The Queen Underneath

by Stacey Filak

  He shrugged. “It didn’t seem very important at the time.”

  “It sounds like it might be important now.”

  He rolled onto his side and cupped her face with his hand. “It is so far down the list of important that I can’t even see it.” He stared at her, then asked, “Are we going to make it through this?”

  She bit her lip. “Well, if I have to go to war with mage women, there isn’t anyone I’d rather have beside me than Devery Nightsbane, so we have that going for us.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said as he ran his thumb down her jawline.

  She stopped pretending that she didn’t know what he meant. “I don’t know,” she whispered hoarsely. “I hope so.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. “That is all I can hope for,” he said, voice thick.

  “You have to be honest with me, Dev. No more lies, not ever.”

  He sighed. “We’re of Under, Gemma. We lie the way that others breathe.”

  “Not to each other,” she whispered. “Not ever again. That is the payment I demand for Fin’s life. If you ever lie to me again, then I am gone. And it starts right now. Tell me about Katya’s mother.”

  He sat up. “Do I have the right to say no?”

  “Of course,” she said, pulling herself to sitting and leaning against the wall beside him. “But I’ll always wonder why if you do.”

  Gemma watched as Devery paced the room. His eyes had a bruised look about them, his skin was pale and his cheeks gaunt. Gemma found it hard not to comfort him. All of her instincts were off when it came to him.

  Finally, he said, “It was a long time ago. When Rucheal was alive, you were still living on Lord Ghantos’s estate.” He stopped, pausing to stare out the window. “I was nobleborn and the son of a mage woman. Tradition meant that I should have long since offered myself up to several wives as a proper breeding husband, but I … I was never very good with people. My mother had little time for me, especially once Elsha was born. I knew from the time I was a young boy that I was to be the instrument of my mother’s wrath, and I always felt that tools of violent revenge make terrible husbands.”

  Gemma’s heart ached for him and she had to force herself to sit on her hands. She would not go to him.

  He smiled weakly at his own joke. “Rucheal was a tavern maid. She was uneducated, half my age and kind. I spent more time than I should have at the tavern, and we became friends. Then we shared a bed. Then she became pregnant.”

  The word struck Gemma harder than she’d expected. She clutched her hands to her belly and bit her tongue to keep from sobbing.

  Devery stopped and looked for a moment as if he would reach out to her, but then his expression changed to guilt as he refused to meet her gaze.

  “When I found out I was going to be a father, something inside of me broke open. I wanted to give my child a family—the kind I’d never had. So, I married Rucheal. It wasn’t love. It was, at most, kinship and familiarity. But it was enough. I was … happy.

  “I went to the Balklands to pick up some documents my mother was having forged, and while I was there, Rucheal went into labor and died. My mother told me that the child died, too. In a fit of impotent rage, I came to Yigris to become an assassin of Under.”

  Gemma exhaled. “But Katya didn’t …”

  He shook his head, laughing bitterly. “No, she didn’t. My mother felt she would be nothing more than a distraction. Convinced that the daughter of a bar wench could never carry the gift of the goddess, she had handed my newborn daughter over to one of her maids to raise. But the maid brought her back to my mother, terrified, when Katya began to do mage work before her first birthday.

  “Of course, my mother thought this was a sign from the goddess herself. No child in recorded history had begun mage work so young. So she took her back to the Vagan Palace and raised her as her own. Five years later, my mother brought Katya to Yigris and assumed all would be forgiven. But it was too late. I was in too deep, and I’d already …” His voice shook with emotion. “I’d already fallen in love with you. The only thing I could do was find a way to protect you and Katy and hope that someday you’d understand.”

  A knock sounded at the door, and Elam entered carrying a tray laden with food. He smiled when he saw them, then said, “I thought you promised to stay in bed.”

  “I am in bed,” she said.

  “Yes, well …” he chuckled, putting the tray down. “I’m not sure that anything going on in here could be considered restful.” He arched an eyebrow at her, then pointed at the tray. “Eat. Both of you. We have some royal company, and I think you might need your strength for this.” He turned to go, then glanced over his shoulder at them. “Take your time,” he said, grinning. “I’ll stall him … somehow.”

  Tollan could barely breathe as he sat, facing Elam, their hands clasped together across the small table. Every nerve in his fingers sang at the other man’s touch, and he found that he could feel the whirls and grooves of Elam’s fingerprints upon his skin. It could have been moments or hours that they sat like that, a soft, sensual tension building between them as they snuck glances at one another. Tollan couldn’t help but remember the feel of Elam’s lips against his own, a feeling that he had dwelled on nearly every waking moment since they’d first kissed.

  Dragged out of his reverie, Tollan stood up when Gemma and Devery entered the kitchen, yanking his hand from Elam’s in a gesture that felt like tearing off a piece of himself.

  Gemma grinned when she saw Tollan, then glanced across the table at Elam.

  “Well,” she said, sitting down in the vacant chair, “that explains quite a lot.”

  Tollan opened his mouth, but Elam erupted in laughter. “Welcome back, Gemma,” he said. “We’ve missed your smart-assery.”

  Tollan doubted he would ever have the sort of careless banter that the three of them tossed around. Even Wince couldn’t read his mind that way.

  “How are you, Your Grace?” Gemma asked, sitting herself gingerly in the chair.

  “I’m not the king, Gemma. Never was, and to be honest, I never plan to be. I’ve come here on behalf of my mother, Isbit Daghan, captain of the Heart’s Desire.”

  “And what can I do for Captain Isbit? It’s been a long time since the lady graced our gentle shores.”

  “Well,” he said, “my mother wishes to help you quell a pirate uprising and get rid of the Vagans, and in return, she asks for the throne.”

  Gemma barked out a laugh. “Oh, is that all?”

  Tollan recoiled, but Gemma leaned forward. “Tell me about this uprising.”

  When Tollan had finished telling them what he knew, Gemma stood up, her eyes flashing. “Bloody Riquin Hawkbeard,” she snarled, slamming her hand onto the table. “Goddess damn him and his obsession with his eerie prickling facial hair!” She stood up, then wavered on her feet.

  In an instant, Devery was across the room, and Elam was out of his chair, both of them reaching to support her. She threw her hands in the air. “I’m all right, damn it!”

  Elam slunk back, but Devery stood his ground. A look passed between them, and Tollan felt as if they were holding an entire conversation, though neither spoke. Finally, Devery shrugged in resignation and returned to his post against the wall.

  “Now then,” she said, beginning to pace the kitchen slowly. “Where were we? Ah, yes. I’m going to gut that little bird-loving bastard and tie him onto his own mast.”

  Elam burst into laughter. “Prick!” Gemma grinned. “I’m the goddess-damned Queen of Under until I choose not to be, or until someone kills me.”

  “That isn’t going to happen,” Devery said.

  “Prickling right it isn’t,” Gemma snapped. “What is he thinking?”

  “Apparently, he just couldn’t resist the siren’s song of a city in chaos. He sent a hundred messenger gulls out to recall the entire fleet on the very night you proclaimed yourself. Told Isbit that when he heard the King Above was dead, too, he knew it was a
chance for change. He said it was time that the pirates ran things for a while.”

  Elam picked up where Tollan left off. “Isbit thinks he’ll move soon, since the last of the fleet has just arrived. He’s holed up at the Belly Up, so it’s hard to say exactly when he’ll get bored there and decide to come for you, but he knows you’ve been ill, so he’s sure to use that to his advantage. We’ve managed to keep the truth of the mage women quiet to keep panic to a minimum. We spread some well-placed rumors about Farcastian assassins and strange devices that might be attributed to the makers of Far Coast. Under knows something unnatural is going on, but up to this point, we’ve kept the details secret.”

  “And how exactly did he find out she’s been ill?” Devery’s eyes were ice.

  “I’m not sure,” Tollan said. Though now that he thought about it, it was possible that he’d been speaking to Lian about Gemma’s health where some of the urchins could hear. But he’d keep that information to himself.

  “It doesn’t matter. He already knows.” Gemma looked at Elam and said, “I need you to find Lian and get me a restorative. If she doesn’t have any, she’ll know where to find the herbs. I’m going to need quite a bit.”

  Elam stood. Devery took hold of his arm. “Don’t tell Lian who it’s for,” he said, sharing a glance with the other man. “You know how she can be about …” He gestured to Gemma.

  Elam laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m going to tell her it’s for me! I’ve been running this city ragged for days.” He grinned, then looked at Gemma. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t do anything stupid without me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, matching his smile.

  As he walked past, Elam brushed Tollan’s arm with his fingertips and a thousand shivers ran up and down Tollan’s spine. When he looked back up, Gemma was grinning at him.

  When Elam was gone, she turned back to Tollan. “Now,” she said, as if she’d been waiting the whole time for Elam to leave, “how much assistance can I expect from Lady Isbit?”

  Tollan shrugged. “I hardly know my mother anymore. But I can say that she has her mind set on Above, and I’m not sure she gives two shits about whether Under survives or not.”

  Gemma paced the room, nodding and rolling her neck as if she were arguing with herself. Then she stopped, ran a hand through her spiky hair, and said, “Okay. We take Riquin when he doesn’t expect it, make a very public scene to deter any further unrest and then make a move on the palace. Efficient, smooth and if it pleases the goddess … not too bloody.”

  Devery nodded, his gaze hard as iron. “But just bloody enough.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE BELLY UP

  The street outside the Belly Up was clear, thanks to a well-placed whisper here and a coin in the pocket of an urchin there. Gemma watched from the shadowed alley as Elam strolled up to the door of the tavern. A handful of drunken sailors lounged on the front stoop, mugs half-filled and eyes half-lidded.

  As he climbed the steps, Elam said, “I’m looking for Becka Bright-Eyes. Is she inside?”

  One sailor smirked, his eyes bloodshot. “You’ll have to wait in line, there, prayer keep. Becka’s got quite a queue.”

  Something in the man’s tone turned Gemma’s stomach.

  “Well, she’ll have to take a break at some point,” Elam said, and pushed the door open.

  As the door swung closed behind him, Gemma could hear the sounds of dishes breaking and men swearing. Things inside the tavern were getting out of hand, or perhaps they had already been out of hand for a while.

  Every hair on the back of Gemma’s neck was standing on end before the screaming started.

  Gemma signaled to Devery, who flowed out of the shadows like a wraith. She followed behind him and the sailors on the steps fell away like water. As they burst through the door, they almost crashed into Elam. Three sailors blocked his path.

  “That’s none of your concern, Brother,” the toothless man in the middle grunted. “Just sit back down and have a drink.”

  Dev was swinging even before he reached the men. They cried out and fumbled for their weapons. Elam picked up a mug and threw it at a sailor’s head. Chaos broke out around them as Elam brandished his dagger in the direction of a Balklander, then pivoted and smashed his truncheon atop another man’s hand.

  “What the bleeding prick?” Gemma shouted. “Where’s Riguin?”

  “Go, Gem,” Devery grunted. “Through the doors. Riquin must be in there.”

  Elam’s opponent disappeared in a spray of blood and Devery stood grinning where the Balklander had just been. “Just like old times, eh?” Dev said, as he put his back to Elam’s and they spun around. They were now in the middle of a circle of red-faced drunken pirates, who were armed to the extreme and screaming for blood.

  And Devery was laughing.

  Gemma sent up a silent prayer for their safety and flung herself through the swinging kitchen doors. Her heart was pounding but nothing prepared her for what she saw in the Belly Up’s kitchen. A woman was stretched out across the butcher block naked and unconscious, her back a mass of raised welts and cuts. A man was chained to the bread oven, his flesh sizzling while Riquin pricked him from behind. The man’s screams had obviously been enough to cover the sounds of the fighting outside, because Riquin turned to her in surprise.

  “Aegos, Hawkbeard,” she said. “I’ve seen tits that didn’t sag that low on a dead milk cow.”

  He reached for his sword, which rested beside the unconscious woman, and Gemma let a dagger fly. It stabbed his hand and pinned it to the butcher block. To Riquin’s credit, he didn’t cry out—even when he pulled the blade from his hand and dropped it to the floor. “I heard you were dead,” he said.

  “Funny, but I’d heard you were dead,” she replied. “I’m afraid that only one of us is correct.” Her gaze flicked to the man who was still painfully close to the oven, but he shook his head.

  “Gut him, my queen,” he croaked.

  Riquin laughed. “This prettied-up street rat is nobody’s queen. She was born a rat, and she’s going to die like one, too.”

  “Perhaps next time you decide to rape someone in my Under, you should keep your pants around your ankles, Hawkbeard. It really is quite pitiful to have to kill you in this state.” She glanced down, raising a disdainful eyebrow in the direction of his cock. “Of course, I don’t see next time being much of a concern.”

  He lunged toward her, and she dodged to the side, swiping her blade down at his shoulder. She felt resistance as her blade bit into muscle.

  Riquin grabbed at his wounded arm. “I’m going to enjoy cutting you, bitch.” He drove toward her, drunk and old and slow as prick.

  She dropped low and brought her blade across his hamstring. His leg gave out beneath him, his sword skidded away from him, and she put her foot across the blade.

  He spat at her. “You’ve no right! You’re just a …”

  She picked up his sword and held it to his cock. The words died on his tongue.

  “Crawl, you sadistic shit.”

  It was a law of nature, so far as Gemma could tell, that if you threatened a man’s cock, he would do what he was told. And it appeared that Riquin Hawkbeard was no exception. He left a trail of blood across the kitchen floor, but each time Gemma nudged him with the tip of his sword, he moved. His whimpering was pathetic and beautiful to her ears.

  At the door, Gemma looked back at the man who was still chained to the ovens. “Help will be here soon.”

  He nodded, snot and tears streaming down his ash-stained face, as he said, “It’s already here.”

  When she kicked Riquin through the door, the tavern floor was strewn with groaning, bleeding men. Elam was breathing hard as Devery wiped his blade off on an unconscious man’s sleeve. “Hey, beautiful,” Devery said, grinning broadly.

  She winked at him, then gestured at Riquin. “I don’t suppose you’d lend me a hand, Dev. Master Hawkbeard has an appointment.”

  Devery bow
ed, the smile never leaving his face. “Regency, I would like nothing more in all the world.”

  The whimper that Riquin let escape, added to the puddle of piss he left on the floor, was almost satisfaction enough. Almost.

  Gemma scanned the room, making sure that all the threats were eliminated, then patted Elam on the back. “You all right?” she asked.

  He nodded, still panting. “Yeah, just—a little out of practice.”

  “I’ve got to get out there and deal with—” She waved vaguely in the direction that Devery had gone. “But there are two people in there who need help.” She thrust her head toward the kitchen. “It’s ugly, Elam. If you’d rather, I’ll send Lian in.”

  Elam shook his head, though his color went a bit gray. “I’ll see to them,” he said softly.

  She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you,” she said. “I don’t tell my people that enough.”

  Riquin Hawkbeard was strung up, arms and legs spread wide, between two dock posts. His infantile bird-shaped beard trembled as did his flaccid manhood. Blood was caked down his left leg and across his right shoulder, but somehow, the man held his head straight.

  Tollan watched as Gemma approached him from the Belly Up. She looked out over the crowd, which had grown to fill the street. She didn’t raise her voice, but as she started to speak, a hush fell over the group. Tollan scanned the unfamiliar faces for Elam, as a small coil of fear unraveled in his stomach. He had to force himself to listen to Gemma.

  “It’s been a dark few days in Yigris, friends, and I must apologize for my absence. But I’m so proud of the way my people—my family—came together to protect our own.” She glanced over her shoulder at the pirate, then said, “But sometimes, even the healthiest of houses can be struck by a plague, a cancer or the clap …”

  A few people in the audience chuckled.

  “One week ago, when I ascended to the throne of Under, I stood before Guildhall and offered myself to anyone who chose to challenge me. Many of you were in that hall, and you saw that no opponents came forward.” She turned and spat in Riquin’s face. “Riquin Hawkbeard was in Guildhall that night. But too craven to challenge me there, he ran like a whipped dog to gather his followers.”