The Glass Queen

by Gena Showalter

  The dragons spit darts of ember-laced smoke at him, stopping him. They still weren’t sure of him.

  I petted Pagan and Pyre in comfort and support, both of them purring. “Are you the ones poisoning him, then?”

  “No,” Roth and Everly exclaimed in unison.

  Then who was?

  Twigs snapped as Ophelia and Noel sauntered over, joining our group. They were careful to avoid contact with the dragons. As usual, both girls wore leather tops and pleated skirts, with metal mesh mixed in, looking ready to rumble.

  “Oh, good. The gang’s all here.” Ophelia clapped. “Let’s get this party started, then. One, two, three, you’re it.” She pointed to us, landing on me. With a grin that made me shudder with cold, she waved in my direction.

  Suddenly I couldn’t move, my body frozen in place from the neck down. “Witch?”

  “In case someone hasn’t caught up yet,” she told us, “the king knows about the ambush you’re planning.”

  “What are—” Everly closed her eyes and dropped, unconscious.

  Roth moved to catch her and collapsed beside her.

  Saxon tried to push me behind his body, but he froze, too, his wings spread. He bellowed, “Witch.”

  The dragons screeched and jumped toward me, determined to shield me, before they, too, closed their eyes and toppled.

  Fear and fury bombarded me, everything else forgotten. I screamed and fought. “Pagan. Pyre.”

  “Relax,” Noel said. “They’re only sleeping. And I’ll be staying with them when you leave, making sure they don’t torch the whole kingdom in a bid to find and rescue you—yet.”

  Relax? Relax? I struggled harder, giving it everything I had. Help the dragons, I beseeched Leonora. Here and now, I had no pride. Please. Take over and help the dragons.

  Her laugh whisked through my mind. —Why? I orchestrated this.—

  “What are you doing, witch?” Saxon snarled. A vein throbbed across his brow.

  Ophelia sauntered around us, a skip in her step. “I’m doing my job, and thank you for making it so easy. The king has paid me a handsome sum to do a double delivery. Ashleigh will go to his dungeon, and you will go to the coliseum.”

  The dungeon? “What is he planning to do at the coliseum?” If he harmed Saxon...

  “I will kill you for this, Ophelia,” Saxon snarled. “Your corpse will feed worms, and your bones will be my trophy.”

  The witch’s grin only widened. “First of all, I dare a worm to touch this. Second, I have a get-out-of-jail-free card, remember, Saxy? You won’t be doing anything to me.” She patted his cheeks as they drained of color. “But don’t worry. I won’t rub in my victory more than a little.” She turned to me. “You’re up first.”

  “Ophelia—” Saxon bellowed.

  “It’s time to blow this joint.” She clasped my arm. “Sorry not sorry.”

  I looked at the avian who’d won my heart. He was still staring at me, all the love of the universe seeming to glow in his eyes.

  “Ashleigh, I’ll—” The forest vanished, cutting him off.

  A dim, dank room appeared around me. Noooo. What had Saxon been saying? I’ll find you? I’ll love you forever?

  I’ll die for you?

  Screeching, I spun, ready for battle. But the witch had already done as threatened. Ophelia had already locked me away, transporting me into a cell in the dungeon. I stood behind a wall of bars, the other walls made of dirt and stone, just like the floor. The only piece of furniture was a cot with a paper-thin sheet.

  “Hello, Ashleigh.” Standing outside the cell, my father hobbled from the shadows. He leaned heavily on a cane. Ophelia and Milo flanked his sides. Behind Milo—I popped my jaw. There stood Dior, staring down at her feet.

  Leonora laughed and laughed, just as she’d done the day I was dropped from the sky.

  Dior had been working with my father, too? My chest...nothing but a wound, every breath burning as if I’d inhaled flames. Ignoring the others, I cried, “Father? You hate me so much, you’ll lock me away like a common criminal?”

  “Your. Majesty,” he intoned, lifting his chin.

  Milo placed a hand on his shoulder, patting him gently before grinning at me. His smug expression said, Game, set, match. “In a matter of hours, the sun will rise and the loser of the dance will be announced. The final battle will commence immediately afterward. Thank you for doing your job and keeping the avian distracted as we moved our chess pieces over the war board.”

  Breath hitched. “How long have you known the truth about Saxon?”

  “Since the beginning, thanks to my oracle.” He coughed into his hand, spraying droplets of blood. “He will die today, along with his friends Roth and Everly. Finally, I will heal, the sorceress no longer able to syphon the power from me.”

  “You’re being poisoned by Milo. I’m sure of it. He hopes to rule this kingdom with Leonora.”

  Milo made a chiding sound and rolled his eyes. “And who is this Leonora you speak of?”

  Had no one told my father about the phantom?

  “My oracle assures me a great evil is responsible for my condition,” my father said, “and there is no evil greater than the Evil Queen.”

  Oh, I could think of plenty greater. My father, for one. Milo. Noel and Ophelia. Raven and Tempest. LEONORA.

  “Why am I locked up?” I asked, trying not to panic.

  “Because I cannot trust you to do what is right,” he said simply.

  Me? “What do you plan to do to Saxon?”

  “I’ve made a bargain with his mother. I will arrange for him to be hailed as the strongest in the land, and in return, Tempest will slay him in front of witnesses, proving her right to rule the avian.”

  Betrayed by his own family.

  “This depends on whether or not he survives battle, of course.” Milo’s grin returned and widened. “There’s nothing you can do to stop this, Ashleigh. You should stop fighting the inevitable.”

  Words he meant in more than one way, no doubt.

  My father frowned at the warlock. “Saxon will win. I command it so, and you will lose as you’ve been told, grateful I have spared your life. Then Tempest will kill her brother and lead the avian army against Roth and Everly, who plan to ambush me at the celebration ball.”

  “You think the other combatants are going to lose without a fight?” I forced a laugh, when all I wanted to do was cry. “You are a bigger fool than I thought.”

  Milo glowered at me. “Do you think my magic will allow any ending but the one I seek?”

  His smugness had only grown.

  “The one I seek,” my father corrected.

  “And Dior?” I motioned to my stepsister. “What of her marriage?”

  He dismissed my words. “Dior will wed someone of my choosing—when the time comes. She’s far too young right now.”

  Dior flinched but maintained the mousy pose.

  “You mean she needs to stay by your side to continue making gold for you?” I asked.

  He narrowed his eyes before telling Ophelia, “Go. Prepare for the day’s festivities. There’s still much to do. But first, send me back to my room.”

  A wave from the witch, and he vanished.

  My chin trembled. The witch remained behind, alongside Dior. “Dior,” I beseeched. She hadn’t budged, just rocked from one foot to the other. “Please. If he can do this to me, his flesh-and-blood daughter, he can do this to you one day.”

  She glanced up, just for a moment, tears wetting her lashes.

  “We don’t have to do what we’re told,” I rushed out. “We are strong enough to make our own way. We can marry the one we love, not the one we’re commanded to. We can live our wildest dreams. Dior. Please. We’re part of the same fairy tale prophecy. We—” That’s right. The prophecy. “You can be my fairy godmother ri
ght now.” Anyone could, I realized. They just had to make the decision to help.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m told I must do this.” With a whimper, she hurried down the corridor.

  A new protest burst from me. “Ophelia. Good people will die.” Gripping and shaking the bars, I told her, “My father is unworthy of your aid.” He was unworthy of me, and he always had been. I only wished I’d seen the truth sooner.

  “Sorry,” the witch announced, “but there’s only one way to get what I want, and this is it.”

  “What is it you want, then? Free me, and I’ll help you get it. Or let me pay you.” I collected the coin from my shoe and tossed it at her.

  “A coin?” She scoffed.

  With hesitation, I ripped off the ring my mother had given me—the symbol of Craven’s eternal love—and pushed my hand through the bars. Anything to help Saxon and my dragons.

  —The ring is mine. Give it away, and I will kill everyone you’ve ever loved.—

  “Take it,” I insisted.

  More scoffing. “Why would I want Leonora’s castoffs? The ring belongs to you. It was always you, never her.” Ophelia held up her hands and stepped back. “I won’t let you out, but I am willing to show you what transpires with Saxon. Because I’m a giver.” After one of her infamous power-waves, mist rose from the floor and covered one wall.

  Moving images appeared, as if I were staring through a doorway to another location. Those images formed a complete picture: Saxon and the other nine combatants were lined up shoulder to shoulder in the center of the battlefield as a crowd cheered. I flattened a hand over my stomach to ward off the newest ache.

  The screen went black, and I shouted a denial.

  “Before the final battle, they’re going to recreate each of the dances for the audience. You’ll get to enjoy every second from the comfort of your cell. Goodbye, Leonora.” Ophelia offered a happy grin. “Tonight you die, once and for all. Tootles.” With a pinky wave, she vanished.

  27

  Plans have gone awry.

  A warrior is set to die.

  SAXON

  I stood in the center of the battlefield with the other combatants. At my left: Milo, the vampire, the fae, and the troll. At my right: the wolfin, two snake-shifters, a mortal, and goblin. There were still ten of us. The one who’d lost the courtship later won a chance to come back.

  The sun had risen and fallen. I’d been here, frozen in this exact spot, for hours as a ghostly version of Dior and each of her dance partners whisked through the crowd, one by one. A magical recreation of each dance we’d performed during the second part of the semifinals, followed by endless entertainments.

  On the royal dais, the king perched upon his throne, high above the spectators. He wore formal attire—a velvet robe, a red sash, and a bejeweled crown—and he held the royal staff. Dior sat in a small chair at his right, with Noel at his left. They’d arrived not too long ago.

  I nearly roared with frustration, rage, and worry. Was Ashleigh trapped in a cell, as promised?

  If my Asha bore a single injury...

  I will never be able to gain sufficient restitution.

  Get to Ashleigh. Just get to Ashleigh. Desperation clawed at me, raced along my nerve endings, and pooled in my cells. But I couldn’t move. I remained frozen by Ophelia’s magic.

  How had I not realized the witch and oracle were plotting against me? Fool.

  Milo smiled and waved to the audience as his ghostly figure waltzed Dior through the spectators. He told me, “Philipp wants you to win. I want you dead. Guess who’s going to get their way? One way or another, you will die today, Saxon Skylair. So will Philipp. I will make myself king, and Leonora will be my queen.”

  Torches lined the entire stadium, their flickering golden light chasing away shadows. “To kill me, you’ll have to survive the coming battle.” I would do anything, cross any line, to defeat him and save Ashleigh from a life with a male who would seek her elimination so that he could liberate the phantom.

  I needed to see for myself that she was well. She must be well.

  The witch materialized a few feet away from us and acid corroded over my calm facade. She had her back to us, facing the king.

  At her appearance, the crowd erupted into a new round of cheers.

  “Where is Ashleigh?” I hissed at her.

  “Safe from harm,” she said easily, not bothering to turn around. “Why do you care, though? Haven’t you figured out the truth yet? She purposely distracted you for her father, keeping you busy while he plotted your downfall.”

  “You lie.” Leonora would do such a thing, but not Ashleigh. Her loyalty ran deep. “She would never purposely hurt me. So try again, witch. Tell me why you’re doing this. What is the king paying you?”

  She tossed me a banal smile. “I serve the greater good, Saxon. I’ve always served the greater good. Everything I do, I do for Enchantia’s continued survival. One day, you’ll even thank me. At least, Noel thinks you will. She wasn’t one hundred percent. Let’s roll the dice and find out, shall we?”

  What did any of that even mean? “I will never thank you for this.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t want Leonora out of your life once and for all?”

  I stiffened. I hated myself, but still I said, “Not if her presence saves Ashleigh.”

  “And when Leonora has imprisoned Ashleigh in her own mind? What then?”

  I threw a curse at her. “That won’t happen.”

  “Are you sure?” When she cast me a glance, I thought I spotted a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “Even though I just lost a bet with Noel, I’m happy to tell you that there is a way to kill the phantom. And we can do it without hurting Ashleigh...eventually. At first, it’s gonna hurt her real bad.”

  Milo blanched. “What are you saying, witch? You would betray me?”

  “I would betray anyone,” she replied. “Was that not clear? I thought I’d made that clear.”

  “Tell me,” I commanded. I had to know. She’d made the same point Ashleigh had made, every time she’d time to convince me we needed to slay Leonora, no matter the cost.

  “Win the battle,” she said, “and I’ll share the details about how to kill one and keep the other.”

  Which one of us did she address? “Tell me now.”

  She pursed her lips. “It might please you to know that Noel polled a bunch of random strangers about our situation, and asked if it was all right to hurt an innocent girl in order to kill an evil phantom. Apparently, polling random strangers is the best way to make a decision in the mortal world, so we thought we’d try it here. Most people gave an enthusiastic agreement. We probably should have mentioned your constant complaining about the process, though. They might have changed their minds.”

  “Enough nonsense. What did you mean by hurt?” To kill Leonora, they had to physically harm Ashleigh?

  “I mean kill,” she replied easily.

  Kill... Ashleigh? “No.”

  “Never,” Milo spat at her. “Leonora wants her body.”

  “What?” Ophelia said to me. “It’s not like we can’t bring Ashleigh back, probably. Also, I’m disappointed in your lack of trust in me. You shouldn’t believe everything you see with your own eyes and hear with your own ears. A little unconditional trust in your witch would have been nice.”

  My eyelids slitted, my focus on her intensifying. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re only pretending to aid the king?”

  “Yes, witch. Is that what you’re saying?” Milo radiated tension. “Which of us are you truly betraying?”

  “Stop being ridiculous, boys. For the lastish time, I’m betraying you both.”

  No, I didn’t think so. Not anymore. Not fully, anyway. There were nuggets of gold in the information she’d so casually offered me. Why bother giving me any help at all if she wasn�
��t on my side?

  Part of me actually dared to hope the witch wanted me to win this and save Ashleigh. But would I save her, only to lose her in an attempt to kill the phantom? And if I didn’t kill the phantom, would Ashleigh grow to resent me?

  Could Ashleigh be brought back from the dead?

  Should we risk it, after all?

  “By the way,” the witch said. “If you hadn’t guessed, the king has some real nasty stuff planned for you during the fight.”

  Didn’t matter. Whatever was planned, I would win the coming battle. I wanted the information she possessed.

  I wanted Milo dead.

  The master of ceremonies announced, “Now that you’ve seen the dances, tell us—who disappointed you most? We want to know.”

  They were doing a punishment versus a victory. One of us would lose in the next minute or so.

  The crowd erupted, shouting out our species. One word was louder than the others. “Snake.”

  Ophelia knew which one and twisted slightly to wave her arm in the creature’s direction. He paled and shook. Soon, blood began to pour from his eyes, nose, and mouth. His knees buckled, and he collapsed. He didn’t rise—he didn’t move. The crowd cheered louder.

  The witch dusted off her hands to signify a job well done. “Been wanting to do that for a week. Evil man. The worst in every way. He kept a harem of captives.”

  When the cheers finally died down, the master spoke again. “With our final nine in place, why wait for the last battle?”

  More cheers. Ophelia winked at me. “If you’re set on keeping Ashleigh, defeat Milo tonight. Otherwise, say goodbye to your love forevermore. You’re not going to reincarnate again. Oh, and don’t think to abandon the battle to get to Ashleigh. I swear to you now, I won’t let you off this battlefield until you win. I’ve got three pieces of gold riding on your success.” She vanished from the field.

  Her words kicked me in the lungs. No more reincarnation? No more chances with Ashleigh? Never to see her again if I failed to win? Maybe Ophelia had lied. Maybe not. But I would win this battle. Nothing would stop me.

  Aggression plumped my muscles and vibrated in my bones as the magic constraining my feet loosened, allowing me to move at last. I assumed a battle position: one foot in front of the other, knees slightly bent. With a one-two motion, I unsheathed the swords Ashleigh had made me. The one she’d had made for her father, and the one she’d made me specifically. They were lightweight with special features—spikes I could eject by pushing a button on the hilt.