Queen of the Unwanted

by Jenna Glass

  “I will find your willing sacrifice,” Melcor swore. Then he bowed again, deeply, and hurried off.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Mairah’s heart fluttered in her chest like a wounded bird as she followed Lord Melcor and his sacrificial lamb through the darkened courtyard of the palace. She wore a plain peasant-woman’s dress, and a gauzy veil over her face. It was certain to draw some attention, for the custom of veiling the face in mourning was long outdated and had never extended to the peasantry anyway, but she supposed her scarred face was too recognizable for the king’s taste. It seemed clear to Mairah that for whatever reason, the king wanted her presence in the palace kept secret, although in her opinion, the veil just drew more attention to her. She could only guess that his royal council had not been privy to—or had actively disapproved of—his plan to let her cast her spell, and he had chosen to do it anyway.

  Melcor had failed to introduce the woman who was to serve as the night’s willing sacrifice, but he had called her Iris once when he had snapped at her to hurry up. Iris was dull-eyed with drink, and her skin had an unhealthy pallor to it beyond even her obvious Nandelite ancestry. There were deep, bruiselike shadows under her eyes, and her cheeks were hollow with jutting bones. Her breath wheezed in and out of her lungs, and though there was no hint of gray in her hair or wrinkles on her skin, she carried herself like an old woman at death’s door. Mairah assumed the woman was dying already and had offered what was left of her life in return for money for her family. Mairah fought back guilt, reminding herself that the woman would have died anyway. Mairah had at least made it so her death wouldn’t be in vain.

  The numerous visions Mairah had suffered through had refused to give her the reassurance she craved. She had seen herself explaining the steps she planned to perform in order to create the sacrificial Kai, and once she’d seen herself fleeing up the stairs with no sound of pursuit as an unsettling rumbling noise filled the air and small pebbles rained down on her head. She took that to mean that her spell had done something and took heart from the sight of herself alone in that stairwell. But in hopes of seeing exactly what her spell had done and how she’d made her escape, she’d downed one more poison, and the vision it had triggered left her even now shaking with nerves.

  She’d seen herself trudging along a road she recognized from her forced march into Aalwell. It led through what should have been fertile, verdant farmland, but in the vision, every crop, every tree, every blade of grass, was brown and withered. She passed a pasture in which four horses lay dead and rotting, and even the vultures that picked at the carcasses looked gaunt and half-starved. Mairah herself looked much the same, dressed in the same peasant’s clothes she wore today. Clothes that in the vision were filthy and ragged and hung loosely on her skeletal frame.

  There were few other people on the road, and all those she saw were as ragged and desperate-looking as Mairah herself. Worse, Mairah hid in the bushes and cowered whenever she caught sight of anyone. A small party of soldiers—whom she barely spotted in time to hide—rode by, grim and vigilant and obviously searching. In the barren landscape, Mairah could only imagine that they were searching for her, that she was somehow the author of all this misery.

  Mairah tried to dismiss that vision from her mind. After all, though she couldn’t say she was an expert on the effects of sacrificial Kai based on that one overheard conversation in a vision, she didn’t believe there was any way her potion could have so devastating an effect on the land. In fact, despite all her planning and research, there was some part of her that felt that the most likely effect her potion would have on the Well was none at all.

  Doubt assailed her every time she let her guard down, and it would have paralyzed her with terror if she’d let it. But there was one thing of which she was certain: her only chance of survival was to go through with her plan and hope for the best.

  Even at midnight, the palace halls were not empty, and she saw more than one curious stare aimed in her direction. Once, a palace guard seemed inclined to question them, but a glare from Lord Melcor silenced the man.

  The walk felt nearly endless, and it was followed by an agonizing descent down a long and narrow staircase. Staggering in exhaustion—all those seer’s potions she had downed had cost her both strength and sleep—she almost tumbled down the last few steps but caught herself at the last moment.

  Of course she had never been near Aaltah’s Well, but Mairah was certain the anteroom into which Melcor led her and the woman who had volunteered to give her life would ordinarily be staffed with royal guards. But tonight, the anteroom was empty, just as she had expected based on her visions. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d doubted all of the visions until this confirmation that they would be alone relaxed one of the knots in her stomach. She still didn’t know if her spell would work or if she could escape, but at least her visions had not been entirely made up of wishful thinking.

  “Where is everyone?” Mairah asked, then cursed herself for drawing Melcor’s attention.

  “His Majesty has seen to it that we will not be disturbed,” Melcor said with a curl of his lip, as if it made him feel dirty even to speak to one such as she.

  Their footsteps echoed hollowly as the three of them crossed the anteroom toward the open door—a door, Mairah noticed to her relief, equipped with a solid wooden bar that would not require a key—that led to the Well, where King Delnamal stood impatiently waiting for them.

  Aaltah’s Well was situated in a gigantic natural cavern, deep inside the cliffs on which the royal palace sat. From what Mairah had heard, Wells manifested differently in the various kingdoms and principalities in which they existed, but this one was a huge crack in the center of the cavern floor, easily as broad as two tall men lying end to end. The floor around the Well was decorated in intricate rows of gold leaf patterns, studded here and there with gems that sparkled in the light of the myriad luminants that circled the cavern. The decorated border of the Well was surrounded by an equally ornate low fence. Only the most well-connected of the Aaltah nobility were allowed within the cavern, and Mairah had heard that ordinarily, the fence was guarded by a circle of royal guards. Benches all along the circumference of the cavern showed where visitors to the Well were expected to sit, keeping far away from the Well itself, which gave off a low hum of energy and power that Mairah felt more than heard. The air felt close and clammy, too thick to breathe, but that was likely only her nerves.

  This was it, she realized, fighting to keep calm. The image of herself walking through the dead and dying countryside of Aaltah refused to stop popping up in her mind, triggering a shiver of dread each time. Despite her reassurances to herself that her spell could not cause such destruction, she might have chosen not to cast it at all if she’d felt she had a choice. But from the moment she’d first claimed to Delnamal that she might be able to reverse the Curse, she had committed herself, and there was no going back.

  “What do you need to do to set up for your spell?” Delnamal asked, bringing Mairah back to herself.

  “I just have to put in a few final elements to activate the spell in the potion,” she murmured. She could barely hear herself think over the pounding of her heart. If only her mind would stop conjuring images—either from the visions or from her own imagination—of all the ways this could go horribly wrong! With shaking hands, she opened the bag she had brought with her and pushed aside the pages of notes she had stuffed inside so she would have them with her when she fled Aaltah. Beneath the notes, she found the wineskin that contained her potion.

  Opening her Mindseye, Mairah added Rho to the potion to activate its spell. The spell was now technically active, and would force closed the Mindseye of anyone who drank so much as a drop of it. But not until she’d added the special sacrificial Kai would it be ready for her purpose.

  “You expect me to believe a potion has the power to undo the Curse?” Delnamal demanded, not bothe
ring to hide his contempt at the idea. It was true that most potions contained only minor magics.

  “It’s women’s magic, Your Majesty,” she said simply, closing her Mindseye and glancing at the frightened woman who’d offered up her life for money. “But truly it is Iris’s sacrifice that is the key element to this spell, not the potion. Her sacrifice will create a special kind of Kai that will fuel the spell that reverses the Curse. We need only for her to add her Kai to the potion, then pour the potion into the Well, and the Wellspring will be returned to normal.”

  Both Delnamal and Melcor frowned at her as she handed the wineskin with her potion to Iris and then backed away.

  Melcor rolled his eyes in disbelief, but though suspicion still shone in Delnamal’s eyes, he was not so quick to dismiss her claim. He wanted too badly for her spell to work. He would grasp at any straw she offered.

  “I don’t need to explain again what will happen to you if this spell fails,” he said, causing her to shudder.

  “No, Your Majesty,” she said, lowering her eyes.

  “Well, get on with it, then,” he snapped.

  “Iris will need a knife,” Mairah said, and something cold and hard solidified in her core. Whatever the outcome might turn out to be, she was going to go through with this. Silently, she prayed that Melcor would be sufficiently distracted by the proceedings not to notice the distance Mairah was carefully putting between them. Or the furtive glances she kept casting toward the door as she calculated her odds of making it there before him once the spell was cast. “She must stand on the Well’s edge and open her Mindseye to be ready to feed her Kai into the potion the moment it appears.”

  Mairah suffered another twinge of guilt when she caught sight of Iris’s terrified face. Willing the woman might be, but she was far from eager. Mairah could hardly blame her, though wasting away in poverty from whatever illness afflicted her did not seem a terribly appealing alternative, either.

  Mairah let out a silent sigh. Iris had chosen to end her life in this way, and her family would benefit from it. It would be a good death, if there was such a thing. And Mairah’s fate if she balked now—or if the spell failed—would be unthinkably awful. The sacrifice was worth it.

  Melcor guided Iris to the lip of the Well, stepping gingerly over the gold and gems set into the floor, then handed her the knife.

  * * *

  —

  Ellin had put off telling Zarsha the results of her conversation with Waldmir for three whole days, justifying the decision by telling herself it was best to wait until she’d confirmed that Waldmir had sent and pre-signed the marriage contract as he’d promised. There was no sense, she reasoned, in upsetting Zarsha only to find Waldmir had been toying with her.

  Once the contract arrived, she pored over its terms carefully, assuring herself that everything the sovereign prince had promised was covered in the document. The trade agreements would be renewed on their current terms and would not expire until one year after the end of her marriage to Zarsha, whether that end came because of death or divorce. Perhaps, she mused as she signed the necessary papers, Waldmir was hoping her decision to accept the arrangement without Zarsha’s consent would destroy their marriage before it even began. She supposed someone like Waldmir might think that fitting punishment for the man who had cuckolded him.

  It was with no small amount of trepidation that she finally invited Zarsha to join her in her private study after she’d so neatly avoided him for three days. She’d been convinced he would come knocking on her bedroom door to inquire about her conversation with his uncle—especially after she’d summoned him to join her then dismissed him without explanation. The fact that he hadn’t showed an admirable degree of trust and respect—and made her feel even more guilty that she’d waited so long to tell him.

  The look on his face after she laid out the terms of the arrangement made her wish she’d waited a good deal longer.

  “Please tell me you did not agree to those terms,” he gasped, his face even whiter than usual. He was seated on one of the chairs before her desk, his hands gripping the arms as if afraid he might fall.

  “I had to, Zarsha. Even with Kailindar’s more vocal support on the council, it is very obvious that I am losing support the longer those trade agreements remain in doubt. He offered me the chance to end that doubt immediately, and I took it.”

  Zarsha shook his head at her, his expression one of mingled anguish and anger. “I told you he was going to try to force concessions! And I told you that in the end, he would break, that he would do whatever was necessary to have a man of his blood on the throne of Rhozinolm. You did not have to give him anything!”

  She crossed her arms defensively and sat back in her chair, for the anger that radiated from Zarsha was an almost palpable force. She had never seen his eyes flash such fire—not even when Graesan had tried to murder him in his sleep.

  “It’s possible you are right,” she said, “but I don’t think so. You didn’t see him. Or hear him. He had made up his mind, and once he did, he would never have allowed anyone to change it for him. Especially not a lowly woman such as myself.”

  “Oh, so now you know my uncle better than I do?”

  She almost snapped back at him, but pulled on the reins of her temper, knowing she still did not understand the full implications of what she had agreed to. “Of course not. But I also know my first priority as queen has to be to look out for the best interests of my kingdom. I was in no position to gamble when losing the gamble might mean Waldmir signing an exclusive agreement with Aaltah.”

  Zarsha pushed back his heavy chair so hard the thing almost fell over. He stood up, putting his clenched fists on her desk and glaring at her so fiercely it stole the air from her lungs. “He played you, Your Majesty! He knew you would be frightened by his threats, and he used that to his full advantage. You should never have attempted to negotiate with him with no advisers present!”

  Ellin rose slowly to her feet, still fighting to keep her temper under control. She had not expected this conversation to go well, but she had also not expected Zarsha to be so angry with her. Ordinarily, he was one of the most even-tempered men she’d ever known, and something within her quailed in the face of his fury. Not because she was afraid of him, but because she feared her decision might have destroyed—or at least seriously damaged—the fragile bond that had been building between them. The bond that had ventured tentatively beyond friendship into deeper territory.

  “I did what I felt I had to do under the circumstances,” she said, keeping her voice soft for fear it might quaver. She still believed that she’d done the right thing, but it was hard not to doubt herself in the face of Zarsha’s anger. “I’m very sorry you’ve been hurt in the process—”

  “You don’t even have the faintest clue what you’ve done, do you?” he interrupted.

  Ellin flinched, hating that he was right. “No,” she said, her voice now even softer. “I know there’s more to it than meets the eye, but I couldn’t—” Her voice choked off and she had to clear her throat before she could continue. “I couldn’t take the chance that he was bluffing. No matter what.”

  Zarsha pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, his chest heaving as though he’d been running for miles. As angry as he was, it was clear that the anger was spurred by pain, and her heart hurt for him even not knowing what exactly had caused it.

  “Will you tell me what it means to you to lose your estates?” she asked, and this time no amount of willpower could keep the quaver from her voice. “I know this is far more than a question of male pride.”

  Zarsha groaned and collapsed back into the chair. He opened his eyes but did not look at her. “Do you think your Graesan is the only person I’ve added to my staff for unusual reasons?”

  She swallowed hard as she, too, retook her seat. “I’d never especially thought about it,” she responded. “A
lthough I did realize that Graesan would likely be one of the staff dismissed when your uncle takes possession of your estates.”

  He grimaced. “Yes. He could end up being a problem again someday. But I might not have thought to hire him had I not taken similar actions in the past.” To Ellin’s horror, there was a sheen of tears in Zarsha’s eyes. “Nearly every member of my staff—every guard, every maid, every cook, every footman—is someone who could find employment nowhere else. I am almost never in residence, so what does it matter to me if my housekeeper is so lame she cannot climb the stairs and must sleep on a pallet on the first floor? Or that my cook is so slow-witted she cannot be allowed near an open flame? Or that my master of the guard lost most of his sword arm to an infection that was treated too late?

  “Waldmir will dismiss them all and cast them into the streets.” He met her eyes with undisguised anguish. “Do you know how few beggars can survive even a single winter in The Keep?”

  Ellin’s heart ached. “I can hire them myself.”

  But Zarsha shook his head. “They would need Waldmir’s permission to leave Nandel, and you can be certain he won’t grant it.”

  “You could threaten to reveal his secrets.”

  He closed his eyes, and his lashes were wet. “That’s the special torment of it,” he whispered. “He is making me choose between protecting my family and protecting my staff. We both know that if I reveal his secrets, Elwynne will suffer and my brother is unlikely to survive a battle over the succession. I can’t reveal his secrets unless all hope is already lost.” His eyes opened again and he met her eyes. The warmth and affection she was used to seeing in his regard was entirely absent.

  “I understand why you did it,” he said flatly. “I forget sometimes how young and inexperienced you are.”