Nameless Queen

by Rebecca McLaughlin

  I show her everything.

  Through it all, Esther’s hand is in mine.

  I show her my most recent memories of Hat, including the moment Esther herself was stabbed and fell, and Hat—of everyone who froze, of everyone who was afraid—pushed her way through the crowd to try to save her. I show her Rhana, somehow every bit the fierce leader I wish I could be, smart and kind.

  Then I show her what could be: Hat accepted as an apprentice of the medical ward, growing and training and becoming a skilled doctor who serves Seriden. I show her the Nameless building houses just outside the city walls and joining the farmhands and shop workers on their treks each morning, wearing clothes that fit. I show her—and my heart breaks—herself. I paint her cheeks delicately with fine lines, aged by years with grace and laughter. We sit together on twin thrones, ruling side by side.

  There’s only one crown. We’ve done what our father asked. But why should one crown be the same thing as one queen?

  The last thing I show her is the four of us. Her, a Royal in a pristine blue gown with gems in her dark brown hair. Me, the Nameless impossible heir dressed in black with a silver crown. Glenquartz, the first Legal promoted past lieutenant’s station, with the general’s stripes on his shoulders. And Hat, standing by his side, a white doctor’s apron and a beautiful blue-trimmed hat upon her head. All of us: a family together. The ones given to each other by chance and the ones we’ve chosen to love.

  Esther’s hand grows weak in my grasp, and I feel my own grip slipping. I would lock us away forever inside this moment if I knew how. I hold on with every bit of strength I have left. As darkness seeps through my mind, I speak as much to myself as I do to her:

  Hold on, hold on.

  I don’t know which of us is the first to let go.

  CHAPTER 24

  I wake up the same way I fell asleep: holding Esther’s hand, kneeling on the floor of Med Ward, and Nameless. But I am no longer the same.

  Esther groans and opens her eyes.

  I pull my aching body to my feet. “Esther?”

  Her left arm is strapped in a sling to keep her from aggravating her injury, but she’s breathing and alive.

  “Well, if you’re here,” Esther says, “then that must mean you’re not dead. And I’m not dead. That’s good.”

  “No one’s dead,” I say with a tremulous smile.

  “Belrosa?”

  I hold out my hand, and for the first time, when I imagine a violet wren with crystal eyes and a shock of blue feathers along its wings, I see it as it appears. It hops around my hand, surveying the room. I feel its claws pressing against the calluses on my palm.

  When it turns toward Esther, it lifts its beak, and the most beautiful birdsong fills the room. It fills me with the feeling of flowing honey and the chime of cymbals. I realize it’s the sensation of my own aura, and I giggle with pride.

  Esther puts out her hand, and I will the bird to hop over. She laughs with childlike delight as it tilts its body down and rubs the side of its head against her fingers, getting petted.

  “And you…?” Esther asks.

  “I can see it, too.” I pat the imaginary bird on its head.

  “You did it!” Esther says. “If you can see your illusions, does that mean all the Nameless can too? Are all of them citizens?”

  “All of them, including me,” I say with a giddy laugh. “Except…I don’t think it was just me who allowed this to happen. It was you, too. You gave me your tattoo, and you never even knew my name. It took both of us accepting the Nameless and accepting each other to fix everything. Our father was right. The tattoo has been reunited. He didn’t make me Nameless so that I’d grow up and accept them as citizens. He made me Nameless so that you would grow up as a powerful leader and so that you would accept me as your sister and as Nameless. He did it so that we would accept each other and ourselves. It was about you all along, Esther.”

  “It was both of us together,” Esther says. “But is Belrosa…?”

  “She’s alive. I guess.”

  “Did she escape?” Esther asks. “We can send a Royal guard—I mean, if there are any that aren’t still loyal to her.” She tries to pull herself up into a seated position, and she winces.

  From across the room, I gesture for Rhana to join us.

  “I did something maybe worse,” I explain as Rhana picks her way through the cots. “I don’t even know how I did it, exactly. I trapped Belrosa in her own worst fear. As far as I can tell, she’s living it over and over again.”

  “Belrosa’s here,” Hat says. She points to a cot in the distant corner, where Belrosa’s sleeping form lies motionless. Esther’s jaw tightens, and she leans up to catch a glimpse.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Rhana says. She taps the center of Esther’s forehead. “That’s enough of that, Your Highness. You’ll pull out your sutures if you keep that up. Don’t make me have your sister put you back to sleep.”

  Both our eyes widen in alarm. She knows we’re sisters?

  “Sorry!” Hat says from two cots away. She’s obviously been eavesdropping the entire time. She scampers to join us. “That was me! I told her. During the surgery, it looked like Esther might need some transfused blood—which is a new but very cool procedure—and she didn’t know who would have compatible blood. So I sold you out. But she didn’t end up taking any of your blood! Isn’t that great?” Hat twists a curly lock of red hair between her fingers.

  Rhana pats Esther’s shoulder. “I kept your secret for a very long time. I can keep this one too.”

  “Apparently, you were one of her most difficult surgeries,” Hat says with a weird sense of pride.

  “And one of my most successful,” Rhana says.

  “You should have seen it!” Hat gushes. “There was so much blood.”

  “Hat is learning very quickly,” Rhana says. “Your friend will be a great doctor someday.”

  “She will,” Esther says.

  A slow smile overtakes me. “But you’ve got it wrong. She’s not my friend.”

  Hat’s eyes fall.

  “She’s my sister,” I say, smiling. “They both are.”

  I wrap my arm around Esther’s shoulders, and Hat leans in and puts an arm around my waist.

  “You’re my family,” I say to Hat, pulling her close and wrapping my arm around her. “I choose you to be in my life. You make it better. And, as terrifying as it is to care about someone, I care about you. There’s no way around it.”

  Glenquartz clears his throat to let me know that, as always, he’s standing as a shadow at the edge of the room. He has a few bruises on his face, but his beard is excellent as ever.

  I extend my arm to him, and his eyes crinkle with delight as he joins us.

  “All right—off, off!” Rhana chastises, shooing us away from the bed. “Let her rest. And you can have this back now.” Rhana opens a small drawer in the bedside table and pulls out the metal circlet, but it’s badly dented.

  “What? Why is that here?” I ask.

  Esther frowns at it. “You put it away in your wardrobe, so I stole it back. You’re a terrible influence on me, it must be said. I was going to give it to you at the festival—crown you in front of everyone. It was a great image in my head.”

  “Well, it saved your life,” Rhana says. “You had it in the inside pocket of your jacket, and it deflected the sword when you got stabbed.”

  “I guess it’s not good for wearing anymore,” Esther says with a sigh. I can tell she’s getting tired.

  “Actually,” I say, “if you’re not using it, I’ll take that.”

  “Really? I don’t think it’ll sit on your head properly,” Esther says, gesturing for Rhana to pass it to me.

  “I owe Devil something interesting,” I say. “And this will fit the bill nicely.”

  Glenquartz moves
to the foot of Esther’s bed, leaning forward on the balls of his feet and drumming his fingers on the sheet. He’s doing everything short of jumping with his arms waving.

  “Oh my goodness, Glen-beard,” I say. “Your aura is buzzing like three hundred thousand bees. What is it you want to tell me?”

  “That is one thing I won’t miss about the auras,” Esther says, and I realize she can no longer sense auras or use magic. But she doesn’t seem sad.

  “I have some news to share with you,” Glenquartz says.

  “Is it good news?” I ask, already tired.

  “It’s not great news,” he says.

  I frown. “What is it?”

  “The man you called Marcher?” he says. “You spoke to him in the middle of the duels. From what I can tell, he’s gone.”

  I pinch the sheet between my fingers. “Gone where?”

  “During the chaos after the duels, he disappeared,” Glenquartz says. “So did most of those Nameless soldiers. A few of them did stay behind, and there’s two of them out in the corridor who wish to speak with you.”

  “Funny thing about being queen,” Esther says, suppressing a yawn. “It’s not so much a job as it is your life now.”

  “Oh, sure,” I tease. “Now you tell me.”

  “I’ll be recovering for weeks,” she says, shooing me. “But a crisis cannot wait, Coin.”

  When she says my name, it flickers through me like a spark of pride. A swish of blue, a lingering warmth, and her aura settles into its place.

  Hat touches my elbow to reassure me that she has everything in hand. As she does, I’m filled with a rushing sense of golden light. This must be her happiness, her joy. It overwhelms me, and I could almost laugh and cry at the same time.

  I take my leave, shadowed by Glenquartz.

  In the corridor, two Royal guards are watching over two Nameless soldiers. They both spring to their feet when I approach, and stand at attention. They remind me of the Royal guards, and I make a note to ask Glenquartz how many guards were loyal to Belrosa and were arrested during the festival.

  “Ma’am,” the girl soldier says.

  The boy soldier says, “Your Highness.” He’s older than me by a couple of years, and he’s familiar, as though I might have met him once.

  “I call myself Kit,” says the girl. “And this is Goldie.”

  Their auras rest close to their skin like sweaters or armor.

  “I call myself Coin,” I say. “And please, do call me Coin. I insist.”

  “Is it true?” Kit asks. “Do you really think we’ll have a home here in Seriden?” Her voice grows heavy, and her eyes brim with tears. The way she holds Goldie’s hand—I don’t expect she’ll ever let go.

  I take a moment to keep my own eyes dry. I put out both my hands and imagine a sterling silver crown forming with sharp angles that mirror the tattoo on my arm. They watch it come to life and build itself.

  When it’s done, I place the crown upon my head.

  “You are citizens of Seriden,” I say, “just as I am its queen.”

  Goldie’s breath catches in his throat, and tears fall down his cheeks. He leans his forehead against Kit’s hair, his hand trembling on her shoulder. I hear him mutter “home” again and again.

  “Can you tell me something?” I ask. “Do you know where Marcher is going? What did he promise you to get all those soldiers to leave with him?”

  Goldie sniffs and wipes his nose, trying to speak coherently. “He said he was after…He promised us…” He laughs as though it’s nonsense now.

  “What did he promise?” I ask.

  Kit shakes her head like she doesn’t believe it either. “He promised us a city. A Nameless city.” She lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “But that’s what you offered us. And you, I think I can trust.”

  “Thank you,” I say to both of them. “Truly. How many of you were there?”

  “There were at least two hundred of us near the end,” Kit says. “Maybe ten of us stayed here in Seriden.”

  “He said he was taking a ship in the harbor,” Goldie says, barely moving as he breathes in the scent of Kit’s hair. “We don’t know which one, but I’m sure it’s gone by now.”

  I offer my thanks again, and I order the guards to take them to the guest sleeping quarters, where they can safely spend the night. I don’t quite know what I’ll do tomorrow when the Royal Council asks me what is happening to all the Nameless and what is happening to Seriden itself.

  As they go, I shove my hands deep into my pockets, wondering if I should follow them and find a change of clothes. My fingers touch paper. I frown. I didn’t put anything in my jacket before the Assassins’ Festival. I pull it out. It’s a large piece of paper folded in half. I open it and find a handwritten note along with another, smaller piece of folded paper that is yellowed with age. I hand both to Glenquartz.

  “Could you read this for me?” I ask.

  He takes it, and as soon as he starts skimming it, his arms tense. His aura jumps around like barely boiling water, and he obviously doesn’t like what he’s reading.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He stammers. “We—we don’t have to talk about it now,” he says. “A day more of rest, I think.”

  I give him my best don’t you dare glare.

  “It says how eighteen years ago,” Glenquartz says, “King Fallow asked him to look after his youngest daughter. You. And he gave him a piece of paper with the daughter’s name. The instruction was to give you your name if your life was in danger or after you secured the throne. And Marcher told the king that in exchange for a ‘truly astonishing amount of money,’ he promised to give you everything that King Fallow left for you, including your name.” He stuffs the newer paper into his pocket, but he holds out the folded piece of paper in my direction.

  “Wait.” I stare at the piece of old paper in his hand. I don’t know what to be confused about first: that Marcher had a deal with the king, or that I’m surprised. Marcher always said he had looked after me since the day I was born. How true.

  “Yes,” Glenquartz says, reading my mind. “It’s your name, apparently. Your birth name. I didn’t open it—not that it would make much of a difference at this point. After what you did at the festival, the Nameless are citizens now. So you don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.”

  The paper is folded in half, creased a few times.

  How is finding my name this simple? When I came to the palace, I was in chains. When I stayed, it was to protect someone I loved. But a part of the reason I stayed was because this place was the best chance I had to find my name. Yet the person who had my name all along was the oldest part of my life, one of the Nameless. And a spetzing bastard at that.

  I don’t know what to say, so I say the only thing that feels right. “Thank you.”

  “It’s up to you,” he says, and he walks in the direction of Med Ward. He’s giving me privacy.

  I have the urge to follow him. To return to Med Ward and rejoin the small family that has built itself around me. I don’t know if it will last forever, or if “family” is the right word for what we are. But maybe we’re something better than that, something Nameless that is, in its own way, perfect.

  I take a deep breath, my fingertips tingling, and I open the paper.

  Handwritten ink letters stain the page, smudged in a few places. The stark sunlight illuminates every bend of ink, every sloping curve and sharp turn.

  On this paper is my name.

  This is the legalized life I could have lived. This is the person I would’ve been if my mother had not died, and if King Fallow had cared more for my life than for the life of his city. This is an innocent name, a version of myself untouched by the streets, which at times were both beautiful and cruel. This is who I could be, the Royal status awaiting me: a life of leadership
and fear, and the name for this city’s Nameless queen.

  There’s only one problem.

  I can’t read.

  I laugh, running my finger over the beveled ink. Foreign characters sprawl across the paper, and I have no idea what they say.

  I’ve gone through a lot of names. The Nameless queen. The impossible heir. The sovereign ruler. Alley trash. Coin, the thief and dabbling grifter.

  But none of them are me, not in the way I want them to be.

  I had this idea of who I was. I thought I was selfish, that I was small and unimportant like a coin on the streets. Then I had this grand vision of who I could be: a queen, a diplomat, and a selfless optimist.

  I figured that when I found my name, I would realize that I hadn’t changed at all. I would realize I am the same person I have always been.

  But I’m not.

  I am a thief. I am queen. I am impossible.

  I am a lost child of this city, I am family to the Nameless, and I am Coin.

  Gently, I fold the scrap of paper and put it away. I am everything this paper says I am.

  And I am more.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you for reading this book. Unless you’re just reading the acknowledgments and not the book, which is okay, I guess. Weird, but okay. So, thanks for reading the acknowledgments, too.

  I know this is odd, but I’d also like to thank Past Me. Past Me did all the hard work, while Current Me is sitting in a library with a seasonal coffee. I respect the effort and time I put into this book, and I want to acknowledge it. Okay. Acknowledged. Moving on. The remainder of these acknowledgments are in four parts: People, Things, Apologies, and You’re Welcome.

  People. Pete Knapp, my terrific agent, who is my ceaseless advocate and champion. It all started with velociraptors. Phoebe Yeh, my diligent editor who worked tirelessly to help me make the book what it is today. Aside: Allow me to add that it took me over two years to tell my agent and editor that they should call me Becky instead of Rebecca, so—honestly—they are real troupers for making it this far with me. Melissa, my twin, who read multiple versions, answered every phone call, listened to every rant, transcribed, brainstormed, and all-around tolerated every random swing I went through. My mother, Dawn, who let me send her every chunk of writing as I wrote the very first draft and who kindly and impatiently demanded more. Laura Steven, my mentor and friend who coached me through early big revisions and was always willing to console, cuss, and cheer on my behalf. Brittany, Tiffany, Isabel, Heather, Nina, Grandma, and Travas, and all of my friends and family who read early drafts and gave an approving head nod.