The Queen Underneath

by Stacey Filak

  Gemma’s knife was in her hand. “I’m going to gut whoever did this, Elam,” she snarled. “I’m going to cut them from carotid to cock, I prickling swear it.”

  Elam squeezed her shoulder, leaving a bloody handprint on her shirt, then looked at Fin. The prayer keeper’s eyes brimmed with tears. He snapped his fingers twice, and though Wince didn’t understand it, something about that made Gemma stand straighter.

  Gemma took a moment longer to turn back toward the gurney where Fin’s body rested. Though the Balklander had been bigger than any man she knew, he’d had a kind heart and a gentle tongue. Even when he’d punished her as a girl, he’d always hugged her after. In many ways Gemma believed that she had grown to be the woman she was because of Fin the Fish’s guiding hand—a hand that now swung lifeless off the edge of the cot, fingers covered in blood.

  Elam sagged to the floor and sobbed raggedly. “I wasn’t ready to say goodbye,” he choked, and Gemma reached down to wrap him in her arms.

  The other prayer keepers gave them a wide berth. Though the church was officially a branch of the Guild, it was rare for one of their ranks to have come from Under. Most of those within the walls of Canticle Center had been sent there by their merchant fathers and stayed, having found the voice of the goddess a willing mistress. Elam was an oddity, so it was no surprise that no one else in the Heart cared about the man Fin had been. Elam swallowed a choking sob and wiped his face on his tunic, staining the silk with his tears.

  A young woman wearing the light-brown robes of a prayer keeper in training approached them, eyes wide with fear. “Brother Elam. Regency,” she said, bowing respectfully. “There may be a fire. Father Mahpir has ordered the immediate evacuation of Canticle Center.”

  Other novice prayer keepers rushed into the hospit from the Slit, carrying out patients and gathering supplies. Elam looked down at Fin’s body, but Gemma turned her back to it. It was said that the kings of old used to be burned on great funeral pyres and sent to the goddess with all of their wealth, and if ever she had known a king of men, it was Fin. Elam leaned down, closed the Balklander’s empty eyes and kissed his forehead. “May Aegos welcome you with open arms and legs, my friend. Give Melnora my love, and send us any luck you can spare. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

  Then he looked up and said to Gemma, “Go on, go find him. I’m right behind you.” She kissed his forehead and turned to leave, motioning for Tollan and Wince to follow.

  Outside, Canticle Square was in chaos. Brambles had erupted from the ground around the Head, and when they burst into sudden flame, they lit up the night. Gemma could hear a child screaming in the distance. A man driving a cart barely slowed down to pass them, and Gemma let her dagger fly. It pinned him neatly in the back of the neck and he slumped over onto the seat. She was dimly aware in the back of her mind that she should feel guilty for killing him, but in the forefront all she saw was Devery, bloodied and alone.

  “Come on,” she barked, running to catch the slowing horse. She yanked her dagger from the cart driver’s neck and pulled him down to the ground before claiming his seat.

  Tollan stared, disconcerted, as he climbed onto the cart with her. Wince didn’t meet her gaze.

  She opened her mouth then snapped it closed again. She didn’t need to make excuses. She was the Queen of Under.

  She steered them toward Guildhouse, her throat tight. The clip of the horse’s feet on the cobblestones reminded her of the two finger snaps that Elam had sent her off with. As she pushed the horse to go faster, she remembered the years she’d spent with Devery and Elam, honing their craft, in their apartment together on Thieves Row. Their jobs got bigger and more difficult as time went by, but it wasn’t until they pulled off the assassination of a Farcastian baron when Gemma was nearly sixteen, that Devery had finally opened up.

  As the three of them sat around their tiny table passing a bottle of congratulatory wine between them, the excitement that appeared in Devery’s eyes lit the room. “Nobody’s ever going to find that prickling shitbag! It was a brilliant plan, Gemma.” He handed the bottle to her, grinning.

  “I didn’t know you could smile,” she said, taking another swallow. “I asked Fin about it once, and he said the muscles that pull your lips up had been severed in a tragic accident involving a goat, a printing press and a harvesting scythe.” Her own mouth turned upward in a devilish smile as she continued. “But he told me not to bring it up. Said you were a little touchy about your affinity for goats.”

  Elam erupted with laughter, but Devery just looked at her—eyes glinting. Something within her—probably the wine—made her match his gaze. Until that moment, she’d been too afraid of him, too unnerved by him to ever even try to make him warm to her. She glanced away demurely. “I’m sorry for the loss of your goat, though. What was her name? Sugartits?”

  Warm, hearty laughter tumbled out of him. She was sure he was mocking her until she saw his face. It was as if the Devery she had known for three years had vanished in the blink of an eye and was suddenly replaced by someone who didn’t hate her. Who maybe even liked her a little bit.

  The sound of his laughter tumbled through her mind as she raced through the empty Above. They were one street over from Guildhouse, and Gemma was positive that the geyser of flame she saw just beyond the closest row of buildings was the aboveground portion of her home. But she did not slow down. She snapped the reins against the horse’s ass, urging it onward.

  She was prickling done with slowing down.

  There was a point earlier in the day, before Tollan’s whole life had gotten away from him, when he’d thought that he should be wary of Gemma. But wary didn’t even begin to describe his feelings now. The rage that boiled off her as they careened through the city was terrible to behold. She had gone cold, and there was violence in her that he had underestimated.

  Wince had gone stiff. He was clearly weighing the risks versus the benefits of staying with Gemma. “We need to get out of here,” Wince hissed in his ear.

  Tollan agreed. Gemma’s vengeance fantasy was not theirs, and he needed to get back to Iven to see if he was being controlled by magery, or if he did truly want Tollan dead. If Elsha was compelling Iven, and there was any way to free his brother from her talons, he had to do whatever he could. Iven was just a kid.

  They took a corner too fast, and the horse faltered. “Prick!” Gemma shouted, whipping at the horse with the reins.

  “Gemma, it—”

  She interrupted Tollan with a glare so icy that he shrank from her. Her lip curled. “Get out,” she snarled.

  He looked at Wince, who shrugged.

  “Gemma, we need to talk,” Tollan said. “I know you’re worried about your … Devery, but I need to find out what’s going on with my brother. I can’t just leave him if he’s caught in a mage woman’s trap. They could control all of Yigris if we leave them there. Let’s just take a minute and think this through. If we could break into the palace through the Golden Door, maybe we could find out the truth …” He hated the clumsiness of his tongue. He wished he had some of his father’s authority behind his words.

  She hopped down from the cart and drew a knife. When she met his gaze, there was a glimmer of madness in her eyes. “Right now, I don’t give two shits about Yigris. You want to head back to the palace, that’s your funeral.” She looked at the blade of her knife, glinting in the streetlight. “But I’m going to find Devery.” Her hand drifted over her midsection as she added, “It would take a whole army of mage women to stop me.” She offered Wince the reins. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be heading into their den without some friends at my back, but maybe you’re better swordsmen than I think.”

  “My brother …” Tollan said and shook his head. “I can’t leave him if our suspicions about the mage women are correct. If I’m wrong, I …”

  She nodded. “I understand. Sure. Family is important. I’m going to go find what’s left of mine.” She turned and walked away, but a few steps later, she c
alled over her shoulder, “If you’re right, and this is Vaga, House Daghan is to blame. If I lose Devery …” She didn’t bother to finish the threat. Tollan knew exactly what she meant.

  Wince gathered the reins, then snapped them to urge the wounded horse gently onward. “Well, that could have gone better,” he muttered.

  Tollan couldn’t argue with that. He may have just made an enemy of one of his only allies. They plodded through the city streets. No one paid them any heed. The shops and homes were shuttered tight. There were no people about. Fires raged, but the streets had an eerie silence to them. Tollan picked at the gum paste that still clung to his chin. He settled into a sullen silence and ignored Wince’s prying gaze. “This whole city feels like a mummer’s show,” he said. Tollan’s eyes continued to search the horizon. Nothing else was burning. Not even the buildings adjacent to the fire. How was that possible? It was a windy night. The flames should be dancing from rooftop to rooftop. Prick, half the city should be engulfed by now.

  “I know. It’s hard to believe it’s real.”

  “No, I mean … it … this …”—he held his arms wide—“feels staged. Remember the stories of the Mage War? Hundreds of mage women swarmed through the streets, the Yigrisian army decimated. Remember the riots and the refugees and the mass chaos?”

  Wince nodded.

  “Why are people not fleeing? Where is the chaos? Back by Canticle Center there was a little, but here … almost nothing.” He turned in a circle and pointed to a column of smoke.

  “It’s a farce,” Tollan said. “The flames aren’t spreading. The only thing that could explain it is mage work, but …”

  Wince met his eyes, and his hand drifted to the hilt of his cutlass. “Bloody Aegos,” he groaned. “The mage women don’t leave the palace. And I find it awfully hard to believe that Iven’s princess has been down here in the shit and mud.”

  “It has to mean that there are other mages here within the city. Someone must have marked the Guild buildings to make them, and them alone, burn.”

  “But, why?” Wince fidgeted with his sword. “Sure, the Guild may have lost Melnora, but the king holds insurance on all the buildings, right? It’s in the pact. They could rebuild without much trouble, and the Guild members aren’t going anywhere.”

  “I don’t know, Wince. But we need to get moving.”

  “Back to Gemma? She may be walking into a trap.” Wince picked up the reins.

  “No. We are going to the palace. Gemma’s a grown woman, and she made her choice. Iven might not have had a choice. I have to figure out a way to help him.” His voice trembled as he said, “I need to go home to the palace.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  GUILDHOUSE

  As Gemma neared Guildhouse’s courtyard, she saw a hundred or more children standing outside the gate watching the flames rage. Several dozen Guild members, men and women she recognized but didn’t know by name, stood about, hats removed in respect. A whisper ran through the crowd as she approached. All around her, faces were streaked with tears and Gemma’s throat tightened with her own, left unshed. The looks on the faces of her people tugged at her, demanding her attention and forcing her to stand straighter and remember her position.

  A little girl came racing toward her, and Gemma gasped with the swell of gratitude she felt when she recognized Katya’s white-streaked hair.

  “Hey, mite,” she said, picking the girl up and swinging her into a hug. “I’m glad to see you’re safe.”

  Katya looked at her in confusion. “Gemma, I thought you were asleep in Guildhouse. I … you should be asleep.”

  “I was on an errand, Katy. I’m safe. Everything is going to be all right.” She squeezed the little girl tightly and looked into her sea-glass eyes. “I have to find someone. You stay safe. Listen to Lian, and keep the urchins in line.”

  An odd look, serious and conflicted, crossed Katya’s face. She nodded. “Yes, Regency.” Gemma ruffled her hair and watched the girl scramble away then push through the crowd until she spotted the slight, stoic figure of Lian.

  Gemma approached quietly, raking the crowd for signs of Devery. As she neared the maid, Lian looked up, eyes wide with fear. “Oh, thank the goddess, Gemma,” she sobbed, catching Gemma in an embrace. “We didn’t know where you were. Melnora’s gone.”

  It was no more than she’d expected, but the words and the faces of the people she cared about took the razor coldness out of her. She felt the ice in her veins melt as she hugged Lian. “Have you seen Devery?” she managed to ask.

  Lian released her. “He left with Master Fin a couple of hours ago. Not long before this all started. They said they were going to meet you somewhere safe.”

  Gemma wanted to kick herself. She’d forgotten in her mad dash to escape the collapsing tunnel and the aftermath of Fin’s death that Devery had told her to meet him at the safe house. “I hate to ask it, but … were you able to get Melnora’s body out of the house, before …” Her gaze drifted to the fire.

  Lian nodded. “The men argued with me, but I demanded that they get the mistress out or I’d leave them inside.”

  Gemma grinned. Lian would have absolutely let them cook to a crisp while she watched if they’d refused to do her bidding. Gemma cupped the maid’s face in her palm and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re brilliant, Lian. I need to see her immediately.”

  Melnora was laid out on a stone bench, a sheet covering her. Gemma knelt on the grass beside her. “We need to search her skin. I’m looking for a mark—any sort of odd character.”

  The maid blanched but nodded, and the two of them set to checking over their mistress’s body. It didn’t take long to find what she was looking for. A mark—part brand, part tattoo—rested on the inside of her left forearm just below the elbow. Much smaller than Tollan’s mage mark, but it still left no doubt in her mind. Gemma placed her hand on the mark. She couldn’t help but notice that Melnora’s limp hand now rested nearly on the corresponding area of Gemma’s arm.

  The air was thick in her lungs. The clasping of arms was the final step in signing a business arrangement. “Do you have any idea what Melnora did today, Lian? Who she met with? What business did she attend to?”

  Lian shook her head. “I’m not sure. I went to the apothecary, and when I came back, Fin said she’d been called away. She arrived home a little after luncheon and said she had a headache and needed to lie down. I went to check on her an hour later, and she was …” A fresh wave of tears rolled down Lian’s cheeks. “I don’t know who did this, but I …” She hiccupped.

  “I know,” Gemma said. “I’m going to find out who’s responsible.” She didn’t have the heart to tell Lian about Fin.

  She covered Melnora, tucking in the edges of the sheet. “I have to go. Look after the children for me. Take them to Canticle Center, if need be, but beware the tunnels. The brambles have made them unsafe. I’ll be back when I can.”

  “Yes, Regency. I’ll see them safe. But, Gemma … the palace. It’s happening there, too …”

  “We’re not going to worry about what’s going on up the hill, Li. We take care of our own, and that’s all we do just now.” A flame of guilt flared within her as she thought of Tollan, but she pushed it aside and kissed Lian on the cheek once more, then turned and ran.

  The streets surrounding Guildhouse, beyond the courtyard, were oddly deserted. The crackle and hiss of flame was the only sound. Gemma stopped, staring at the column of flame and smoke that was her former home. While a warm breeze ruffled her hair, no flames moved beyond Guildhouse. For all she knew, the people in the buildings nearby were still asleep in their beds. Truth be told, the only people she’d seen out and about were the people who’d been taking their night’s rest within the walls of Guildhouse proper. The hair on the back of her neck rose in alarm. There was mage work to blame.

  Without warning, a palm was over her mouth and a body pressed against hers. She flung an elbow hard, but it was caught by a strong and dexterous hand.

  �
�Shhh, Gem,” Devery whispered in her ear. “It’s just me. I didn’t want you to scream.”

  She turned around, scanning his body for injury. His fitted jacket and tunic were spattered with blood, but he looked whole. She threw her arms around him, hot tears flooding her eyes.

  “I thought you were dead. Aegos, when I saw Fin, I …” She couldn’t stop the sob that ripped its way out of her chest.

  “You saw Fin?” he asked, pushing her out to arm’s length. His blue eyes went hard and cold. “Is he … is he all right?” There was a thread of fear in his words.

  She shook her head, fresh tears filling her eyes. “Dead,” she whispered. “But he sent me for you. His last thoughts were of you. What happened?”

  He pulled her close to him then. Years of keeping their relationship a secret dissolved in an instant as she leaned against his chest. He didn’t answer her, only sobbed against her as she cried against him.

  “Dev,” she finally said, “there’s magery at work here. I saw the mark on Melnora. I’ve seen Tollan’s mark—a blasphemy of what it should have been. The fire is wrong, and I …”

  His face did an odd sort of crumpling. “Where is Tollan?”

  “Headed back to the palace, I think. We had a bit of a disagreement about tactics. He was none too thrilled with mine.”

  Devery smiled, his eyes lit eerily by the flames. “That doesn’t make any sense. Did you tell him about the mage work? Why would he head to the only place we know for sure that there are mage women, if he even suspected they were responsible?”

  She shook her head. “Of course I told him, but Tollan’s got some noble idea that he needs to rescue his brother. Honestly, he’s not our problem. He and Wince are big boys. They know what they’re walking into. Let them spring the trap. It keeps the mage women out of our hair. I had to find you, and no whining King of Above was going to talk me out of it.”