Kill the Queen (Crown of Shards #1)

by Jennifer Estep

  It was the same smug look that Vasilia had always given me whenever she had triumphed, whether it was with a simple meanness, like eating all the chocolate mousse that Isobel had made for my birthday, or a crueler calculation, like blaming me for making a visiting noble girl cry when Vasilia was the one who’d ripped the girl to pieces with her insults. The look that had always made me feel so small and insignificant, knowing that I had lost to her yet again.

  Paloma started coughing—and she didn’t stop. She reached for her glass to take a drink and clear her throat, but of course it was empty. She stared at her glass, then looked at Emilie, whose smile twisted into a satisfied sneer.

  Paloma’s eyes widened with horrific understanding. She pushed back her chair and surged to her feet, but the wormroot was already working its way through her body. She took a step and toppled to the floor, gasping for breath.

  People yelled in surprise and jumped to their feet, not realizing what was going on, but I shoved them out of my way and dropped to my knees beside Paloma. She stared up at me, still gasping for breath, her features twisting with pain.

  “Help . . . me . . .” she rasped, tears leaking out of her eyes.

  The troupe members surged forward and formed a semicircle around Paloma and me, jockeying back and forth for position and trying to figure out what was happening.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Paloma’s sick! She needs help!”

  “Aisha! Aisha, are you in here?” Sullivan’s voice boomed out, asking for the bone master.

  But wormroot was one of the deadliest poisons, and Aisha couldn’t help Paloma. No one could help her now. Sadness shot through me, and I grabbed Paloma’s hand, hoping to at least comfort her as she died.

  A strange thing happened. As soon as my skin touched hers, I realized that I could actually feel the poison running through her body, like ribbons of fire unspooling in her veins, burning and liquefying everything they touched. Even more importantly, I could feel my own power rising up in response. Even though I wasn’t the one who had been poisoned, my immunity was still responding to the magic in the wormroot and trying to snuff it out.

  Maybe I could save Paloma after all.

  I drew in a breath, and the foul, sulfuric stench of the wormroot burned my nose. Paloma was sweating the poison out of her pores, and it wouldn’t be long before she started bleeding from her eyes, nose, and mouth. I didn’t know if this would work, but I had to try. So I leaned down, wrapped my other hand around Paloma’s, and reached out with my immunity.

  The poison hit me a second later.

  A red-hot spark flared to life in the pit of my stomach, as though I had swallowed a burning ember. That one spark exploded into a dozen more, all of them spreading through my body like wildfire. In an instant, I was sweating just like Paloma was, and I had to grind my teeth together to keep from screaming at the intense, searing pain. I tightened my grip on her hand, digging my nails into her skin so that I wouldn’t be tempted to let go to stop my own pain.

  Somehow, I managed to push past the poison and focus on my immunity, on that cold, hard, unyielding power deep inside me. I grabbed hold of that power, pulling it up, up, up, and sent it surging out through my entire body, like it was a protective, malleable shield that I could bend and twist into any shape that I wanted.

  Everything else fell away. The troupe members clustered around us, their surprised murmurs, Sullivan’s continued shouts for Aisha and the other bone masters. It all faded to a dull roar in the back of my mind, and all I was aware of was the poison, the magic, raging through my own body, trying to kill me along with Paloma. Sweat slid down my neck, my breath came in thin, ragged gasps, and my heart was pounding so hard that I thought it was going to beat out of my chest and skitter away across the floor.

  But finally—finally —the burning sparks of pain flickered and started to fade away. I reached for even more of my immunity, using that malleable shield to snuff out the sparks. My heart slowed down to its normal rhythm, and my breath came much easier than before. I was going to be okay.

  And so was Paloma.

  I leaned forward, stared at our interlocked hands, and focused on sharing my immunity with her. On taking the power inside my body and wrapping it around her like a fist, and then using that fist to crush the poison to nothingness.

  And it worked.

  Her heart slowed, and her breathing became easier. Paloma stared up at me with shocked eyes, as did the ogre on her neck, both of them wondering what had happened, and how I had managed to save all three of us. I was wondering how I was going to explain that myself.

  Paloma let out a long, tired sigh, and I felt the last of the poison fizzle out of her body, like champagne that had suddenly gone flat. It took me a moment, but I pried my fingernails out of her skin, let go of her hand, and slumped down on the floor next to her.

  The whole thing had taken fifteen seconds, maybe less, but it seemed much, much longer than that. The troupe members were still gathered around us, wondering what had just happened, although I didn’t hear Sullivan shouting anymore.

  I wiped the sweat off my forehead and looked at Paloma. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, still too busy sucking down air to speak.

  “Paloma!” Emilie fell to her knees beside us. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  Icy rage surged through me, even colder than my magic. I lunged over, tackled Emilie, and knocked her down to the floor.

  “You know exactly what happened!” I yelled, punching her in the face. “You poisoned her!”

  For once, I landed the perfect punch, and Emilie’s nose broke with a loud, satisfying crunch . Blood sprayed everywhere, but the gladiator wasn’t stunned for long.

  “You bitch!” she hissed. “I’ll kill you for this!”

  She slapped me, but I shook off the hard, stinging blow and shoved my hand down in between us. Emilie slapped me again, but I managed to reach into the pocket on the front of her tunic. My hand closed around something small and thin, and I yanked it out and held it up where everyone could see it.

  A glass vial glinted in my fingers.

  Emilie froze, her hand reared back to slap me again. Everyone stared at the empty vial in my fingers, then at her. Silence dropped over the dining hall.

  Emilie snarled and shoved me away. I hit the floor, and the vial tumbled from my fingers and rolled away. I didn’t see where it went, but I didn’t care. I scrambled back up onto my feet. So did Emilie, who lunged forward, grabbed a butter knife off the table, and brandished it at me.

  I pulled up just short of tackling her again. She was a skilled gladiator, and she could kill me with that dull little blade if she stabbed me in the right place. Emilie screamed with rage and lunged at me—

  Blue lightning zipped through the air, slamming into her body and knocking her away from me. Emilie hit the floor and slid back into one of the tables. Several plates slipped off and landed right on top of her head. Splat-splat-splat. In an instant, she was dripping with salad, gravy, and mashed potatoes.

  I snarled and headed toward her, but Sullivan grabbed my arm and yanked me back. Blue lightning crackled on his fingertips, shocking me, and I reached for my immunity to throttle his magic like I had the wormroot—

  “Enough!” he snapped. “Restrain them!”

  Sullivan let go, but strong hands grabbed me from behind, keeping me from lunging at Emilie again. Two other gladiators grabbed Emilie’s arms and hauled her to her feet.

  Silence dropped over the dining hall again. Sullivan made sure that we were both restrained, then walked over, knelt down, and picked up the empty vial. He stared at it, then at Emilie, and finally at me. He jerked his head at the gladiators holding both of us.

  “Bring them,” he said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this—one way or another.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I wound up sitting in a chair in front of Serilda’s desk in the manor library. Cho and Sullivan were standing behind the desk on either side o
f Serilda, who was seated in her own chair, studying the empty vial.

  For the last fifteen minutes, I had stood in the hallway outside the library with my two guards and listened to Emilie’s muffled shouts about how I was the one who’d poisoned Paloma, how she’d just been trying to help her friend, how I’d attacked her for no reason, and all the other lies that had dripped off her venomous tongue.

  When she had finished, her guards had escorted her out of the library, and my guards had brought me in to plead my case. It reminded me of all the times that Felton had me marched into Cordelia’s library to face the queen’s cold displeasure whenever I had shirked one of my so-called royal duties.

  Serilda passed the vial to Cho, who examined it for a few moments before setting it down. Sullivan had already seen it.

  Serilda leaned forward and steepled her hands together on top of her desk. “Tell me what happened.”

  Well, that was a far more neutral opening than I had expected, but I didn’t like the way that she was studying me, so I decided to keep my answers short and simple.

  “I saw Emilie pour poison into Paloma’s glass.”

  “And how did you know that it was poison?” she asked. “Much less wormroot?”

  I tapped my nose. “I could smell it. Seems my mutt magic is good for something after all.”

  She arched an eyebrow at my sarcasm, but she tilted her head, ceding my point and telling me to continue.

  “I yelled at Paloma to put her wine down, but she didn’t hear me, and she drank it. Paloma collapsed, and I rushed over to see if she was okay. Everyone saw what happened next.”

  “Actually, there is some confusion about what happened next. Everyone was surprised when Paloma collapsed, and they agree that you were on the floor next to her. But some of them said that you held her hand for several seconds. Why would you do that? What were you trying to accomplish?”

  “I wasn’t trying to accomplish anything,” I snapped. “I thought she was dying. I just wanted to comfort her.”

  Serilda studied me, almost as if she could hear the lie in my words. But after a moment, she tilted her head, ceding my point again. “Well, everyone definitely remembers you attacking Emilie and yelling that she poisoned Paloma. Only Emilie claims that you poisoned Paloma instead.”

  “Of course she would say that,” I snapped again. “She just poisoned someone. Do you really think that lying would be a challenge for her?”

  “I think that you should keep your attitude to yourself,” Serilda snapped back. “You don’t seem to understand how much trouble you’re in.”

  Her annoyed tone made me even angrier. “Oh, I know exactly how much trouble I’m in. I’m just a lowly newb, and Emilie is one of your top gladiators. It’s easy to see who you’re going to believe, and the answer is not me because I don’t make any money for you. Not like she does.”

  Serilda’s lips pressed into a tight, thin line. Cho winced, and even Sullivan looked uncomfortable. Disgust filled me. I had thought—hoped —that things would be different here, but in many ways, life at the Black Swan was exactly the same as it had been at Seven Spire, right down to how money could make people overlook a multitude of sins.

  Yes, that might be the same, but I was different now, and I wasn’t going to acquiesce to Serilda like I had to Cordelia so many times before. Not when I knew that I was right.

  “We all know that Paloma was poisoned, and Sullivan has studied the vial and agrees that it contained wormroot,” Serilda said. “What I want to know is how you, a mutt with very little magic, managed to heal her?”

  I had been expecting the question, but I still had to work to keep my face blank and my body from tensing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not a bone master or a magier. Like you said, I’m just a mutt.”

  “No one, not even a gladiator as strong as Paloma, survives being poisoned with wormroot,” Serilda said in a harsh tone. “Everyone saw you leaning over her after she collapsed. Then, less than a minute later, she’s better.”

  “I was checking to see if she was okay. That’s all.”

  “Then how do you explain the fact that she’s not dead?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe Emilie was as sloppy with the poison as she is in the arena. Maybe she didn’t use enough.”

  Serilda’s eyes narrowed. I kept my gaze steady on hers, desperately hoping that she wouldn’t see through all my lies. Cho and Sullivan remained still and silent.

  After several long, tense seconds, Serilda leaned back in her chair. “Luckily for you, Paloma supports your story. She says that Emilie is the one who poisoned her and that you were just trying to help.”

  So she had already questioned the gladiator. I wondered what else Paloma had told her, but I wasn’t going to be stupid enough to ask. That would only make Serilda even more suspicious. Maybe Paloma hadn’t realized that I’d used my immunity to neutralize the poison.

  “But I wasn’t there, and no one seems to know for sure who poisoned Paloma, only that it was either you or Emilie.”

  “So?” I asked, not liking where this was going.

  “So I can’t let this doubt and drama fester, lest it divide the gladiators, along with the rest of the troupe. You and Emilie are both gladiators, both bound by the same rules, so the two of you will settle this in the arena.”

  A finger of cold dread crept down my spine. “What do you mean?”

  She smiled, but there was no warmth in her expression. “You and Emilie will fight in a black-ring match.”

  A black-ring match? But that meant . . .

  Serilda nodded, confirming my fear. “The two of you will fight to the death.”

  All the air drained out of my lungs, taking my anger along with it, and I slumped back in my chair, too stunned to speak. I glanced at Cho, but his face was hard and remote. He would support Serilda in this. I looked at Sullivan. He grimaced, dropped his gaze from mine, and shifted on his feet, as though the silent plea in my eyes made him feel guilty. Of course it did. I had warned him about Emilie, and he hadn’t listened. Now I was going to pay the price for his mistake.

  Panic surged through me, and I thought about telling them who I really was. That I was a member of the royal family, that I was a Blair, not a gladiator, and that I had come here for protection, not to be executed for others’ amusement. I sucked in a breath and opened my mouth to launch into my confession, but then I looked at Serilda again.

  She was drumming her fingers on the desk, a resigned expression on her face, as if she was waiting for me to spit out my tearful plea so she could tell me no and get on with more important business. It was the same bored look that Cordelia had always given me whenever I had complained about Vasilia or tried to ask her for something.

  Just like that, my confession died on my lips, and icy rage blasted through me, freezing out my panic. The old Everleigh would have given in to her fear. The old Everleigh would have bowed and scraped and done everything possible to avoid any sort of conflict, much less something as deadly as a black-ring match. The old Everleigh would have begged, pleaded, and even groveled to stay in her safe little bubble, no matter what the cost was to her own pride and sense of self-worth.

  But the old Everleigh had died on the royal lawn, and this new, stronger, fiercer Evie had risen to take her place. I might not be a bona fide gladiator, but I wasn’t someone to be dismissed and brushed aside, not by Serilda Swanson or anyone else. Not anymore. Never again.

  “Fine,” I snarled. “I’ll play your little game. I’ll fight Emilie.”

  Surprise flickered in Serilda’s eyes, along with what looked like a tiny bit of respect, although cold calculation quickly replaced both emotions. “Very well. Emilie has already agreed to the match.”

  Of course she had. She wouldn’t even have to break a sweat to kill me.

  “The black-ring match will be the finale of the Saturday night show,” she continued.

  Saturday night was always the most lucrative, and Serilda would
make even more money once the black-ring match was announced. Not only from the ticket sales and concessions, but also from the betting that would go on inside the arena. She could potentially make hundreds of thousands of crowns, if not more. Well, she wasn’t going to be the only one who profited.

  “I want triple the prize money.”

  More surprise flickered in her eyes. “You really think that you can beat Emilie?”

  “Why not? Stranger things have happened.”

  “And you expect me to give you triple the prize money if you do?” She laughed. “Well, you’re certainly not lacking for confidence.”

  “Do we have a deal or not?”

  Serilda smiled. “I do like a woman who knows her own worth. Very well. If you kill Emilie, I will give you triple the prize money.”

  She got to her feet and held out her hand. I stood as well, and we shook on it. I started to drop her hand, but Serilda tightened her grip.

  “I wouldn’t go spending your prize money just yet. You have to earn it first.”

  I gave her a thin smile. “Don’t worry. I will.”

  * * *

  My two gladiator guards were waiting outside the library, but Sullivan stepped into the hallway and waved them off.

  “I’ll take her back to the barracks. Serilda wants you to help her with something else.”

  The two men nodded, went into the library, and shut the door behind them. Sullivan gestured with his hand, and we walked down the hallway and left the manor house.

  Night had fallen while I’d been pleading my case, and the moon had already risen over the arena, bathing the round dome in soft, silvery light. Tonight was Monday, which meant that I had less than a week to prepare for the black-ring match. Less than a week to live, despite my earlier bravado in the library. I shivered and crossed my arms over my chest.

  Sullivan and I left the manor house and walked through the gardens. The streetlamps that lined the path bathed everything in a dreamy, golden haze, from the trees, to the evergreen bushes, to the stream that ran under the stone bridge. It would have been a lovely, romantic stroll, if not for the fact that I could still see the arena dome looming over the trees. We reached the center of the bridge and stopped, right in the middle of all that golden light.