The Queen's Choice

by Cayla Kluver

  Enerris fell quiet in response to the stares. Though I felt sick with fear in that moment, I was too naive to know what was scaring me, too young to realize my uncle’s abrupt silence generally meant an idea had occurred to him.

  As the years passed and my mother continued to defy her brother without consequence, I forgot the primal fear of my youth in favor of practicality, arrogance—all the things that replace raw instinct when people grow up. Then Incarnadine fell ill, and her symptoms were unfamiliar to the medicine mage as her body steadily withered away.

  And at my mother’s funeral, Enerris held Illumina’s hand and smiled.

  * * *

  “Anya, Anya, snap out of it. You’re scaring me.”

  The voice was Shea’s, more shrill than usual, drawing me back from the edge. I brought my eyes to bear on her, forcing them to focus.

  “I’m okay,” I mumbled. “Just...shocked.”

  The worry lines in Shea’s face formed tiny hills and valleys, and I smiled faintly at that thought, which did nothing to placate her.

  “I’m getting you out of here,” she informed me.

  Taking me by the arm, she hauled me from the scene, through the dining room, and to the walk in front of the Home, perhaps thinking fresh air would bring me back to my senses. Although fresh was not a word I would have used to describe the air quality, the chill breeze that buffeted us did help me to focus. At once I was inundated with emotions—anger, confusion, grief, a peculiar sense that Evangeline had betrayed me by taking her own life—so many emotions that it was ludicrous to think I might express them all by crying. I fought my welling tears on this premise. What had happened to my stoicism, the calm strength that was expected of a member of the Redwood Fae? It was our birthright to lead, to offer comfort to others, to display courage in the midst of trying times. This brand of weakness wasn’t supposed to be in my bloodline.

  I concentrated on the noise and bustle of the streets and let them overpower the chaos in my mind. At last, I turned to Shea, who stood at my side, concern pulling her eyebrows together.

  “We should go inside and help Fi,” I said. “She shouldn’t have to deal with this on her own.”

  The same boy who’d stumbled past us with the flask of Cysur stumbled past us again on our way into the shelter. This time he was wearing winter clothing and pinning a hat to his head as he tore down the dirty road on his way to the nearest Constabulary station.

  He returned within half an hour, an entourage of officers in tow, and the Fae-mily Home became their home for the remainder of the day as the circumstances of Evangeline’s death were investigated. Constable Marcus Farrier arrived in the late morning to oversee the removal of my friend’s body, and it seemed he would rather have been anywhere else, the lines of his scowl as permanent as if they’d been scars. I saw the death litter borne down the hall toward the back door, and Farrier motion for the officers to pause. He threw back the white sheet covering Evangeline’s corpse far enough to access her arm, and his pitiless hands lifted her wrist for examination.

  “She used all right,” he grunted, rolling one of her cold fingers between his own. “We’ll never know if the death was suicide or stupidity.” Replacing the sheet, he added, “And I’ll never care. Get it out of here, boys.”

  He glanced about distastefully. He thought the shelter a waste of space and money, that much was clear. What he thought of my people I dared not speculate, for the sake of my fragile state. But I did recall how he’d marched into the Governor’s mansion without the hesitation of a subordinate, and as I met his haughty gaze from the opposite end of the hall with my own nearly as dead as Evangeline’s, I entertained the notion that his power might be great enough to have moved the players into position for her kidnapping.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  NO REASON AT ALL

  Shea postponed her departure, staying with me throughout the day, and she watched me from the lower bunk as I packed that evening. The other residents of the Fae-mily Home were at dinner, granting us the privacy to talk, but she didn’t know what to say, so didn’t say anything. I was relieved that she remained quiet. There were no words of solace she could offer.

  I looked up from my belongings to catch sight of Shea’s reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall. There was apprehension in her eyes, and it told me I wasn’t acting like myself. Appropriate, because I didn’t feel like myself, either. It was only a matter of time before Evangeline’s death would land like the head of a hammer atop my other losses and enfeeble me. I had to travel far and fast before it happened.

  “What about your friend’s funeral?” Shea finally ventured. “Will you go?”

  “She ought to be burned.” My voice shook as though the grief I was locking out of my heart had eked into my throat. “She was a Fire Fae. All they’re going to do is dump her in the ground. That’s not a funeral. I’ll serve her memory better by finding Zabriel, and then finding whoever did this to her.”

  I was cold as the bitter wind outside, and Shea’s face in the mirror told me she was beginning to understand my mood. I was done apologizing for the secrets I had kept. She could forgive me or not, come along with me or not—it made no difference. I had a purpose, and everything else was extraneous. There would be no more silent debate over who had suffered more, because what was there to measure? Pain inflicted? Lasting damage? Odds of survival? These things couldn’t be measured. If we were going to continue journeying together, it would have to be with a clean slate.

  Shea pulled her rucksack up beside her and picked through its contents. A tiny knock on the door interrupted our efforts, and Fi slipped inside, her wings still in a sad embrace about her shoulders. She glanced at Shea, then back to me, and I sensed she was hesitant to speak in the presence of my human friend. I gave her a nod to let her know Shea could be trusted, and words gushed from her mouth.

  “I know who you are. I recognized the Anlace first, then your ring. You’re Queen Ubiqua’s heir. I would have let you come and go without mention, but I thought you should be told one of your relations was here.”

  My mind jumped to Zabriel. Since Illumina had not been to Oaray, I’d assumed the worst of her fate. But Fi’s description left no room for doubt.

  “A girl with long dark hair and marks on her body, wearing a ring to match yours. She was on a search for her cousin. Don’t worry—I won’t tell anyone you were here. But please listen.”

  Fi came farther into the room, her hands closed around something she did not want me to see, at least for the moment. Her eyes were earnest, boring into mine with such intensity that I struggled not to give ground to her.

  “Something’s wrong in the Territory, dreadfully wrong. I’ve only noticed because of my business, but Fae are shorn of their wings oftener and oftener. They end up here or at hospitals without remembering much. I’ve already sent word to Chrior that Crossings should be stopped. The only human I’ve had a notion to tell is Luka Ivanova, and he’s been investigating the situation with as little attention drawn as possible, trying to track Fae in the Warckum Territory and all that. He’s leery of starting a political squall before the timing’s good. I sent the girl to him. If anybody can help find the Prince, it’ll be Luka.”

  “We can’t trust anyone in the Governor’s family,” I blurted, my stomach clenching. There was no way Illumina would have gone to Luka Ivanova for assistance, but Fi’s knowledge of my quest and her faith in the man were a potentially disastrous combination. “Zabriel’s presence in the human world cannot become known to those who would have an interest in detaining him here.”

  “I understand,” Fi assured me. “I understand better than you credit me—just think of the injuries I see every day. Luka doesn’t know anything about the Prince from my lips, but he is a reliable source of information. If you need him, use him. The same goes for me.”

  I offered a troubled
thank-you, not completely placated. Fi extended her closed fist to me, and I accepted her gift, my brow puckered in bewilderment. When I opened my palm, I held a locket stuffed with the small, fragrant seeds of Tanya flowers that grew only within the boundaries of the Faerie Realm. The flowers gave off a sweet, calming fragrance, and were believed to inspire inner peace.

  “I took it from around Evangeline’s neck before she was removed,” Fi explained. “If you find the Prince, give it to him. Tell him what became of her. Maybe it will remind him why we need him.”

  I nodded, uncertain of what to say. Her intentions were good, but already Zabriel’s concealment was faltering. Even if word of his presence in the Warckum Territory spread only among Fae, the Governor’s son was in a good position to find out. Fi couldn’t be the only Faerie who considered Luka an ally. I had to find my cousin, and fast.

  Shea and I said little in the aftermath of Fi’s departure. My thoughts were fixed on the good news she had delivered about Illumina: not only was she alive, but she’d made it safely to the capital against all odds, and presumably with travel papers obtained from someplace other than the City of False Smiles. How and why she would have gone elsewhere was a mystery, but such had to be the case, for it was risky to enter and explore Tairmor without passable documentation. Once here, of course, she might have seen Zabriel’s wanted poster just as I had. Would she have set out for Sheness? With any luck, I’d find her in the port city, and all the royal cousins would at long last be reunited.

  As the other Faeries returned from dinner, it occurred to me that the owner of the Fae-mily Home might have made Shea realize, perhaps for the first time, the significance of the mission we were on. When I’d first told my friend of Zabriel’s identity, her anger could easily have interfered with her understanding. But now it couldn’t be overlooked that Zabriel was more than a runaway princeling—he was a beacon of hope in times that were beginning to darken the vision of many of my people.

  Not surprisingly, I had trouble sleeping that night. Every time I closed my eyes, Evangeline’s opened, not as they had been in life, but as I’d seen them upon her corpse. Even with this image imprinted on my memory, I couldn’t reconcile her absence from the world. Why hadn’t she confided her true pain to me? Why hadn’t I realized something was wrong when she’d hugged me that last time? Regret was like a vacuum inside me, pulling everything toward an empty core, and things I should have done, could have done, continually roiled through my mind. Across all the scenarios I could invent, one theme was present: Evangeline should not have died.

  It was the drink Shea made for me from the herbs in her pack that finally allowed me some rest, apparently working on scarred hearts as well as scarred bodies.

  * * *

  I remained in bed the following morning, allowing myself to drift in and out of lucidity. I had wanted to leave Tairmor before I could be tempted to attend Evangeline’s interment, but my brain felt swathed in cotton from the medicine I had taken, creating a distinct lack of motivation. Besides, Shea wasn’t pressing for a quick departure anymore.

  A knock on the door that I instinctively knew belonged to Fi—no one else could have made the rapping of knuckles against wood sound fluttery—drew me from my musings. I sat upright and threw aside my blankets. Had she remembered more about her encounter with Illumina? Or perhaps she’d heard news about Zabriel. I sighed—what if I’d stayed too long and she was bringing information about the burial arrangements?

  I walked to the door in my bare feet, wearing an unbelted tunic over leggings, my auburn hair in disarray, and opened it, not pausing to consider that Fi might not be alone.

  Beside her stood Officer Tom Matlock, his hair carefully combed, the coat of his red uniform unbuttoned to reveal a crisp white shirt beneath. The pistols and knives on the weapons belt around his hips were well polished, glinting at me from their matched leather holders.

  “You, um...have a visitor,” Fi announced, her eyes wide with surprise and compunction. But there was no going back.

  “Come in,” I said with all the grace I could muster.

  Matlock crossed the threshold, a fleeting smile playing upon his features in concession to the awkward situation. I nodded to Fi, who took her leave with a mouthed apology. My guest had stopped a few feet into the room, and I walked by him to take a seat on the edge of my bunk.

  “Sorry,” he said with a shy chuckle. “I’ll step back out if you want to finish getting dressed.”

  “What would be the point? You’ve already seen me at my worst.”

  “As worsts go, I’ve seen a lot worse.”

  His attempt at a compliment helped me relax, and he took my change in posture as a cue that he was welcome to stay, moving to sit in the chair by the fireplace. Still, his presence was troubling. What business could have brought him here?

  “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Is there something I can do for you, Officer Matlock?”

  “Call me Tom,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I had hoped we were past the formalities. Besides, I’m only an officer when I’m on duty. Off, I’m nineteen, young and foolish.”

  I laughed, seeing straight through his bluff. Tom Matlock was never foolish; I felt sure of that. I was surprised by his age, though—I would have thought him older simply because of his rank.

  “Okay, Tom.” I shifted position, pulling one leg up and under me as the low fire hissed, then repeated my question. “What can I do for you?”

  “I stopped by to see how you’re doing, but... Fi told me about the Faerie who died. The friend you were searching for, I assume.”

  I nodded, not really wanting to talk about Evangeline. The wound to my heart inflicted by her death was still too fresh. But my silence and downcast eyes did not dissuade Officer Matlock.

  “It won’t be much help, but I saw the Green around her mouth and nose as she ran from the alley—Cysur residue. If she was an addict, she might not have meant to kill herself. It could have been an accident. I thought it might help you to know that.”

  “Thank you, that’s...” I’d been planning to say “good to know,” but the words caught in my throat. The news that Evangeline’s death could have been an accident rather than a suicide made it at once more tragic and easier to bear.

  “Anyway,” Tom continued, “I know sorry doesn’t begin to cover it, but I am—sorry, I mean. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine, more or less.”

  Tom was looking at me with an earnestness that I was used to seeing in Davic, and my heart ached at the memories of my beloved that glimmered on the horizon of my mind. I longed to feel his arms about me. Davic was solid, reassuring, unchanging—all the security I could no longer have. Tom wasn’t my promised. But he did seem to care.

  “It doesn’t feel real,” I managed to say. “None of it does. The loss of my wings, Evangeline’s death. It’s all so...nonsensical.”

  “Your friend’s name was Evangeline?”

  I nodded, then found myself gazing blankly through the window as I told him things I wouldn’t have said to Shea. I didn’t know what it was about him that inspired confidence; all I knew was that the thoughts and emotions I had been bottling up inside needed to be released.

  “She was this vivacious, beautiful Faerie. I’ve known her—or, I guess, I knew her—since we were two years old. How can she be gone? I could easily convince myself yesterday didn’t happen, except my stomach is sick and my heart is beating just a little too fast and I can’t get comfortable no matter how hard I try because something in my world is just wrong, like...like stitches holding a wound together have been torn asunder.”

  “There’s nothing for that but time,” Tom said, drawing my eyes to his. “But it’s the hardest kind of waiting. You aren’t able to fill your days with anything but survival.”

  “Who did you lose?” I asked without thinking,
but he flashed a tiny smile, assuring me he wasn’t offended.

  “Trust me, that’s a long, boring story.”

  “How could it be?” I pressed, wishing he would share something so the ache I felt wouldn’t seem so conspicuous, like I had poured my heart out on the floor between us. But he winked instead, abandoning his reflective mood.

  “Because I already know how it ends.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him, but there was nothing I could do if he wanted to evade the question. It would have been nice to know how it was he understood my feelings—had he lost his mother or father? A sibling? A best friend, as I had? I pushed it to the recesses of my mind. I would probably never know.

  “How long have you been a Constabulary?” I asked, seeking a way out of the silence.

  “I was sort of an errand boy for the police force by the time I was thirteen. I’ve been an officer since I turned eighteen, so almost two years.”

  “So old,” I joked, and he grinned.

  “You won’t be young forever, you know.”

  “That may be, but I’ll always be younger than you.”

  “And just how young is that?”

  “Seventeen in the spring.” He shook his head, and some of his brown hair fell forward across his temple. I leaned toward him, feeling an inexplicable urge to brush it back into place, much as I would have done with Davic. At the last moment, I came to my senses—this was not my promised sitting across from me—and stopped before I embarrassed myself. He stood, oblivious to the unease with which I was regarding my hands, his manner more businesslike.

  “Although I’d like to say this is just a casual visit, Anya, I’m aware you’re supposed to check in with the doctor. I thought I’d offer you a ride to the hospital.”

  I cringed. Upon being discharged, I’d promptly discarded Dr. Nye’s directive to return, relying on Shea’s ability to re-dress my wounds if necessary. Still, now that Tom had brought it up, it wouldn’t hurt to get some more of the painkiller for the road. Maybe it was a good thing we hadn’t taken off yet.