Nameless Queen

by Rebecca McLaughlin

  I don’t have the words for it yet. I don’t have them in my heart. This is a language I’ve only just begun to learn how to speak. I put an arm around her shoulders and tip my head against hers.

  She hugs me, and everything we don’t know how to say to each other is wrapped inside this moment. Sister. Family. Friend.

  It’s all I can do to hold on to her. Hold on, knowing that at some point I’ll have to let go.

  * * *

  The Assassins’ Festival is everything I thought it would be.

  I’m in the Royal Court arena, perched behind a row of booths and tables where Legals are shouting about special delicacies and one-of-a-kind culinary treats.

  I remind myself why I am here. I don’t need to prove to my allies that I’m strong. I need to prove it to my enemies. Today, I’m vulnerable. Anyone walking by could slide a blade between my ribs. Anyone with a clear shot from a long distance could pick me off. Paranoia is not my friend, but it is with me like a shadow today—a shadow grafting to my bones.

  The arena fills slowly at first, like a few raindrops falling into a stone basin. Then more quickly, gathering in small pools. Then it’s a deep well of bodies and voices, heat and motion. A rush of conversation swirls in the air, and soon the entire arena is an echo chamber filled with a sound like rushing water. There are hundreds of people here. Over a thousand now. Somewhere out in that crowd are the Nameless. I see some of them in their dark clothes, loitering near the waste bins.

  Today, I am anything but frivolous. I am lean and prepared. I considered wearing a dress—it would have allowed me to hide the movement of my legs during a duel, but its weight would have been too cumbersome. I settled for a long coat belted at my waist, dark pants, and a bright red blouse, which we had the tailor dye with three diagonal black streaks. It’s like the clothes Royals and Legals throw away, when they mar the fabric with dark paint in fear that a Nameless will steal it and try to pass themselves off as a proper citizen. It’s bold and unapologetic, like the claw marks of a monster, and I love it. I’ve braided my hair to keep it close to my scalp and out of my eyes. And to round out the ensemble: boots, of course.

  A railing surrounds the arena, keeping the audience at a distance. I reach out toward them, sensing their auras. It’s like being in the market. Sounds and people and feelings buzz in the air. Some people have claimed their spots early, draping coats and cowls over sections of railing. I scan the faces for anyone recognizable. Belrosa threatened that the army would be here. I know as well as anyone that with the right colors and cloth, no one looks at you twice.

  I scrutinize the crowd, wondering which of them are from Belrosa’s and Marcher’s Nameless army. The Legal with the wide-brimmed hat who spends too much time staring at the sugar bread but never actually buys it. The Royal wearing a luxurious scarf so big that it covers half his face. Occasionally I send Glenquartz on a scout run to check my blind spots.

  There’s a sheltered viewing area for the Royal Council that would provide good cover for anyone with a rifle. That’s where Esther will be, among my contenders and my enemies. Any of them or all of them could be waiting for the right moment.

  The only other structures aside from the viewing booths are the vending stalls that dot the surrounding area. The whole event is more festive and lively than I expected. The entire day of “try to kill the thief-turned-queen” is a novelty to the Legals and Royals. They’re selling chains of popcorn shaped like nooses and bread and biscuits shaped like daggers and swords.

  The first of the Royal Council arrives—General Belrosa, of course—followed quickly by the others. Hat emerges from behind the seating area, hopping the fence lithely, dressed in Royals’ clothes.

  “Coin, look!” Hat says as she reaches me. “I have my own med bag. Isn’t that great?” She opens it and starts shuffling things around to show me. I only register enough to know that she has a lot of bandages.

  “You sure are prepared,” I say, and I truly am pleased.

  “Yep,” she says with a big smile. “I mean, don’t die or anything today, but if you do, I’ll be very ready to help save your life.” Her grin is infectious. “Although…Rhana says that I have to help anyone who gets injured.”

  Suddenly I want to do nothing else but throw my arms around her and wrap her tight. While she’s as calm and confident as I want to be, all I can think is that at least she’ll be okay. Everything about who I am and what I’m doing today could get me killed. But at least she’ll be okay.

  Glenquartz joins us, and he lights up when he sees Hat with her med bag.

  He puts a hand on my shoulder, and his fear springs to life inside my chest. It’s both unnerving and comforting to know that he has imagined as many terrible outcomes as I have. I put my hand over his, trying to hide the shortness of breath I feel every time someone’s thoughts shock through my body.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I’m coursing with pure adrenaline right now. Not even the wind could sneak up on me.” I make a faint chopping and punching motion as if I’m going to fight the eastern breeze.

  Glenquartz smiles and withdraws his hand apologetically. “I’ll be with you in thought. Make me a promise?”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “While you’re out there,” he says, “you’ll act like the thieving queen you are.” His excited aura makes laughter bubble in my chest.

  “I’ll do my best,” I say with a faint curtsy. “And you make me a promise too? Keep Hat safe.”

  “Honest oath.” He nods gravely, then adds, “I swear by everything Nameless.” Glenquartz guides Hat toward one of the gateways of the arena. I watch them until they disappear.

  Esther strides to the center of the arena. She wears a pale blue dress that is light enough to be stirred by the breeze and a dark blue jacket that covers her tattoo. Her hair is done up with a white headband that could be mistaken for a crown from far away. She holds the first page of the duel challenger list that has been posted outside the dining hall for nearly six weeks now. The highest-ranked challenger on the paper is General Belrosa, but we have something better than a plan—we have a con.

  When the crowd has gathered, Esther begins to speak. It’s obviously a rehearsed speech, written years ago when the Assassins’ Festival was still a deadly affair. There’s a lot of posturing about tradition and strength and competition being the fuel for success.

  She doesn’t make eye contact with me during her speech, which is for the best. Everyone here still thinks we’re enemies. That’s the whole point. I take a deep breath. Esther is going to announce our surprise duel, and then, together, we’ll pull a con on the entire crowd. I’m ready for this.

  I’m not prepared for what actually happens. As Esther nears the end of her speech and the crowd grows anxious, Belrosa steps out of the audience. Before Esther can even finish her speech, Belrosa strides to the center of the arena to summon me to our duel.

  CHAPTER 22

  With Belrosa standing beside her, Esther speaks more slowly and carefully.

  “And of course,” Esther says, stumbling over her rehearsed words, “the Assassins’ Festival officially begins with the highest-ranked duel…which is between General Belrosa Demure and the sovereign of Seriden herself.”

  Esther gestures toward me, meeting my gaze with a flash of alarm. I silently plead for her to continue, to say the next lines we planned: But I, Esther Fallow, supersede that duel with a challenge of my own. I challenge the Nameless queen to duel for her crown.

  But she falters, and Belrosa is already leaving Esther behind and marching toward me. If I were to call Esther out to duel now, it would seem as though I’m afraid of Belrosa.

  I steel myself and step into the open arena. Away from the crowd, I feel the steady breeze rush through the knots of my braids, prickling my scalp. I feel the charged energy of 3,628 auras. Too many auras to track individually, but each
of them like a pinprick of light. Together, they’re a blurring constellation.

  Belrosa is dressed in her formal general’s uniform, complete with ceremonial sword and an oddly tilted hat. Perfect. Not only do I have to fight Belrosa in front of everyone, but her entire appearance is designed to remind the people watching that she is their protector. She’s the beacon of Seriden pride.

  Come on, Esther. Say something. Do something.

  Belrosa stops four steps shy of the arena’s center, and we face each other. She presents her weapon, and I present mine, both of us holding swords.

  We bow, ever so slightly, maintaining eye contact. Then, before either of us finishes, the first sharp movement snakes outward.

  Steel clangs against steel as we meet blows. Her first swing is strong and high, but I do more than block it. It takes me three quick strikes to put her on the defensive, and then I’m advancing at an angle to move toward her weaker side.

  She matches my strides and then counters, jabbing toward my left. As I twist to dodge the strike, I carry through with a kick that catches her hard in the shoulder. She stumbles but doesn’t fall. Her eyes flash with fear as she realizes that I’m not as untrained as she thought. My sword has a jeweled, decorative hilt just like hers. I’m using Glenquartz’s sword. His thoughts are with me, and so is his most cherished weapon.

  Both Belrosa and I are focused enough on the blades and our movements to trade blows but not injure each other. We make real contact in the nonlethal blows from fists and knees and feet.

  The fight has stretched on for nearly two minutes—what feels like an eternity. If we were on the streets, I would have picked up one of the rocks on the ground to get a long-distance shot at her. Or I would have pickpocketed a pistol from a spectator. But this is the Royal arena, where a display of treachery would cost me more than what I would gain by winning the fight.

  I kick Belrosa’s knee, and as she recovers, I glance at Esther. If she’s going to salvage our con, she needs to interrupt the duel. It can’t be me.

  Esther tenses in fear, and then I feel the blow hit my waist. It’s a sword, but it feels like a punch to the gut. I duck and roll a few paces away on the ground. When I push myself into a crouch, I grip my side with pain plastered on my face.

  Belrosa readies herself to charge me again. Ice sweeps from her aura, and I know that she’ll kill me if she gets the chance.

  Esther finally steps into the arena. “I challenge the Nameless queen!”

  Her shout echoes out into the air, and I wonder if I’m the only one who sees through her indignant anger to the fear beneath it. Belrosa immediately falters, nearly tripping over her own feet.

  “My lady?” Belrosa says, her sword hand jittering at her side.

  “A higher-ranked challenger can interrupt an ongoing duel, according to the terms of the Assassins’ Festival.” Esther walks right up to Belrosa. I don’t know how she manages to be graceful even now. If we weren’t in a hot field of stones surrounded by thousands of Seriden’s citizens, I would have thought she was interrupting a wine-serving ceremony. I take the opportunity to rise to my feet, but I keep my hand pressed to my side as though to stanch a wound. Royals and Legals on the inside edge of the audience stretch on their toes, trying to see how badly I’ve been wounded.

  Belrosa is still so wild and tense with the energy of battle that she doesn’t even try to steady her hands enough to sheathe her sword. She gives a curt bow and retreats a few steps away, but she doesn’t leave the main arena or join the crowd, as if she’s not quite willing to step away from the fight.

  Murmurs flow through the spectators, who are jostling elbows and pointing fingers.

  Esther takes Belrosa’s position. She has rehearsed her lines several times over the past day, and her voice hardly wavers as she speaks.

  “You are an impossible queen,” Esther says. “You are Nameless and reckless, and I would be ignoring the wishes of my people if I did not challenge your right to the throne. I don’t believe my father would name someone like you as the next sovereign of Seriden, and I am not convinced you are the true heir. Everything about you could be a lie.”

  I hide the grin that wants to play on my lips. Instead I rise to a standing position, pretending to wince as I straighten up.

  “I am the crowned heir of this city, the first to live in the palace as Nameless. What, I wonder, would convince you?” The crowd is as silent as the Nameless protestors outside the Royal Court gates.

  “Nothing,” Esther says, and she picks up my sword from the ground and presents it as her duel weapon.

  A tremulous whisper rises in the crowd.

  I have no weapon. I hold out my arms.

  “I am unlike anything that came before me,” I say. “I am unlike everyone that came before me. The sovereigns of Seriden’s past, they may have been able to conjure images of fire.”

  I hold out my right hand and imagine a column of flame bursting upward from my palm.

  “They may have been able to conjure images that seemed to test the very nature of this world.”

  I hold up my left hand, and imagine lightning striking me from the sky above.

  Esther staggers in a show of astonishment. In truth, Esther is helping me. I can’t see any of the illusions I create, but she can see all of them. Anywhere my illusions fail, hers can continue.

  “But the one thing that’s different for me is not just my name,” I shout. “It’s not just my life. It’s my power.”

  I clap my hands together and imagine ripples of fire and electric energy spiraling outward, rising up into the sky, and forming a halo rotating far above the arena.

  Three seconds pass, and then Esther lifts her sword and charges at me, swinging the blade toward me. I let Esther take over the illusions overhead. The heads in the audience are all tilted upward at the spectacle and marvel of it all.

  I imagine myself standing before Esther. Then I imagine another version four feet closer, then three feet to the left and three feet to the right.

  Esther swings at the open air before me.

  I hear the gasps of the crowd as the blade passes through the air. Gasps again as she swings in another direction.

  Esther, seemingly frustrated with swiping her blade through nothing but air, throws down the sword. It clatters to the stones.

  “Show yourself!” she shouts.

  I release the hold I have over the hallucinations around me, letting myself appear to her. Everyone falls quiet, and I will my voice to project over them so that everyone can hear me.

  “You think I am a mistake,” I say to her. “But I am not. You think I am impossible, but when the impossible stands before you, what do you call it then? What do you call me?”

  On cue, Esther releases her control over the images far overhead. There is no more spiraling halo of fire or bursts of lightning.

  “I will not rule with fear,” I say. “I will not rule through intimidation or a hunger for control. Don’t be afraid of what you don’t understand. But understand this: I am not impossible. I stand before you. Your father trusted me enough to name me queen. You believed in his leadership. You have faith in his choices. I am one of those choices. So why not have faith in me?”

  Esther stares at me. She’s trying her best to appear angry and thoughtful. I know what we’re saying is for the benefit of the crowd—it’s all a con—but at least to her, every single word of it is true.

  “You understand the responsibility you’re accepting?” Esther shouts. “You understand that the moment this day ends, the only way the tattoo will leave your arm is with your death?”

  “If I become unfit to rule,” I say, “it is a sacrifice I will readily make.”

  Esther considers this for a moment, and the crowd waits in near-absolute silence.

  “You said you did not believe I was the heir to Seriden�
�s throne,” I say. “What do you think now?”

  “I think you are strong,” Esther says, and I can see the truth of it in her aura. “You are making the decisions you think are best, and if you’ll take the council of the Royals into consideration, you could do great things for this city. You clearly have power and control; all you need is the support of the city. You are Seriden’s true sovereign.”

  Esther spreads her arms out. “I yield to you,” she announces. “Do all other challengers yield?”

  There’s no small amount of hands that go up into the air. All the hands mean that they’re ready to follow Esther’s lead. Glenquartz joins us and gives me a formal salute, showing the audience that at least part of the Royal Guard is on my side.

  Esther’s gaze falls to General Belrosa Demure, who stands across the arena. Belrosa, at last, under the pressure of the audience, raises her hand as well. She meets Esther’s gaze, furious in the face of the shifted alliance. She walks toward us, to where Glenquartz, Esther, and I stand in a row.

  “If someone such as you,” Belrosa says to Esther as she approaches us, “can find your way to accepting the Nameless queen, then who am I to speak against her?”

  I watch the way Belrosa advances. She hasn’t bothered to sheathe her sword, and its long blade catches the light as she moves. I stay on my guard. If Belrosa’s coming in for a formal handshake, one thing is clear: she’s going to try to kill me.

  Her aura is still as cold as ice.

  This must be Belrosa’s con: cede the duel and get close enough to take the tattoo by force. She starts to the left, going in to shake Glenquartz’s hand, and it’s smart: it allows her to approach me from the side instead of head-on.

  She clasps Glenquartz’s hand in her left. “I commend you for your good work, Lieutenant. Your talents far exceed your rank.”

  To everyone else, it sounds like a compliment. Glenquartz’s aura is like steel.

  Belrosa shakes Esther’s hand next and says, “Bravely fought and bravely spoken.”