Kill the Queen

by Jennifer Estep

  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.

  Sullivan cleared his throat. “I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you. Emilie did cut Paloma on purpose, and now she’s done something worse, like you said.”

  I shrugged, not really accepting his apology but not entirely rejecting it either.

  “But don’t worry. I’m going to make this right.”

  “How are you going to do that?” I arched an eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you plan to concoct some sort of elaborate disguise and fight in the arena for me. You wouldn’t look so good with a ponytail, though.” I tugged on my own short black ponytail at the nape of my neck.

  For the first time since I had known him, a genuine smile lifted Sullivan’s lips, and he actually laughed, just a bit. I liked his smile and the sound far more than I should have.

  “Nothing like that,” he said. “But I’m going to help you. All you have to do is trust me. Can you do that, highness?”

  Highness. I had always despised the mocking nickname, but this time, it came out as a low rasp that made me shiver even more than the chilly night air did. The golden haze highlighted his strong, handsome features, and for once, his blue eyes blazed with warmth instead of cold disdain. An answering bit of warmth curled through my stomach, but I forced myself to look away.

  “Sure, why not? It’s not like I have a choice.”

  He grabbed my arm, making me face him again. “I am going to fix this. I promise.”

  His voice rang with so much determination that I almost believed him—until I caught sight of the arena dome again. Sullivan was wrong. Even a magier couldn’t fix this.

  Still, he was trying to make me feel better, so I forced myself to smile at him. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  * * *

  Sullivan escorted me back to the barracks. He nodded at me, then turned and strode away, probably heading back to his home. I waited until he had disappeared from sight, then opened the door and went into the barracks.

  The female gladiators were gathered in the common area in front of the fireplace, talking, writing letters, and playing games. The second that I stepped inside, all conversation cut off, and everyone stared at me. I grimaced and moved forward, trying to ignore the curious stares and sharp whispers that sprang up. This was definitely one of those times when the troupe was far too much like the palace for my liking.

  I headed for my cot. Given what had happened, I expected the bed to be pushed even farther back into the corner, but to my surprise, my cot was in its usual spot, and someone had crammed her bed and belongings in next to mine.

  Paloma.

  She was sitting on her cot and using a cloth to polish the spikes on her enormous mace. Several other weapons, ranging in size from a large ax to a not-so-small pair of daggers, covered the rest of the mattress. All the weapons had been freshly polished, as well as sharpened. Besides the weapons, the only personal item that I could see was a soft green blanket with tattered satin edges and a faded ogre face in the middle that was draped across the foot of her bed. It was far too small for Paloma to use, so it must have had some sentimental value. Maybe her baby blanket?

  I looked at Paloma, then glanced over my shoulder at the other gladiators, wondering if this was some kind of joke. The other women watched us for a few seconds, then went back to their previous conversations and activities. I turned to face the gladiator again.

  “Um, Paloma?”

  She put down her mace. “Yes, Evie?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to figure out what you can use to kill Emilie. But all my weapons are too big and heavy for you.” Paloma studied the assortment on her bed. She picked up a sword and gave it an experimental swing before shaking her head and setting it down. “Why? What does it look like I’m doing?”

  I gestured at her cot, which was inches away from mine now. “It looks like you’ve moved in next to me.”

  “Of course I moved in next to you. I certainly wasn’t going to sleep next to Emilie anymore. Not after she tried to kill me.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. I wouldn’t have wanted to sleep next to her either.

  I glanced toward the front of the room again. I hadn’t noticed it before, but Emilie’s cot was missing, along with the rest of her things. “Where is she?”

  “Under guard in another building,” Paloma said in a matter-of-fact voice. “I told Serilda that if I saw that bitch again, I would kill her with my bare hands. I wanted to kill her anyway, but you know the rules. Gladiators settle their disputes in the arena. I only wish that I was the one who was going to face her.”

  She stared at me, as did the ogre on her neck, telling me how serious they both were. Paloma had every right to be angry, but I hadn’t expected her to get Emilie kicked out of the barracks, much less drag her cot back here next to mine. I had assumed that everyone would shun me until the match, since I was a newb and had so little hope of winning it. But Paloma was acting like we were . . . friends.

  She sensed my confusion. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want me to help you? I thought that after what happened in the dining hall . . .” Her face hardened, and she surged to her feet. “Don’t worry. I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll leave.”

  I held out my hands and stepped in front of her. “No! That’s not what I meant. I do want you to help me. You just . . . surprised me. I didn’t think that you liked me very much.”

  She shrugged. “You weren’t a threat to me as a fighter, so I didn’t think very much of you at all.”

  Of course she didn’t. No one else here had taken me seriously as a gladiator, including myself. I had just been going through the motions, treading water until I could figure out what to do next.

  You have to live. You have to protect Bellona. Promise me you’ll do that. Cordelia’s voice whispered in my mind, but I forced the memory away. I could barely protect myself right now, much less an entire kingdom.

  “You saved my life,” Paloma continued. “I owe you a debt, Evie.”

  I sighed. She sounded exactly like some noble at the palace. Sometimes, I thought everyone should have walked around like Felton, carrying little ledger books, and keeping a list of all the favors we owed and all the ones that we wanted to collect on in return.

  “I didn’t save your life. I didn’t do anything.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, you did. I don’t know how, but you got rid of the poison. You saved me, Evie, and nothing that you say will convince me otherwise.”

  I sighed again, too tired to deny it. “So why didn’t you tell Serilda and the others that?”

  She shrugged again. “If you want to keep your magic, or whatever it is, a secret, then that’s your business, not mine.”

  I wasn’t about to try to explain my immunity, so I eased past her and flopped down onto my own
cot. “You don’t owe me anything. I would have saved your life anyway. I don’t expect anything in return. You don’t have to pretend to be my friend just because I helped you.”

  I’d had a lifetime of that at the palace. And every time—every single time—people had only pretended to like me because they wanted something. Even a royal with no money and no magic could be useful on occasion. But the worst people had been the ones who had genuinely wanted to be my friend . . . until Vasilia had offered them something better. The regret on their faces had been sharper than a sword in my heart. They had liked me well enough, but they had their families, businesses, and fortunes to consider, and I had never been as important as any of that. I couldn’t even blame those people for their choices, but they had still hurt me all the same.

  “And I can’t think of a better reason to be your friend than the fact that you helped me,” Paloma said with absolute conviction. “You saved my life, Evie. I’ll never forget that.”

  “So what you’re saying is that we’re friends now, whether I like it or not?” I couldn’t keep the amusement out of my voice.

  She thought about it for a moment, then smiled. “Yes. We are friends now, whether you like it or not.” Her smile slowly faded away. “Is that okay?”

  Uncertainty filled her face, and even the ogre on her neck seemed small and hesitant. In that moment, she reminded me of, well, myself, and all the times that I had opened myself up to someone. Almost all those times had ended in heartache, but I wasn’t going to do that to her.

  “It’s more than okay. Just promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  I threw my pillow at her, which she easily caught. “Don’t you dare snore. Or I might have to kill you myself.”

  Paloma smiled at my black humor and tossed the pillow back at me. I, of course, did not catch it, and the soft lump hit me square in the chest. “I can make no such promises.”

  I smiled back at her. “I can live with that.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next morning, Paloma roused me out of bed well before dawn, while everyone else was still asleep. Despite my grumbles, she made me get dressed, grab some of her many weapons, and head out to the training ring for a practice session before I had to report for kitchen duty.

  Winter was slowly giving way to spring, but the early-morning air was still quite chilly, since the sun hadn’t risen yet. But Paloma was not to be denied. She made me strip off my blue jacket, pick up a sword, and face her. I didn’t want to be out here, but I was glad that no one else was out here either. I didn’t want anyone to witness my humiliation—or realize how easily Emilie was going to kill me.

  While we went through the drills and warmed up, I asked Paloma something that I had been wondering about for weeks. “How are you always able to beat Emilie? What’s your secret?”

  “Emilie is fast. That’s her mutt magic, and that’s her main advantage. She always tries to end a fight as quickly as possible. But she’s no match for my strength or my endurance, so I just wait for her to wear herself out. When she gets tired, she gets slow, and that’s when I move in and knock her out of the fight.” Paloma shrugged. “But you aren’t as strong as me, and you’re certainly not as quick as Emilie. She’s going to kill you unless you find some way to counter her speed.”

  I flexed my hand. My immunity rippled through my fingers, waiting to be used. “I might be able to do that.”

  “Well, you’d better, or you’re going to die.”

  I grimaced. My new friend definitely wasn’t one to sugarcoat things. She also wasn’t one to take it easy on me, as I found out when we started sparring.

  “Pitiful,” Paloma said as she slapped my sword out of my hand for the tenth time in as many minutes. “Absolutely pitiful. You’re not nearly as far along in your training as you should be, given the weeks you’ve been here. And I thought you said that you’d had some instruction before you came to the Black Swan. Who did it come from? A blind man?”

  I winced, thinking of Captain Auster. He would have demanded that I drop and start doing push-ups as punishment for being disarmed so many times.

  My gaze moved past Paloma and up to the palace in the distance. Only a few lights burned in the windows at Seven Spire, and the gladiators and gargoyles carved into the massive tearstone columns were the same pale gray as the approaching dawn.

  From the gossip I’d heard, Captain Auster hadn’t been executed yet, but it was only a matter of time before Vasilia grew tired of torturing him. My heart ached, not just for Auster, but for everyone who had died during the massacre—and all the other people who would still die.

  According to the rumors, the Andvarian royal family had vehemently denied having anything to do with Queen Cordelia’s assassination, and relations between Bellona and Andvari had broken down completely. Now whispers curled through the air like smoke, all saying the same thing—that war between the two kingdoms was coming soon. Just like Maeven, Nox, and their Mortan masters wanted.

  “Well?” Paloma asked, cutting into my dark thoughts. “Did you have other training?”

  I sighed. “I did, but it never went very well. I could never get the hang of fighting. Not like I could other things.”

  “What other things? What’s more important than fighting?”

  I snorted. Spoken like a true gladiator. “Well, dancing, for one thing. My mistress was very . . . concerned with dancing, parties, and protocol.”

  Paloma frowned, and the ogre on her neck gave me an incredulous look as if it couldn’t even fathom such a thing.

  It wasn’t a lie. Queen Cordelia had been quite fond of royal balls, and she had demanded that everyone at the palace learn the steps to all the traditional Bellonan waltzes, reels, and more. Dancing was one of the few things that I had always excelled at. The music, the hand movements, the quick turns, the low bows, the ebb and flow of steps as the dancers moved together, apart, and back together again. I loved it all. Plus, there were always so many people dancing during the balls that it was one of the few times when I could truly enjoy myself without fear of attracting Vasilia’s attention. Even when Lady Xenia had been poking me with her cane, I had still enjoyed learning the Tanzen Freund, and it had given me a sense of pride and accomplishment to master something so intricate and graceful.

  Paloma kept staring at me like I was some exotic creature that she had never seen before, so I tugged the sword out of her hand and laid it on a nearby bench. Then I took her hand again, curtsied low, and moved this way and that, twirling around her in the traditional Bellonan courting waltz.

  Paloma looked at me like I was crazy, but I smiled and hummed the music that was in my mind, timing my movements to the soft, steady beat—

  “You move quite well,” a voice called out. “Too bad dancing is not fighting. Then you would win for sure.”

  Startled, I dropped Paloma’s hand and whirled around. Sullivan was leaning against the wall, amusement creasing his face. A hot blush scalded my cheeks. I wondered how long he had been standing there, watching me twirl around Paloma like an idiot.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, dancing is a form of fighting. At least where I come from.”

  Again, it wasn’t a lie. Who danced with whom and how many times had been a spectator sport at Seven Spire, and the competition for certain lords’ and ladies’ time and attention had been equally as fierce, especially among those hoping to snare a wealthy, powerful spouse.

  Sullivan’s gaze sharpened. “And where is that?”

  Too late I realized my mistake, but I shrugged off his pointed question. “Nowhere important.”

  He stared at me, but when he realized that I wasn’t going to answer, he shook his head. “Well, you need to forget about dancing and focus on fighting because Emilie is going to do her best to kill you. Have you ever been in a fight before, highness?”

  I thought of the turncoat guards, trying to hack me to pieces with their swords, and Vasilia, gleefully blasting me with her ligh
tning. Not to mention all the terrible things that had happened when my parents had been murdered. “Yes, I have been in a fight before.”

  He snorted in disbelief. “Really? What kind? Some slapfight with another woman? Some petty squabble with another kitchen worker? This won’t be like that.”

  My hands clenched into fists. He had no idea what I had been through—no fucking idea.

  “I’ve seen the gladiator bouts,” I snapped. “I know what they’re like.”

  He shook his head again, moved away from the wall, and stalked toward me. He pushed back his coat, revealing the sword belted to his waist. “You might have seen the bouts, but you’ve never been in one, especially not a black-ring match.”

  Sullivan drew his sword, charged forward, and swung his weapon at me. Paloma and I both lurched out of the way. She managed to get clear of him, but I tripped over the sword that she had knocked out of my hand earlier. In an instant, I was flat on my back on the ground, with Sullivan looming over me and the point of his sword resting against my throat, just like always.

  Not satisfying at all and particularly humiliating right now.

  “You’re dead,” he said in a cold voice. “Five seconds into the fight, and you’re already dead. You’re going to have to do better than this if you want to stay alive. Much less actually win.”

  He leaned down and offered me his hand, but I slapped it away and scrambled to my feet on my own. Paloma looked back and forth between the two of us and backed up another step.

  “You’ve made your point,” I snapped again. “I’m a terrible fighter. Do you think that I don’t know that? Emilie might not be able to beat Paloma, but she can certainly beat me. I’m not an idiot.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “You didn’t have to. You think that I’m not taking this seriously? Well, I assure you that I am taking it very, very seriously. After all, it’s my life that’s on the line.” I let out a low, angry, bitter laugh. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. The fights that I’ve been in. The blood that I’ve seen. The death that I’ve witnessed. So don’t pretend like you’re better than me, and don’t you dare judge me, princeling.”