by Elise Kova
“I don’t know anything more.” She shakes her head and I leave the matter be. If she does know something, she’s too nervous to say.
We finish up shortly after and I excuse myself from her salon. The moment I step out I’m face to face with Harrow, Jalic, Sirro, and Aria.
“Your Majesty.” Jalic is the first to notice me and he bows his head. The others follow suit. Even the begrudging etiquette is a significant improvement over the first time and I wonder if my interactions with Harrow have had anything to do with their change in tone.
Hook bounds past me. He circles Aria twice, growling low. Aria steps closer to Harrow, grabbing his arms.
“This beast is getting snot on my skirts.” Aria swats lightly at Hook’s nose as he buries it into the layers of fabric. “Shoo, shoo!”
“Hook, come,” I command. Hook looks between me and Aria and lets out a frustrated huff, but obliges. However, his focus remains intently on the woman. It’s amusing to watch Aria fight an open scowl. “Good afternoon, you four. Where are you headed?” I ask.
“Why? Would you like to come? Have a bit more fun with us?” Jalic shoves his hands into his pockets and gives me a casual grin.
“Not particularly.”
“Is that any way to speak to a queen?” Rinni asks and Jalic glances askance.
“I’m going to see the seamstress,” Aria announces, puffing her chest slightly. “It’s such an honor to be dressed by the same woman who dresses the queen.” She pets Harrow’s arm lightly. There’s no question as to who brought this “honor” about.
“Good, the seamstress seems very talented,” I say mildly, and find a small delight in watching Aria’s expression tilt toward disappointment at my lack of ire toward her being dressed by the same person as me. “In fact, I think you should all get your clothes for the coronation made by her.”
“I’m not getting something for the coronation.” The way Aria stretches her neck, as if she’s trying to compete against my height, is evocative of how I imagine a territorial swan to look. “I’m getting something for the Troupe of Masks.”
“Oh, right, you mentioned Aria was performing somewhere. Carron, was it?” I glance at Harrow.
“You told her? That was my surprise,” Aria hisses. Then, quickly collects herself. “It’s a high honor.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She acts as though I just awarded a medal to her, bowing with a dramatic flourish of her hands. “I will be going on tour soon with them. But don’t you worry, we will be back for the coronation night. I’m sure it’ll be a performance worth remembering.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” I lie. Even if I wasn’t trying to leave before the coronation, I have no interest in anything to do with Aria.
“Good.” She smiles thinly. “Let’s be off; we don’t want to keep the queen from…whatever it is she does.”
Rinni takes a step forward but I don’t move, still blocking the entrance to the salon. “I do a lot of reading, actually.” I meet Aria’s eyes.
“Good for you.” Her smile is quickly becoming a sneer.
“Carron is not far from Westwatch, isn’t it? Right along the wall that borders the fae wilds?”
“Your grasp of Midscape geography is astounding,” Aria drawls.
“Will you be seeing any family there?”
Aria narrows her eyes as her whole body goes tense. It’s a subtle shift that she quickly corrects with the poise of an actress. But that was a glimpse of something real.
I’ve gotten too good at catching when people’s guards are down, in large part thanks to Eldas.
“All the family I associate regularly with is here in Quinnar, Your Majesty. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be respectful of the seamstress’s time.” She seems too eager to dismiss the whole topic of conversation. “The hour is late already and we have a soiree tonight.”
“A soiree?” I glance to Harrow.
“Here, in the castle,” he says, giving me a knowing nod. Then, his voice reverts to the more careless and somewhat cruel tones I first heard from him. “I doubt you’d be interested.”
“Yes, nothing you have to worry yourself with. We already know that you humans don’t find the same sorts of things amusing as us elves,” Aria says somewhat snidely. I can’t help but wonder if she means glimmer.
“I have other, more important matters to attend to, in any case.” I grit out a smile and step aside. “Enjoy yourselves.”
The four go into the salon, closing the door behind them. I promptly reach out a hand and Hook is at my side. I scratch behind his ears, staring at the door.
“Rinni, take me to Eldas.”
“But he—”
“Now,” I say firmly. Then add, softer, “Please. There’s something I need to urgently discuss with him.”
“Very well.” Rinni nods and starts down the hall. She doesn’t seem cross with me, and yet a brief sensation of discomfort passes over me.
For the first time, I gave someone in Midscape an order, like a queen would.
And they listened.
Chapter 28
Rinni takes me to the secret passage overlooking the throne room. I act surprised for her benefit. She places a finger over her lips and we move silently, staring down.
A screen of iron has been erected in the center of the room, bisecting the space. Eldas is on one side, sitting on his iron throne. On the other is a man dressed in lush velvet and mother of pearl. The screen is intricately woven, mostly obscuring Eldas’s appearance. He continues to seclude himself, as much as possible, even as he is forced to rule due to the delay in coronation.
“This is how he’s governed for the past year,” Rinni whispers in my ear. “While he waited for you.”
All I see is a cage. A physical barrier separating Eldas from any kind of real connection with anyone beyond Rinni, Harrow, Sevenna, Poppy, or Willow. I wonder what it must’ve been like to finally escape the castle when he marched to Capton. Was that the day he broke? The day he could take the all-consuming loneliness of his hall no longer?
He is chained by the traditions of his station, and suddenly I want to free him of the cycle just as much as myself and all of Midscape. What would he be like without the shackles of duty? He said he’s never allowed himself to dream…what would he find he wanted, if he allowed it? Would he want me? a treacherous voice whispers.
The two men discuss matters of the fields surrounding Quinnar.
“The plants do not grow. The soil is like ash,” the lord says.
“The queen has only just recharged the throne,” Eldas replies calmly. “Give things time.”
“Queen Alice did not need time.”
“Queen Alice had one hundred years to perfect her abilities.”
“We might not have one hundred years before Quinnar starves if the fields don’t become viable.”
“I know these are tense times. But you must be patient.” Eldas’s voice remains calm, but I hear a protective edge.
“Tell that to the people who have hunger gnawing at their stomachs. Who have been foraging in the barren landscape for nuts and edible roots for months!” The man throws out his hands. Then he pauses, and bows low. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, for speaking out of turn.”
“Do not let it happen again,” Eldas says with dangerous softness. I lean toward the wall as I catch a glimpse of the type of ruler he is—of the harsh man I first met. “I will open the granary stores of the castle. You’ll have an allotment of three wagons. Divide as you think best.”
The man steps backwards, bowing and mumbling thank yous the entire way to the back exit. Rinni squeezes my hand and we slip out and down the stairs. She doesn’t hesitate before opening the side door to the throne room.
“Your Majesty?” she says.
“Rinni? You know I—” Eldas’s eyes shift and the initial scowl he wore drops the moment he sees me. Hook bounds past, rushing over to the throne. Eldas frowns slightly, but his hands bury into
the fur on either side of Hook’s face. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”
“I need to talk with you about something.” I approach him. Eldas’s eyes flick to the back doors that are obscured by the iron screen. “I know you have other people you’re meeting with, but—”
“You are my priority,” he says, almost like it’s a decree. I fight a blush. “What is it?”
“Two things. Foremost, Aria.”
“What has she done now?”
“Nothing, explicitly… But I don’t trust her,” I start.
“I looked into Aria personally following the incident in the city,” Rinni says.
“I know. But it’s something other than that. I think she’s—” I stop myself short. I promised Harrow I wouldn’t betray his trust. Eldas arches his eyes. “I think she’s perhaps involved in something.”
“I don’t think she’s capable of attacking the crown.” Rinni frowns.
“Maybe nothing that serious, but still serious?” I dance around the topic. “I don’t know what. But she seems suspicious.”
“Luella,” Eldas says thoughtfully, descending from the throne. His hands are folded behind his back. He’s the model of a king but the voice of a friend—of… I dare not think of what else my name on his tongue sounds like. “You are still tired from the throne. I know it’s a toll.”
“That’s the second thing…but I’ll finish the first by saying, look into Aria, please. She’s going to Carron. She has connections with the fae. And ever since the fae delegation was here, bad things have happened to the royal family—Harrow’s suspicious illness, my kidnapping.”
“Your kidnapping was performed by a rogue fae group—Acolytes of the Wild Wood—that’s trying to claim the fae throne. They’ll do anything to show their power…except exposing where their leaders hide,” Rinni says.
“And Harrow has always been trouble. His illness is hardly more than a night of too much indulgences.” Eldas sighs with a note of finality. I want to scream. I don’t know how else I can spell it out for them.
“I don’t think Harrow’s—” I don’t get to finish before Eldas keeps speaking.
“Now what is the second thing related to the throne?”
I hadn’t come here for this. But after what I heard, I can’t ignore it. “I need to sit on it again.”
“Luella—”
“Now.” I lock eyes with Eldas and see apprehension tempered with what I’d dare say is admiration. “I overheard the discussion. Your people need fertile fields and forests filled with game.”
“You’re still too weak.”
“I’m strong enough.”
He takes a step forward and his hands release from his back to scoop up mine. I’m shocked he’s touching me in front of Rinni. The tender expression on his face is one I never thought I’d see in the daylight, and certainly not around others.
“I can’t risk something happening to you.”
“For the sake of Midscape?” I smile weakly.
“For…” He hesitates. I wait expectantly, but whatever it is he intended to say, he’s not going to be forthright with it. So I retreat to where the topics are safe—our responsibilities.
“This is my duty,” I say softly. His eyes widen slightly. “As much as looking after Capton, it is my duty to look after Midscape.”
“Very well, but sit for only a little,” he relents.
I give a nod and he releases my hands. I brush past him and I think I see him twitch, as though he’s resisting the urge to reach for me. Something in me aches for him, to allow Eldas to envelop me in his arms so that I can leech whatever strength I’m able.
But I don’t stop.
I head right for the throne and brace myself for the pain that’s about to follow.
For two weeks, I dance with the throne.
I wake and take breakfast in my room as I try and read through the journals. But by the second week, I’m too tired for reading. Eldas begins to eat breakfast with me as well, reading nonstop. I wonder if he’s compensating for my fatigue. He never says much—as though he knows I am too tired for pleasant conversation—so I hope he somehow knows I am grateful for his silent, reassuring presence.
On the days that I am strong enough, I return to the laboratory. Willow expresses worry for my sunken cheeks and the slowly lengthening shadows underneath my eyes. But I make no complaints.
I don’t want anyone to know just how empty the throne is leaving me. I can hardly trust Eldas with that truth. Every time I am honest with him, his expression darkens, and I can almost see more worry blooming in the grim gardens of his mind.
No matter what, I make sure I am strong enough to keep good on my promise to Harrow, crafting jars of teas and powders to help with his constitution. As I suspected, he was in worse shape after the night with Aria. But he’s defensive the moment I try and even make a pass at the topic.
I never find out if he gave in to glimmer again.
At the end of the second week, I lie in bed awake, staring up at the ceiling. My skin is too heavy. My joints ache. My hair has lost its luster.
The throne is killing me. It is making up for what I don’t have in magic with my life itself.
“There has to be a way to stop it,” I whisper into the air. “I have to stop it.”
Repeating that mantra, I free myself from the warm covers of my bed and shuffle out to my desk. The journals are spread across every flat surface in the main room of my apartments. Notes in both my and Eldas’s script scribbled between them. But there’s nothing useful there. We’ve been through them countless times now and have found nothing.
I think of the statue, of the first queen who made the redwood throne and helped make the Fade. If only I had her journal—or the journals of those who came after. Perhaps I’d be able to piece together the final part of this grand picture I’m missing.
Then, an idea strikes me.
A knight is posted at my door. I vaguely recognize him from the legion that came to collect me from Capton. Rinni has been pulling people from her core squadron to guard me whenever she cannot due to duty or necessity—like sleep.
The man startles at my presence, but dips his head.
“I’m going for a walk,” I declare. “Hook, stay here and guard the room.” The wolf obliges and the guard follows behind me as I lead us to a large hall occupied by ghosts.
I stare at the tarps placed over every piece of furniture purchased by the past queens. Someday, my desk, my chair, the small table, and the settee Eldas slept on will be neatly stacked in here and covered like forgotten tombstones. Moonlight streams through the high windows of the ballroom. Where the light lands is washed bone white. Where it doesn’t is shrouded in an eerie gray.
The knight stands at the entrance as I wander into the maze of furniture. Around halfway through, I grab a fistful of fabric, yanking it off. Dust rises in a plume and I cough.
The glittering motes settle back on the couch, shimmering in the moonlight, almost like the frost of elf magic.
I discard the tarp on the floor and keep moving back. It’s as if I’m revealing these forgotten queens once more to the world. They sacrificed too much to be pushed into a corner of the castle and a lone shelf in the laboratory. I find desks, dining tables, sofas of all shapes and sizes. The fashions change from the utilitarian style the cabinetmaker crafted for me to more ornate, gilded swirls. I walk back through time as told by the changing design sense of Quinnar.
Dusty confetti rains around me as I yank at the tarps. I finally make it to the back of the room, where a final piece is pushed against the far wall. If there’s any lingering old journals of the first five queens, this is the last place I could think to look for them. A line of fabric litters the floor behind me, furniture exposed. Taking tarp in both fists, I pull and expose a long writing desk.
A loud creaking fills the air. The desk groans as if the tarp was the only thing holding the time-worn and worm-eaten wood together. With a snap, the wood comes apart and th
e whole piece comes crashing down.
Jumping back and coughing, I try and avoid the bugs that scuttle out, dashing across the floor. As the sawdust settles, I look at the pile of broken wood and splinters.
“Sorry.” I’m not sure if I’m apologizing to the once desk, or the memory of the queen. A wave of sorrow passes through me, as if this desk was the last thing holding her presence to this world. “I wonder whom you belonged to,” I murmur.
This far back, it must’ve been a very early queen, pushed away and forgotten by time. I don’t know what I was hoping for. Anything that survived her would be little more than sawdust by now.
Crouching down, I pick through the wood, trying to find some signifier of which queen it may have belonged to. Though I know the mission is futile. Or, at least, I think it is, until the moonlight glints off a small metal box in the framework of what once was a drawer.
“What’re you?”
Lifting the box from the wreckage, I open it with delicate fingers. There’s a small journal inside next to a necklace. I inspect the necklace first.
Wrapped in silver filigree is a shining black stone. Or I think it’s a stone at first because of how brightly polished it is. When my fingers smooth over the pendant, I find it warm to the touch. Wood. A dense, black wood, polished and carefully set as a pendant on a silver chain.
Magic lives in it. Memories make my mind tingle and the back of my head itch as the power dances underneath my fingertips—a glimpse of woman and then I’m buried. I’ve seen these memories before, haven’t I? There’s a hazy, uncomfortable quality to the thoughts evoked by the pendant. I quickly put it down and pick up the journal.
The pages inside are at the point of crumbling under my fingers, and I abandon the idea of inspecting it here. I need to get it back to my room. I’ll copy whatever notes are still legible into a fresh journal.
I carry the box with both hands and walk lightly back to my room, careful not to jostle it. The knight is silent all the way back. At least until we return to find my door slightly ajar. The man puts a hand on his sword, inching forward toward the door.
