Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2)

by Patrick Hodges

  The words did not convey disapproval or disgust, and neither did the twinkle in her eyes, which met Vaxi's as she lifted her head again. “I-I suppose so, Your Highness.” It was all she could think to say.

  “And when I say everyone, I mean everyone,” the Queen said. “Your little feat of marksmanship has overshadowed even the chatter about Elzor and his sister.”

  Vaxi blanched at the reference to yesterday's contest, her brain scrambling for an explanation for her actions. She took an involuntary step back, her hands fisting the cloth of her dress. “Forgive me, Your Highness, I-I didn't … Prince Warran, he—”

  “Calm yourself, girl,” the Queen interrupted, placing her hands on Vaxi's arms. “I know all about how my eldest son goaded you into competing. When I heard about it, I assured Warran that I did not approve of his actions. Though I do share his motivations, for him to force a complete stranger into such a position was wrong.” A gentle smile curled the corners of her mouth. “And you succeeded in teaching my other son a lesson in humility. Such a lesson has been a long time in coming.”

  Vaxi's breathing slowed as she took in the Queen's approving expression. “So you're not … angry with me?”

  “No,” Belena said. “Though I am curious about a great many things. That is why I have sought you out. I just had to meet the girl whose legend may soon rival Mount Calabur in size.”

  Vaxi nodded, still flustered. “I wondered why you were not …” Her voice trailed off, and she cast a wary glance at the door to the Great Hall. As if in response, another brief but thunderous tumult passed through it. Another argument had broken out.

  The Queen followed her gaze, then scoffed. “Not with my husband? Even if I were allowed to participate in such a circus, I believe I would decline. While it's true I have my husband's ear when it comes to matters of state, I do not have the stomach for the bickering and squabbling that often accompanies such gatherings. Such is the way men settle their disputes.

  “I thank Arantha that I am blessed with a husband open-minded enough to seek my counsel, something his father and grandfather would not have done. A small measure of progress, and one I accept.” She gestured to the couch. “Let us sit.”

  As both took their seats on opposite ends of the couch, Vaxi felt her resolve crumble a little more at the sight of the Queen's suddenly stern expression.

  “Vaxi, I will be blunt; your presence here has caused a great stir within the court. Even now, your legend, magnified ten times over, is spreading through the countryside like a swarm of drone-wasps. I have little doubt that the taverns on the farthest edges of Darad will be telling grossly exaggerated versions of your contest with Agedor before too long.”

  Vaxi reddened again.

  Belena continued, “Your presence in this castle, much like the High Mage, has been shrouded in mystery, as if Arantha himself had brought you here within the folds of his cloak. My husband has done little to allay my sense of curiosity. All I know for certain is that you are very important to both him and the High Mage, for reasons I can only guess. I may be a mere woman, but I am still Queen, and I would know whether you present a threat to my country or to my husband's reign.”

  “I assure you, I am not a threat,” Vaxi said. “I have only the High Mage and his apprentice to convince you of that.” She sighed, her eyes falling on the portrait of Aridor and Belena. “The path that Arantha has put me on is far more … complicated than I could ever have imagined. I must follow where it leads.”

  The Queen edged closer to Vaxi, stopping only a foot away. “So you are not from Darad.”

  Vaxi shook her head. “No, Your Highness.”

  Belena's brow crinkled. “Who are you, then? And why are you here?”

  Vaxi stood and took a few steps away from the Queen, considering her next words. Mizar had told her that her true identity would be revealed to the crowned heads of Elystra, so what harm would come of telling Belena what would soon become common knowledge? She'd already earned the respect—she hoped—of two of the Queen's children, but having Belena on her side was surely in her best interests.

  On the other hand, the Queen could just as easily have her cast into the dungeons or quietly murdered. Or worse, order her husband to do it.

  Arantha protect me.

  Spinning in a slow circle to face the Queen, Vaxi began. “I am Vaxi, daughter of Ilora, huntress of the Ixtrayu.”

  “The … Ixtrayu?” Belena said, as if turning the word over and over in her mouth. “The name is unfamiliar to me. Whence do you come?”

  “Many days' ride from here, there is a fertile stretch of land nestled between the Plains of Iyan and the Praskian Desert. The Ixtrayan Plateau marks the beginning of this territory, through which the River Ix flows. This land has been home to my tribe for eight hundred years.”

  The Queen leaned forward, her face expressionless. “Go on.”

  The lines of sunlight moved steadily across the floor as Vaxi related her tribe's history to the Queen, starting with the legend of Soraya and ending with her ill-conceived Sojourn to Darad, her rescue at Mizar's hands, and her subsequent journey to Dar. Belena sat rock-still as she absorbed Vaxi's fantastical story, never once interrupting, not even at the mention of the Protectress and her Wielding abilities.

  By the time her tale concluded, she was back on the couch, and the Queen's stern countenance had dissolved into a warm, maternal smile. “You weren't lying, child. Your path is complicated indeed.”

  Vaxi nodded, listening for sounds beyond the door, hearing nothing but the blood rushing in her ears.

  “No wonder my son is so taken with you,” the Queen added, smiling lightly.

  “Lehr?” Vaxi asked in puzzlement.

  Belena laughed. “No, no, my dear. Warran. You're all he's been able to talk about since yesterday.”

  Vaxi smiled, averting her eyes. “I'm something of a curiosity to him.”

  “Oh, you're much more than that. You are the embodiment of everything he wishes to achieve as king. A girl—a huntress—from a distant land just drops into our fair kingdom and proves in one fell swoop what I've been teaching him for years: that women are just as capable as men.” She placed a hand on Vaxi's arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Arantha works in mysterious ways, but this …” She erupted in a fit of laughter.

  Vaxi breathed another sigh of relief. “Thank you, Your Highness. I hope, should Arantha's path lead me back home, that I will carry your blessings along with me.”

  The Queen's laughter tapered off, her face scrunching up in surprise. “Back home? Did you not tell me you feared your return would be unwelcome?”

  “Yes, but … they're my family. If the Protectress declares that I am no longer Ixtrayu, then I will accept it. Until I know for certain, though …” She felt tears welling up in her eyes as a spear of homesickness penetrated her chest.

  “I understand,” Belena said. “But if I might be so bold, may I suggest that Arantha may have a more … grand destiny for you?”

  Vaxi wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “What do you mean?”

  “There will come a time, Vaxi, when my husband will pass the crown along to Warran. As the eldest, it is his birthright. Not only that, he is beloved by the people and respected by the soldiery, from the highest general to the lowest pikeman. None would dispute his claim to the throne—”

  “Except maybe Agedor,” Vaxi muttered under her breath, but loud enough for Belena to hear.

  “And that, right there, is the root of all of Agedor's issues. He was born a second son, and nothing will ever change that. For years, he's nursed his frustration, and it's turned him into a man who respects none but himself. His dreams of power will always remain beyond his reach, and it's built a wall between them that may never be broken. But as I was saying, if you were to remain in Darad, it would make what Warran hopes to achieve a lot more attainable.”

  Vaxi was shocked at the notion. “You can't be suggesting that I marry Warran! I've only known him for one day!”

>   “Calm yourself, child.” Belena rose to her feet and closed the distance between them. “That is not what I'm suggesting. That would flout a law that even Warran wouldn't dare break.”

  “What, then?”

  “There are other types of … shall we say, arrangements that can be made that don't involve marriage. What I have in mind would be mutually beneficial to both of us.”

  Vaxi stared at the floor.

  “I don't mean to overwhelm you more than you already are,” the Queen continued, “but this is how politics work. As royals, we are often forced to put our kingdom's needs above our own.”

  “But I'm not from Darad,” Vaxi whispered, more to herself than to Belena.

  “No. You are, however, in a unique position to effect change. At Warran's side, you might be able to help him do what no other woman in our history has done.”

  Vaxi felt her knees wobble, and she staggered back to the couch, sitting down with a flump. She fixed the Queen with a hard stare. “Why would you offer me this? I am a stranger, a foreigner. When we began this conversation, you weren't even sure if I could be trusted, and now you're offering me a position as your son's companion? Once your people learn who I am and where I come from, why would they accept me?”

  “Men respect deeds, not words. If my husband's army's reaction to your victory is any indication …” The Queen looked expectantly at Vaxi.

  “I don't think they were rooting for me so much as rooting against Prince Agedor.”

  “And yet you won. You earned their respect.”

  “Enough to let me ride alongside them into battle, if such a situation arose?”

  Belena shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Prince Warran's gambit paid off, though what long-term effects your victory will achieve is not as clear. Whether progress will be made will depend on what you do next.”

  Vaxi pondered the Queen's words for many moments, then came to a decision. “In my brief time here, I have become very fond of Darad and its people. I would love nothing more than to see its women allowed to train, to fight alongside its men. To make such a change would be the work of a lifetime.”

  “Yes it would,” Belena interjected. “But it would be a life well spent.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Vaxi muttered. “I am a huntress. I could never be Queen.”

  “I never said you would be Queen,” Belena retorted. “You would be his consort. That's not the same thing.”

  “What's the difference?”

  “You'd be a symbol, nothing more. You would be asked to do what you did yesterday, demonstrate your prowess. You might even be able to train our women to fight when the time comes. You would be given an official rank within the court, but you would have no power in matters of state.”

  The Queen leaned in, a deadly seriousness lacing her voice. “Heed my words, girl; you may not have asked for this life, but it's yours whether you like it or not. I give you my word, if you agree to this, it will go a long way toward forging an alliance between your people and mine.”

  Vaxi's guts tightened. “Would it?”

  Just then, the door to the main hall opened, and Mizar stepped into the antechamber. “Oh, Your Highness, I didn't realize you were here.”

  Belena rose, smiling at the High Mage. “Just keeping our young guest company.”

  Mizar nodded, his mouth flattened into a straight line. “Vaxi, it's time.”

  She rose unsteadily to her feet, shooting a glance at the Queen, who was already on her way out of the room through the hallway door. She didn't even look back as the door closed behind her.

  Vaxi's stomach constricted and her breath became shallow. Her steps faltered. The fate of her people, the lives of everyone she ever loved, was in her hands now.

  Her head began to throb. Would she have the strength to endure what lay beyond that door?

  Feigning a confidence she didn't feel, she told Mizar, “Lead the way.”

  Chapter Thirty

  King Aridor fastened the clasp of his cloak around his neck. He gazed at his distorted reflection in the back of a machinite shield that hung on his bedroom wall. The curved interior of the shield made his face and body look comically elongated, but he still cut a dignified form in his regal finery. A white silken shirt sported the Daradian emblem over the left breast, partially obscured by a spotless grey tunic. Black breeches, held up by a thick leather belt, hugged his legs down to his high black boots. A golden signet ring with a veracite stone adorned his finger, its blood-red color perfectly matching his cloak.

  Patting his midsection, which seemed to have grown over the past season without his approval, he let out a long breath. If he was going to lead Elystra's greatest army into battle, he'd have to abstain from extra helpings of pie for the foreseeable future.

  His wife had dressed early, kissed him on the cheek, and wished him well before leaving to join Prince Lehr and Princess Tyah for breakfast. She would keep them out of sight during the day's events, a day that could shape Elystran history for centuries to come.

  He flung open his bedroom door to find Taron and several guards waiting for him. Taron's colorful clothes looked dingier than usual, and the black circles under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept much. Aridor suspected that was because he'd spent the last day seeing to the needs of the many visiting dignitaries and their personal guards. On top of that, Taron had overseen the cleansing and furnishing of the Great Hall, where today's summit would soon be underway.

  “Is everything prepared?” Aridor asked, striding down the corridor. Taron fell into step beside him, guards in front and behind them.

  “Yes, Sire,” Taron said. “Prince Zendak, King Torvin, and King Largo have already taken their places in the Hall. Viceroy Callis, however, refuses to enter until you announce yourself

  Aridor snorted and rolled his eyes. “I swear, that man's paranoia will be the death of us all.”

  “Sire?”

  “Never mind. Whatever it takes to get everyone in the room. This negotiation should have ended days ago, but Callis couldn't see past the end of his nose. He and Largo bicker like toddlers. They have never agreed on anything, that's no secret. But the time for past squabbles is over. Every hour we hem and haw over petty concessions, Elzor comes that much closer to fulfilling his quest.”

  Taron nodded, breathing hard as he struggled to keep up with Aridor's pace. “May Arantha guide today's proceedings to a successful end, Your Highness.”

  Aridor and his armed accompaniment made their way down one corridor, out into a courtyard, and through the first of two sets of double doors that led to the Great Hall. Two of the guards took up their positions at the threshold, while two others opened the inner doors.

  Taron waddled forward, collected his breath, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Announcing Aridor, son of Armak, King of Darad.” Then he stepped aside, bowed at the waist, and allowed Aridor to stride past him.

  Four long, wooden tables had been set up in the center of the high-vaulted room, each flanked by several sturdy, high-backed chairs. Aridor took his seat at the head of the room, briefly acknowledging each man who stood to silently greet him. Seated to his right, Prince Warran gave Aridor a resigned nod. “Good luck, Father,” he said.

  Aridor responded with a congenial nod. One by one, he met the eyes of each and every attendee of this illustrious gathering.

  To his immediate left sat Agrus's lone representative, Prince Zendak. Aridor's stomach clenched at the sight of the young prince's facial scars. After almost being burned to death by Elzaria's lightning, Zendak still had the strength and presence of mind to mount a merych and deliver King Morix's message all the way to Darad. Now, his country lay in shambles, leaderless and broken, but Zendak's resolve hadn't faltered. Aridor couldn't help but admire such strength.

  Against the northern wall, King Largo of Imar chatted with the commander of his military forces, General Marat. Tall and thin and clad in a long cloak of silvery blue, Largo had been ruler of Darad's closest neighbor
for over forty years. As their eyes met, Largo's brow crinkled in mild impatience as they waited for their final guest. Aridor shrugged, unable to take his eyes off Largo's long white beard. He wondered if that was what his face would look like in a few years' time.

  The table opposite Aridor's stood empty. Just as he was about to send Taron to search for Callis, the doors on the opposite side of the hall opened up, and the Viceroy walked in. Taron opened his mouth to announce Callis's name, but instead, the Barjan ruler strode past him, moved his designated chair back with a vexing scrape, and sat down. He pulled the chair forward again with another scrape of wood upon stone that echoed off every wall.

  Aridor found it fitting that Callis never wore any color other than black, as it matched the cloud that followed the Viceroy wherever he went. Contempt oozed from his every pore, and his xenophobic attitude informed every word he uttered. Aridor hated being in the same room with Callis, much less dealing with him. If not for the treaty in place that provided Darad with the machinite ore his soldiers couldn't do without, he would have barred Callis from setting one foot inside his borders.

  Callis spread his arms wide, fixing Aridor with a “let's get on with it” stare.

  One day, that man is going to push me too far.

  Is today that day?

  The room fell silent as Aridor rose to his feet, speaking in his most resonant, commanding voice. “Honored guests, I thank you for your patience, and your presence. In the interests of time, much of which has been wasted already,” he shot a derisive sneer at Callis, “I will dispense with the formal introductions and move straight to the task at hand. A crisis greater than any in our combined histories has arisen to challenge us. Nothing less than the fate of our world, of all our peoples, of our very way of life is at stake.”

  He let his words sink in before continuing. “Viceroy Callis, at our previous meeting, you declined to provide an explanation as to how this upstart, Elzor, was able to amass such a huge following without your knowledge. Would you truly have us believe you were unaware of two-thirds of your militia's treason until it was too late, to say nothing of Elzor's hiding a female Wielder in plain sight?”