The Glass Queen

by Gena Showalter

  The heat drained from my face. I’d heard my mother use those same words at times. Lives in you...possessed...mystical wall. “What does that mean?”

  Milo stopped in front of me, his expression almost reverent. “It means you are Leonora, the Burner of Worlds. You are the one my father tried to eliminate—the one I seek. You can give me everything I desire. Everything I deserve. I can do the same for you.”

  The name Leonora echoed inside my head, setting my every nerve on edge. While there wasn’t much known about Leonora the Burner of Worlds, all of Enchantia had heard about her war with Craven the Destroyer. How she’d possess fire magic and led an army of dragons against his army of bloodthirsty avian warriors, and devastation had reigned.

  Their battles took place centuries ago, yet some parts of the realm had never recovered. In fact, one of the Avian Mountains, where Craven had once resided, was known as the Peak of Sorrow, thanks to a staggering death toll and a barren landscape.

  Even though Leonora had lived so long ago, Momma had accidentally called me Leonora, too, when she’d been sick and delirious. I’d entered her room with a pitcher of water, and she’d thrown a goblet at my head, screeching, Leave her, Leonora. Leave my Ashleigh. I hate you, do you hear me? I want you gone.

  Growing more nauseous by the second, I sputtered, “I’m not Leonora. I’m not. She’s dead, and I’m alive.”

  “Oh, she isn’t dead, I assure you. She lives on in you.” His smile returned as he crouched in front of me, intense golden eyes drilling into my soul. “I speak to you, Leonora. I know you seek vengeance. I will help you get it—if you will help me get riches beyond my wildest dreams.”

  My breaths quickened. “I—I don’t understand what you expect from me.” Maybe he wasn’t quite right in the head? “I promise I’m not Leonora. I swear she’s not living on inside me.”

  “Without its refortification, the barrier between you is already weakening. One day, nothing will separate you. It might be a week, or a year, or even ten years, but you will become her, and she will become you.”

  My tremors returned, a chill spreading in my bones. “I don’t—”

  A whoosh, whoosh noise drew my gaze upward. My heart thudded as Saxon Skylair came into view. He dipped in the sky, sinking beneath a cloud. Such grace, speed, and agility. Envy consumed me as the wind whipped through his hair, ruffled his cerulean wings as well as the fabric of his plain white tunic and dark leather trousers.

  My gaze found his, and I cringed at the fury he projected. No, not this time. Scathing hostility boiled in his eyes now, and it was so much worse than the fury. As I scrambled backward, hoping to avoid him altogether, I remembered Milo’s presence and looked to him for help—

  The warlock’s son had already raced away.

  Panic spiked when Prince Saxon descended headfirst, his wings tucked into his sides to increase his speed—he was headed straight for me. I scrambled back. At the last second, he flared those wings to slow his momentum and landed a few feet away with a heavy thump.

  I lumbered on legs that had yet to steady, fighting to remain upright as I continued to inch backward. “I’ll go.”

  “Stay,” he barked. One word. Four letters. Infinite command. “I suspect I know who you are, but I wish to make sure.”

  Not this again. Suddenly light-headed, I wrapped my fingers around Momma’s ring. Every instinct shouted, Flee! Flee now. I remained in place. I had to know who Saxon Skylair thought I was. Would he believe me to be Leonora too?

  A tower of might, he stalked closer. When he stopped, he stood a whisper away. An incredible scent drifted to my nose, reminding me of a promise of rain. It came from him, I realized, and I had to fight the urge to press my nose into the hollow of his throat and breathe deeply.

  Pinching a lock of my brown hair, he said, “Rumor suggests you’re too sickly to leave your bed, that you would have to be carried to the service, and yet you somehow found the strength to walk to and from the palace—twice—on the day of my arrival. A strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

  His thickened tone suggested...what? “I found the strength to say goodbye to my mother,” I replied, at my wit’s end. Two boys, one mystery, and a whole lot of confusion.

  His mouth started moving again. I knew he was speaking to me, yet his voice was getting drowned out by the ringing in my ears. Dizzy... Black spots dotted my vision, his merciless face blurring.

  No, no, no. Not again. Though I struggled with everything I had, I couldn’t stop the black spots from spreading through my mind. Like spilled ink on parchment.

  To faint in front of this boy... I hadn’t interacted with many people in my lifetime, but I knew to be wary of showing a hint of vulnerability right now. But... I needed help, even if it came from someone like him.

  I tried to tell Saxon, “Can’t see. Palace. Return...”

  But the darkness took me first.

  * * *

  Trapped in a void, with no sight or sound. Aware but powerless. Time ceased to hold meaning for me, a minute, hour, or year passing. Until...

  A glimmer of light appeared. I kicked and clawed my way toward it—yes! The darkness receded, bit by bit, and I blinked open my eyes. Bright light registered, the world coming back into view. I was lying on the ground, rosebushes, statues, and flames. Heat poured from me, the scent of charred grass heavy. Flames? A thick veil of smoke choked me, and I coughed.

  There’d been smoke in the warlock’s chambers, too.

  Was Saxon okay? I sat up, my gaze finding Saxon.

  A scream of shock and horror barreled from me. He loomed perhaps twenty feet away, his hair singed at the ends, dark rings of smoke around his eyes, nose, and mouth, his clothes littered with burn holes. Even his feathers had been scorched.

  I didn’t... I couldn’t... With a baffling amount of energy I’d never before experienced, I scrambled to my feet and stepped toward him, determined to help. “What happened?”

  He huffed and puffed his breaths, like a big bad wolf. “You happened.”

  “Me? I didn’t... I never... I was unconscious.” I stumbled back, my hand fluttering to my chest. Wait. I paused to peer down. My fingers. The ends were red, and they burned hot enough to singe my dress. Frantic, I shook out both hands, hoping to cool them off.

  He took a step toward me, just one, but it contained more ferocity than any sword. “Leave. Now. Before I kill you where you stand. I’ve never harmed a child, even a woman trapped in the body of one, and I don’t wish to start today.”

  Kill me? As in murder me? But, that couldn’t be right. “You need to let me help you. You’re hurt.”

  “I’m avian. I heal swiftly. Now leave,” he repeated with more force.

  “Stay, both of you.” The command came from my father as he stomped around the same wall of foliage I’d navigated, with Roth, Farrah, and Milo behind him. “Someone tell me what has caused such damage. Now.”

  The second the Charmaines caught sight of us, concern contorted their features. Roth rushed over, demanding, “Who did this to you both, Saxon?”

  “This didn’t happen to us both.” Saxon glowered at me. “This happened to me. The girl is responsible.”

  “Liar!” I rarely fell into a temper, but this boy and his animosity pushed me closer and closer to the edge.

  “Ashleigh, you worthless girl.” My father believed Saxon over me? “The avian are a proud people, rich in tradition. Harming one of their royals is a terrible insult to all avian, and restitution must now be made.”

  A pang almost rent me in two, fueled by sorrow, fear, and anger. “I didn’t hurt him. You have to believe me, Father. I—”

  “Enough. Your mother wanted you here, I do not.” He pointed an accusing finger at me, and I withered. “I have tolerated your presence only because of the prophecy and the potential for blessings upon the kingdom, but I have become more and more c
ertain that your role is a minor one. If not a curse altogether. You’re too...you.”

  I flinched, as though I’d been punched.

  And he wasn’t done. “I’d planned to send you away tomorrow. Now circumstances have changed. You will move to the Temple of Blessed Peace today, where you will live out the rest of your days.”

  I gaped at him. He’d planned to send me away before this? He’d expected me to leave the only home I’d ever known, my mother’s home, the day after her funeral? To live at the Temple, a mystical cluster of trees where dryads worshipped nature? A place hours away, even by route of the Enchantian Forest?

  “Will this serve as restitution, Prince Saxon?” Father asked the male.

  “No,” the avian snapped. “But it will do. For now.”

  As everyone in the group glared at me, awaiting my response to the punishment, my world seemed to contract, expand, then contract again, like a pulse inside my brain. Though I would have loved to sprint away, to sob, to plead my case, I knew better. Father never reversed his decisions, and those who protested ended up in his dungeon.

  I fingered my mother’s ring and glared at Saxon. “Yes, Father. I will move to the Temple to make restitution to the prince.” For now, just as he’d said.

  But one day...

  Yes. One day.

  2

  Dreams may come, and dreams may go,

  but you’ll always have a foe.

  Ashleigh

  Three years later

  Present day

  Sunlight spilled through the tiny holes I’d drilled into the walls of my bedroom, warming and waking me. I groaned as I eased into an upright position. New day, same routine. Wake up. Bathe. Eat a piece of fruit. Clean the Temple. Eat a small lunch. Clean the Temple. Eat a smaller dinner. Read. Go to sleep.

  I sighed, a plume of dirt falling from my hair, landing on—dirt? I groaned. Not this again. I’d fallen asleep relatively clean. Well, as clean as one could get, living in a hollowed-out tree trunk and working with forest nymphs who cared only about nature. Now dirt caked my feet, stained my nightgown, and filled the underside of my nails.

  Clearly, I’d explored the forest in my sleep again. Something I did about once a month. Thrice I’d woken up to mud and a treasure. Today, I discovered another treasure. A large egg rested beside my pillow.

  I ran my fingers over the ridged shell and grinned. Red with flecks of green. Definitely a dragon egg, just like the others. And I didn’t care that finding such a thing seemed to support what the warlock’s son had said about me, that I had the witch Leonora, the queen of dragons, trapped inside me somehow. My subconscious had latched on to the idea of dragons, obviously, and now sought to find as many as possible.

  Many times, I’d bartered with a vast number of Temple patrons to receive history books about dragons, the avian, and witches, as well as different metalwork and gardening guides, even ancestral journals about the different royal families. In return, I’d carved the patrons’ names into the Temple’s trunk.

  Supposedly, when someone who lived in the Temple carved another person’s name in said tree trunk, untold blessings would come upon that person. Had I started the rumor because I needed a way to get my books? Yes. Did I feel bad about it? Not even a little. Maybe untold blessings did come upon them. Who knew?

  During all my studies, I’d learned I shared no similarities with Leonora. Other than the fire thing. And the love of dragons. And the war with the avian. But that was all! She’d had a cruel streak. I didn’t. She’d destroyed innocents. I never would. Most important, I hadn’t started a fire since my arrival, as I must have somehow done to Prince Saxon in the garden. How, though? How had I managed to ignite flames while unconscious and magicless?

  Then again, anything was possible in Enchantia.

  Whatever had happened, I would apologize to the avian prince for my part in it. Surely he would be satisfied then. Hadn’t I paid for my accidental crime long enough?

  Ugh. Thoughts of the prince always soured my mood. I pushed him from my mind and focused on my new egg. A joy. After cleaning the beauty with painstaking care, despite its hard-as-steel shell, I placed it beside the others in the box I kept stashed under my bed.

  Satisfied, I stood to prepare for my day. This bedroom was smaller than my closet at home. I had the bed, the egg box, a couple changes of clothes, a few toiletries, and a small—very small—wooden tub. If I wanted to bathe each morning, I had to haul water into the tub the night before. Some part of me must have known I’d go egg hunting last night; before bed, I’d lugged four buckets of water up my tangle of branches, also known as my “staircase.”

  The Temple itself was comprised of multiple hollowed-out tree trunks, their gnarled limbs creating the walls and floors. In some spots, flowers grew. In others, ivy. Bugs crawled here and there, and birds flew about at will, webs and nests part of our decor.

  Though I would have preferred a room on the ground floor, I’d chosen this one because of the moonberry vines hanging in one corner. Some mornings, I had only to reach out to acquire breakfast. Sadly, this wasn’t one of those mornings. I’d eaten the last berry yesterday, and they wouldn’t bloom again for another month.

  I stripped and gathered my toiletries, then climbed into the ice-cold tub to wash. I’d added the rose petals I’d collected while pruning, and now their sweet scent enveloped me.

  When I was as clean as I could get, I dressed in a fresh sackcloth. I owned four, and I kept them washed and mended as much as possible. With no mirror, I had to plait my hair sight unseen, a task I’d perfected over the years. Last, I scrubbed my teeth with a paste I made with nearby herbs. That done, I headed out to start my first chore.

  Dryads floated in and out of the Temple, mostly pretending I wasn’t there. While I’d moved in 1095 days ago, they still resented my presence. If they hadn’t feared my father and what he’d do to the royal gardens if ever they angered him, they would have kicked me out a long time ago.

  In the beginning, I’d tried to win them over. I’d picked them a bouquet of fresh flowers—and earned their wrath for daring to sever plant heads. I’d given them a bowl of flower petals that had fallen to the ground without my help...and earned their wrath for daring to use dead flowers as a gift. Can’t win.

  My ears twitched when two dryads spoke to each other somewhere behind me. They only ever whispered, just as rumor claimed, their voices reminiscent of a gentle wind.

  “We’ll have a special guest later today,” one said. “A witch.”

  Ohhh, a witch. We rarely received visits from the magically inclined. Hopefully I could talk the witch into a blessing in exchange for a new book about her coven’s history.

  “Do you know what she wants?” the other asked.

  “I don’t. But she sent word to say we were to roll out the red carpet.”

  “Why would she think we have carpet? And why would she want carpet out here?”

  I whispered, “What time will she arrive?” To mask my excitement and encourage a response, I didn’t glance over my shoulder; I just trimmed another dead leaf from a branch.

  The two went quiet, shuffled apart and floated from the room, leaving me to expel a breath.

  I didn’t encounter any other dryads as I finished up, which wasn’t much of a surprise. They preferred to spend their mornings outside, gardening, and their afternoons preparing and enjoying lunch. I wasn’t invited to such a sacred time. After they’d eaten their fill, however, they always handed me a bowl of vegetables and herbs on their return inside.

  “Thank you,” I called when I accepted today’s offering.

  For the first time, a dryad stopped to respond. She had freckled white skin, hair the color of summer leaves, and she wore a gown made of flower petals, her feet bare. “Tomorrow is All Trees Day,” she told me with a quiet voice. “Last night you tracked mud throughout the Temple, so you must cle
an the floors before we receive our daily visitors. Then you must clean the floors again, after our visitors leave.”

  All Trees Day. A holiday observed at every Temple scattered throughout the kingdoms, when citizens came to pay their respects, and dryads blessed any surrounding foliage to give back to nature.

  “I’ll get it done, don’t you worry,” I told her. I would work nonstop. I didn’t like my job most days, but I always gave it my best.

  Once I’d scarfed down the carrot, cucumber, mushrooms, and sprig of rosemary, I gathered the necessary supplies to clean the cobblestone on the bottom floor of the Temple.

  I knelt and dunked a rag into the bucket of hot, soapy water. Withering roses! Old and new cuts stung.

  With a wince, I dropped the sopping wet rag on the stone and got to scrubbing. No matter how good or bad I felt, I performed this task at least once every day. Today wasn’t just a good day, though; today was a great one. My heartbeat steady, something that had been happening more and more lately. I guess the older I got the stronger I got.

  I worked as quickly as possible while still doing my best, ready for the day’s visitors to come and go so I could do it all over again and finally return to my room to read. I had recently acquired a book about mechanical triggers.

  I already had ideas for my crossbow. The shedding of the outer layers to reveal a hidden dagger, when it ran out of arrows. It would be menacing from far away and close up. I just needed to figure out a way to keep the detachable pieces sturdy while they were needed.

  I would love to speak with a blacksmith. Maybe spend a day watching as one worked. So far, I’d only ever crafted my daggers from objects I’d found in the forest.

  By the time I finished the floors—the first time—my energy was drained, fatigue holding me captive. And I still had to go outside to rake leaves and gather herbs.

  Ugh. My stomach twisted, nervousness rising. I hated going outside. But still I did it. If I didn’t work, I didn’t eat.