The Glass Queen

by Gena Showalter

  A pause. Then, “Hundreds of years.”

  What? He couldn’t be serious. “I’m seventeen years old.” In a month, I would be eighteen. “I haven’t lived for hundreds of years.” I finished one set of ties and slipped the boot from his foot. He wore black linen socks. Why did I find that adorable?

  “Do you know what a reincarnate is, Princess?”

  The way he spoke my title...as if it were a curse and a prayer all rolled into one. I shiver-shuddered again, suspicions poking and prodding at my fragile calm. “You mean someone who is reborn again and again, until they accomplish a certain goal?”

  “Exactly right.”

  I worked on his second boot with more gusto. “And you think...what? That I’m a reincarnate?”

  “I know we are both reincarnates.”

  Saxon, a reincarnate...me... The idea dropped into my mind with all the grace of a cannonball, and I shook my head. “No. Impossible. We can’t be.”

  “I was known as Craven. The first avian king.”

  “The Destroyer.” Dread settled deep in my bones.

  He nodded, a single jerk of his chin. “You were known as Leonora, a fire-wielding witch who communed with dragons. Later, I became Tyron, but you remained Leonora, only you had a different face. Now I am Saxon, with the same face as before, and you are Ashleigh, different again, yet we are still Craven and Leonora.”

  The moisture in my mouth dried. If he’d mentioned any other names, I could have refuted his claim straightaway. But Leonora and Craven...everything I’d read about the couple, everything my mother and Milo had inadvertently revealed about the witch...

  The coincidences were only stacking up.

  Should I mention what Milo had said, just before Saxon found me in the garden?

  No need to ponder the answer. Why give Saxon more ammunition to use against me? “What makes you think—sorry, know—I’m a reincarnate of this Leonora?” The few times Momma had deliriously referred to me by the name, she’d called me possessed, not reincarnated.

  You possessed my baby. You took her from me.

  “You told me,” Saxon snapped, “just before you launched the first ball of fire at me.”

  No way, no how. Utterly impossible. Right?

  One heart, two heads.

  Possessed.

  What if I had an evil, more powerful Ashleigh buried inside me, and it was her magic power I sometimes felt? What if she only made an appearance when I slept? How many times had I gone to sleep and awoken covered in dirt?

  Reeling at the implications, I fell back on my haunches, taking Saxon’s other boot with me. “But... I can’t be Leonora. I don’t have memories of a past life.”

  “You passed out for less than a second, then you woke, stood and spoke to me. When I failed to tell you what you wished to hear, you attacked.”

  “No. There has to be another explanation.” Because, if he spoke true, I could have also awakened in the warlock’s chamber. I could have attacked him and...and...my mother. That would mean I was the one who’d...that I’d... My chin trembled, and I gave my head another shake. “I’m not a reincarnate. I can’t be. I would know.” No version of me would ever harm my mother. “If I were a witch, I would wield fire magic all the time, not just in my sleep. And I don’t. I’m completely powerless. But you... I can absolutely picture you as the most savage king ever to rule the avian.”

  “You are Leonora.” His voice sounded different now. Deeper. Huskier. Menacing. As if the king had just come out to play. “Twice you murdered my family. Twice you murdered me and burned my home. Have the courage to admit it. Or, at the very least, make your denial more believable.”

  “I’m not her,” I whispered, my tone broken. “I’m not.”

  His confidence remained unwavering. “I’ll prove you’re the witch. Just give me time, Princess. Just give me time.”

  5

  Let nothing push you off course.

  Do what you must, even by force.

  SAXON

  I floundered, the schemes and trials I’d so looked forward to enacting suddenly tainted and far less enjoyable than they’d been during their conception. How was I supposed to deal with someone in complete denial of the truth? More important, why was I tempted to believe her delusions?

  Well, that one I could answer. Passion had steeped her every word, and the nature of the avian—one that rewarded strength, courage, and resilience—wouldn’t allow me to dismiss her claims outright.

  “You don’t feel like a reincarnate, so you aren’t?” I arched a brow. “Feelings are subjective, fleeting, and always subject to change, Princess, but truth remains the same forever.”

  Almost desperate, she said, “Let’s say we’re both who you say we are, then. They—we—attacked each other in two previous lives. Therefore, I should get to punish you, too.”

  Well, well. Another Leonora response. Except, the Leonora of old never would have left evidence of her crimes. She would have killed the witnesses, the very soldiers who’d helped her. Ashleigh had owned her actions and all but told me why I should thank her for them. A feat I admired.

  “You forget,” I said, remembering the justification I’d had to feed her father. “I’m only punishing you for what you did as Ashleigh. So, tell me. What wrong have I done to you as Saxon?”

  “You got me banished to the Temple.”

  “You got yourself banished.”

  Adriel entered then, carrying a tray piled high with breads, cheese, fruits, and a bottle of wine. He had a wealth of red curls, freckled white skin and ebony wings. We had been somewhat friendly as children, but I didn’t know the man he’d become.

  Ashleigh paled as he placed the tray on the trunk. Did she fear all avian or Adriel specifically? Because she didn’t act this way with me. But why would she fear the others and not me? And why did I suddenly want to stand between her and the world?

  Stupid question. I knew why, I just didn’t like that the sense of connection had resurged, rousing my most protective instincts.

  Protect my enemy? I’d rather die. If Ashleigh got hurt, Ashleigh got hurt. I would not aid her in any way. She might be inexplicably attractive to me, but I preferred warrior women to dainty princesses, and always had.

  “Where are the rest of my supplies?” I asked him.

  “Soon to arrive, my lord.” He glared at her, as if he knew her real identity. He didn’t. He couldn’t. Only my closest allies knew the truth, and they did not spread the news. Queen Raven might suspect it because of what happened in the garden, but she didn’t know. Ashleigh would already be dead. “Your mother’s messenger arrived, sir. The mer-king missed a day of peace talks, sending an advisor in his place. Queen Raven would like to know how you think she should retaliate?”

  This was a test, no doubt. The avian didn’t tolerate disrespect well. If we gave it, we demanded it in return or we cut the offender from our lives. My mother would expect me to prove I had the courage to lead as well as the kings before me—or after Craven—even during these tough times. She would expect me to incite violence against the mer-king, for insulting her position.

  Pressure building... “The queen is to cease all talks with the mers. If their king cannot give us his time, his people will get none of ours.” In this life, war would not always be my first response. “When he apologizes publicly, talks may resume.”

  Adriel looked ready to protest, but he nodded and strode from the tent. What? He thought I should demand the mer-king’s head?

  My gaze returned to Ashleigh, wondering what she believed. But she hadn’t paid any attention to the conversation; she was too busy staring at the food, her pupils dilated as she licked her lips. When was the last time she’d eaten?

  I opened my mouth to tell her to eat, when the flap opened again. An avian entered, lugging a wooden tub. Two others followed, carting large buckets of water, w
hich they dumped into the tub as soon as it was placed. What I wouldn’t give for the magical jug Roth and Farrah owned. Or maybe Everly had it now? It self-filled. With a single pour, I could overflow the tub again and again.

  When the group left, I picked up my conversation with Ashleigh. “Eat your fill.” Before learning she’d outsourced her first chore, I’d planned to eat while she watched, then bathe as she wallowed in filth. I’d wondered how she would react. Like the Leonora of old, throwing a fit—and furniture—when she didn’t get her way? But, looking at her now, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. The color had yet to return to Ashleigh’s cheeks, and the unnatural paleness illuminated every speck of dirt that smeared her skin.

  Her emerald eyes brightened, and my chest clenched. “Truly?”

  I gave a stiff nod.

  As she reached for a piece of cheese, a little shaky, I had a mad urge to select the best one and feed it to her by hand. An intimate act meant for avian lovers. Something Craven had done for Leonora many, many times. I balled both hands into fists.

  Her eyelids closed in surrender as she chewed, her expression rapturous. “I haven’t had cheese in so long.”

  Tension stole over me, every muscle knotting. I popped a strawberry into my mouth. Chewed, swallowed. “You should make up your mind, Ashleigh.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you a timid mouse or a warrioress? I’ve seen hints of both.”

  “Perhaps I’m your worst nightmare,” she muttered.

  “That, I agree with. You carry four dragon eggs, over fifty designs for weapons and three books about coven histories.” And nothing else. “The designs are new, not something Leonora ever cared about in the past. The eggs, however, I understand. In both of her previous incarnations, she had a horde of winged-demons at her command. So, I’d like to hear your explanation for those, and how their possession proves you’re not Leonora.”

  Frost glittered in her emerald irises, rousing my tension further. “You went through my bag?”

  “Of course I did,” I told her silkily. “We are enemies, and I’m not a fool. What if you had a way to harm my people in there?”

  She humphed. “I found the eggs, but I don’t know how. The designs are my own. Everyone deserves a chance to protect themselves from harm. The books are entertaining.”

  She had designed those incredible pieces with hidden spikes and unique hooks? “Prove you did the designs. Draw one.”

  All innocence, she batted her lashes at me. “I would certainly draw a new design for you...if the price were right. I charge in atonement coins. Shall I add you to my buyers list? You pay me now, and I could get to you in a year or so.”

  She didn’t have a year. In three weeks, she would be imprisoned and bespelled.

  “No?” She devoured another piece of cheese. “Well, one day,” she continued, her tone going dreamy, “I will have a list of buyers. I’ll train with a blacksmith and learn to bring my designs to life. You can have your proof then. Of course, I’ll be charging you double at that time.”

  I did not want to admire her mettle.

  I admired her mettle.

  Resentful, I asked, “What do you know about dragons?”

  “Not much, to be honest.” She swallowed a bite of bread. “Little is written about their history.”

  “Because they always fade into obscurity soon after Leonora’s death, leaving future generations to wonder about them.” But I knew the truth. “Dragon mothers bury their eggs to allow their babies to age in secret, a process that can take centuries. Leonora always knows where to find and steal those eggs. Some have hatched, some haven’t, but she always manages to raise a dragon army and torch entire villages.”

  Ashleigh’s gaze returned to mine, her pupils huge. “I’ll put the eggs back. I will. I didn’t mean to steal babies from their mothers.”

  I blinked. Leonora, willing to part with four dragon eggs? That was a first. Or a trick. Definitely a trick. “No, you won’t be putting them back. I’ll be keeping them.”

  “But they’ll need their mothers one day.”

  “No, they won’t, because they won’t be hatching.”

  She peered at me with horror. “Their mothers could be in hiding somewhere, reliving the nightmare of returning to their nests to find their babies missing. I must return the eggs, Saxon.”

  “No,” I said simply.

  “How can you be so cruel?” she asked, her tone mournful.

  “They are monsters. How can I not be so cruel?”

  A tear ran down her cheek and dripped from her chin.

  I fought the urge to recoil, that one tiny drop of salt water affecting me worse than any stab wound. “Tears won’t sway me,” I said for both our benefits. “How would you know where to return the eggs, anyway, if you don’t know how you acquired them?”

  “I sleepwalked while I lived at the Temple, okay, and every so often, I would awaken to find an egg resting on my pillow.”

  Interesting. I smeared creamy cheese over a toast point and offered it to her before I even knew what I was doing. “Do you remember anything about Leonora’s life?” I asked more harshly than I’d intended.

  She accepted the change of subject as well as the peace offering, because that’s what it was whether I’d realized it in the moment or not. “I know only what I’ve read.”

  I watched, enraptured, as she sampled the morsel. The way she moved...the way she enjoyed each bite... Sweat trickled down my temple. “Few know of her reincarnation. Why did you choose to read about her at all, unless you were drawn to her for some inexplicable reason?”

  Ashleigh consumed the rest of the toast point—at her leisure—before telling me, “Why should I explain anything to the guy who delights in my misery? And why would a crown prince and future king stay in a dump of a tent?”

  Why not admit the truth? “He doesn’t want his favorite servant enjoying a single luxury.”

  “Then he needs to ditch the tent altogether,” she muttered. “Maybe you are Craven. I studied him, too, you know. Everyone agrees there’s never been an avian king more brutal.”

  “You are wrong, and you are right. Before Leonora, Craven was a prime example of the perfect avian sovereign. Violent when it came to the protection and well-being of his people. Uncompromising when necessary. Harsh with offenders of any kind. But there has been one other who showed himself to be equally brutal.” Tyron. “Both males had a terrible weakness for the same powerful witch. They loved her, but each one married another woman anyway, giving her the family Leonora had dreamed of making.” They’d actually broken down on their wedding days, agonized by the permanent cut from the witch.

  “If they loved her, why didn’t they marry her?”

  “You really wish to know?”

  She nodded with enthusiasm.

  “Then you should do your best to remember, as I have.” She had to remember. Clearly, I couldn’t do what needed doing to Ashleigh until she did. And I needed to do what needed doing sooner rather than later.

  I’d have to force Leonora’s hand.

  As Ashleigh sputtered, I continued my story. “Leonora became enraged and killed their brides, then burned down their homes. Homes they rebuilt—just so she could do it again, after their deaths.” Even now, I could feel the heat of the flames, smell the char on the stone and hear the screams of my people as they ran for safety they would never find. “After the first burning, Craven killed her entire family, and left their remains in her bed. Shortly after, she stabbed him in the heart. You aren’t ready to hear what Tyron did to her.”

  Ashleigh released quiet choking noises as her mouth floundered open and closed. That moment. I began to believe her. She hadn’t recalled a single memory of her life as Leonora. “I knew the basics of this. Ophelia mentioned some things but wow...” She paused, her lips parted. “That’s a lot to take i
n.”

  I wouldn’t tell her anything else about our second life, how the new Leonora had found Tyron... Craven...me on my twenty-first birthday, claiming to have loved me in a past life...how I’d started to relive beautiful memories of that life, allowing myself to fall for her all over again. How I’d later dreamed the worst of our crimes and reignited our war.

  How I’d mourned the loss of our love even before I’d wed someone else and committed atrocious acts.

  How I’d lost. Again.

  Ashleigh pressed a hand over her heart, as if she hoped to manually slow its beat. “I’m sorry for what happened to Craven and Tyron—to you—but I’m not Leonora, Saxon. I promise, you’ve got the wrong girl. I would never burn down a village, not in any incarnation of my existence. And I would never, ever commit an act of murder.”

  Such adamancy. Only because she hadn’t relived the memories. But she would. And when she did, Leonora would return to me. The witch would feel no guilt or rage, but I thought Ashleigh might. Would this part of her personality change Leonora? Would the witch strike at me? Oh, I hoped so. Then, this stupid tightening in my chest would finally ease.

  When Ashleigh self-consciously smoothed hair from her brow before gazing at her hands and grimacing, I realized I’d been staring at her, silent. “You’re going to bathe,” I told her. “While you soak, you will share details about your time in the Temple.”

  “Bathe? Truly?” With a gasp of longing, she whipped her attention to the tub. Or rather, to the privacy screen in front of the tub. Excitement palpable, she scrambled to her feet. “I haven’t had a proper bath in—” She pressed her lips together, saying no more.

  Afraid I would reverse my decision if I knew how badly she wanted this? I should. Making her happy was the opposite of my goal. I grumbled, “Take your bath, Ashleigh.”

  “No, thank you,” she said now, even as she cast the privacy screen another longing glance. “I’d rather not get undressed in your presence. I’ll wait and bathe at...” Forlorn, she wilted and whispered, “Home.”