The Queen and the Dagger (A Book of Theo novella)

by Melanie Ansley

  “Perhaps it is a good thing, this destruction of our enemies,” Kalmara said finally.

  Indigo wrestled her shock. “A good thing? The wolves are not our enemies, they are part of Aktu’s balance! The enemy is the one who is turning them into these … things. We should support the Order, Aunt Kalmara. If all the queendoms joined together we could—”

  “Indigo,” her father interjected. “The regent has been very clear that Alvareth cannot be drawn into war.”

  “The regent,” Indigo said deliberately, “did not see these wolves. The Pacification is coming north, and we’re running out of places to hide.”

  “So far this is purely rumor,” Kalmara replied, taking a cup of water from her servant and downing it. “The young are so easily swayed by rumor.”

  A sentry entered the quadrangle, confusion and timidity etched on his face. “Your Regency, there is a bear named Kuno to see you.”

  “Tell him we’ll receive him shortly.”

  The sentry nodded and left.

  “If you don’t believe me, ask Kuno,” Indigo urged as Kalmara walked past her.

  “Kuno joined the Order, did he not?” Kalmara shook her head. “He will say anything to persuade Alvareth to go to war.”

  Kalmara evidently hadn’t changed her stance towards the bear. As Indigo and her sisters followed the queen regent out the quadrangle and towards the front of the royal warren, she wondered whether her aunt was right. Was that why Kuno had returned? To persuade Alvareth to fight for the Order? He had refused to answer her questions on the journey back from the Run, saying there was no point explaining something twice. But she’d gladly pledge Alvareth to the Order, once she was queen. Then she’d become one of the Alvareth warrior queens of legend, those defenders of the steppes whose deeds lived on in song.

  In the square outside the royal warren, Kuno sat a respectful distance south of the entrance, as was humble. Normally a guest would stand in the presence of royalty, but Kuno’s towering height made it more respectful to sit.

  “Welcome, Kuno of Hegg,” Kalmara said, clapping her paws in greeting. “I hear you saved our initiates and my beloved niece from death.”

  The bear grunted. “By Aktu’s grace. She obviously did not intend to see Alvareth’s new queen die in the jaws of Pacified wolves.”

  “Obviously,” Kalmara agreed. “However, was it just fate that brought you back to these lands after all these years? Or are you here on the Order’s business?”

  Kuno glanced at Indigo. “The Urzoks are preparing to push northeast towards Mount Mahkah. Twelve warriors have been chosen to join the Order and lead the armies.”

  Kalmara didn’t look at her niece. “And one of those twelve is Indigo, I gather?”

  Indigo’s heart hammered as the bear nodded. Her future seemed to have come into focus, clear and brilliant as a guiding star. She would lead the rabbits of Alvareth to Mount Mahkah, and they would fight the Urzoks. She would become a famed warrior queen and avenge her mother and sister.

  “I was sent to attend the crown princess’ ascension to the throne.”

  “After which you would persuade her to bring Alvareth to the Order’s aid, am I right?”

  “That would be a choice for Queen Indigo.”

  “The queendom will support the Order wholeheartedly,” Indigo cut in before noticing Borla’s warning look. Borla had always advised her to keep those intentions quiet, but now that she was practically queen she would have to make her policies known.

  Kalmara twitched her nose in thought. “Of course, that will be your ultimate decision when you are queen, Indigo. But for the time being, my regency will have to continue. At least until next year.”

  Indigo thought she had misheard. Kuno’s eyes narrowed, and Borla and Dorju both looked grim.

  “The law dictates that I take the throne after the Run.” Indigo tried to keep her voice even. This was not the time to lose her temper.

  Kalmara smiled indulgently. “Of course, Bobo. But technically you didn’t pass the Run.” She motioned towards the bear. “Kuno saved you, all of you. Therefore you haven’t completed the Run, for tradition requires that you survive unarmed and unaided.”

  Indigo ground her teeth. “The wolves were Pacified. The Run wasn’t fair.”

  “I agree,” the regent replied. “The Run wasn’t fair. Which is why I can’t say that you’ve earned your markings, and therefore you have not, according to Alvareth law, come of age.”

  Indigo’s stomach lurched. Kuno tried to keep his face impassive, but she could tell that he was caught off guard, that the Order’s plans had included her becoming queen. She turned to Borla, searching for her sister’s support. If anyone knew the law, it was Borla. No one had been more surprised than Indigo when Kalmara named the youngest as Crown Princess, skipping both Borla and Dorju because of their perceived disabilities. And even though the decision was against her interests, Borla had acquiesced to the obscure law Kalmara cited: regents had the power to change the succession if they deemed the rightful heir physically incapable of ruling. Kalmara had argued that Alvareth couldn’t be ruled by—and Indigo’s temper flared every time she thought of her aunt’s words—a “cripple or a mute.” Some might have fought this decision, or turned against their chosen sibling, but neither Borla nor Dorju ever displayed any resentment towards Indigo.

  “Is this true? Can she do this?”

  Borla looked from Indigo to Kalmara. “It’s never been done. The Run has never been challenged. But yes, it’s within Alvareth law if the regent believes the initiation is invalid.”

  Kalmara turned to Kuno. “If the Order has named Indigo then she has the right to leave with you. But I’m afraid she will not be queen until next year’s Run.”

  Indigo moved to speak, but Borla gave her a warning shake of her head. Indigo forced herself to bite back her protest.

  “And if the Blackmoons do not return next year?” Kuno growled. “If the Pacification has wiped them out?”

  Kalmara swept a tattooed ear over one shoulder. “That seems highly unlikely. I’m sure this year was bad luck, and there’s a simple explanation for why the Blackmoons weren’t there.”

  “What if Kuno’s right?” Indigo cut in, unable to heed Borla’s advice. “If the Blackmoons are no more, there will be no more Runs. No more initiation. You cannot argue that I stay a kit forever!”

  Her father put a placating paw on her shoulder. “No one is saying that, daughter. But perhaps it would help if we knew for certain what happened to the Blackmoons.” He turned to the queen regent. “What say you, Kalmara? Perhaps we should send a party to seek out the Blackmoons, find out if it’s true.”

  Kalmara seemed to ponder this for a moment before nodding. “Wise counsel, husband.” Indigo’s father straightened with pride while she boiled with anger. Couldn’t he see how her aunt treated him like a plaything? “The best course is to find out the truth of the matter, and then we can decide how to handle the princess’s initiation.” Kalmara turned to Indigo and her sisters. “Borla, Dorju, go with your sister. Find the wolves of Blackmoon and see if they are indeed all Pacified.”

  “And if they are?” Kuno countered.

  “Then I’ll have to consult the other queendoms. Though we all have separate sovereignty, our initiation ceremony is shared, and we’ll have to agree on a fitting test for our youths,” the regent replied. “These are tumultuous times. We must proceed with caution.” She looked pointedly at Indigo. “Not give way to hot-headed youngsters.”

  Or give up the throne without a fight.

  Though she was smart enough not to voice it, Indigo knew Kuno shared the same thought.

  Chapter 3

  With the word that there would be no initiates this night, an already nervous queendom was forced to cancel the Run Feast. Families gathered in their own warrens, discussing the day’s news, their tables and larders overflowing with food that would now have to be hastily preserved if it was not to go to waste.

  Indigo had m
et with Kuno and Borla to discuss how and where they would look for the Blackmoons. They decided Kuno would travel to meet with the other queendoms and try to convince them to support the Order. Once they’d hammered out their plan, Indigo retired to her warren to arrange her traveling supplies. But also to think.

  How many times had Borla hinted at this? That Kalmara wouldn’t relinquish the regency easily. But Indigo had refused to believe that her aunt—the same aunt who’d always coddled her when she was young—would deliberately keep her from the throne. They’d certainly disagreed about policy, a rift that had widened with the years, but Indigo had never imagined her aunt would actually oppose her. Not only oppose her, but prevent her from gaining her tattoos, a rite every rabbit looked forward to. The thought of not attaining her tattoos was almost more fearful than Pacification. To come of age without one’s markings was like having no name, no status. For once she was glad that her mother was not here, so that she wouldn’t have to witness her daughter being denied not just her throne, but her very identity.

  Her father had tried to reassure her that Kalmara was simply following law and looking out for her best interests. Better that Kalmara objected to the succession, her father argued, and made sure it was iron clad, than for one of the other queendoms to question it and force her from the throne. Though every queendom had the right to name their own ruler, the other queens had veto power in extreme circumstances. Not to mention they could also use their intricate political alliances with each other to make Indigo’s rule difficult: barring or taxing trade, refusing to accept Alvareth’s royal sons as bridegrooms. And her aunt had grown used to control in the ten seasons since Indigo’s mother, the former queen, had died.

  Thoughts of her mother and the canceled feast made Indigo think of the last time—the only other time—a Run Feast had been canceled. Another night when her world had changed irrevocably.

  * * *

  The knick caught her on the chin.

  “Ow!”

  “Your mind is at the ink master’s tent, yes?” Kalmara pointed her blade at Indigo. “The sword is a jealous mistress—she demands utter concentration.”

  Indigo rubbed at the scratch. The sparring quadrangle was deserted, as everyone was at the Run feast or waiting to see the initiates come out of the ink master’s with their new markings. “Do you think Azel’s tattoos are finished?”

  Kalmara attacked, forcing Indigo to raise her sword and parry several thrusts. “Focus, Indigo. A good fighter must always have a plan. The best ones plan at least five moves in advance.” She lunged, landing a slap against Indigo’s thigh. “If I come at you from the left, what am I trying to do?”

  Indigo fended the upcoming blows, and panted, “Drive me to the right?”

  Kalmara nodded. “Good. There’s hope for you yet, Bobo.”

  Indigo grinned. Her aunt immediately swooped in, and with a deft flick of the wrist sent Indigo’s sword flying to the grass.

  “But remember: never let your guard down.” Kalmara picked up the fallen weapon and held it out.

  “Why do you only teach me?” Indigo asked. “Didn’t Borla or Dorju want to learn?” She was proud that her aunt would train her at the sword, for everyone knew the Bird’s reputation. She had no other students except Indigo, whose constant appeals for lessons had finally worn the Bird down. But Indigo suddenly wondered whether others hadn’t pleaded just as hard.

  Kalmara sheathed her blade. “I’m allowed to have a favorite niece, aren’t I?”

  “Borla says you don’t teach them because you look down on them,” Indigo said, frowning. “For what the fever did.”

  Kalmara sighed. “Aktu is cruel, Indigo. Cripples and mutes don’t make rulers or sword wielders. Those two are better off learning other skills.”

  “But what about the story of the West Wind and the Sun? Strength isn’t everything.”

  Her aunt laughed. “Your mother still tells you that fable?” She shook her head. “In this world, power comes from either a strong paw or a crown. Nothing else.”

  From the quadrangle markers, a cough cut into the conversation.

  It was Borla. One look at her expression, and her self-consciously tucked arm, and Indigo knew her sister had heard everything. There was an awkward silence.

  “Azel’s nearly done,” Borla said, quiet. “You coming, Indigo?”

  Indigo nodded, confused and suddenly eager to get away from Kalmara. She hung up her practice sword on its customary rack, and hurried after Borla.

  Her sister said nothing as they walked, and Indigo couldn’t think of the right words to defend Kalmara or herself. They joined the milling throng outside the ink master’s warren, finding their queen mother, Delamar, waiting with Dorju. Indigo’s discomfort regarding Borla gave way to excitement. She had been imagining Azel’s new markings with envy, wondering what her favorite sister would look like with the rich blue swirls covering her ears.

  “Don’t fidget, Bobo.” Her mother’s quiet voice forced her to stay still, even though she wanted to run into the ink master’s warren and see the process for herself.

  “Sorry, mama.”

  “It’ll be your turn soon enough.”

  Indigo pouted. She and Azel had ten seasons between them—an eternity, as far as Indigo was concerned. But her mother always seemed able to read her mind, a trait that both awed and exasperated Indigo. Delamar was the longest ruling queen in living memory, and Indigo knew her own existence had been a small miracle—her mother having birthed her when most thought her well beyond her prime. Indigo forced away thoughts of the day her mother would go to Aktu. Her clan, her world, was safe as long as her mother was in it.

  The flap to the ink master’s abode parted, and Azel appeared, ears still wet and swollen. Indigo and her sisters swarmed her in an instant, jostling past the other initiates eagerly waiting their turn for the inking. All were full of words of praise, except Dorju, who hugged Azel in silent congratulations.

  “They’re beautiful!”

  “Look at the detail!”

  “Can I touch them?”

  Queen Delamar waded in, admonishing her daughters. “The blood hasn’t dried. You don’t want to give your crown princess ill luck, do you?”

  Azel smiled at their mother, proud yet shy at the same time, before catching Indigo’s eye and winking. Despite the age difference, Indigo felt closest to her eldest sibling. Indigo’s mother doted on her, but she didn’t always have time for her children. Azel had brought Indigo under her wing, recognizing a kindred spirit. They both took after their mother: thick, unruly fur that looked like churned milk when brushed and oiled; the queen’s graceful nose and majestic, wide ears. The similarities didn’t stop at the physical, either: they both had stubborn wills, a fiery appetite for fighting, and an inflexible sense of justice.

  They made their way, chattering and laughing, to the royal warren where Azel’s patterning feast was already waiting. Indigo and her sisters rarely had a chance to dine with their mother and immediate family, but it was not every day the crown princess came of age. The mood had been joyous, festive.

  It was the last time she had ever felt that way.

  * * *

  The one thing keeping them from abandoning all decorum at the feast table was the presence of the stranger. Indigo noticed him as soon as they entered—he was the only unfamiliar face sitting opposite her mother’s sister, Kalmara, and Indigo’s father.

  Though the spring brought many travelers of different stripes through the steppes, no one could remember seeing a muskrat before. This one was wiry, with a shock of hair that was more mane than fur. His gnarled paws betrayed an age his eyes didn’t share, and though he tended to fat he also carried scars that spoke of battle: a puckered ridge under his ear that was unmistakably made by a blade, and sinewy forearms that didn’t fit those of a mere traveling storyteller. He had an aura of mystery, of contradictions.

  Which was why he had been invited to dine with the queens at their annual Run Feast. The gues
t had not only brought news of the outside world but also an appetite befitting a muskox rather than a muskrat: bowls of wild-onion stew and patties of spiced rhubarb had little chance to cool on the dining carpet before disappearing.

  Sitting next to him, Indigo had the closest view of his manners, or lack thereof. His gluttony was oddly fascinating, but not as fascinating as the short blade that winked from his belt every time his jacket slid back. From the glimpses she caught, the scabbard looked like hide. Had he killed a beast to make the blade’s home? The thought made her shiver.

  The muskrat polished off a flagon of barley beer before shoving the empty vessel towards the nearest attendant for refilling.

  “You have impeccable timing.” Her aunt Kalmara eyed the guest with distaste. “Our spring rites mean we have food for all.”

  The muskrat helped himself to another round of barley dumplings. “Travel is hard work, as your folk must know.”

  Queen Delamar smiled. “Our nomadic traditions have honed us. Besides, it helps us evade the two-legged ones.”

  The muskrat nodded, still chewing. “Wise of you. Though it won’t work.”

  Kalmara frowned. “Why not?”

  The muskrat eyed her, amused. “Have you no concept of the Urzoks?”

  Kalmara flushed at the muskrat’s condescending tone before the queen jumped in to diffuse the tension. “My sister, the royal advisor, means that we feel the queendom is safe as long as we keep moving. The Urzoks have taken many lands to the south, but they now have more than enough to support their kind.”

  The muskrat swallowed a mouthful of dumpling and looked at the faces around him. Indigo snuck another glance at the short blade. It was most definitely encased in hide. Buffalo? Horse, maybe. And the hilt was inlaid with a gold pattern. “They want more than to just support their kind. Much more. You’re doomed if you don’t see that.”

  “It’s unlucky to speak of death at the spring rites,” Azel said.

  The muskrat turned as if seeing her for the first time. “Forgive my callousness, Princess, I’ll rephrase: if you believe that, you’re blind as dead moles in a tar pit.”

  “You came from the south, then? Where the wars are fiercest?” Lukkas poured the muskrat more beer and tried to change the subject.