The Queen's Choice

by Cayla Kluver

  I tugged at the knot, and a tiny rock fell into my hand. Frowning, I fingered the rough stone, which glittered like gold. Realizing it was pyrite, I unfurled the parchment to scan the scrawled message.

  Take Leo Dementya up on his offer.

  Ask him about the island.

  “Did Zabriel stop by this morning?” I asked, extending the note and fool’s gold to Shea. “This rock has to be his signature.”

  “No, I haven’t seen him.” She glanced around, her forehead puckered. “He couldn’t have been in here, could he? Because that would be awfully creepy.”

  The particles of dust floating in the mellow air probably made more noise on landing than Zabriel did. I chuckled but tried to be matter-of-fact in my explanation to Shea, lest I double her suspicion of my cousin.

  “Stealth is part of his nature. Faefolk move more quickly and quietly than humans, not that you can judge it by me. I’m just relieved I didn’t chase him away completely.”

  “Because you told him off?”

  Abandoning her efforts to tame her tangled sable hair, Shea yanked it back, imprisoning it in a bun on the back of her head with her frayed blue ribbon. I knew her irritation with Zabriel had returned when she snatched the end of her coverlet and violently threw it over her mattress so that it resembled a made bed.

  “Anya, he deserved it. From where I was sitting, it’s way past time somebody told him he’s not God. He’s obviously been living under a false impression.” At my uncomfortable silence, she modulated her hostile tone. “Does his sneaking in and out mean he won’t contact us in person anymore?”

  “I don’t know what his intentions are, but he’s going to have to see us because I’m not leaving him a note with the information we gather.”

  I dressed, then Shea and I went downstairs in search of breakfast. We’d barely set foot in the lobby when the clerk behind the register desk pointed us out to a man waiting nearby. As I apprehensively considered who might be interested in us, Shea took several steps back, her body poised for flight. I couldn’t blame her, though the fellow who approached did not look threatening in the least. He was dressed fashionably but understatedly, so he would neither negatively nor positively stand out in pleasant company, and he clutched an envelope in one pudgy hand.

  “From Mr. Dementya, miss,” he said with a slight bow, extending the item to me.

  I accepted the envelope with a relieved smile and tore it open, quickly reading the note it contained. As Leo had suggested yesterday, he wished to take Shea and me to his shipyard. Given Zabriel’s correspondence, I had to assume Gwyneth had told him the invitation would be forthcoming. But what island had my cousin referenced?

  The servant interrupted my ruminations. “Pardon me, miss. I was instructed to await an answer.”

  “Of course.” Tucking the note inside my jerkin, I hastened to the desk for paper and a quill. I wrote a short but polite response indicating Shea and I would be honored to accompany Mr. Dementya, then gave it to the servant, who departed with a second bow.

  “What was that about?” Shea asked, expression puzzled.

  “Dementya will be sending someone for us at ten o’clock. I figure we may as well do what Zabriel wants.”

  “Why not? We’ve got nothing else to go on.”

  After a bite to eat, we returned to our room to don the cloaks Gwyneth had given us. On the coastline it would be cold, despite the late winter sun. I suddenly felt fidgety, aware that the spring solstice would before long be upon us. I’d asked Davic for three months of freedom from contact through our promise bond, and the two-and-a-half-month mark had arrived. I didn’t know what to expect when the deadline was reached. He would realize our bond was gone. He might think I was dead. Why hadn’t I sent a messenger from Tairmor to spare him that fear? I wished for a way to reassure him and yet keep him in the dark about my injury until I could meet him at the Road, but there was nothing for it now. I was on the other side of the continent.

  “They’re here,” I announced, looking out the window and spotting a shiny black hansom with perfectly paired black horses pulling to a stop in front of the lodging house. Shea buttoned her coat over her pistol and bullet belt, then pulled her new cloak closed for good measure. At her nod, we headed on our way.

  When we emerged from the inn, the driver of the cab hopped to the ground and opened the side door for us. Inside sat Gwyneth, wearing a dress and matching hat in a royal shade of purple, and her father, who stood as best he could inside the coach, unwilling to forgo his manners despite the cramped space.

  “Ladies,” he greeted us, retaking his seat only after Shea and I had settled ourselves on the bench opposite him and his daughter. “What lovely cloaks.”

  I returned a courteous thank-you for the compliment, then peered out the window at the grimy port city while Shea talked a bit with Leo and Gwyneth. There was too much traffic in Sheness for there to be hope of keeping the streets clean, and factory smoke clung to everything it touched. The artwork that adorned the sides of many of the buildings, which I’d noticed the previous day, appeared to be noncommissioned, uninhibited in style and taste and, in some cases, message. Anarchism was a popular theme among the talented street painters of Sheness. Foreign tongues, Bennighe plus others I couldn’t identify, floated around us like colors completely new. People snapped at one another and were downright rude more often than not; there was none of the finesse of Tairmor in this place.

  At length we reached the Dementya shipyard—a series of docks that could have constituted their own bay—and alighted from the carriage. The icy water kicked up a scent that was fresh despite the putrid underdraft of fish. The smells combined into a unique odor that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, much like the cattle scent that surrounded Strong. For some, the docks smelled like home. Judging from the gleam in Leo Dementya’s eyes as he escorted us through the maze of crates being loaded and unloaded from his towering black-and-gold-painted ships, he was to be counted among their number. He was thoroughly at ease, strutting through his kingdom, pointing out the tasks being undertaken by his worker bees as they nodded and called him sir, the constant bustle at times making it difficult to hear him. Gwyneth, on the other hand, looked uncomfortable, waving a large purple fan in front of her pinched face. It wasn’t warm, so her purpose had to be to ward off the smell.

  Before long we approached a schooner. Its shadow loomed over us, although it was smaller than most of the vessels in the yard. Its gangplank was lowered, and men scurried about on deck. It didn’t take many to operate the sailing ship, which was designed for fishing rather than cargo. I glanced at Leo, for the schooner looked ready to make way.

  “All aboard, ladies,” he said with a magnanimous smile, gesturing up the ramp.

  I hesitantly led the way, Shea behind me, then we waited for Gwyneth and our host to board. With one hand on her father’s arm, the other lifting the hem of her skirt, she looked delicate and helpless, like the sun might be too rough on her skin.

  Once we were all on deck, Leo showed us the bowsprit, and the mainsails and topsails, listing off the schooner’s attributes in the manner of a boasting parent. For an instant, I understood Zabriel’s weakness for this life. It was bold, almost primal in its challenge, an alternate world where nothing existed except the sea, and man’s only mission was to dominate it. I instinctively knew it could grip a person like an addiction.

  We gathered along the railing as Dementya sailors saw us out of the harbor, and I watched the shore drift away, tuning out our host’s impassioned voice. The rocking of the vessel had my heart pounding, and I couldn’t bear to glance over the edge at the froth we were creating as we cut through the ocean at great speed. The serenity I’d found with regard to the ocean on the day we’d arrived in Sheness hadn’t been permanent, and my stomach gave a subtle lift like I might toss my breakfast. It wouldn’t be long before we were too far
from land for me to swim to the docks if something went wrong. I gripped the balustrade, trying to resign myself to the fact that I could drown out here, a fatalistic approach the only one that might permit me some enjoyment on this excursion.

  To my surprise, I heard Shea laughing with Leo, her guard dropped, and I was glad that one of us was exhilarated by the outing. Gwyneth stepped up beside me, increasing my discomfort even more. Despite her kindness and her connection to Zabriel, I still didn’t like or trust her.

  “Not a seafarer?” Gwyneth asked, resting her elbows on the carved wood, a tease in her voice that made my skin itch.

  “I didn’t come to Sheness to tour around in your little boats,” I retorted, nerves overpowering my manners.

  “I know why you’re here.”

  I cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate as the brisk, salty air annoyingly tugged strands of my auburn hair loose from my ponytail. Zabriel must have told her a thing or two about me. Gwyneth sighed, wispy curls breaking free from beneath her pinned hat, the faraway look on her face granting her the appearance of a mythical siren instead of a victim of the wind. This was also annoying. Her beauty was unparalleled, her amber eyes insightful as they rested on me.

  “I know his real name, Anya. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  Her words troubled me. Legend, law, and probably most of Zabriel’s acquaintances in the Warckum Territory knew him as William Wolfram Pyrite. Why had he revealed his true identity to Gwyneth?

  “We met by accident,” she resumed, barely audible over the rush of water and the whipping of the schooner’s sails. “This may come as a shock to you, but my father’s business isn’t always a shining emblem for ethics. I won’t bore you with the reasons I oppose certain of his practices, but suffice it to say, Zabriel and I ended up running in similar circles. And once I recognized him as Fae, he wasn’t able to ignore me.”

  “How did you find out?” I hedged. Zabriel would have been careful to conceal his heritage and to shroud his wings.

  Gwyneth smiled, the corners of her claret lips dimpling her cheeks. “Because I can see. Do you understand what that means? That’s why Zabriel and I trust each other. My skills are in high demand among a certain class of people, and I need to avoid those people as much as he does. My own father doesn’t know of my talent. So your cousin and I keep each other’s secrets, and in return, there are no secrets between us.”

  “You can see magic, and you help Zabriel rob your father?”

  “Say that a little louder, why don’t you?” Gwyneth looked over her shoulder at her father, though there was little risk of being overheard as far as I could tell. Leo was still sharing the experience of the open sea with Shea. “I give Zabriel pieces of information here and there. Deals that were going to hurt hundreds of people might have gone through without his intervention.”

  “So he’s a hero, is that it? Because the men on the riverboat were calling him a demon. How many people have been hurt because of his intervention? He’s a thief, and apparently he’s been involved in a few deaths. I’m sure he’s convinced himself and everyone else of his noble intentions, but you may as well save your breath with me, Gwyneth. There are other ways to accomplish what he’s doing, and the romance of being a pirate won’t impress me. I’m not about to be persuaded that this is the life he ought to be leading.”

  “Zabriel told me you were stubborn.” She laughed, clamping a hand over her hat to keep it in place. “Well, don’t forget that he is, too. The only difference is that you’re a natural politician and he’s a man of action. Right now he has a name for himself and a platform he can manipulate to his advantage. His reputation is overblown, which you’ve probably guessed, but having every act of piracy on this coast blamed on him gives him quite a mystique. You’re not just going to drag him away from this.”

  Shouts from the sailors drew Gwyneth’s attention, and she would have let this be the end of our conversation, but I grabbed the fine, crimped fabric of her upper sleeve and brought her back around. Indignation flashed in her eyes, and she laid a hand over mine, warning me to let go. I matched her resolve with my own, refusing to budge.

  “I have to see him soon, Gwyneth. Not on his time. There are more factors at play than he knows about. It’s obvious that you can get in touch with him, so do it. Right away.”

  The tension lasted another moment, then we released each other. To my consternation, she offered me an expansive smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sincere or for the benefit of those who might have noticed our power struggle.

  “I respect you, Anya. You know what you want and you go after it, to hell with the obstacles in your path. But what you or I want isn’t going to matter. Zabriel will make up his own mind.”

  She gazed out over the water once more, and I watched the way she leaned into the blue of the ocean and the sky, thinking she belonged at the helm of the ship rather than on its deck.

  “Look out there.”

  Gwyneth pointed into the distance with one hand, hanging on to her hat with the other. I followed her finger and saw a mountainous isle covered with trees and grass just starting to come to life after the winter. The schooner gave it a wide berth, and I recalled Zabriel’s note. Ask about the island.

  Pushing away from the railing, I scurried to join Shea and Leo. He was allowing her to control the helm, and she was giggling as though they were father and daughter. It was a sweet sight—she looked genuinely happy, and he seemed delighted at having someone to teach about sailing. Either Gwyneth had already learned her fill about seafaring or she’d duped him into believing she had no interest in his pursuits.

  “What is that place?” I asked, indicating the island, and the enthusiasm in Leo’s face waned. Perhaps the topic was of little interest to him, but with Zabriel’s hint in mind, I listened for anything of significance in his reply.

  “That’s Evernook Island. I’d take us closer, but the tides in that area are unpredictable. There’s not much to see, anyway. It’s little more than a chunk of rock that’s government owned for the public’s safety. As far as I know, its only value is for military warehousing.”

  I squinted across the expanse of water between the schooner and the island, trying to see through the still, leafless trees to the heart of the small mountain. There was something built into the side—a gray structure that melted into the stone.

  “Is that a warehouse, then?”

  But Leo Dementya was no longer paying heed to me. He was instructing his men to bring the schooner about and return us to the shipyard. We’d been off land for almost three hours, and dinnertime would soon be upon us. I kept my eyes on Evernook, remembering what Evangeline had said about the constant ebb and flow of water she’d heard during her imprisonment. Waves crashed against its cliffsides, and there was something about the way that gray tower glared at me that was ominous. I was willing to blame my imagination for the feeling, although there was another possibility. Maybe Zabriel knew more about what was happening in the Warckum Territory than I’d given him a chance to admit.

  * * *

  As we were preparing to leave the Dementya Estate that evening, having again been invited to dine, Gwyneth beckoned me aside. Shea and I were standing with her in the massive entryway, waiting for the butler to fetch our cloaks.

  “Try The Paladin,” she murmured in my ear. “I only see him when he wants me to, but he spends time there. It’s a sailor’s pub.”

  An image of Zabriel at celebrations in the Great Redwood, smiling and laughing, capturing everyone’s attention, flashed in my brain. Then I grimaced, trying to factor drunken sailors into that scenario. I hadn’t enjoyed my experiences in pubs thus far on this journey. Despite this, I nodded my thanks to Gwyneth and walked with Shea to the cab that awaited us. With little time left in the day, I instructed the driver to take us to the shorefront rather than the lodge where we were staying
.

  Shea had, of course, seen Gwyneth whisper to me in the entry. Astute enough to figure things out, she didn’t inquire as to the reason we were going off course.

  “In what seedy corner of the world are we supposed to meet Zabriel tonight?” she asked when we entered the city, the cab clattering across the cobblestone streets.

  “A place called The Paladin. If it helps, I don’t think he’s expecting us. We may get to surprise him for a change, unless he and Gwyneth have some sort of psychic connection.”

  Shea smirked, obviously pleased by this notion. Her resentment toward my cousin for his stunt in the carriage had not yet abated, not that I could blame her. He’d scared the life out of us both, and in light of her close call with Luka Ivanova in Tairmor, Shea was especially jumpy.

  The shorefront never slept—we passed scores of drunkards stumbling out of questionable establishments along the miles of harbor, along with an equal number of men in crisp, clean uniforms. They weren’t Constabularies like Tom Matlock and Marcus Farrier, but captains and lieutenants representing various shipping companies and military endeavors. Despite the hour, the area was brightly lit by lanterns, permitting deckhands ranging in age from nine or ten to their ripe forties to scurry unceasingly up and down shadowy gangplanks, loading crates and preparing their ships for duty.

  Our cab slowed to a stop in front of a ramshackle building that appeared to have had its foundation washed away and rebuilt four or five times. Nothing had been done to disguise the evidence of attempted sustainability—I could see a black and charred stone base, topped by a gray stone base, topped by sandbags and logs, as though beginning fresh had never occurred to the owners. Malformed steps compensated for the pub’s lack of parallelism to the ground, and a line of eager drinkers spilled from the entrance and down the street. A sign hung at a slant over the arch of the door, barely illuminated by the nearest gas lamp, and I squinted to bring it into focus as I stepped out of the coach. It read The Paladin, and I felt a twinge of anxiety that this was the right place.