The Glass Queen

by Gena Showalter

  Murmurs from the crowd blended with murmurs from the combatants as the master counted down the seconds. Each man sliced a fingertip and wrote his question on his parchment.

  Embers sparked every time a new paper met flame, a wind rushing in to collect the ash and toss it into the air. Words formed in that ash.

  Goblin.

  Stars.

  Desert.

  Some answers were repeated by multiple combatants. I’d lived at a crossroads since meeting Ashleigh.

  After I cut my fingertip, I wrote, “Map.” I’d studied them most of my first and second lives, choosing which territories to conquer first.

  A horn blew soon after my paper became ash.

  “We have winners!” the master called, eliciting more cheers. He listed names I didn’t care about. I nodded when he said, “Blaze the fae.” Relaxed when he called, “Saxon the avian.” And scowled when I heard, “Milo the warlock.”

  A young fawn-shifter with big, droopy ears rushed to the field to lead us off and make room for the entertainment.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” the master told the spectators. “We have a special treat for you. Singers. Dancers. Magical practitioners. Something for everyone!”

  Milo shoved his way over to me, breathing hard, as if he were struggling to control his fury.

  I cocked a brow, unfazed. “Is this the part where you intimidate me with your magic, warlock?”

  “Leonora is mine, avian. She wants to be with me.” He pounded a fist against his chest. “Go ahead. Ask her.”

  Did he have any idea what he’d just admitted?

  I remained rooted in place as dancers glided past us. Milo had used present tense, as if he’d spoken to the witch recently. Had he?

  Had Ashleigh told him this at the party? Or had the conversation taken place at the palace?

  Had Leonora taken over? Had she faded again or did she rule?

  How long until our war restarted?

  A sharp pain tore through me, and I desperately wanted to punch someone or something. In our first two lives, I’d only ever glimpsed Leonora’s potential. What she could have been, if evil hadn’t brewed in the marrow of her bones. This time, I’d gotten to spend time with her before she became a bloodthirsty, blue-eyed witch. She was witty and exciting. A green-eyed enchantress. I enjoyed her company. One day away from her, and I craved her company.

  How easy it would be to hate her if she were the Leonora of old. How easy it would be to do as my family suggested and end her.

  But I still wasn’t ready to lose Ashleigh.

  I shot into the air, saying no more to the warlock. I headed straight for the palace. To my consternation, the balcony doors to my bedroom were locked, the curtains drawn. No crack in the fabric.

  I knocked and I waited, but the princess didn’t open up. No noise seeped through the glass.

  Flapping my wings, I hovered in place, stewing. Where was she?

  The tracker spell flashed a map inside my head, and X marked the spot. She was here, just beyond those doors. What was she doing? Had she heard and ignored me?

  “There you are.” Queen Raven’s voice made my ears feel as if they were being scrubbed with sand.

  I watched her approach as she flew over. “Now isn’t the time, Mother.”

  She stopped in front of me anyway. Outlined by sunlight and sky, she reminded me of a painting I’d once seen as a boy. A warrior goddess on the battlefield, her enemies scattered at her feet in pieces. Raven Skylair had never been a soft woman. If my siblings or I had ever dared to shed a tear, we were whipped and told tears were a luxury for the weak.

  The tears she’d shed over me as a boy had kept me from cutting her from my life completely.

  “I’m curious,” she said, maintaining her position. “When will be the time to slay Leonora? After she’s killed you and murdered our people? Does her father know who and what she is?”

  No pleasantries, then. Just right back to the volley of complaints.

  If Philipp knew anything about Leonora, I hadn’t been the one to tell him. But I doubted he had a clue. As power hungry as he was, he would curry Leonora’s favor.

  “You will not speak to the king,” I informed my mother. Frustration mounted, sharpened by anger’s blade. “You will not look at, touch, or speak to Princess Ashleigh. You will not even speak about her.”

  “You cannot avoid this conversation, Saxon.”

  “I didn’t avoid it. I ended it. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late for a meeting...with myself.” I flew past her, heading for camp.

  Following me would have smacked of weakness and desperation, and she knew it. She remained behind, just as I’d expected.

  I would prepare for the next bonus competition, I decided. It kicked off tomorrow morning—a new bonus round would be held every day, even the days we fought a mandatory battle...the next of which would take place in five days. The same number of days as my separation with Ashleigh.

  Five days without hearing her lilting voice.

  Five days without breathing in her sweet scent.

  Five days without matching wits with her cunning mind.

  I cursed.

  * * *

  The next five days passed with incredible slowness. I didn’t sleep. I barely ate. I couldn’t relax. The vitriol spewed by my mother and sister stopped only when I competed. Some battles I won, some I lost because I was too focused on ruining Milo’s chances for success. Despite my efforts, he’d gained a couple victories of his own.

  He wants what’s mine.

  The warlock and I had not had a chance to speak one-on-one a second time. We’d only gotten to exchange glares. So badly I’d wanted to get in his face and demand answers. Have you spoken to Ashleigh again? How do you know about Leonora? What other lies has the witch fed you?

  I needed to see my princess, to speak to her, but she had remained at the palace, as ordered. Why hadn’t I demanded she send me a message every morning to let me know how she was doing?

  How did she fare?

  I worried for her. I...missed her.

  I missed falling asleep with her secure in my bed. I missed waking up with her right beside me. I missed our conversations and her daily transformation from mouse to tigress, as she found and wielded her inner strength.

  I shouldn’t miss anything but her torment.

  I shouldn’t be the miserable one, feeling as if I’d finally enjoyed the barest taste of contentment and now couldn’t live without more.

  Why had I let Ashleigh cup my cheeks and offer comfort? Had I stopped her, my chest would not have cracked. Now it was too late. The damage was done, the consequences here to demand their due. I had softened irreparably toward Ashleigh, and there was no going back.

  Deep breath in, out.

  “Are you just going to stand there?” my sister shrieked from inside my tent. “The second official battle has started.”

  I realized I stood at the entrance, one foot out and one foot in. Scowling, I stalked outside, entering the campgrounds.

  Tempest followed me, remaining a few steps behind. I skirted a tent. A chill morning wind blustered, spreading the smoke that curled from abandoned firepits. A pack of wild dogs raced here and there, eating the food I’d had my men leave throughout the grounds. Any soldier or servant who’d imbibed too much the night before now sprawled in the dirt, sleeping.

  “Well?” Tempest demanded. “Why aren’t you headed for the coliseum?”

  Once I’d thought Leonora was the bane of my existence. In this life, my sister and mother held the honor. “This competition is a series of ten separate battle heats, with five combatants fighting in each.” The ten heats would garner ten winners. The last men standing. They would advance to the semifinals, which would take place sometime next week. “I have been assigned to the last heat.”

  Noel had
been in charge of selecting which combatants belonged in which heat. A task assigned by Philipp...after the oracle had manipulated him into thinking it was his idea, just as she’d manipulated him into bringing Ashleigh to Sevón on my behalf.

  The oracle’s only task this time? Ensuring I wasn’t in the same heat as Roth. Instead, she’d paired us together. Why, oracle? Now one of us had to “die” today, and that one would be Roth. Or rather, his fae illusion. Everly was capable of casting a second illusion to convince the entire crowd he had expired, but such a feat would require untold amounts of magic, which could leave her incapacitated, which would erase Roth’s fae illusion, which would leave both of my friends vulnerable to attack. So, I would be fighting him for real but only pretending to slay him.

  “You told me Mother would only stay six days,” I said with a glance over my shoulder. “It’s been six days. Why hasn’t she left?”

  “You know why. She’s worried about you. So am I.” Tempest hopped over a log and picked up her pace. “I’ve read the journals Craven and his second incarnation wrote while they warred with Leonora. Did you know the tomes survived the fires in both lives, bespelled to last the ages? A scribe had them. His friary kept them safe all this time. When he heard rumors of your reincarnation, he gave them to Mother. That’s how I know Craven believed in the fairy-tale prophecies and thought he’d gotten stuck in some kind of twisted tale with Leonora. Is that what you believe, too?”

  “No,” I snapped. Yes? I didn’t know anymore. Tyron had believed in the fairy-tale prophecies, too...at first. But he’d nearly driven himself mad trying to decipher his and Leonora’s roles in “The Little Cinder Girl.” In the end, he’d told his people only fools believed such nonsense. Over the centuries, the declaration had stuck. “Put the journals in a crate with rocks and drop it into a deep hole in the earth.” I’d written them for the family of my future incarnations, for this very purpose, thinking to warn them of what could be, and I’d been a brilliant fool to do so.

  At my side, Tempest snapped, “Craven didn’t believe he had fulfilled his destiny. He suspected he would come back as part of his own familial line, so he created a law ensuring only someone with Skylair blood had the right to rule the avian. If there were multiple heirs, the crown would go to the worthiest male. If there were no males, the crown would go to the worthiest female. That is why your word will always supersede our mother’s, even though she’s a queen and you are but a prince. Without Skylair blood, she cannot truly rule. But you, the one who can, dare to consider sharing your reign with the witch who murdered you? That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Think, brother.”

  Think? I’d done little else these past six days. “I have no plans to wed her.” Truth. Absolutely.

  She clamped a hand on my shoulder, stopping me, and I rounded on her. “Fate has done you a great favor,” she said. “Leonora is back, yes, but she’s trapped inside a weak body. You have an opportunity to kill her before her magic matures and heals her defective heart. Let’s handle her right this time.”

  “You will not harm her.” The words bellowed from me, as they always bellowed from me, the very idea of a dead or dying Ashleigh abhorrent. Not receive her comfort a second time? Not kiss her, even once? Breaths shallow, I shook off Tempest’s hold. “There’s something different about this incarnation. Before I make a move against her, I will figure out what it is. If—when—the time comes, I will be the one to end her.” Another absolute truth.

  It must be truth.

  “No, you won’t.” Tempest regarded me with disappointment. “You never do.”

  “How do you know what I never do?” I asked softly. Dangerously soft. “You don’t even know me.”

  Spots of red stained her cheeks. “Like I said, I’ve read about your pasts. Action always reveals character. I know you,” she insisted.

  No. “You know of me. You know nothing about the reasons behind my actions.” The intent. The inner struggle. She didn’t know this absence from Ashleigh had been torture for me. She didn’t know I felt as if my blood were kerosene, a single spark able to ignite a wildfire. “As I’m coming to realize, a person’s actions never paint a complete picture.”

  “Why do the reasons matter? The end result is the end result.”

  A dangerous mindset. “Do you want to know what I’ve learned about your actions?” I stepped closer, getting in her face. “A month ago...a year ago...even three years ago at Queen Charlotte’s funeral, you were content to pretend I didn’t exist. Did you erase me from your heart out of loyalty to our parents or fear for the future? Both are forgivable. Or did you do it because you never cared about me to begin with? Which is it?”

  She bowed up, going on the defensive. A shadow fell over her face as an avian flew above us. “What do you admire about the witch, hmm?” she asked. “Tell me. Is it the way she only ever speaks lies? Is it her ability to betray you every second of every day? Is it her death-toll dowry?”

  “Enough.” The barked command came from our mother, who eased to the ground beside us. She focused her fiercest scowl on me. “It’s clear you don’t like us. And that’s fine. I don’t like you, either. But you are blood of my blood, bone of my bone, and I won’t allow you to show mercy to a foe.”

  “You won’t allow me?” I uttered the words quietly, the frost in my tone unmistakable.

  The queen doubled down in an attempt to wield authority she no longer possessed. “I will do whatever is needed to protect my king and kingdom, just as I’ve always done. When it comes to Leonora, you will stand down. That’s an order from your mother and your queen. The witch’s death might hurt you for a time, but pain fades. Better you hurt than die. Your next death might be forever. I won’t let you leave our people with a legacy of death and destruction for a third time, your sister burdened with the responsibility of creating the next heir.”

  The sheer audacity of this woman. In every way that mattered, she’d turned her back on me, forever forfeiting the right to rule me.

  “You aren’t my queen. You’re barely even my mother.” My voice possessed more smoke than substance. “As Tempest has reminded me, you lack Skylair blood. The avian will never be yours to rule.”

  Like Tempest, she bowed up, ready to do battle. “Whether you like it or not, I am your queen. Royals must make tough calls for the good of their people. Had I reached out to you, even once, you might have assumed you could come home.”

  Intent. Always. Mattered. My mother wasn’t angry because I’d insulted her as a parent. She fumed because I’d insulted her as a sovereign.

  “I’m done with this conversation.” Harsh words had been spoken, but no headway had been made.

  “Where will you go?” she demanded.

  I could return to the palace, where I knew Ashleigh to be, or I could wait for my battle heat at the coliseum, where I hoped she might make an appearance. The six days had passed, the time of our reunion at hand. Though my mother hadn’t returned to the Avian Mountains, I wasn’t going to request Ashleigh remain in the palace. She would be safest with me. I could protect her from danger better than anyone.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I told her. “I am to be your king, and as crown prince my word is law. You will obey my commands at all times. You will not follow me. You will stay away from Ashleigh. There’s no need for me to tell you what will happen if you disobey me, because you will not disobey me. Isn’t that right, Mother?” I offered the question smoothly, my intent clear.

  Her lips peeled back and she grated, “Right.”

  Having gotten what I’d wanted, I flapped my wings and angled my body, shooting across the sky, heading for...the coliseum, I decided. I would watch the next heat and learn more about my competitors. When I reunited with Ashleigh, I would be in a calmer mood than this.

  Two weeks remained on our countdown clock. A mere fourteen days until the tournament’s end and everything changed for us.

>   The crack in my chest spread with unexpected force, something corrosive spilling from the wound. Desperation? Sorrow? Helplessness? I gritted my teeth against it.

  Our situation was what it was and it couldn’t be changed. From the beginning, I’d planned to bespell Ashleigh to sleep and lock her away. Now I wasn’t so sure I had the right to do it. The thought of sweet, surprisingly inventive Ashleigh trapped in some small, dank prison, a vulnerable target for any corrupt jailer... I experienced the full breadth of Craven’s viciousness.

  What if we could find a way to keep memories of her past lives at bay? Would she remain Ashleigh for good?

  Ashleigh wouldn’t require confinement. I could be with her...maybe.

  Would she want to be with me?

  Either way, the demand for restitution had to stop. I would find another way to appease my armies for her crimes as a child.

  Movement on the dais drew my attention to Milo. The warlock trotted himself to the king’s throne and eased down as if he had every right.

  If we fought in the same heat... I would take his head.

  Ophelia stomped onto the dais, anchored one hand on her waist and waved the other in the warlock’s direction. He vanished, reappearing on the battlefield only a second later. When he realized where he was, he made a crude gesture to the witch.

  He’d hoped to make a grand entrance, I realized with disgust.

  As the crowd went wild, the other fighters flooded into the arena.

  Just beyond the coliseum, amid a small circular clearing, Everly and Roth appeared, no longer clothed in their illusions.

  Everly had a mass of glossy silver-white hair, eyes as silver as a mirror with rims of gold, and pale white skin with a smattering of freckles. Roth possessed black hair, green eyes and bronze skin.

  They looked around, as if searching for someone. I searched the area, but no one else lurked nearby.

  I angled toward my childhood friend and the new guardian of the forest, who often used trees as doorways, then tucked my wings into my sides and dropped. Just before I reached them, entering a secluded area encompassed by Everly’s magical mist, I realigned, slowing my momentum. A hard vibration rushed up my legs when I landed.