The Glass Queen

by Gena Showalter

  “I do,” he said, voice tight, “but sometimes what we want isn’t what we need. There is something wrong with us, witch, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

  At “I do,” I grinned. Then his next words registered, and cold invaded my limbs. “You contradict yourself. Be clearer.”

  He rested the side of his hand against the top of his nose, with his thumb pressed against one eye and his index finger pressed against the other. “Time with you is both ecstasy and torment. The strain...it cripples me in so many ways. I cannot live like this much longer, feeling as if I’m being ripped apart from the inside. War has always been my life. Inside these walls, I desire peace. That isn’t something you can give me.”

  What! “But I can. Just give me a chance to be what you need, Craven. You must give me a chance.” He couldn’t discard me. I was fated to be his.

  “Calm isn’t in your nature. That is why...in the morning, I’m going to send you home. Your people may continue to reside at the base of my mountain.”

  Horror, fear, and fury collided, setting off a chain reaction inside me. Stiffening spine. The burn of fire in my hands. Ice rushing through my veins.

  He was going to heed his mother’s advice and cast me out. Did he plan to wed the princess, too?

  I snarled the way I imagined a dragon would, fire magic threatening to spark. Containing it, barely, I spit a curse at him, then swung my fist. He caught my wrist, his fingers like a shackle, and we glared at each other, both of us breathing heavily.

  He expected that to stop me? I released the flames only where he touched me. He hissed as blisters formed. Still he didn’t release me.

  “We will not part. Do you hear me?” I would not lose this sense of belonging.

  “We will part.” The finality in his tone... “Knowing how desperately I crave you, however, I’m certain I won’t be able to stop myself from chasing after you.”

  Oh. Ohhhh. He wasn’t planning to get rid of me permanently. Just chase me. Was this to be a sexual game, then?

  “That is why I will be wedding someone else,” he announced. “I will remain true to my wife. My vow to protect her will allow nothing less.”

  I shoved a fist into my mouth, halting my cry of distress. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

  “You and I,” he continued as my new world collapsed around me, “are not good for each other. To survive, we must separate.”

  Wed someone else? Give her what belonged to me? “No. That is unacceptable.” He thought he’d seen the worst of my temper. He hadn’t. “If you do this, Craven, I will make you sorry.”

  His expression gentled, and he offered me a sad smile. “I’m already sorry. Had I never met you, I never would have known what could be. I would never know what I could have—what I would be missing. The fact that I feel this way for a woman who isn’t destined to be mine...it’s madness.”

  The words already sorry reverberated in my head, each repeat like the lash of a whip.

  He wished he hadn’t met me.

  He wished he hadn’t met me.

  He wished he hadn’t met me. Me. The most powerful witch in all of Enchantia. The jewel of any kingdom.

  The one who hadn’t yet drawn forth his amour.

  My fury intensified, overshadowing everything else. He thought he couldn’t survive with me? Well, I would teach him the error of his ways. Soon this male would learn he couldn’t survive without me.

  * * *

  The battlefield returned to focus, and like Leonora, I stuffed a fist into my mouth. The horrifying truth was suddenly so clear. I hadn’t been the one in that bedroom with Craven. But the fire witch had.

  —Did memories of my life break your brain, little girl? Well, don’t you worry. When the barrier falls once and for all, I will take ownership of this body and nothing will ever bother you again.—

  A cocoon of ice enveloped my lungs, freezing and burning at the same time. I was a host. An evil phantom possessed me. She had twice murdered Saxon and his family. She planned to steal my life.

  Two heads, one heart. Born twice in one day.

  I laughed without humor. I was born an infant...and then a host. In a way, it made Leonora my family. There was no doubt now—she was my evil stepmother.

  Because of her, I had harmed Saxon at the funeral, exactly as he’d claimed. And I might... I might have...

  Acid-tinged tears welled, scalding my eyes. Tremors invaded. Nausea roiled. My body might have been used as a weapon. I might have murdered two innocents. Milo’s father...and my own mother.

  A whimper parted my lips, the first of many, and a herald to my sobs. I slung my arms around my middle and hunched over, bawling so violently I vomited.

  Whoosh, whoosh. The hated noise failed to elicit a reaction from me. What did another beating or punishment matter? I deserved to suffer.

  Someone gathered my hair with gentle hands, holding the strands out of the line of fire. I didn’t have to wonder who. The scent of coming rain filled my nose. Saxon’s scent.

  Such a simple act of kindness. But it had come from Saxon, an enemy, and it only made me bawl harder. How could I have hurt Momma? Even if Leonora had taken control of my body, I must have been present somewhere in here. I should have found a way to stop her. Instead, I’d let her pick up a dagger and...and...

  Another sob, followed by a round of dry heaving. Was Craven a phantom, too? Was Saxon his host, and he just didn’t know it? Or was he an actual reincarnate?

  —Oh, he’s a reincarnate, just as you are. He’s also mine, and I won’t share him. Soon, I won’t share this body, either.—

  She’d offered few words, but there was a wealth of information to unpack. I was a host, yes, but I was also a reincarnate of...who? The first Leonora? And the way she’d said this body. I was a nonentity to her. A piece of trash to discard. A shirt she’d donned. Or better yet, the gooey center she planned to scoop out of the cookie, just so she could enjoy the treat at her leisure. All because she wanted Saxon, the man she’d harmed again and again.

  The fury won. I will make her pay.

  Wanting to hurt her, I inwardly shouted, You are not his. Didn’t you hear him? He didn’t want you. He didn’t make amour for you. Whatever that was.

  No response was forthcoming. But then, she didn’t need to offer one. I could feel her indignation, and I screeched. This body belonged to me, and I would not share it. I wanted her out. I wanted her out now. She could take her fire magic with her. I would buy my own ability, as planned. I wanted nothing of hers.

  “Any better, Asha?” Saxon asked, his concern obvious.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever be better, so I shook my head before spitting on the ground and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I remained crouched, my head bowed.

  How could I excise and kill the phantom? How could I prevent her from ending any more innocent lives until I discovered the answer to her defeat?

  Perhaps being ordered to remain in the palace was a blessing, after all. I would have an excuse to keep Leonora away from Saxon and the time to research a way to oust her.

  —You? Oust me?—She laughed. —I’m going to tell you a story. On the day of your birth, I was going to inhabit your mother, but thanks to a spell I’d purchased years before, I sensed you were Saxon’s reincarnated mate. I would have preferred to enter you when you were older. And healthier. Your infirmity is a true inconvenience. Alas. Circumstances demanded I possess you before you died. You have a life now only because I gave it to you.—

  Saxon stroked his knuckles up and down my nape, applying the softest pressure. Part of me wanted to tell him everything I’d learned. He deserved to know. And what if he could help me excise and end her? But I couldn’t trust him with the information.

  I could never trust him with the information.

  —You’ll never be rid of me, dearling. I’m too deeply rooted. Besid
es, nothing has changed for you. You’ll still die without my magic.—

  Smugger than before. No wonder Saxon despised her. I did, too, hatred spreading through me like a wildfire.

  If you die with me, I don’t see a downside. I threw the words at her, each one like a white-hot ball of fire of my own making. You killed my mother.

  —Yes, and I’m ready to hear your thanks. She’d begun to fear you and even considered telling your father what I’d done. He would have killed you.—

  Thanks? Thanks?

  “What caused this sickness?” Saxon asked, still so gentle.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Nothing mattered. “Please, just let me go.” Again, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Inside, I was nothing but a raw, bleeding wound. Never had I felt so vulnerable, not even at the funeral. I needed to be alone.

  Another bitter laugh. There was a second soul trapped inside my head; I couldn’t be alone.

  “I’m going to walk away now,” I told Saxon before he could respond. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold my emotions inside. They geared for release—a release that was going to come one way or another.

  He let my hair fall and stepped back. As I mourned the loss of his touch, he flared his wings and snarled, “I told you to leave.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I snarled back. “I just told you I’m leaving.”

  “I wasn’t speaking to you, Asha,” he replied, his tone gentle again.

  Of all times to be nice to me, why now, when I spiraled down a rabbit hole of despair?

  I lumbered to my feet and faced the woman he’d spoken to, a beauty with black-and-white hair, light skin, and disapproving dark eyes. She stood several feet from us, massive violet wings tucked into her sides.

  Queen Raven in the flesh.

  “You know who the girl is,” she yelled at Saxon. “You saw the flames just as I did, yet you dare treat her like she’s as fragile as glass?”

  “I’m handling her, Your Majesty,” he grated in a soft, menacing tone.

  “Just as you handled her in the past?” She spat the words at him. “She is Leonora the Burner of Worlds. Our downfall twice over. Kill her now, or step aside and watch as I do the honor.”

  As much as I wanted to deny the queen’s claim—I’m not Leonora, I’m just her skin suit—I kept my mouth closed.

  “You do so enjoy watching as others die, don’t you, Mother?” Saxon offered silkily. “If you touch her, you die.” He wrapped a strong arm around my waist. “Ashleigh is mine.”

  At any other time, I would have reveled in his protectiveness. Now? Too emotionally flayed.

  I considered running to escape the pair, but how far would I get before I passed out? The sobs had drained me. I barely had the strength to remain on my feet. At least Leonora seemed to have retreated...for now.

  With his free arm, Saxon motioned to the sky. I looked up in time to see a boy I hadn’t met descending from the overhead pack to approach us.

  When he landed a few feet away, Saxon gave me a squeeze and told him, “Take the girl to the palace. Leave her on the balcony of the bedroom I secured before her arrival.”

  He was able to secure a room for himself, but my father hadn’t planned to offer one to me? How very... King Philipp.

  After what I’d done to my mother, though, I couldn’t blame him.

  A new whimper bubbled up.

  “If she receives a single scratch,” Saxon said, incorrectly guessing the reason for my upset, “you will pay with your life. Understood?”

  I might not be the witch who’d harmed Craven all those years ago, but I’d enabled the phantom who had. Saxon owed me nothing, and I owed him everything; he’d still put more protective measures in place.

  “The feathers,” I croaked, wanting to apologize. I would redo this task. I would do every task he assigned from now on, exactly as he commanded. I needed to make true reparation.

  “Consider it a successful finish, the goal met.” He avoided looking in my direction. “Don’t forget you are to remain at the palace.”

  “I won’t forget, and I won’t leave unless forced,” I promised.

  “You safeguard her?” Raven demanded. “Did you learn nothing from your past? She is an angel in the beginning, and a devil in the end. She will never be accepted as your queen. If you wed her, you cannot be king.”

  “Enough,” Saxon bellowed. He snapped his fingers at the wide-eyed avian boy. “Go. Now. And heed my warning.”

  The boy urged me against him, flared his wings and eased me into the air. I didn’t speak, just tried to contain my grief.

  By the time the avian set me down on the balcony and flew away, I was strung tighter than a bow, even one of my own design. With a series of sniffles, I pushed my way into an unfamiliar bedroom, spying mirrored walls, a massive four-poster bed, and potted plants. Lovely, pearly white moonpetals bloomed from the foliage, perfuming the air.

  My gaze zoomed back to the bed, where two ball-shaped blobs rested on a pillow. I recalled Noel’s words. I left a gift in your bedroom. You’re welcome. When you see it, scream. You’ll be glad you did.

  I tripped over to the bed. I needed to lie down, anyway. What I found... I had to do a double take. My red dragon eggs.

  A flare of excitement was quickly extinguished by my misery. Scream Noel? Very well. I dropped to my knees at the side of the bed, threw back my head, and screamed at the top of my lungs. Rage, frustration, and grief blended together in an ear-splitting crescendo.

  I screamed until my voice broke. I screamed until my lungs threatened to collapse. I screamed until my heart skipped beats in an effort to escape my pain. Let the world hear.

  When finally I quieted, I sagged to the floor and rolled into a ball, weak and sobbing anew. But it wasn’t long before a faint scraping sound caught my attention. I tensed.

  If someone had entered the room, I would... I would...

  Oh, what did it matter? I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to talk or care. I just wanted to forget. To cry until I passed out. The presence of another wouldn’t stop me.

  The scraping persisted. Eventually, I pushed up, balanced on my arms, and twisted, glancing over my shoulder. What the—

  There, on the pillow, cracks spread through both eggs.

  I scrambled to my feet, watching as a piece of shell dropped, thick gooey liquid spilling over the sheets.

  A membranous red wing peeked out.

  13

  He isn’t kind, and he isn’t cruel,

  but if you prick his temper, you’re a fool.

  SAXON

  As the first hint of morning sunlight filtered into my tent, I jackknifed to my feet. For most of the night, I’d listened to my mother and sister rage about Leonora. They’d listed reasons I must kill Ashleigh. Reasons I’d pondered for years, seething. They didn’t care that her death would solve my problem but endanger future generations.

  After I’d kicked out my family, I’d tried to sleep. I’d ended up tossing and turning, Ashleigh’s face unwavering in my mind. How fragile she’d appeared before my soldier flew her away. Broken, even.

  Why? What had happened?

  After cleaning up, I prepared for battle, then stepped out into a seemingly abandoned camp. The masses had journeyed to the coliseum to witness the test of wits, where I should be.

  I’d given my soldiers the day off so they could watch the festivities. All but Adriel. He should be here, keeping guard, but there was no sign of him.

  So. The day after a punishment he’d decided to disobey a direct order. Very well. I would punish him harder, lest any of my other soldiers decided they could do the same.

  I fumed as I flew to the bustling coliseum. Landing on the battlefield, in the midst of the combatants, I took my place in line. About forty of the fifty others had opted in. We stood shoulder to shoulder.
/>   Roth had a spot at the end. Milo did, too.

  I adopted a battle stance, my feet braced apart, my knees slightly bent. The warlock had stood too close to Ashleigh last night. Had peered at her as if she were his next meal.

  He turned his head toward me, and our gazes met. He scowled; I glared.

  He was going to die by my hand very soon.

  Once again, the stands overflowed with cheering spectators, many of whom waved sticks with ribbons or rang cowbells. Even as the sun brightened, a chill coated the air, yesterday’s warmth no more.

  Gaze slitted, I searched the royal dais, ensuring Ashleigh had obeyed my command to remain at the palace. I spotted the master of ceremonies, Ophelia, Noel, the king, and Dior.

  Good. That was good. I was relieved.

  I was disappointed.

  I was...screwed.

  “Welcome one and all.” Just as before, the master used a magical horn to make his voice carry, causing a hush to fall over the crowd. “Let our test of wits begin. Here’s how the game goes. I will tell our combatants a riddle, and they will each have sixty seconds to respond. Those with a correct answer will be allowed a weapon in the next battle, while everyone else has zero.” He took a breath. “Combatants, you were each given a piece of parchment. Once I relay the riddle, you will write your answer on that parchment, in blood, and throw it into the fire. Understood?”

  Murmurs from the combatants. “Parchment?” someone shouted. “What parchment?”

  Someone else demanded, “What fire?”

  The master pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “Witch! You’re ruining my event.”

  Ophelia, who remained seated on the royal dais, waved her hand in our direction. A piece of parchment materialized in my hand—in everyone’s hand—and a firepit appeared in front of our line.

  The magic prompted laughter from the stands.

  “Now, then. Who’s ready to begin?” the master asked, the question met with thunderous applause. “Here goes. I have towns, but no homes. I have kingdoms but no kings. I have water, but none to share. What am I?”