Beneath her helmet, her face was damp with sweat. Her common clothes—men’s clothes, which would have sent her mother into hysterics—chafed somewhat deliciously against her skin. And the bow in her hand made her feel indomitable. Dangerous.
Chae-Na flashed a hard-edged smile at her companion, thinking she should have been doing this all along. Sitting in the palace, passively listening to battles rage at a distance: now that was fearful. A torment, really.
Bray Marron’s green eyes looked gem-bright through the gaps in her helmet. She held her bow in a slack hand, plainly with no intention to use it. She wasn’t blending into the line of archers well; her posture was all wrong. “You’re sure about this?” she hollered over the tumult.
Chae-Na didn’t bother to answer. Rude, perhaps, but this was the fifth time Bray had asked that same question.
“Draw!”
Chae-Na took aim. With her bow held at the ready, some of her mania stilled. She became the island of calm in a storm.
“Loose!”
She let her arrow fly, then snagged the next from the quiver at her hip. Distantly, there came a boom. Not the hollow blast of a cannon, but the distinct crack of the wall taking damage. The stone quivered beneath her feet.
“Blight it all,” Bray muttered, staring at the plume of debris.
Chae-Na blinked at the sight of their broken wall, wondering what had gone wrong. In seven months, this was the first hit to their fortifications. It seemed a poor omen.
“Ladders incoming!” a soldier yelled, running by. “Orders from the general: don’t let those bastards onto the walls. Shoot ’em down!”
Bray wheeled on Chae-Na. “We’ve got to get you out of here,” she said in an undertone, and then grabbed the nape of Chae-Na’s neck. A shiver ran down her body as her solidity winked out.
A moment later, a ladder connected with the parapet squarely between the queen and Bray. The Chiona tried to tow her away, but Chae-Na planted her feet and wrenched free.
“I do not take orders from you, Chisanta,” she said.
Bray grimaced. “Ko-Jin begged me to keep you safe.”
“Then remain and fight by my side, because I shan’t be going anywhere.”
They glared at each other, until Bray rolled her eyes and let out a long breath—relenting, as Chae-Na had known she would. No doubt, Bray Marron longed for this fight as much as she.
“Budge up there, lads,” shouted a burly soldier with a long wooden pole. To make space, Chae-Na pressed against the man to her left, an archer who smelt of whisky. The burly soldier heaved all of his weight into the pole, attempting to push the ladder off the wall. It didn’t move.
Chae-Na peeked over the edge of the crenel. A line of men was already climbing; she could not allow them to reach the top. She raised her bow and took aim, noting that the whisky-scented archer acted at the exact same instant. They glanced sideways at each other, he winked, and then they both let loose. His arrow hit a wooden rung; hers took an enemy soldier in the neck. The man tumbled backwards, but Chae-Na did not follow his descent, her gaze moving to the next enemy.
“Nice one, man,” the archer said, bumping her shoulder. “But let’s go best two out of three.”
She snorted—actually snorted—and nocked another arrow. And then another, and another. But no matter her speed or her accuracy, they kept climbing. Quade’s men were gaining ground, despite taking heavy fire. The ladder, anchored by the weight of men, would not topple.
“I’m going over,” Bray announced. She flashed a quick smile. It was the most animated she’d appeared in months. For a second, she looked almost like her old self.
Over? Chae-Na didn’t have time to ask. The other woman hopped onto the ledge of the parapet, and then leapt over the edge. She skimmed down the ladder as if it were a slide, taking the topmost soldier in the head with her feet. She wrenched off her helmet and chucked it aside, her copper hair bright and streaming.
“Blighter!” Chae-Na’s new archer friend said, his eyes wide as he watched blades fly straight through Bray’s chest.
“Focus on the ones nearer the ground,” Chae-Na called over the roaring in her ears. “Best two out of three, right?”
They picked off men at the bottom, until a mound of bodies made it difficult for new soldiers to approach. Meanwhile, Bray knocked the men down one by one, switching between intangible phantom and fatally-tangible blade.
When the last fell, she flitted back up the ladder. “Push it over now!” she hollered.
The burly soldier drove into his T-shaped pole, arms straining and teeth gritted.
Bray darted up the ladder even as its angle changed. When she neared the top, it stood perpendicular to the ground, a good distance from the edge of the wall.
Chae-Na held her breath, and everyone nearby paused to watch. Bray vaulted to the topmost rung, both boots connecting simultaneously, and then launched herself forward. That final kick sent the ladder toppling, and Bray went flying headfirst over the ledge, where she tucked, rolled, and popped to her feet.
It was such an absurd and impressive stunt that Chae-Na laughed. Everyone else stood in silence for a beat, before exploding into applause. Bray’s lip twitched, but she schooled her features before actually smiling.
“Well,” she said to Chae-Na, her face flushed and eyes bright. “That was invigorating. And look, they’re in retreat.”
Chae-Na leaned over the wall and found that, yes, Quade’s men were charging back to their encampment. The field below was strewn with bodies, but it seemed her own people had sustained few casualties.
Further along the battlement, there came some manner of commotion. She thought she heard the pop of gunfire. But all around herself and Bray, soldiers cheered their victory.
Chae-Na tugged the helmet from her head and wiped sweat from her brow. Bray shot in front of her, attempting to block her from view.
“You’re sure this is smart?” Bray asked in an undertone, glancing around her. “Right now, the only people who know you’re here are you, me, and Ko-Jin.”
“And Veldon,” Chae-Na said. Speaking his name caused something to tighten deep in her core. She thought, errantly, of his facial hair scraping against her skin.
“If you plan to do this again, it’ll be safer if no one knows.”
Chae-Na angled her face to the breeze, hoping it would cool her burning cheeks. “Safer, maybe, but it’s a well-documented fact that soldiers fight better when their king is on the field. It will be good for morale if they—”
“Your majesty?”
It was her whisky-scented friend who spoke, his eyes once again wide with surprise. The young man had rather cartoonish expressions, Chae-Na thought. She couldn’t help but smile. “I believe I outshot you, soldier.”
“I believe you did, at that,” he said, a laugh in his voice. “Private Len Thomas, at your service.”
A murmur took up around them, as more soldiers noticed her face.
“Chae-Na—” Bray began again, but she cut short.
A young soldier tried to pass, but tripped and stumbled. He pitched into Chae-Na, and she fell back against the wall. She tried to right him, but he was heavy against her. “Sir, are you alrigh—”
Her question died. She felt the sharp kiss of metal, icy and searing at the same time. Her eyes flew down to her abdomen, where a dagger slid between her ribs. Blood drained from her face, but leaked hot and fast down her side. Her linen shirt bloomed red.
Oh, she thought distantly. I’ve been stabbed.
Time crawled. The blade slipped into her flesh, but the pain didn’t deepen. Rather, the dagger shot through like a phantom. Her gaze flicked from the weapon to the man who held it. Bray had him round the neck with her bare hand, and the assassin looked as perplexed as Chae-Na felt. Which cleared matters up. Bray had phased him as the blade entered, rendering it insubstantial mid-stab.
“Majesty!” Private Thomas cried, reaching for her wound. She hissed a breath at his touch.
“All is well,” she said, though her voice was strangled. “It is a shallow cut. You may release me.”
He did, his hand painted with her blood. She returned her attention to Bray, in time to see her would-be assassin slammed against the nearest merlon. “How did you know where to find the queen?” Bray hissed.
“Quade knows everything.”
“Horseshit,” Bray said. “Who gave you your orders?”
The boy was slight and fair, and there was a sharpness in his ice-blue gaze that made Chae-Na’s skin crawl. He didn’t have the look of one under Quade’s control; he appeared too…present.
Bray tightened her hand around his throat, hoisting him over the edge of the battlement; a fall that would not only kill him, but render his remains unrecognizable. “Start talking.”
The lad wriggled, pressed the soles of his boots to Bray’s chest, and kicked—launching himself over the wall to his death. Bray stumbled back, then rushed forward.
Chae-Na heard the impact of his body and cringed.
“Blighter…” Bray swore, staring over the edge. Her shoulders were raised nearly to her ears, tight with strain.
The soldiers around Chae-Na gazed upon her with uncertain expressions. She took a measured breath—time to be the queen—and reached into her satchel. Her fingers grazed cool metal, and she slipped a crown free.
This one, she’d commissioned specially. It was small and simple, without gem or flourish. Just a plain ring of steel that swooped into a single point. Her mother would have hated it.
She placed the crown atop her head, mindful to keep her chin lifted. Her gashed flesh stung, and blood still oozed down her side, but she stood straight.
All around them, the men and women of Accord reacted. “Your majesty,” they murmured, dropping to their knees, brows to fists.
“Rise,” she proclaimed. “You shan’t kneel today. You have beaten back the Spiritblighter himself—again. Today, you hold your heads high and you celebrate.”
The answering cheer was so loud it hurt her ears. She took several minutes to clap shoulders and shake hands, before Bray inserted herself. “You need to get that stitched up before you bleed to death,” she said, indicating the bloody splotch on Chae-Na’s shirt. She shook her head. “Ko-Jin’s going to have my ear off.”
“If you had not had such quick reflexes, I would have been skewered.”
“If I’d had quicker reflexes, you wouldn’t have been hurt at all.”
A wild laugh burst from Chae-Na’s mouth, surprising everyone, including herself. “Well, I shan’t tell him either way.” She pressed her hand to her wound and grimaced. “But, yes, let us go find a doctor. My husband will be unhappy if I am actively bleeding when I return.”
The soldiers formed an impromptu honor guard as she swept from the ramparts. Bray kept close to her side, her head sweeping back and forth in search of new threats.
“Someone knew you were here,” she whispered. “You say you only told Veldon?” Chae-Na nodded. “Any chance you were overheard?”
She flushed a bit. “No, definitely not. We were alone.”
“What about when you and Ko-Jin discussed it?”
Chae-Na pursed her lips as she walked, thinking back. “It was late at night and we were at the archery range. We were also alone.” She could hardly forget. It had been a particularly uncomfortable conversation.
Bray’s russet brows dipped low, casting her eyes in shadow. “Ko-Jin and I were alone when he asked me to guard you. But there was a point when I thought I heard a footstep, only no one was there.” Her frown deepened. “Or, at least, no one was visible.”
Chae-Na pulled Bray closer under the pretext of needing support. “You suspect Britt?” she breathed.
Bray shrugged. “Her gift and proximity are my only evidence. But I’m going to look into it. Do me a favor and don’t speak of this to anyone. Even if you believe yourself alone.”
Chae-Na’s grip tightened on Bray’s arm. Someone in the palace—or at least someone who had access to the palace—was working for Quade. That person had arranged Jo-Kwan’s death. He or she had disposed of Chae-Na’s guards, so that Quade could abduct and rape her.
“Keep me updated,” she said in a tight voice.
Bray patted her hand. “I will.”
As she gingerly made her way home, Chae-Na couldn’t stop picturing that dagger, which had so nearly ended her life and her reign. And from there, her thoughts took her down a troubling path.
What would have happened if she’d died? Would Veldon rule when he was only her consort, or would her loathsome cousin take the throne?
More concerning than this uncertainty was another, far more certain, prospect: in the wake of Chae-Na’s death, Mae would lose all authority, and then the Pauper’s Men—who had become so integral to the management of the city—would revolt. Without Mae, Accord would fall into chaos, and there would be no one to continue their work.
And Chae-Na trusted no one more than she trusted Mae Bearnall Bowlerham, the so-called ‘queen’ of the paupers. An odd realization, given how differently she’d felt not long ago.
“Are you okay?” Bray asked, her tone pitched in concern. “Is the pain getting worse?”
“Hm?” Chae-Na asked. “Oh, no. It’s not bad. I am fine.”
She was fine, for the time being. But she now saw a problem that must be corrected, and her mind was a whirr of thoughts and plans.
Chapter Eight
Fernie leaned against the parapet, pressing his face to the merlon at his side. He’d hoped the stone would feel cool against his his swollen cheek and bloodied eye, but it had been baked warm by the summer sun and offered no relief.
He gazed out over the killing field. Ko-Jin had permitted the enemy to collect and bury their dead, and so, far below, living soldiers hauled corpses into carts like sacks of grain. They raced against feasting vultures, the true beneficiaries of the day’s work.
This was one of the niceties of war: you kill each other, and then you don’t. To Fernie, it was all so capricious and strange. An hour ago, Ko-Jin’s archers would have shot these soldiers down. Now, they only looked on and hoped their enemy would be thorough. No one wanted to deal with the smell.
The ramparts, so recently packed with soldiers and Chisanta, were now sparsely populated. Only the typical guard and archers remained; everyone else had retreated back to the city.
Fernie could hear them. The celebrations had already turned raucous, and it was only early evening. It would be a lively night, no doubt.
The people of Accord were caught in an endless loop of emotional extremes. They held their breath in fear, then fought, survived, and celebrated. The entire city breathed out, euphoric in their reprieve, until the next morning, when they remembered that the threat still loomed, and held their breath once more.
It all made Fernie feel as if he were snared in an opposing orbit, because his emotional lows always came immediately after each confrontation.
But then, he fought a different kind of battle than everyone else, even Ko-Jin. They looked out over the battlements and saw only a vast army of men.
Fernie saw the men, too. But he also saw Quade—Quade thousands of times over. He saw an army of Quades.
Now that he could perceive his bevolder’s influence, he couldn’t help seeing it everywhere. Quade, everywhere. A foul, black slick clung to every one of his soldiers, like little spiritblighters.
And when all his men charged in unison, those individual parasites coalesced into a single monstrous form—inky and seething and colossal enough to block the sun. It looked like some mythical sea-beast with a thousand writhing, reaching tentacles. And, like in those tales of old, any severed limb could operate independently, could grow upon itself.
Each battle was a waking nightmare, and Fernie was the only one who could see it. That afternoon, he alone had watched the beast unfurl itself and reach across the grassland, until its tentacles—in the form of men upon ladders—had slithered up and over the wa
lls.
Fernie had beat the beast back. He had won.
But he hated this lingering impression, which strengthened after each conflict. This feeling that the true war was between himself and Quade Asher. Him and his bevolder. Callous as it sounded, it sometimes seemed that he and Quade were waging their own separate war, and the people around them were pieces on the game board.
He wondered if Quade knew it, too. Did he ever gaze upon these walls in quiet moments and feel a tug in the vicinity of his rotten, withered heart? It was possible he did not. Having had ample opportunity to observe bevolders, Fernie understood that the bond required a degree of mutual recognition. Still, Fernie felt it.
He sensed that they were spirit-mates, but it was likely Quade did not. This thought always gave him a curious, ill feeling in his gut; he was simultaneously relieved and insulted.
Fernie watched a pair of soldiers far below, two Adourran men struggling to lift a particularly large corpse. They weren’t looking up; in fact their heads were bowed. But he could swear that the piece of Quade inside them was looking up—that its spectral eyes were locked directly upon him. He took a step back.
“No, mate, I’m telling you. I saw it myself.” Fernie turned away from the field, nearly bumping into a pair of guards on patrol. One of them was speaking animatedly: “She put on a crown and everything.”
“You’re full of it,” his companion said with a laugh.
“I’m telling you, man. It was the bleeding queen of Trinitas, disguised like a common archer.”
Fernie’s interest piqued, and he smiled to himself. He believed Chae-Na would do such a reckless thing. She was a fierce woman beneath all that silk.
“And you’re saying she was stabbed?” the second man asked in a mocking tone.
Fernie’s heart stilled.
“Wait,” he shouted after them. They paused, wearing identical expressions of annoyance. “What did you say? The queen wasn’t stabbed, was she?”
“She was. I saw it,” the first man said, looking smug upon finding a more interested audience. But at the look on Fernie’s face he hurried to add, “She seemed alright, though. She was walking and everything.”
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