The Queen's Choice

by Cayla Kluver

  “Ready when you are,” Shea muttered, stepping down beside me. The door of the establishment was propped open, and she gestured toward it, looking as if she was about to swallow bitter medicine. I nodded, and with a deep breath each, we fought our way to the front of the rabble to enter.

  The stench of alcohol, sweat, and halitosis that hit us when we crossed the threshold was gag inducing. The open front door was probably the only thing keeping heat and odor from suffocating The Paladin’s patrons, though they shouted and laughed like they were in paradise. There was no line of sight through the crowd, and Shea and I clutched each other’s sleeves so we wouldn’t be separated on our way to the serving counter. My green eyes and auburn hair, together with Shea’s striking dark gaze, made us stand out in this crowd like diamonds amid coal. I wished I’d thought to remove our luxurious Dementya cloaks, yet another reason we’d draw attention, before we’d ventured among these lowlifes.

  We didn’t get far before male voices caterwauled in our direction. I looked around to see a group of grungy sailors raising their mugs in salute and gesturing for us to join them. They were disgustingly drunk, and one stood on his chair to throw his hand down the front of his trousers, apparently expecting us to be flattered or enticed by the gesture. Furious and embarrassed, I again felt helpless in my own body. Were I still Fae, I could have spilled his drink, making him slip and crash to the floor, shoving the embarrassment he’d forced upon me back down his throat. But the only statement I could make while staying safe was to walk away. And although that decision should have been empowerment enough, the knowledge that it wouldn’t make him respect me gnawed away at my dignity.

  Feeling a rough tug on my arm, followed by a release, I spun to see what had become of Shea. A grimy, stubble-cheeked sailor had grabbed her from behind, arms snug around her waist, face brushing against her hair. I could smell his breath from several feet away.

  “How ’bout a kiss, missy?” he chortled, as though he were perfectly within his rights to be holding her. “Then we’ll see where the evenin’ takes us.”

  I went for my long-knife, wondering about The Paladin’s policies on killing its customers, but before I could make any other move, Shea slammed the heel of her boot down on the man’s foot. He let go of her, yowling in pain.

  “Call that the climax of our evening,” she seethed, backing away. She surveyed the crowd, perhaps fearful of its response, only to be greeted by raucous laughter. Then the men and scantily dressed women between us and the bar gave way, the sailors removing their hats and nodding as we walked past.

  The woman swilling drinks was middle-aged, with a sour expression that told us she didn’t appreciate the diversity we brought to her clientele. Nevertheless, she was willing to serve us, drying out a couple of mugs before slamming them down on the bar.

  “What’ll it be?” she grumbled.

  “Something strong,” I replied, wanting to sound tough but not having any idea what the pub served.

  The woman smirked crookedly and turned to Shea. “You?”

  “It would be best if I can see straight.” She folded back the corner of her coat to reveal the shine of her pistol, her words heavy with the implication that we intended to cause trouble. I prayed the woman wouldn’t take her seriously. Shea was too bold—or too shaken—to realize that flaunting her gun might provoke more problems than it would prevent.

  “It’ll be best if we’re just left alone,” I clarified. “We’re not here to make friends or enemies.”

  The barmaid’s distrustful eyes flickered over us as she sloshed together my drink, then she pushed the mug toward me. I picked up the tankard, and we shuffled through the crowd to a table left of the counter, which offered a decent view of the room. It also positioned us to see anyone who came to the bar.

  We watched the endless train of patrons come and go, feeling like pieces of fancy furniture stuck in the corner, off-limits and unapproachable. There wasn’t a boring person in the place, but as far as I could tell, Zabriel wasn’t among them. I tried one sip of the drink I’d been given and put it down before it could do the same to me. I’d definitely been given what I’d ordered.

  A man approached the counter, his swagger drawing a multitude of stares. His weathered face was framed by an impressive hat that would have protected his skin on the deck of a ship, and he wore a brass-buttoned coat that reached his knees, from which observations I determined he was a seaman. Not a mere sailor, though—he stood straight and tall, shoulders back, his bearing that of a man in charge, and greeted the woman tending bar with a familiarity that suggested he was a regular. The two of them chatted comfortably, then their expressions grew serious and she nodded toward someone on the opposite side of the pub from us. I craned my neck to figure out who they were discussing, and the seaman’s gaze fell on me. My efforts to determine the object of his attention had been enough to draw that attention. With a flush, I met his off-putting mismatched eyes, afraid to consider what conclusions he may have drawn. Almost as though our silent exchange had been an accident, the moment passed.

  “Anya.” Shea’s tone was urgent, and she pointed across the tavern in the direction that was of interest to the pair at the bar, her eyes fixed on a familiar face.

  “Mother of Nature,” I breathed, sinking farther into my seat, though the likelihood of our theatrically styled acquaintance noticing us was negligible. He sat at a table of his own, his cane leaning against the chair beside him. His suspenders were in place, his lids lined even more thickly than usual; he lacked only the top hat Shea had smashed in Oaray. He spoke with charming ease to someone I couldn’t see, hands gliding like the wings of a bird in flight. He was cleaner than the last time we’d seen him, better kept, so perhaps he’d slipped away from his keeper for good. I searched the vicinity for Hastings, but there was no sign of the bald-headed man who had made an attempt on our lives in the Fere.

  As my panic dissipated, questions surfaced in my mind, only to quickly scatter when a waitress throwing tankards and tumblers onto a tray moved aside to reveal the person sitting across from our suspendered acquaintance. Though her face was turned away from me, her slim stature—even slighter than Spex’s—and long, lank black hair were instantly recognizable. She was relaxed, her tiny frame shaking with laughter, but I feared he would soon identify her as Fae, if he hadn’t already done so. With or without Hastings, I didn’t trust Spex’s record with regard to my people. What was in the cup she was holding?

  I sprang out of my seat and barreled across the room, jostling many of The Paladin’s customers and spilling a few drinks. I didn’t care. Spex was not going to hurt my cousin. He was not going to sell out Illumina to his masters and land her in the Fae-mily Home—or worse, in a grave next to Evangeline.

  Shea clamored after me, but she wasn’t fast enough to stop me from snatching Spex’s collar. In one smooth motion, I yanked him to his feet and hurled him against the wall. There was a crack as his head collided with the wood, and he winced, one hand going to assess the welt.

  “What’s your problem, seonnha? Are you crazy?” he demanded, then recognition dawned and he rolled his hazel eyes. “Oh. It’s you. Question answered.”

  “That friend of mine you identified?” I hissed, glaring down at him. “She’s dead. You killed her. I don’t care what Hastings is holding over your head—you stop this. No more, do you hear me?”

  Most of the pub was watching us, though my words were likely lost in the general chaos of the place. Still, Illumina’s sweet, high-pitched voice rang out my name, while Shea vied just as desperately for my attention, the two of them creating a chorus of “Anyas” at my back. But it wasn’t my cousin or my travel partner who separated me from Spex. No, neither of them could have picked me completely off my feet with one hand while pinning my adversary to the wall with the other.

  “Enough,” the man growled, and I could feel the word vibrating d
eep within his chest, the support of his body the sole force preventing my collar from choking the life out of me. “I came here to have a quiet drink, and you two are ruining my evening.”

  I was certain no one came to The Paladin for a quiet drink, but I didn’t think arguing the point would endear me to him.

  “Outside, now,” he ordered, setting me on my feet. My mind whirred as my eyes landed on the brass buttons of his coat, then he guided Spex and me to the door with his hands on the backs of our necks. While I didn’t know what he had in mind for us, I knew I was vulnerable to a man who had shown an interest in me that had nothing to do with disrupting his plans for the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE CAPTAIN, THE COUSIN, AND THE CAPTIVE

  The seaman hauled both Spex and me into the street, The Paladin’s milling patrons parting to create a path. I saw apprehension and respect in their eyes, and alarm shot through me. What kind of man did it take to earn the respect of a drunken horde like this one? And did he just want us to leave? Or did he have a nasty fate in store for us?

  I would have taken off running as soon as he shoved me forward had I not been worried about the fate of my cousin and my friend. From other nearby pubs, a slew of grungy men had emerged to form a circle around us. Unfortunately, it looked as though our captor had plenty of friends. Spex and I drew closer together, the threat we faced transforming us into allies. My eyes darted around, searching for options, but I could see no way out. I hoped Spex was tougher than he looked.

  In the background, Shea and Illumina tumbled through The Paladin’s doors, wide-eyed and terrified. My stomach lurched and cramped, and I clutched at it, fighting the urge to double over. Would their involvement in this mess make things better or worse? While Shea’s pistol could come in handy if things turned ugly, Illumina would have to rely on her elemental connection in order to help us. Making it known that she was Fae could be more disastrous than the current situation. Meeting Shea’s eyes, I raised a hand to tell her to stay back, and she tugged Illumina into the shadows along the wall of The Paladin. Bracing against Spex’s back, I forced my dry throat to swallow.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, watching the man in the brass-buttoned coat for his reaction, the words bubbling forth without much thought. His arms were crossed, and the expression on his leathery face didn’t change, offering no encouragement. “I had a bit to drink, but no harm’s been done. My friends and I will just clear out of here.” I took a deep breath and attempted a smile. “And to show there are no hard feelings, I’ll pay for a round of your favorite poison. Fair enough?”

  The seaman, finally showing signs of life, adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, considering me with heavy brows that overhung his unusual eyes, one blue, the other brown.

  “You had one taste of a very poor drink,” he rumbled. “I’ve seen some lightweights in my time, but none that light.”

  Spex gritted his teeth and stepped forward, while I suppressed the instinct to pull him back to our defensive position.

  “What do you want from us? Money? We have little, but are willing to turn it over to avoid trouble.”

  “I want you to shut up. You think I don’t know why you’re here, what you are?” The words were a growl, and the man made a broad sweep with his arm, beckoning a few of his associates forward. “Get him out of here, boys. Before I do something he’ll regret.”

  “You wouldn’t dare, Fane!”

  The shout rang out from a doorway behind us, and a man of a different sort burst into the circle before anyone could lay a hand on Spex. He was taller than average, albeit shorter than the seaman who had dragged us into the street. There was a scar across his nose that disappeared into the deep lines etched on either side of his mouth, but the scowl he wore was more imposing than any battle wound. Burly, but without a noticeable ounce of fat, he was laden with weapons. Knives of myriad shapes and sizes protruded from his boots and were sheathed at his hips, while pistols lay snug in holsters that crisscrossed his chest and bullets shone like studs in the leather. His clothing was better tailored and in better condition than that of the sailors, and his face lacked the color and weathering of those who made their living on the sea. A band tied around his head restrained red hair that was longer than was typical or practical. He pointed at the spotter, eyes never leaving the man he had called Fane.

  “The boy is mine.”

  “That makes this even more satisfying.”

  Fane snapped his fingers, and two of his men stepped forward to grasp Spex under the arms. The spotter managed to elbow one of them in the diaphragm, though all he got for his trouble was a cruel wrench to his arm.

  The newcomer snarled like an animal. “I’m warning you, Captain. You don’t want to interfere with this one. I’m not playing with amateurs.”

  “If your benefactors aren’t amateurs, then why did they hire one?” Fane scratched the scruff on his cheek, studying his adversary. “Look at it this way, Opal. I’m making a simple point. It’s nothing personal, and it’ll be to your advantage if you take a lesson away from this. Just look ’round. You’re outnumbered, you always will be, and when you stick your dirty fingers in my pie, things get lost in the crossfire.” Turning to his men, he finished, “Why is that lad still within my sight? Go on and get him out of here.”

  Spex spat on the ground at Fane’s feet before he was dragged, kicking and yelling, down the street.

  Opal watched the scene with dead eyes and a jaw so tight his teeth had to be grinding their counterparts into powder. But instead of pursuing the sailors, he shook his fist at the captain, for so he had addressed Fane, the fingers of his other hand dancing between the hilts of several daggers as though perusing his options.

  “You’ll regret this, and soon,” he vowed. “Mark my words.”

  Whoever Opal was, he stormed off, thinking better of an attack. I watched him disappear in one direction, Spex in the other, my breath coming fast. What lay in store for the young man who’d just been traded off like spoils of war?

  I already knew that Opal was not the kind of man I wanted on my tail, but his threat didn’t seem to bother Fane, making me wonder what danger I now faced. I poised my body, preparing to spring. I could reach my long-knife quicker than anyone could get to me, and Shea had her pistol. Big hat or no, I wasn’t going to let the man in the brass-buttoned coat send me anywhere.

  I eyed the captain as he moved toward me, trying to intimidate me. Shea darted out from the shadows, her mouth pressed into a grim line and her hand inside her coat, resting on the butt of her gun. Illumina followed a couple of paces behind. Sweat trickled down my neck—we three were about to have a knockdown fight against incredible odds. But before drastic action could be taken, the man swept his hat from his head in an exaggerated bow.

  “Relax,” he said with a chuckle, his demeanor transforming from that of a strict, unassailable leader to the easy posture of a mate. “One of those lightweights I mentioned before is your cousin Pyrite.” He held out his hand. “Captain Fane, at your service.”

  I wobbled, struggling against both the light-headedness that signaled a faint and my mounting fury. Was it sport to Zabriel and his friends to terrify us? Calling upon every shred of decency instilled in me by my royal upbringing, I plastered a polite smile on my face and prepared to make peace. After all, I’d wanted to be out of danger, and I’d gotten my wish. But Shea stepped in front of me, exhibiting her usual amount of self-control.

  “You couldn’t have introduced yourself ten minutes ago?” she castigated, slapping down Fane’s outstretched hand. “You people are so goddamn dramatic. Either take us to Pyrite or get out of our way.”

  For a moment, silence greeted Shea’s outburst, then the crowd around us erupted in laughter.

  “I like this one,” Fane announced, surveying his men. “But lads, the excitement’s over for the night. Time to be on yo
ur way.”

  The sailors dispersed, shaking their heads and chuckling, and the captain motioned us down the street, whistling to himself in a self-satisfied fashion. The sound was strangely beautiful, especially in light of the tension of the past moments. Tingling with both excitement and relief, I grabbed Illumina’s arm, unable to believe she was actually with me.

  “What happened to you?” I breathed, letting Shea and the captain move ahead of us.

  “I’m where I should be,” she smugly responded, looking me over, her malachite eyes wide and curious. “You’re supposed to be in Chrior with Aunt. Did she send you after me?”

  I shook my head, zeal faltering as memories of my injury crashed down on me; then I fortified myself for the coming revelation. Illumina needed to know what had happened to me, but I didn’t have to live through it again—I could dissociate from her response, just disappear behind the barricade in my mind.

  “I left against her desires, Illumina. I was worried about you. But listen, I—” My voice broke, my barricade cracking and crumbling, and I took a shuddering breath to recover. “I can’t go back to Chrior. Not ever.”

  The ache in my tone delivered my message without the need for further words. Illumina had always been sharp, and she peered carefully at me, lips parted slightly, their pinkness setting off the pallor of her skin. Her face was devoid of emotion, and yet she looked sick, as though a poison was roiling beneath her skin. There was a second—a split second—during which I couldn’t tell if that sickness was empathy or judgment. Then she broke her silence, chasing away my misgivings.

  “Nature, Anya,” she murmured, shaking her head, her hair moving in flat ripples under her chin. Her face was thinner, her cheekbones more defined, with shadows beneath her eyes. Her travels in the human world could not have been easy. “What are you going to do?”