Queene of Light

by Jennifer Armintrout

  Practicality overrode sentiment as she pulled on her slippers and raked her fingers through her mussed hair. She could not help the Darkling, and why should she? It had not been her choice to place him in danger. Garret had not washed his hands of her entirely, despite her betrayal, but storming into a royal dungeon and defending the life of the creature would be a push too far. Perhaps when the old healer had warned her of the man with wings who would be her ultimate destruction, this was what she had meant. Not that the Darkling would destroy her himself, but that he would be the impetus of her downfall.

  At the Palace, it seemed to Ayla that word of her shame had arrived ahead of her. The stares she received were gleeful and hostile, but she knew they tittered at her bruised face. Garret would never admit publicly that his mate had strayed from him with a Darkworlder, and the Court likely assumed she had been beaten for displeasing the Queene in today’s audience.

  Truth, cold and plain, sent panicked shivers down her limbs. It seemed a winter had settled over the tree within her, its branches cracked in the bitter wind of her fear. She might confess all to Mabb, and her position as Garret’s mate might pardon her. But later, if Garret chose to cast her off and find another mate, one that was not tainted by scandal and gossip, one who was fully Fae, what then? Would she still be spared a traitor’s death? How far could his protection reach?

  She ducked into a darkened doorway and pressed her palms to her temples. Her heart pounded as though it would burst from her chest, her head throbbed with fatigue and confusion. The Darkling was most certainly dead. She must stay. If she stayed, she might die. She should go. Every second brought a different bend in the path she knew she would take, throwing her off of her course.

  “What do you mean, you haven’t found him? What about the border guards?”

  At the sound of Garret’s voice, Ayla flattened herself against the arch of the doorway. He passed without noticing her, and why would he? He did not expect her to be there, and so it would not be so, in his mind. His arrogance affected his eyesight.

  Cedric, the Guild Master, walked beside him, head down, serious. “The border guards are not under my command, but I agree, this is a matter for the militia, not for the Guild.”

  Garret had said no such thing, and his voice rose. “It is the duty of all capable fighters in the Lightworld to find this creature and bring him to justice! He attacked Ayla! Defiled her! Do you really wish for him to escape?”

  The Guild Master paused, head still bent as though the floor might yield a diplomatic answer to him. “I am sorry for the pain this has caused you. But as far as we can tell, the Darkling has left the Lightworld. I cannot risk the lives of my Guild without an order from the Queene.”

  “You have influence enough there.” The sneer was plain in Garret’s voice. “Why not use it, and leave her bed with orders for a full scale invasion!”

  Garret stalked away then, down the corridor, leaving Cedric behind. The Guild Master stormed in the opposite direction, and Ayla wondered which she should look after.

  The Darkling had escaped. That much was clear from the exchange. Also, that Garret had concocted a story and put it about before his sister had a chance to speak out. Queene or not, Mabb had a reputation for slander. No one would believe her now, when Garret had already begun to spread his version of the story around the Court.

  With relief at both ends of the scale, the decision was harder to make. But only for a moment. As long as he lived, the Darkling would return for her. She felt this truth the way she still felt his hands on her. He would try again to reach her, and be killed in his attempt.

  She would go to him. To ask that he never contact her again? To stay with him and never return to the Lightworld? Days ago, the prospect would have horrified her. Why leave the world she’d fought so hard to become a part of?

  That was a decision she could make later. For now, she had to make her confession to the Queene.

  It would have been easier to lie to Mabb, as Garret would lie to the rest of the Court, but this was not a matter of simple politics. The geis was a sacred oath, made not only to the Queene, but to the Old Gods, wherever they might be. To break it was to renounce your allegiance to the Lightworld, and that could only be forgiven by the Queene, in person. Woe be to anyone who broke the geis and did not confess. If their transgression was discovered, the punishment was worse than death. Ayla did not know what could be worse than death, and no one had told her, but she did not wish to find out.

  The Queene’s formal audience was closed for the evening, but with her new status at Court Ayla could gain entrance to the Queene’s private quarters. The parties Mabb hosted for the elite were lavish and legendary. Too late Ayla remembered her disheveled hair and bruised face. If nothing else, it would make Garret’s falsehood seem more plausible.

  Mabb’s chambers were located at the heart of the Palace. Ayla had never been there, but the guards appeared to know her—likely briefed by Garret on his last visit—and escorted her inside. The antechamber was huge, the floor and arched ceiling covered with tiny octagonal tiles placed there when it had been part of the Human world. Courtiers mixed in small clusters around the perimeter, to have a better view of who entered and left, no doubt. Their robes and gowns were garish, their jewelry catching the candlelight like golden starbursts. Ayla ducked her head to hide her face, pulled some of her hair to cover the bruises on her cheeks. In attempting to make herself unnoticed, she attracted the interest of the predatory gossipmongers, and she heard their whispers as she passed.

  “That is the Royal Heir’s mate? What was Garret thinking?”

  “She looks like a common Strip whore.”

  “Look, you can see the Guild mark, there, on her neck!”

  “Has my brother not taught you to bow in the presence of royalty?”

  A sudden hush fell over the room. Her stare intent on her feet, Ayla had not realized they had led her directly to Mabb, who now looked at her as though she were some insect.

  Ayla bowed quickly, and when she rose she did not meet Mabb’s gaze. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”

  “You may look at me. We are sisters now, after all.” Mabb said this loud enough to be heard by everyone in the hall, but she needn’t have raised her voice. The courtiers had ceased their conversations, ready to hang on their Queene’s every word. Leaning close to Ayla’s ear, Mabb hissed, “Let us go. This is no place for private conversation, and I would have one with you now.”

  Mabb turned, her deep violet skirts flaring behind her. Her white hair was coiled in two braids like deadly serpents at the back of her head, and instead of her crown, two daggers with green jewels in their hilts kept them wound into place. As Ayla followed, another guard fell into step beside her. Flanked by the two, Ayla felt a distinct unease. It was as if she were being arrested, and she hadn’t yet confessed her crime.

  Mabb led the way through another room, this one an official-looking hall with a raised dais and long trestle tables. “My informal assembly,” she explained, waving a dismissive hand through the air as they passed. “To meet with my council and advisors. Not that you should concern yourself with this. You will not be advising me. You are family.”

  The word dripped venom, and the poison hung in the air as they entered the next chamber, a small, crescent room with doors lining the arc. A grouping of chairs and a decorated table sat awkwardly in the middle, and Mabb passed these by, as well. “When you come to call on me, this is where you will wait to be seen by one of my ladies. They will discern if I am in a mood to see you that day, or if you will leave notice with one of my servants. The latter will almost always be true, in your case. I will not have time for you.”

  In the peak of the arch stood a huge double door, and the guards at Ayla’s side hurried forward to open them at Mabb’s signal. As Ayla and Mabb passed through, they stayed behind.

  The doors opened onto a short hall with an arched roof. All along the bricks that lined it from floor to ceiling were gaps in the plast
er. Mabb pointed to one and, without facing Ayla, remarked casually, “At my signal, poisoned arrows would come springing out at you. It is my last line of defense against those who seek to harm me.”

  Ayla stayed silent. Mabb produced a silver key from her sleeve and unlocked the plain metal door at the end of the hall, and they entered a new room.

  Mabb’s personal apartment, Ayla realized, unexplainably excited to be allowed into such a hidden and private place. The excitement faded, however, as she remembered why she was there, and that she was not welcome to begin with.

  Finally Mabb turned, looking Ayla over with a critical eye. “You do not talk much.”

  Ayla phrased her response carefully. “I was content to let Her Majesty speak, as there was nothing of greater value I could contribute to the discourse.”

  Mabb held up a hand. “I did not ask you a question, Assassin, I made a statement. I trust you are able to tell the difference?”

  Ayla nodded.

  “No wonder my brother has already beaten you. You are very annoying,” the Queene said with a beleaguered sigh. Mabb’s skirts made a soft brushing sound on the grass-covered floor as she walked away. Everything in the room seemed to have come from the world above: the decadent fabric panels covering the walls, the gold accents and ornate, Human furniture. The chairs were not the simple stools favored by winged creatures, but tall-backed objects that would be impossible to perch upon comfortably. It was as if a piece of the Upworld had fallen by mistake into Mabb’s Palace.

  The Queene stood before a heavy, wooden cabinet with an ornate lock. The key jutted from its hole; Mabb had no fear, obviously, that someone would breach this inner sanctum.

  “Has my brother informed you of what your duties will be, now that you are to be Queene?”

  Though she was not versed in Court treachery, Ayla saw the hundred traps that lay in the question, and knew well enough to avoid them. “I do not understand. Your Majesty is the Queene.” Ayla did not speak what else she knew, that Mabb was immortal and therefore her reign could potentially last forever. To speak of such a thing might lead Mabb to think of assassination, and Ayla wished to avoid the subject entirely.

  When Mabb laughed it was angry, mocking. “He has at least taught you how to lie. I am still Queene because there was no one to replace me! Now that the Royal Heir has a consort at his side, she can be made Queene, and I will be tossed aside! Do not lie to me and say that you have not planned this!” In her fury, Mabb ripped one of the daggers from her hair and hurled it at Ayla.

  It was easy enough to dodge it, but the Queene’s rage had shown itself to be an unpredictable storm. Ayla proceeded cautiously. “I have no desire to become Queene. I am a simple Assassin—”

  “I did not ask you to speak!” Mabb screamed, stalking a few steps toward her. Then, as if remembering something, she stopped and smoothed her loose, frayed braid behind her ear. She turned and opened the cabinet and drew out a stone tablet, which she clutched to her chest like a babe. “I know well what you are. A lowly Assassin, born on the Strip to a Faery mother long since banished from my kingdom and a Human father who died in the gutter, racked with disease from Human vices. If my brother had chosen a mate from the noble class, even one of my ladies-in-waiting, he could have disguised his intentions.” She held out the stone tablet, motioning for Ayla to take it. “Read this! Read this and tell me that my brother is not playing me false!”

  The stone was heavy, and Ayla fumbled with it a moment before she could right it in her hands. She glanced over the inscription for only a moment before handing it helplessly back to Mabb. “I cannot read,” she said, feeling more ashamed of the fact than she ever had before.

  Mabb’s smile twisted cruelly. “Of course you cannot. But regardless, you would not be able to decipher these markings. It is in an old language, one that few in this stinking world remember.” She took a breath, closing her eyes as if to calm herself. When she opened them again she was regal, royal despite her ragged hair and flushed skin. “It tells a prophecy of a time when the Fae would be forced to live underground. For centuries it was assumed that the prophecy foretold the invasion of Humans in our beloved Éire, that forced us to spread over the Earth and shelter in cairns and lakes and sea caves. But as even you, with your limited intelligence, can guess, it alludes to this time, that we are trapped below the Human cities, scavenging for sustenance and comfort, barred from nature and sunlight, entombed like the dead!”

  Mabb’s hands trembled as she placed the tablet back in the cabinet. “The prophecy speaks of one who will save our race, free us! A mighty warrior Queene who will lead a campaign, scouring the Earth and making all right once more.”

  Mabb, in all of her fine silks and delicate jewels, her body frail and small boned, was the furthest thing from a warrior that Ayla could imagine, but she had more sense than to speak such a thing to the Queene’s face.

  “This great heroine,” Mabb continued, her eyes growing bright in her fervor, “will be born of both worlds, above and below. And her name will be remembered in the hearts of Fae and Human alike, for all eternity. And I intend to be that Queene!”

  Though Mabb had not asked her a question, Ayla could not keep silent. “But it could not be you. I desire as much as anyone to see the hopes of the Lightworld restored by some great figure, but you are Fae.”

  “Do you dare to claim that this fate might be yours, instead?” Mabb came forward, drawing the other dagger from her hair as if she would stab Ayla. “Do you dare to insinuate that I cannot free my people?”

  Queene or not, Ayla would show no fear to an opponent. “I am merely stating the facts that you yourself spoke. While I am not proud enough to see myself in your words, the prophecy says it will be a half-Human Faery that fulfills this roll. Your Majesty is many things, but certainly not Human.”

  Mabb laughed, mocking again. “You know so little. My brother is full-blooded Fae, that is true. My mother, whore that she was, conceived him off one of her guards. But her lusts ran to the bestial, and she coupled regularly with a Human male she kept here, in the Palace. I was the product of their perverse union.”

  It was almost so sensational as to insist Ayla call the Queene false, but Mabb worked the ties of her gown, opening it as if she did not stand in the presence of a near-total stranger. “Have you never wondered why I do not display my wings? Why I keep myself covered at all times?” The ribbons of her bodice slipped through their grommets as she violently jerked them free, one pair, then another pair, the fabric gaping apart and exposing the white skin beneath. “No one, not even my ladies-in-waiting, see me completely exposed. It is too shameful, despite my great destiny, and I would not have anyone know the low, common origins of my birth.”

  She shook the gown free and turned slowly. What Ayla saw made her gasp out loud. There was the proof to Mabb’s sensational story, jutting from her back, twisted and half-formed. Two small, pathetic flaps of white skin hung from protruding bones, their blunt, round ends betraying them as Human. They did not move of their own accord, but Mabb reached to smash them flat against her back as she drew her gown up, the skin swaying sickeningly as they folded over each other.

  Ayla said nothing, only stared as the Queene pulled her gown closed and retrieved her daggers to right her hair. Only after she’d consulted her looking glass and found everything in order did she address Ayla once more.

  “You will speak to no one of what you have seen. In time, I shall think of a crime great enough to banish you from the Lightworld, and then you will be nothing.” Satisfied at this pronouncement, she went to the wall, where she slid a false panel aside. “You may go. Through here. I will not have you in my private audience.”

  Frozen, Ayla’s feet would not move. If she told Mabb now of her failure to uphold the geis, the Queene would have the excuse she wanted to exile Ayla. Or, she might choose instead to have her executed.

  Before, the prospect seemed less horrifying. For breaking her vow, the punishment was deserved. But to
be sacrificed to Mabb’s vanity? That was something that Ayla’s small, hard-won pride would not allow. She squared her shoulders and left the room via the secret passage, which spit her out near the Assassins’ Hall. Then, she left the Palace altogether.

  The streets of the Lightworld were quiet. Most of its inhabitants slumbered now. Ayla ached to do the same. She thought of Garret’s bed, how soft and warm it had been, how she’d slept so hard she hadn’t dreamed. It would be so easy to return, to submit to whatever punishment he chose to inflict, as long as she could sleep for now.

  But he’d warned her that she would never leave his sight again, and she did not doubt it. As long as she was close to him, she was close to Mabb’s treachery. The Lightworld, once her home, now seemed alien and dangerous.

  She passed the tunnel that would lead her to Garret’s, and walked to the boundary of the Lightworld. There were more guards at the openings to the Strip than normal, all waiting to catch the Darkling. Ayla flashed her Guild mark as she walked past, and they stepped aside for her.

  Just a short walk, and she would be out of the Lightworld altogether. The border seemed so innocuous. There was nothing stopping her walking back, past the guards, back into her life. No physical impediment that could keep her out, not yet. But so much had changed that her old life was as separate from her as the Underground from the Upworld. At each step she knew she could not turn back, every movement an indelible mark.

  She reached the Strip. She took a breath. All she had known was already behind her, all that remained was a future so insubstantial that it could not even hold fear. She did not look back. Another two heart beats, another breath, and it was decided, final. Ayla stepped from the tunnel, into the Strip.