The Queen's Choice

by Cayla Kluver

  I pulled my arm free and rubbed it, stretching my neck away from the offending shoulder.

  “You can’t have it,” I growled, trying to sound menacing. “I can’t take it off.” This was the truth as far as I was concerned; parting with an heirloom of the royal family wasn’t an option. “Just take the money and go.”

  The man flushed at my audacity and pulled a knife smoothly out of his belt. Numerous pouches, all bulky, hung from the leather, no doubt filled with the money and precious possessions of anyone who’d had the misfortune of encountering the brothers.

  “Easy enough fixed,” he sputtered with a grin that revealed rotted yellow teeth. “If you won’t turn over the ring, I’ll just take the ’tire finger.”

  A scream rushed through the alley like a wicked gale, ricocheting off the walls and scaring me more than the man’s threat. We all turned to stare down the narrow passage. Raking in a breath, the young woman I continued to hope was Evangeline released another howl, then darted away from us, clambering over the obstacles and into the street. My courage plummeted. I’d lost her. On top of that, I was abandoned. Though I doubted she would have been much help, I felt strangely more vulnerable without her. Her presence had made her a witness, perhaps a disincentive for the criminals to harm me; now the thieves might as well kill me and be done with the whole mess.

  The men closed ranks on me, and I shut my eyes, knowing I had no choice but to hand over the ruby ring that was not only my birthright, but my responsibility to protect. I couldn’t help interpreting this as transcendental confirmation that I was never meant to return to Chrior and the life I’d known there. It might be better to never go back than to face Queen Ubiqua’s discontent at the loss of a royal treasure.

  “Hey, back off!” a new man shouted, and my would-be attackers pivoted on their heels, running off without even taking proper stock of their competition. Had they recognized the voice? Was I about to be in even more trouble than before? Then I caught a glimpse of the scarlet tailcoat worn by the Constabulary who had entered the alley.

  Relief flooded my body like sweet Sale, and I turned to my rescuer. Striding toward me was Tom Matlock, the younger of the men who had escorted Shea and me to the Governor’s mansion. He had a walk that dared people to step in his way, yet the expression he wore as he drew near sent an opposite message—like he might drop his life’s work to help someone in need, even if that need was as simple as assistance from a carriage.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, coming to my side.

  “Yes, I’m fine. A little spooked. But I still have all ten fingers.”

  I held them up, trying to be glib, though they quivered rather embarrassingly. He laid a hand casually on my back while he looked me over for injuries. His cinder-gray eyes were darker than Davic’s, and his hair was the color of light chocolate instead of black. Its texture wasn’t the same as Davic’s, either. It looked as though it took some maneuvering to tame it properly for his job, while my betrothed’s hair was smooth and cooperative—I’d played with it enough to know. I couldn’t remember why I’d thought the officer and Davic resembled one another. They weren’t the same at all.

  Though I was sure Officer Matlock noticed my shakes, he didn’t mention it, moving on to a different issue.

  “What are you doing this far from the Fae-mily Home? I mean, this area is pretty dodgy.”

  I laughed weakly. “I noticed.” Feeling the pressure of his gaze, I added, “I was looking for a friend who also suffered an injury. Fi told me she was at the shelter a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Do you have reason to believe she came this way?”

  “I think I saw her. I’m not sure—it might just be hope talking—but I think she was the one who screamed and ran out of here.”

  Officer Matlock’s eyebrows rose, and he glanced down the alley as if to visualize the route the young woman had taken.

  “She ran right by me. I wish I’d known. I would have stopped her. But, Anya...she didn’t look like a friend of yours. She was...well, she wasn’t in good shape.”

  I cocked my head and pursed my lips in irritation. “In case you weren’t listening, I said something bad happened to her. She’s been missing for months.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Look, if she’s still in this neighborhood, I have an idea where she might be. Want me to show you?”

  “Yes!”

  He jerked his thumb in the direction the young woman had escaped. “This way.”

  He headed down the alley, and I hurried to keep pace with him, optimism building and making my entire body tingle. Please, please, please, I repeated to myself as we left the alley and crossed the street, made a few turns, then marched into an overflowing pub. A ripple went through the crowd at the Constabulary’s entrance, and the establishment’s clientele swiveled to eye us. Sound and motion ceased except for surly mutterings, as though a frosty breeze had coated everyone’s tongue with ice.

  “This isn’t a raid,” Matlock calmly informed the crowd. “Just go back to your business.”

  The patrons gradually resumed their conversations, and we approached a sleek black bar that spanned one wall of the establishment. A stocky, muscle-bound man with greasy salt-and-pepper hair emerged from behind it, throwing a dirty rag over one shoulder.

  “What can I do for you, Officer?”

  “I’m looking for someone. She may be here. But not in the pub.”

  I glanced at Matlock in bewilderment, though the bartender appeared to know exactly what he meant.

  “You’ll leave me guests alone?” he asked.

  “You have my word.”

  “Right this way, then, sir.”

  The bartender led us around the far end of the counter and through a door, then down a flight of stairs. Opening another door, he ushered us into a room so dense with smoke that my eyes began to sting and weep.

  “Take as long as you need,” our guide muttered, heading back to the pub.

  “What is this place?” I asked, glancing warily at my surroundings. We were in a room below ground, and the lights were so subdued by the haze that I had trouble adjusting to the dark.

  “Just stick close,” Matlock instructed. “Folks come here to kill their pain, so to speak. Illegally, of course.”

  He moved forward, and I took his arm, irrationally afraid of something springing out of the smoke and dragging me off to its lair.

  Mimicking Officer Matlock, who was holding a cloth over his mouth, I buried my face in my cloak, then squinted around the room. People were sitting at tables and lying on cots, some laughing, some in a stupor, and some in zealous embrace. As the clouded air fought through my clothing and filled my lungs, I was hit by wave after wave of light-headedness until it became a persistent state. Still I did my best to examine faces in every conceivable corner.

  “She’s not here,” I coughed, my breath so short and the heat of the room so great that I couldn’t last any longer.

  Matlock nodded and put his hand on my elbow, leading me up the stairs and out of the building. I felt weak, disoriented by the seeming timelessness of the room—with no windows, there could be no sunrise, no sunset, no stars or fresh air. Despite the loss of my wings, I remained Fae in my heart, and these notions were anxiety-inducing at best. That room could have fooled me into believing Nature had disappeared entirely.

  “Sorry we didn’t find your friend,” Matlock said, while I deeply inhaled the cold, crisp air. “That was my best guess.”

  “Thank you for trying.” Though I should have been disappointed, my mood was lifting, and I felt strangely euphoric. Everything I saw was sharp and defined. For a moment, I thought I could float into the air, even without my wings.

  “Are you all right, Anya?” Officer Matlock was gazing into my green eyes, concern wrinkling his brow.

  “Yes,” I sai
d with fervor, accidentally tipping toward him and almost cracking my head against his. The incident struck me as so funny that I broke into uncontrollable laughter.

  “I guess I have my answer.”

  He steadied me, which for some reason made me laugh harder. His eyes shone like sparkling silver, his hair was rich like the deep earth, and every minuscule aspect of his physiognomy was distinct—the light smile lines around his mouth, the shadow of his facial hair. I could count his eyelashes. I could have memorized him with one blink and carved his likeness into the Great Redwood.

  “Keep taking deep breaths,” my personal bodyguard gently advised. “I’ll see you safely back to the Home.”

  I had no problem breathing deeply because the scents around me were so potent they transcended both malodor and perfume. It was as though the entire world had turned into a stimulant. We strolled along the streets until my exhilaration faded, and I blinked an odd fuzziness out of my eyes.

  “What do you know that I don’t?” I asked, latching on to the only explanation I could muster for what I had been feeling. “What was in that smoke?”

  “I didn’t think you’d be gone so long,” Matlock chuckled, letting go of my arm and waiting a moment to see if I would fall over before resuming our walk. “It’s a drug called Cysur Naravni—Nature’s Comfort. On the street it’s called ‘the Green’ because it can dye the skin around your mouth and nose, depending on how you take it. It can make you feel strong, even invincible. Happy, of course. People say it enhances the senses.”

  “I’d say it does.”

  He shook his head, grinning.

  “What?” I pressed.

  “We were only in there a few minutes. I didn’t have any reaction.”

  “So?”

  “So I’m wondering if it takes some kind of talent to get sloppy that fast.”

  I smiled despite myself. “I’ve never even smoked tobacco. Maybe you have gills, but I’m new to these sorts of things. I didn’t think you’d hold my clean living against me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  We fell silent as we arrived on the doorstep of the Fae-mily Home. I was about to thank him and say goodbye when he caught my hand and drew me around to face him.

  “I don’t know how that drug made you feel, Anya, but all joking aside, that stuff isn’t good for you. And it’s illegal. I didn’t say before, but Cysur is also sometimes called Black Magic because Fae who’ve lost their connections claim it makes them feel normal again. But it’s not worth it—trust me.”

  I shrugged his warning off, baffled and a little insulted that he would assume I was so weak-willed. “I’m here looking for my cousin, not a stuffy cellar. I won’t let anything get in the way of that goal.”

  “Does your cousin have a name?”

  I blanched and my heart beat louder. I’d gotten comfortable and careless, tripped up by my own tongue.

  “Illumina,” I responded, absurdly thankful that I was searching for two cousins. “That’s her name.”

  “I’ll keep an eye open for her,” Officer Matlock promised, relinquishing my hand. “I’d best be going, then. I’m still on duty, after all. Take care.”

  I watched him walk away, mulling frantically over our conversation to determine if I’d damaged my cause, then went inside to find Shea. Ever sociable, she was in the dining room playing dice with a few other residents, but she withdrew from the game when she saw me.

  “Any luck?” she asked, coming to my side.

  “Yes and no. I saw Evangeline in an alley—at least I think it was her—but she ran away. Officer Matlock was on duty in the area and helped me search for her.” My voice grew strident as the events of the day hit me with astonishing force. “I lost her, Shea! I found her and then I lost her.”

  My spirits sank ever further, their depth emphasized by the exhilaration I’d experienced not long ago. Shea drew me to a chair at a nearby table, took a seat beside me, and placed a hand over mine.

  “At least you know she’s alive. And you’ve got an idea of where she’s living. You can start again tomorrow.”

  I picked at the grain of the table and sighed. “I suppose that’s true. At least a little good came out of this day.”

  “Are you telling me everything, Anya?” She wrinkled her nose, her eyes skimming my clothing. “You’ve brought quite a stink back with you.”

  I gave her a good-humored shove. “It’s just pub smell. I’ve been in a lot of rather unsavory places.”

  “You might want to air out your cloak and wash up before dinner. Otherwise you’ll find yourself eating alone.”

  “You wouldn’t even join me?” I sniffed in mock offense.

  “Not a chance.”

  I grinned and headed to the back hallway off of which the sleeping rooms were located, leaving Shea to rejoin the dice game. I glanced over my shoulder just before I left the dining hall, wondering whose money she was betting.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE GREEN

  It was only because the logs in the fireplace had burned to ash during the night that I noticed the crack of light from the hallway—the opening of our bedroom door.

  I lay frozen but alert, shifting just enough to slip my hand under my pillow and grip the Anlace I had stashed there. A shadow entered the room, and I tried to think of a way to rouse Shea without drawing attention to myself. I’d been awake all night, rethinking the day and trying to decide the best way to renew my search for Evangeline, so I was certain no one had left the room. This person was not supposed to be here. Had someone recognized Shea despite our efforts to keep her hidden? Or perhaps Spex and Hastings had a contact in Tairmor who’d been sent to finish the work of the Sepulchres in the Fere. What if the men who had tried to take my ring had pursued me? I was sure they’d heard me say where I was staying.

  The light and its corresponding shadow all but disappeared when the door closed. Flashbacks to the Sepulchre attacks made me bite my fist to keep silent as I listened for the tiniest sound. Then I heard a whisper amongst the snores and snuffles of my roommates.

  “Anya? Are you here?”

  The voice was so soft it was difficult to recognize, but the cadence and pattern of the speech were familiar. Tensed for a ploy, I rolled off the creaky mattress to stand barefoot on the floor.

  “I’m here.”

  Cold fingers clamped around my wrist, sending a shiver down my spine. But before I could protest, I was tugged across the floor and into the hallway, where the light of a gas lamp allowed me to determine who had fetched me.

  “Evangeline,” I breathed, though identifying her was like imagining features onto a skull. Her cheeks were so hollow, her eyes so sunken, her skin so pale that I could hardly believe she was alive. Her white-blond eyebrows and eyelashes had more color than her face, and sleep circles like bruises spread almost to her temples. Her clothing was the same linen that many of the residents of the Fae-mily Home wore, but it looked tattered and uncomfortable, as if it were too small for her, though I doubted even a child would have had a tinier frame.

  She fell into me, and I gripped her, thinking she had collapsed. When I realized she was hugging me, I squeezed her as tightly as I dared, standing on my tiptoes to compensate for our difference in height. It was then I noticed the empty space at her back. I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw. Not her. Not her, too. But the haunting proof was there. My stomach twisted at the thought of her pain, for I was all too familiar with it.

  “When?” I choked. “How?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Only it doesn’t really matter, does it? Neither of us can go back.” She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry this happened to you, but I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t think I’d ever see any of my friends again.”

  “What happened to us does matter, Evangeline. In
my case it was hunters. Right outside Chrior.”

  “Oh.”

  Her blue eyes were murky and blank as a seafloor, and I couldn’t believe the Faerie standing before me was my once-vibrant friend. I couldn’t believe I was talking to Evangeline the nonconformist, the rebel, the girl who’d never let anyone tell her who she was. She’d regularly braided rainbow-colored ribbons into her hair, cut off her dresses at the knees, rolled her sleeves no matter how important it was not to wrinkle them. She’d once been full of life; now she was empty. It was like her spirit had gone into hibernation somewhere deep inside, or worse, had evaporated altogether.

  “You?” I pressed, trying to get her to focus. “What happened to you?”

  She gave a short giggle, her expression frightening in its hopelessness. Tears, unaccompanied by the usual noises of crying, drained from her eyes, leaving rivulets through the dustings of grime on either side of her slender nose.

  “I don’t remember.” Again, the strange, incongruent laugh. “But somehow I ended up in a hospital here in Tairmor. When I came round, the doctor said I had enough drugs in my system that I’d probably never recall what happened to me. And he was right. Everything before the hospital is just noise in my head. So loud and confused it hurts to think about it.”

  I took her hand and led her toward the dining hall. Both of us needed to sit down. I felt faint, and I could only imagine the stress her frail body was under. We took a table, settling on benches across from each other, and Evangeline touched the wick of the lamp between us.

  “I keep trying to light things. Only the fire is gone from me. I’m screaming and reaching for it, but it doesn’t turn its head or even remember that we were once friends. Sometimes I wonder if my elemental connection existed at all, if it was nothing more than a beautiful dream.”

  “My connection to the water is gone, as well. But we’re both still alive. That’s what we have to hold on to.”

  Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, I wondered if this was a good thing, what being alive meant if we were separated from the current of Nature that connected everything. We were akin to broken treasures, forgotten loves, stones caught in a crag, begging the river to carry us along. But Evangeline needed to believe that alive meant something good, and I hoped she would not sense my inner turmoil.