by Janeal Falor
“There could be, but I was told they're all here. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
He studies me, and I focus back on the nearest portrait.
Where is the first queen? Why isn't she among these pictures?
Chapter 36
I'm getting ready for bed when a thought crosses my mind.
“What do you like to do in your free time?” I ask Inkga.
“I don't know. There isn't much of it. I suppose I like to spend time with family and friends.”
I don't like talking about families. The closest thing I had to one was Daros. He found me abandoned. Alone and ready for his tutelage. Forcing the thoughts away, I ask, “What's it like to have a friend?”
“You haven’t had one before?”
“I don't think so.”
“Maybe you did, at some point?”
I sigh. “It's not something I like to dwell on, but…”
“Go on. I promise it's safe with me.” Her voice is comforting.
It may be; it may not be. Either way, I find myself relating the tale. “I didn't have a lot of people around in my childhood. One day, I met a woman while I was outside.” Training, running, and jumping over obstacles. Even as a kid I worked hard. But Inkga doesn't need the specifics. “This woman was kind to me. She talked to me like no one else did. She kept coming back whenever I was outside. When she discovered I didn't know how to read, she began teaching me.”
“How old were you at the time?”
“I was about eight. She taught me what she could over a few months. One day she said life was too rough on me. I shouldn't have to work so hard as a child. She wanted to take me away from that. At least she said she did.” My eyes burn—a sensation that's been coming too often since I moved into the palace. I stare at nothing, until the feeling goes away. “She promised to come get me the next day.”
“What happened?”
I swallow. “I never saw her again.” She abandoned me, just like everyone else.
“What did your parents think of it?”
“I have none.”
Inkga is silent for some time. “You know, I used to think being the queen would be wonderful. I used to even think about trying for it myself.”
“What stopped you?”
“Death. I'm not ready to die. And with so many failing, it wouldn’t be worth it. That, and my friends and family again. If I died, I wouldn't be around them.”
Our conversation is going everywhere, but there are so many things I want to know. “So why did you think it would be wonderful to be queen? You don't sound like you feel that way any longer.”
“Not after seeing what you've been through. The threat of death hasn't stopped just because you became queen. I'd much rather do your hair and help you with your clothes.”
“Can you tell me something?” I ask.
“Of course. What is it?”
“How do you know someone is a friend? That you can really trust them?”
“You don't know?”
“Like I said, I don't think I ever had one.”
She gives me a pitying look that makes me want to crawl in a deep dark hole. “Friend definition then. They are kind of hard to describe. A friend is someone you can spend time with and enjoy their company. Well… most of the time. You can still get irritated with them sometimes.” She gives a little laugh. “But a person whose company you enjoy. You relish doing things with them. It's someone you can talk to, who doesn’t only listen, but also understands. They are happy when you feel joy and sad when you have pain. They warn you against foolish decisions but support you when you go through with them anyway. And then, when you fall, they’re there to pick you up.”
That sounds wonderful. “How do you make friends?”
“The truth is it's easier to make friends when you act softer.”
“Am I harsh?” I demand.
“Like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you just were. You never ask anything. You boss people around. It's like you were born to be a queen, not a friend.”
“I wasn't born to be anything.” But an assassin.
“It's all right,” she says. “We can try. You just need to work on your tone. How you say things can be more important than what you say. Your thoughts are good, they’re just a little brass and unrefined.”
I work hard to think about my words. “What you mean is that I need to change.”
She glances at the floor. “If you don't mind, Your Majesty. If this is something you want—to have friends. To make people like you, it would be good to practice, yes.”
“Would you help me practice?” It's almost anguishing to speak politely.
“You said that very well. It would be my honor to help you.”
“How do we start? And please, take a seat. It's strange, having you stand while I'm sitting.”
“If you're sure,” she says.
“Positive.”
She takes a seat, instantly making me feel better, though she sits at the very edge of her chair.
“Begin,” I say.
“Right.” She clears her throat. “Let's say you're eating dinner, and it's something you hate. How would you react in public?”
“I eat everything.” Starving will do that to you.
“All right. What if someone brought you a gift you didn't like? What should you do?”
I think. Hard. “Depends on the gift.” Most of what I've received has been things like daggers and poisons.
“It was something you didn't like,” Inkga prods.
“I'd probably say I'm not interested in it.”
“There's a perfect instance we can work on. Whether you like it or not, you need to accept it graciously, saying thank you. Even better if you can find some way to compliment the gift.”
“Even if I hate it?” This is harder than I thought.
“Even then. They've taken the time to get you something and bring it to you. Many times they'll be extravagant gifts that you'll enjoy. Other times, they might be from someone who has little possessions and brought you all they have. It might not look like much, but to them, it's everything. You need to keep this in mind when you respond.”
“I can understand that better.” Besides what I needed for my work, I had little.
“So what would you say to someone who gives you a gift you don't like?”
“I'd say thank you. Maybe say it’s beautiful or useful or thoughtful.”
“Excellent. Now, make sure you calm your tone.”
I reach inside myself, pulling out the calmest tone I can think of. “Like this?”
She hesitates. “Um… that was a nice try, but think of something soft. Something soothing. Try to emulate that.”
Emulating is what I do; it shouldn't be hard. I think of a soft breeze kissing my skin. “Thank you for helping me.”
“That was perfectly done, Your Majesty.” Inkga claps her hands, eyes gleaming, smile wide.
“I’m glad because I want the people to feel like they can approach me so I can help them.”
“The effort to improve will make you the best queen ever.”
The words stir me. Can I be a good queen? Am I capable of it?
I don't know.
Chapter 37
In the haze, I make out the first queen. She's dimmer than usual, the colors not as bright.
“It's because you've got a lot on your mind,” she says. Her voice sounds far away. “And you aren't in a deep sleep. We haven't much time tonight.”
I get right to asking what I want to know. “Why aren't you among the pictures of all the queens?”
“I never had my likeness painted. Even if I did, it’d be destroyed or lost. They didn't take good care of my things.”
“But you're in that history book.”
“Yes. Perhaps a few more items have been passed down about me, but my image was not drawn in that book while I was alive. At least, not with my knowledge.”
It
doesn't make a difference, yet I wish there were more signs of her. Some way to connect me to her, other than through just dreams. I should be grateful I found her picture at all.
“I see preparations for the ball are coming along nicely,” she says. “Are you ready for it? Ready to be coronated and become the queen in more than name?”
“I don't know. But I'm trying.”
“That's all that matters. You need to do your best, and that's good enough.”
“Is it truly?” Because it doesn't feel like it.
“You'll have to learn that for yourself, of course. What I say won't matter if you don't internalize it.”
“I'll keep at it.” Is this what a friend is like?
“I know you will.”
Chapter 38
I've just finished getting ready for the day when Inkga says, “The ladies in waiting have requested an audience.”
My initial thought is to turn them down, but I'm trying to be better. “I will see them. Is my sitting room big enough for all who wish to visit?”
“I believe it is, Your Majesty.”
“Then I will see them there. Thank you, Inkga.” I let her lead the way out of the room. As she goes to the door, I take a seat. Several minutes later, she admits my ladies in waiting.
“Please let me know if you need anything further,” Inkga says.
I nod, and she hurries off. There are a good thirteen of them, all elaborately dressed like I was before Inkga helped me acquire better clothing. The result is a rather humorous array of wide skirts, lace, and fluff that has me holding in a laugh.
As one, the ladies in waiting move to the center of the room and dip into deep curtsies.
“You may rise and be seated,” I say.
They take seats, barely having enough room for them all but they fit. Before I can say anything, they pull out one form of handwork or another. They're settling in. Lovely.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” I ask.
“We wanted to spend time with our queen,” Faya, the oldest lady in waiting, says. “We've been remiss in being with you. I hope we can remedy that now.”
Nothing I want to say would be well received, so I stay silent.
“Would you like some embroidery to work on, Your Majesty?” Jem asks with a hint of mockery in her voice.
“I'm fine.”
“But a queen must know how to do handwork.”
“No. In fact, I want you all to put whatever you're working on away. It's vastly annoying. If you want to continue it on your own time, fine. But you will not use it as an excuse to avoid looking at me.” I feel quite smug. I shouldn't have said anything, but it drives me mad.
The ladies hustle to put their things away—all except Jem.
“If Your Majesty will forgive me, this is something that's taken place for as long as anyone can remember.” She doesn’t sound sorry at all. “It's not a tradition we should break.”
“Useless traditions will not remain under my rule.” She better not say anything further, or I will need to find some consequence for it. From everything I've learned, no one is supposed to speak to a queen in such a manner. Disagree with me? All right, but do it respectfully.
She flutters her hands over her fabric and needle, as if she can't decide what to do with them. Finally, she puts them away somewhere inside her voluminous skirts.
It's a relief, until she says, “Perhaps, then, we should speak of your wardrobe.”
“My new clothes suit me well.” Beyond well. I love having pants to climb around in and not so many layers and fabric when I wear a dress. Most importantly, all of them have lots of places to hide daggers.
“But as queen, you should know that whatever style you choose will be picked up by the very elite. Borkus should have talked to you about designs worthy of your position.” Jem's eyes flash at me.
“I'm afraid he is not in on the consultation of my clothing. My maid and I have come up with everything that's needed for my wardrobe. We will speak of it no more.” She's crossing into so many topics I don't want to discuss. It's like she knows how to wheedle her way under my skin.
“How about use of dinnerware?” Jem asks, her tone almost gleeful. “We need to make certain you do not make a fool of yourself the first time you eat a meal in public.”
“Jem, I would prefer if you removed yourself from the room.” My words surprise me, but I'm grateful I said them. I'm used to being spoken down to, but it ends now. “If you wish to remain, you will stay silent.”
Her face grows pale, but she says nothing more. Next to her, Inyi pouts, but Faya has a twinkle in her eyes. Perhaps Jem has needed to be set down for some time.
“What did you talk about with the last queen?” I ask.
“None of us were ladies in waiting for the last queen,” a woman who looks to be in her thirties says. She has dark hair, dark eyes, and golden skin.
“What is your name?” I ask her.
“Lipla, Your Majesty.”
“Very well, Lipla, what happened to the last ladies in waiting?” I ask.
“They were the first to take the Mortum Tura when the last Queen died.”
I pinch my lips together. So much death. Can I never get away from it? “And you all will try for the throne when I am dead?”
No one answers.
“The answer must obviously be yes if no one is brave enough to say it.”
Jem's face is contorted, like she's trying to hold an answer in. Perhaps if I didn’t forbid her from speaking, she would be brave enough. It's not something I'll know at this rate, though.
“It is true, Your Majesty,” Faya says. “We were all deemed finished with our training so we could try the Mortum Tura.”
“And that is what you all want? To become queen?” I ask.
They stare at the floor. No telling if they would have passed the test. Likely not, if it was something they were trying for. None of them would have become queen then.
This begs a further question. “Are you trying to have me killed?”
The room becomes a clamor of No, Your Majesty.
I wait for them to simmer down. “It seems you protest too much. Still, I know you've been helping with the ball, and I'm grateful for your help. I hope you will decide I'm fitting as your queen and will stop trying to take my life.” I look each of them in the eye as I speak. Faya and Jem are the only ones who meet my gaze.
Faya has a soft expression, which doesn't mean much. She could be hiding anything, but for some reason, my heart wants to trust her.
Jem is much different, looking at me with open defiance. I wouldn't be surprised to find she's the one behind the threats on my life. I just have to find a way to prove it.
Chapter 39
It's late at night, and I'm hanging out on the roof. There are two moons out tonight—one tinted gray, the other blue. They shine down on the country. My country.
It doesn't seem like nearly enough, being out here all alone. I wish Inkga was with me. Or Nash. The two of them are good company, though I do get irritated with them on occasion.
They feel kind of like how Inkga described friends. Maybe, they could be my friends. What would they think of that? Would they turn me away? Am I only a job to them? I hope not, but I don't know how to be more.
It's growing chilly, the night air cool against my clothes. I'm grateful Inkga took me seriously about pants being something I want. They make traveling to the roof much easier. I sigh and stand to walk to the edge of the roof. I don't care if someone sees me tonight. The worst they can do is make me get back down. They won’t be able to stop me from wandering.
As I roam, I hear talking, but I'm too far to understand what they're saying. I lean closer over the edge, but I still can't hear them. I'm about to let it go, but then a man raises his voice. Ranen.
I crawl my way down, like I would if I was going to my room, but instead, I hang on the wall right outside the window. The voices are loud enough for me to not only hear, but also identif
y here.
A voice says, “Why didn't you have Jem go before this stupid urchin?”
I knew I was right about Jem.
“She pushed her way forward,” Ranen says. “How was I supposed to know she wouldn't die? Everyone else did.”
“It doesn't matter now. We have to figure a way around this.”
“There is no way around it,” Ranen practically shouts. Does he not worry about being overheard? “Jem would have bent under my will, but this queen will have nothing to do with me. I've tried to please her—doing what she asked, to get back in her good graces—but it’s done no good. Neither have any of the assassins I've sent after her.”
I whisk in a breath. At least now I know who was behind some of them. How many did he send?
I peek around the edge. Ranen has his back to me. His partner is Borkus, the Head of Design. He's facing me, but doesn't seem to see me.
I slide in the window, move up behind Ranen, and put a knife to his throat before he knows I'm here. “You dare dishonor me?”
His partner’s mouth falls open, and he takes a step back.
“Forgive me, Your Highness. I didn't—” Ranen starts.
“No excuses.” My phrase, all too familiar—though from a master’s lips—jolts me back to the circumstances.
I yank my knife away from Ranen and snick it back into its case in my boot. Too many eyes for me to finish the job, even if it's just my own and another man's. He isn't a job anyway.
Besides, I promised not to kill. If I keep my knife out, he won't survive.
I'm about to call out, when cool metal presses against my neck. Borkus's eyes are wide. Ranen is still in front of me. Who—?
“Your Majesty will forgive me for meeting under these circumstances.” Faya's voice is soft and grandmotherly as ever, despite the fact she's holding a blade against me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, hoping to distract her so I get the upper hand. She can't be nearly as well trained as I am, but she is the one with the leverage.
She laughs. “You are a fool who's easily misled. I knew you would suspect Ranen from the start. He makes no secret of those he dislikes.”
