The Queen's Choice

by Cayla Kluver

  It was late afternoon and the sun was beating down, leaving only a few patches of snow dotting the landscape of dead grasses and rolling hills. The river, emerging from the gorge, widened and flowed more slowly, though its surface hosted no ice. I offered Shea my hand to pull her from the lip of the cave.

  “Remember where this entrance is,” she advised. “Could come in handy.”

  Senses on alert, we approached the station, a wooden longhouse built half into the hill and half upon the water, where it was supported by thick, dock-like posts. There was no sign that anyone was looking for or following us, and the few people we did encounter were busy preparing themselves or this evening’s boat for travel.

  The Nautigull, so named for the seagulls that flew about the area pestering passengers for food, had two enclosed decks with a railed and canopied sundeck at the top. Though aged, the boat looked well kept and sturdily built. It had an apparatus like a windmill at the back that rested partly in the water to propel it forward; it represented one of those feats of human engineering that impressed some Fae and appalled others. Our boats were operated by Water Faeries, and required nothing more to provide transport than the ability to float. Humans couldn’t communicate with the water, and had to employ cleverness and force in such endeavors. They did well with what they had; faulting them felt arrogant.

  Though the fee for boarding was hefty, it wasn’t unmanageable with the money Luka Ivanova had given me, and the fare included meals and a stateroom, for we would travel through the night. The man collecting tickets scrutinized our passports before reluctantly motioning us on board. We alone among the passengers did not check baggage with him, having nothing more than our packs, and his scowl suggested he thought the money with which we’d paid was stolen. As it turned out, our lack of luggage was but one of ample things that set us apart from our fellow passengers. We were also younger than the rest, far less well attired and, from what I observed, the only females.

  Everyone who boarded with us—a club of men in tailcoats with cigars—proceeded to the sundeck, where they settled in to await the boat’s departure in comfortable lounging chairs that had been bolted to the floor. Shea and I kept to ourselves, trying to disappear into the rail next to what appeared to be a buffet table equipped with an outdoor stove. Instead of socializing, we spent the long minutes whispering guesses about the men’s occupations. I was glad for the amusement, as it distracted my attention from the lapping of the waves against the sides of the boat. Though the three months Davic had given me were running out and we needed a fast mode of transportation, I was glaringly aware of the depth and strength of the water beneath us.

  Most of our travel companions looked like moderately successful businessmen. However, Shea and I figured one passenger to be a solicitor based on his pompous manner and leather satchel, and another, closer to our age than the rest with bright, innocent blue eyes, we supposed to be on an errand for his father. Since no new passengers had arrived in some time, I expected we would be on our way before long, but the boat remained moored to the dock. I soon learned the reason. The men around us stood as though called to attention, removing their hats and adjusting their coats to tidy their appearances. Shea and I glanced at each other in bewilderment, then joined the others in beholding the gate beyond which the gangplank descended. Judging by the reactions of our fellow travelers, the two people who were approaching were by far the most important of the Nautigull’s passengers.

  The young woman wore a dark green travel dress with crinolette, bustle, and matching jacket; an elaborate feathered hat; black high-heeled boots; and fishnet gloves over delicate, bejeweled hands. Her mouth was painted dark red, her eyes lined with an autumn glow, and her rosy cheeks were framed by ash-brown hair. Behind her walked a tall, somewhat stocky older gentleman in a black cloak, an aureate cane acting as an extension of his arm, directing the men managing their luggage. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop staring, though my interest was not only due to their wealth—they were also familiar to me.

  As our fellow travelers bowed and murmured, “Sir, madam,” I was finally able to place the newcomers. They had been guests of the Governor at the execution. The woman, my age or close to it, had stood at Luka Ivanova’s side, and the man, probably her father, had been next to the Governor during his speech. They drew near, and the other passengers gave them respectful nods, Shea and I following suit, suddenly feeling we had more in common with the moderately successful. With a smile that turned her lips upward but did not crinkle her face, the young woman separated from her father and descended the stairs to the lower decks.

  “I’m afraid my daughter is not on the lookout for suitors, gents,” said the older man, taking a seat as though he were holding court.

  Laughter ensued, the comment enough to break the nervous tension in the air. Taking advantage of the moment, Shea and I stole away and headed to the cabin deck, the lowermost deck where the staterooms were located, and where our tickets indicated we were being housed. The departure horn blew as we found our assigned quarters in the forward section that was reserved for female passengers. Though I wondered if the wealthy young woman was in one of the rooms off the central corridor, I had neither the energy nor the inclination to search for her. Instead, Shea and I entered our tiny cabin—little more than two beds with a bit of floor space in between—and collapsed on our mattresses. Shea dozed off almost immediately, rocked to sleep by the undulating water beneath us, while I found the same movement disconcerting. The noise of the waves was amplified by the now-present hum of the propeller apparatus, and I felt entombed in our tiny space. Was there a way out if the cabins flooded? Not that I could see. But tiredness eventually overcame my discomfort, and I likewise fell asleep.

  The sound of voices and high-pitched giggling woke me several hours later, along with an ache in my stomach that could only be attributed to being waterborne. While my elemental connection had been in place, I’d never experienced seasickness, but now nausea played games with me, sneaking close to the top of my throat then retreating like the tide. But the noise coming from down the hall was an even bigger annoyance.

  Groaning, I rolled off the bed and glanced out our small window. Night had fallen, and the surface of the water looked oily in the glare cast by the lights of the riverboat. Then another barrage of giggles hit my ears, and I gave Shea’s bedpost a swift kick. She grimaced and met my eyes, her expression too alert for her to have been truly asleep. No doubt the obnoxious laughter had disrupted her slumber, too.

  “Should I shoot them?” she asked, freeing one hand from her blankets and searching the floor for her pack and gun.

  “No, but whoever that is, I’m about to tell them to shut up. Coming?”

  Shea got out of bed, her ponytailed hair worked into a masterful mess. She pulled on a pair of leggings, unevenly tucked in her shirt, and followed me into the hallway.

  A single lamp hung from the ceiling to illuminate the passage, the motion of the boat swinging it side to side. A steadier stream of light emanated from a room a few doors down the corridor, and we headed toward it, another round of giggles sufficient to convince us that this was the culprit’s location.

  The door was partway open, and I peered around it, not wanting to be taken by surprise when I barged in on the occupants. I snorted in disgust at the sight that greeted me. The pretty young woman who had a few days ago been on Luka Ivanova’s arm had brought the young, blue-eyed chap to her bed. Still mostly clothed, they were nonetheless passionately engaged, the stench of alcohol rank about them.

  In my experience, reasoning with the intoxicated was a nonsensical, circular activity. I’d managed, with some amusement, a happy-go-lucky Davic on rare occasion, but I expected interrupting this liaison would reap nothing but frustration. Shea laid a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention. With a mighty roll of her eyes, she motioned me back down the hall.

  We’d gone only a few steps
when we heard a muffled grunt, and the giggling ceased. I turned my head, wondering if one member of the amorous pair had succumbed to the drink, and saw a shadow pass before the light in the bedroom. Content that the problem had resolved itself, Shea and I returned to the cabin in the hope that the rest of our night would prove more peaceful.

  * * *

  By the next morning, my stomachache had subsided, and I was hungry for the breakfast the crew served on the open deck. The day was sunny but cold, due in part to the constant movement of the riverboat, and tarpaulin drop cloths had been hung to the west to cut the wind.

  Shea and I went through the buffet line, then joined the other passengers who were seated at a large table engaged in deep enough conversation to pay us no mind. It took me a moment to notice that the pretty young woman who shared our corridor was at my right, only she wasn’t ignoring us like the rest. She touched my forearm, wearing the same smile I’d seen the day before, the one that didn’t reach her amber eyes.

  “I’m Gwyneth,” she offered, extending her hand. I accepted it with trepidation—Shea and I were not on this boat to make friends, and I was reluctant to give up so much as my name. I obliged, however, afraid that my refusal would stir questions.

  “Anya.”

  Gwyneth then shook hands with Shea, using only the tips of her fingers as though she wasn’t conditioned to endure such a coarse gesture.

  “And you are?” she asked.

  “Mary Archer.” Shea looked Gwyneth up and down. “You look well this morning, considering your evening’s entertainment.”

  I coiled my fingers to keep from slapping my forehead. Why would she say that? We were trying not to draw attention to ourselves. Fortunately, Gwyneth didn’t take offense at Shea’s remark, perhaps because she didn’t want to bring the incident within her father’s purview.

  “I’m sorry,” Gwyneth said, leaning closer to us. “I’m afraid I did have a bit to drink. No more than my companion, mind you. I just hold my liquor better. But you mustn’t say a word. The women on this boat ought to stick together.”

  She spoke as if we were old schoolmates or members of a sisterhood, and an irritated flush crept up Shea’s neck.

  “It wasn’t a woman you were stuck to last night,” she grumbled, making no attempt to conceal her dislike for our new acquaintance.

  Knowing there was only one way to deal with Shea’s tenacity, I jumped in to redirect the conversation.

  “And where is your companion this morning?”

  Gwyneth shrugged and settled her light brown hair about her shoulders. Her crimson dress matched her lips, behind which white teeth shone in brilliant contrast.

  “He must still be asleep,” she replied, but I sensed a lie. I also sensed it was a lie I shouldn’t pursue.

  Showing no concern for Shea’s sullen silence, Gwyneth bestowed her company and her conversation on the men at the table. This suited me just fine—she struck me as trouble, and trouble was something we did not need.

  Shea and I finished our meals and returned to our state room, where we passed the time playing games with the dice and cards we found stashed in one of the drawers beneath our beds. The air was chilly despite the sunshine sifting through the window, so we snugged our cloaks around us. I didn’t mention her horrid manners, because the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I wasn’t a bit like Gwyneth in Shea’s eyes. I didn’t drink and carouse in the style of a wealthy party girl, but now that Shea knew I was royalty in Chrior, did she imagine my life to have been equally lavish and indulgent? The assumption wasn’t wrong; I’d never wanted for anything. Maybe Shea’s resentment of Gwyneth was in part directed at me.

  A couple of hours later, a gong sounded and we joined the others for lunch on the captain’s deck, the middle deck that housed a lounge, a galley kitchen, and a dining room. There was no sign of either Gwyneth or her blue-eyed admirer, but her stocky father was once more the center of attention, zealously discussing business in Sheness. I gathered he was the owner of a shipping and trading company that operated out of the port city, an enterprise that had earned him great wealth, the admiration of his colleagues, and the personal friendship of Governor Ivanova.

  Shea had been napping when the lunch bell tolled, and was quiet as we settled into our corner of the long dining table. I didn’t mind her mood, since it gave me the opportunity to eavesdrop on the others gathered for the meal.

  “What of the raids?” asked the pompous fellow Shea and I had pegged as a solicitor, pouring wine into crystal glasses for himself and his companions. “I heard your ships and a few others have been victims of the pirates prowling the water and the ports.”

  “Piracy is a term that hardly begins to describe the tyranny of those animals,” Gwyneth’s father replied in his deep, resonant voice. “They’re far more dangerous than you might imagine. Their attacks are ruthless, their thievery is brazen, and they kill without remorse. We’ve increased our security and made our operations more clandestine in hopes of eluding them, but the effort has about erased our profits. These men know which of our ships carries the most important cargo, even when the ship’s own crew isn’t aware of it. I’ve been in Tairmor updating Governor Ivanova and his son on the state of these affairs. Things have improved with a larger troop presence, but I fear the culprits are lying in wait. The truth is our crusade has resulted in hardly any arrests.”

  “Surely some of the pirates are in custody,” said another of the businessmen, this one thin and fidgety, with a chain on his jacket that led to the same pocket in which he had slipped his hand. When he gestured, however, the chain slipped free, revealing that no pocket watch was attached. I nearly laughed—apparently he felt the need to use a ruse to show he fit in with the social class among whom he stood. “Can’t you break them and get the names of their associates?”

  “We’ve tried, but they’re a stoic and fiercely loyal lot. And the ones who are ripe for the catching aren’t trusted enough to have information we really need. The fellow who offered the most promise committed suicide before we even had a chance to interrogate him.”

  With this dark twist in conversation, several of the men glanced our way. In an effort to allay their concern over what we might hear, I sent a still-tired Shea to our room, then paid another visit to the buffet table to refill my plate. I had no intention of leaving, for Zabriel might be involved with the pirates in question. And whether he was or not, the information I was collecting could help focus our search once we reached the port city.

  I moved to a seat farther away from the congregation of men, hoping to encourage them to resume their conversation. I would have to trust to my faltering—but still keen—Faerie hearing to take in every word.

  “What did Ivanova have to say on the matter?” the solicitor began again.

  “The Lieutenant Governor is tasked with crime control in the capital, as you no doubt are aware, and he keeps himself advised of serious crime all across the Territory. He’s certain that if we catch this Pyrite fellow, the game will be up.”

  One of the older men noisily rose to his feet, and my heart picked up rhythm.

  “Enough,” he blustered, the turn in dialogue clearly not to his liking. “That scum is a demon, and not to be discussed while on the water. Nothing but bad fortune can come of giving voice to these matters out here in the open.”

  The men shifted guiltily, and whether they agreed with the sentiment or not, more than one pair of eyes skimmed the deck. Clearly Zabriel was more than just a thorn in the side of the wealthy shipowners; he had also inspired some superstition.

  Alas, the gentleman’s portent was sufficient to stop further conversation about my cousin. While the group didn’t break up, they did switch their attention to other matters, and I returned to our state room to tell Shea what I had learned. Growing restless in the aftermath, we decided to take a walk on the sundeck, thinkin
g the fresh air might clear our heads. But as Shea pulled on her boots, there was a knock on the door.

  I opened it to see the lieutenant who was second-in-command of the vessel. His serious countenance was enough to tell me this was no social call.

  “Forgive the intrusion, ladies,” he said with a bow. “We’ve lost track of one of our passengers, a Mr. Trenton. We’re checking with everyone on board in order to determine his whereabouts.”

  “Who?” Shea blurted, pounding her foot against the floor to better position her boot.

  “Mr. David Trenton, blond hair, blue eyes. One of our younger passengers. I’m afraid he hasn’t been seen since last night.” He paused, examining us, perhaps recognizing that we weren’t the kind of ladies with whom he was used to dealing and could handle the truth. In any case, he added, “We fear he may have gone overboard.”

  “I haven’t seen him today,” I said, scraping my thumbnail against the metal door latch I still clutched and flaking off a little rust. “From what I know of last night, he had a fair amount to drink. If he found his way to the top deck, I imagine he could have gone over.”

  Though I wasn’t sure why I was protecting her, I didn’t tell the lieutenant that the young man had fallen asleep in Gwyneth’s stateroom, nowhere near the deck or any place else from which he could have fallen. Shea glowered at me, harboring no reservations about causing trouble for the wealthy young woman, but she held her tongue. With a nod, the ship’s officer departed, and we sank uneasily down on our beds, walk momentarily forgotten.

  “Do you think Gwyneth had something to do with this?” Shea asked, keeping her volume low.

  “I doubt it. I mean, what would be her motive? Besides, both of them were drunk. If he fell overboard, it’s far more likely he wandered up to the sundeck on his own. Maybe he was vomiting off the side and lost his balance.”