Queen of the Unwanted

by Jenna Glass

  Armies depended on magic in times of war—enabling magical shields and increasing the strength and accuracy of their weapons being the traditional precursor to any battle. So what if Mairah’s potion could somehow be slipped into an army’s water supply?

  Mairah’s heart leapt at the notion, realizing that such a potion could be used to devastating effect, for a force of magically equipped warriors could prevail against a much larger one who could fight with only conventional armor and weapons.

  On the heels of that idea came another one, which was that getting that potion into the water supply of an army encamped on the outskirts of Women’s Well would be childishly easy. In the land that had once been part of the Wasteland, there were no convenient wells to be guarded and drawn from, which meant water would have to come from the nearby river. Which meant that the potion, if sufficiently potent—could be poured in upriver, well out of sight of that army.

  She was so startled and excited by the idea that she bolted upright, although she instantly regretted it as her bindings dug deeper and one of the guards scowled at her suspiciously.

  “Bad dream,” she muttered in Continental, then lay back down and turned her back in case her schemes were somehow written across her face.

  She had fled Women’s Well pursued by an execution squad, thinking her chances of settling there and gaining her freedom were dead. But if she could produce the potion she envisioned, she might make of herself such a valuable asset that Princess Alysoon would welcome her with open arms. If it at least made her hesitate to order Mairah’s death, Mairah could explain exactly what she’d been doing in Women’s Well, how she had never truly been trying to undo the Curse despite everything that Norah said.

  Mairah tried not to let her hopes run away with her yet again. There was a reasonable chance she could develop the potion she had in mind—given the time and resources. If she could convince her captors in Aaltah that she was working toward perfecting her seer’s poison, she might very well be granted the time she needed, and it was possible she’d stored enough elements in the Devotional to see her through the experiments. But then she would have to somehow escape Aaltah and make her way back to Women’s Well, which she hadn’t the first idea how to do. She wished her idiot captors hadn’t tossed her Trapper spell in the river. And even if she made it to Women’s Well, she would still be a fugitive and too easily recognizable.

  But any hope was better than no hope at all, and she vowed that she would somehow find a way.

  When Mairah—still being dragged along behind the horses, drawing curious stares—finally passed through the walls of the city of Aalwell, her heart lifted, for she was sure her misery was almost at its end. She would finally have a chance to speak to someone with more intelligence and power than the stupid louts who’d been tasked with escorting her, and though she figured she’d have to retell her story many, many times before she would reach someone with real authority, she would finally begin to do her research. Even if King Delnamal insisted on sending her back to Khalpar immediately, she promised herself she would not abandon her quest, though she would have a much easier time getting back to Women’s Well if she could endeavor to remain in Aalwell for a while.

  But instead of being taken to the palace or interviewed by some petty dignitary, she was taken straight to Aaltah’s new Abbey and dumped at the feet of its administrator. Apparently, after King Aaltyn had razed the previous Abbey and sent its abigails into exile, he had decided that the new Abbey should be headed not by an abbess but by a male administrator. Worse, although the disgraced women of the Abbey of the Unwanted were all of noble birth, Administrator Loveland was a vulgar commoner cast from the same mold as the brutish soldiers. His response to her request to send a message to the king was a peal of laughter, followed by the back of his hand.

  Mairah lay dazed and aching in the dirt at Administrator Loveland’s feet. She tasted the coppery tang of blood in her mouth and felt it dribbling down her chin.

  “At this abbey,” Loveland said, “whores are to remain silent except when given express permission to speak.”

  Mairah blinked tears from her eyes and watched his boots as he circled her. Her whole body tensed when his footsteps took him behind her, and she couldn’t bring herself to raise her head to keep him in sight. She brought her hand to her cracked lips and wiped away the blood, the red a shocking bright patch of color on her brown skin made nearly gray with the dirt of the road.

  “I don’t care who you used to be,” Loveland continued. “You are now an abigail of the Abbey of Aaltah. Which is to say you are no one. I don’t suppose that even if we clean you up you will be of much use in the pavilion, so you will act as a maidservant for your more profitable sisters. Behave yourself, and you will receive ample food and a comfortable bed in which to sleep. Make any trouble, and you will have me to answer to. Have I made myself clear?”

  Mairah lay panting in the dirt, too horrified to speak or move. Had she truly believed her situation would improve when she reached Aaltah? She’d thought the worst thing that could happen would be a speedy trip back to Khalpar. She’d never once imagined she’d be shut up in Aaltah’s abbey. Tears pooled in her eyes as she realized Loveland was unlikely to hand over her Devotional and the potions she’d brought with her, which meant she would have no chance even to research the spell she’d hoped would win her re-entry into Women’s Well.

  Mairah shrieked when the toe of Loveland’s boot connected with her thigh in a brutal kick. She curled around the pain, clutching her thigh.

  “I asked if I’d made myself clear,” Loveland growled.

  “Yes,” Mairah managed to gasp through her pain, but Loveland kicked her again.

  “That’s yes, sir,” he corrected. “You will address me with the proper respect, or you will suffer the consequences.”

  “Yes, sir,” she sobbed, wondering if she might have been better off staying in Women’s Well, for at least death there would likely have been quick and painless.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Since the earliest days of her reign, Ellin had made a habit of carving out a few stolen minutes whenever she could between meetings and audiences and correspondence to quiet her mind. On temperate days, those stolen minutes were spent in the Queen’s Garden, which was a lovely walled garden so thoroughly warded with spells against intruders that her honor guard could in good conscience allow her to walk in the fresh air in blissful solitude. It was the only time save when she was asleep in her bed that she was free from the pressure of prying eyes and expectations.

  She preferred the garden to the solarium, so even when the weather was a little less temperate than optimal, she still chose to spend her manufactured free time outdoors whenever possible. She stepped into the garden and breathed in a deep breath full of the mingled scents of roses and herbs and freshly cut grass. She held her face up to the sun, but it abruptly disappeared behind a thick bank of clouds, taking its warmth with it. Ellin shivered and pulled her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders, but plunged forward anyway, more than willing to endure the slight nip in the air.

  She stretched stiff limbs as she strolled around the perimeter of the garden, working out the kinks of long hours spent seated at the council table, trying not to think about the stack of correspondence that was waiting for her attention as soon as she stepped back inside the palace. She would allow herself a quarter hour of blessed freedom before putting both mind and body back to work.

  When she finished her first circuit around the garden, her heart sank just a little to see Zarsha standing in the doorway. Her honor guards had barred the way, but they had not forced Zarsha to retreat, and he stood just beyond the threshold in the shade of the hallway, watching her expectantly as she approached.

  “Let him pass,” she told her guards with a soft sigh of resignation. Zarsha would not interrupt this quiet time if it weren’t important, though she was far
from eager to hear what new crisis was awaiting her attention.

  Zarsha bowed to her as the guards stepped aside, then entered the garden and fell into step beside her. The palace door closed, the guards giving her privacy without a second thought. It showed something of the changes that had occurred within the palace during her rule, for in the beginning, they would have balked at leaving her unchaperoned in the company of a man. But for the most part, they treated her with the same respect they might show a king now, and no one seemed worried she would sully her reputation.

  “I hear you’ve received a marriage proposal,” Zarsha said before they’d taken five steps, and Ellin groaned.

  She stopped walking, forcing him to stop with her, and looked up into his face with narrowed eyes. “I only heard about it about an hour ago during the council meeting,” she said. “How do you know about it already?”

  Zarsha might now be an influential figure in Rhozinolm politics, but he had no official place in the government and was still just an envoy from Nandel. He had no cause to attend council meetings except for rare occasions when he was invited for specific discussions, and it was hard to imagine how he could be privy to the council’s business.

  One corner of Zarsha’s mouth tipped up in his signature rakish grin. “We’ve discussed my penchant for nosiness before.”

  She heaved an exasperated sigh and started walking again fast enough that Zarsha had to hurry to catch up. “I don’t appreciate being spied on.” She didn’t turn to look at him, but she could see the innocent expression he wore on his face from the corner of her eye.

  “I would never spy on you, Your Majesty,” he said with such a good imitation of earnestness she was almost tempted to believe him. “However, I do a have a couple of highly placed contacts in the Midlands court…”

  She shook her head at him, not sure if she was more annoyed or impressed. She had never caught him in an outright lie, but she wasn’t sure she believed his protestations that he would not turn his illicit eyes on her—even if it was just for the sake of protecting her.

  “So how was Duke Stalbok’s proposal received?” Zarsha asked with studied nonchalance.

  Ellin came to a stop once again, startled by the strange undertone she could have sworn she heard in his voice. Instead of meeting her eyes when she turned to him, he reached out for a rosebush that bloomed nearby, cupping the yellow blossom in his palm and bending to take a deep whiff of its intoxicating scent.

  “I’m sure I’m imagining things,” Ellin said, “but I could have sworn I heard a hint of jealousy in your voice.” She tried for a teasing tone but doubted she succeeded. Zarsha had no cause to be jealous, for of course she had told him in advance that she planned to entertain proposals in hopes of hurrying Waldmir along.

  He raised his head from the rose and looked up at her from under his lashes. “I am not immune to that emotion, I’m afraid, whatever I might previously have led you to believe.” He turned his eyes to the rose once more, fingers stroking idly over its petals. “A formal alliance with the Midlands would be a desirable jewel in your crown,” he continued. “After all, they can be a useful buffer between Rhozinolm and Aaltah.”

  Ellin made a face, but Zarsha was too fascinated with the rose to notice. The Midlands—a strip of lush and fertile land surrounding a midsize Well—was the single most fought-over strip of land in all of Seven Wells. Oftentimes annexed either by Rhozinolm or Aaltah, it was currently an independent principality and was no doubt highly concerned about the rising tensions between its two large neighbors. If a war came, the Midlands would have to side with one kingdom or the other, and there was some argument to be made that it was worth courting them with a marriage agreement. If she were willing to give up on the Nandel trade agreements, which, of course, she had no intention of doing.

  “The council would definitely like to secure a Midlands alliance,” Ellin agreed, smiling to herself when the corners of Zarsha’s eyes visibly tightened. “And of course there is a great deal less resistance to the idea of me marrying a foreigner now that everyone’s gotten comfortable with me retaining the throne.”

  Zarsha plucked the rose that so fascinated him, perhaps with a little more force than necessary. His eyes remained averted, and there was a flush of pink in his usually pale cheeks. One thing she could say for the Nandel complexion—it betrayed even the smallest flush.

  Something fluttered in Ellin’s belly, a strange sensation that left her momentarily short of breath as she reached out to touch Zarsha’s arm before he could further savage the rosebush. Once upon a time, he’d been perfectly satisfied to share her with Graesan, had evinced no hint of jealousy at the thought of her in another man’s bed. But there was no denying that something had changed since then. It was a heady feeling to know she could inspire such feelings in a man, but she was not some coy court maiden who took pride in causing heartache.

  “But of course an alliance with Nandel is far more valuable to us than one with the Midlands,” she said. She quickly withdrew her hand from his arm, but when he took a step closer to her, moving inside her personal space, she found she could not force herself to retreat.

  “And what about you, dearest Ellin?” he inquired as he gently took her hand, at the same time lifting the rose he had plucked to her nose so that its fragrance filled her head. “Is an alliance with Nandel more valuable to you?”

  His voice had lowered so much she had to strain to hear. She swallowed hard, looking up into those exotic blue eyes of his and feeling herself trapped in his gaze. Her pulse stuttered then sped, the scent of the rose making her head spin as if she were tipsy.

  How many times had she told herself she felt no true attraction to Zarsha? She’d steeled herself to a marriage of convenience, to the prospect of marrying and bedding and bearing children for a man she did not love. But as he stood so close to her, his eyes boring into her and darkening with something she could only call desire, she realized that she’d been lying to herself for some time now.

  “Yes,” she whispered, eyes still locked with his. “Yes, it is.”

  He tucked the rose into the lacings at the front of her bodice, then bent his head slowly toward hers, giving her plenty of time to read his intention and rebuff him. Ellin told herself that she really should rebuff him, should hold him at arm’s length—both for her own sake and his—until such time as their marriage was officially arranged. No matter how convinced he was that his uncle would come around to the match, there was always the chance that he was wrong, and if that was the case, then allowing themselves to get any more attached than they already were was pure foolishness.

  But for all her logical objections, Ellin couldn’t find the will to turn her head or step away, and when Zarsha’s lips touched hers, she all but melted into his embrace, pressing her body tightly against his.

  Zarsha groaned and put both arms around her, slanting his head so that their lips pressed together at just the right angle. His kiss hummed through her blood, bringing all her nerve endings alive.

  Ellin made an embarrassing mewl of displeasure when Zarsha hastily pulled away. The flush on his face was considerably darker, his eyes huge and his chest rising and falling swiftly with desire, but when she would have stepped back into his embrace, he put his hands on her shoulders to hold her off.

  “Not here,” he croaked. “Someone could see us, and that might be…awkward.”

  Ellin blinked and looked around, finally remembering that they were outdoors. She glanced up and was relieved to see that the leafy trees that lined the walls blocked them from the view of any of the palace windows that overlooked the garden, but it had still been frighteningly irresponsible of her to give in to her urges like that.

  She let out a slow, steadying breath. The rules for genteel maidenhood might not be enforced for her as queen as much as they were for other women, but there were limits to what she could get away with.


  “Maybe you could consider inviting me to your room some night,” Zarsha said, his voice now a low murmur. “You can send Star for me if you decide the idea appeals.” He allowed himself a slight smile. “It is a service she has provided for you before, after all.”

  She huffed, wondering if there was a hint of jealousy in his voice now, too. He might not have shown any outward signs of jealousy over her involvement with Graesan, but that did not necessarily mean he didn’t feel it.

  And with a little distance between them, Ellin’s strategic mind wondered if there weren’t some calculation to Zarsha’s sudden interest in seduction. Maybe he thought if they were caught in a compromising position, the pressure on her to marry him would increase, despite his uncle’s coy attempts at negotiation.

  Ellin shook her head at herself. Zarsha was certainly capable of being sneaky and manipulative, but she was doing him a disservice to suspect his motives now. There was a part of her that was afraid to give her heart, afraid he would crush it as Graesan had. But just because she seemed to be giving her heart no matter how much it frightened her, that did not mean she had to give him her body. Even if she wanted to.

  She reached up to touch the back of her hand to Zarsha’s cheek, then plucked the crushed rose from her bodice, sniffing it one more time before casting it aside. Then, with her emotional armor back in place, she straightened her shoulders and gave him her best coy smile.

  “Convince your uncle to agree to the marriage, and I will not make you wait for our wedding to invite you to my bed,” she promised. “But until we are sure, it’s better for both of us if we refrain.”

  * * *