map of Larkhaven on the desk. “We don’t have enough support, but everyone knows their parts. How are we going to begin?”

  I leaned over the map while my friends and advisors gathered around. As we had seen when we first arrived, the main road into Larkhaven dropped down a slope, curving through town until it reached the waterfront. To the right of Larkhaven, the coast rose in sheer cliffs, while to the left the slope was gentler, the hills built up with row after row of houses.

  We had discussed our strategy many times, but we had yet to agree on the exact approach. Though I would not admit it to my friends, I had held out hope that my father and Dellik would appear before the next five days were up, each trailing a sizeable force that would even the odds.

  “The Whitish will be watching the road,” I said. “Mellicante’s visit to Larkhaven proved that much. With any luck some of them will be distracted preparing for the ship to dock, but we can’t count on that.”

  I wished someone else would step in—any of them were more qualified for this than I.

  When no one spoke, I continued. “I think we should split up, so even if some of us are cornered, we won’t all be stopped. If Viko and Dellik are right, many of the Whitish soldiers should be going about their lives rather than patrolling the streets.”