by Ann Denton
“Patrols where?”
“Don’t pretend you care.”
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to fight with him in front of his men, but I was getting sick of being accused of not caring simply because I’d left the throne. They had no idea how much I cared. I cared more than anyone for Evaness. I cared enough to give it up. Jackanapes.
“Hopefully not too close to Rasle. I heard they’re in for a hard winter. Lotta folk try to sneak through those woods. They’ll raid our farms and villages for food like they did two winters past,” I went for conversational as I filled up a tankard.
Ryan glanced down at me. “And how’d you hear about that?”
I shrugged and turned back to his men. “One of the girls at the brothel I worked at—”
Suddenly, my feet hovered two feet off the ground. Ryan’s furious face was level with mine. His glance was acid. My insides shriveled and puddled on the floor.
Shite. I bet he made grown men keel over with that look. The other armies wouldn’t stand a chance.
He marched me to the weapons room, disregarding the tankard I still clutched in my hand.
He slammed the door closed behind us and dropped me to the ground. Water sloshed all over my dress.
“The last man that got his drink all over me got what was coming to him,” I warned as I scowled down at the sopping fabric. Really? I’d just gotten dry.
Ryan’s hand came around my neck. I felt his fingers flex. He shook me slightly, but he didn’t clamp down. It was clear that he was using every bit of restraint he had not to snap my neck. His brown eyes bored holes into me. “What the sarding hell do you mean, you worked at a brothel?”
I held up my hands, placating, though my heart was racing. He could snap me in half. In quarters. He could probably crack me so many times that my bones would be splinters. I worked hard to keep a wobble out of my voice. “In the counting house. In the back. I touched the coins. Not the customers, oh delirious one.”
Ryan closed his eyes and huffed a breath. His fingers flexed on my throat and I felt my windpipe constrict before he let up.
I gasped for breath as he slowly pulled his hands away from my neck.
As soon as his hands were down, I walloped him with the tankard. Fight or flight took over. And the past four years, I’d trained for fight.
“What the—”
I didn’t give him a chance to recover. I smashed the tankard into his nose just as the two soldiers he’d been training walked through the door.
Ryan’s hand closed around my arm, neutralizing my weapon of choice. So, I reverted to the age-old standard kick to the nards.
“Gah!” he roared, pulling me into a bear hug so tight I could hardly breathe. He used his massive thigh muscles to trap my legs and lifted me from the floor, so I had no leverage. I could feel every inch of his bulging pecs against my back. His arms felt as large and hard as tree branches. If he just lowered my body a few inches, my ass would be aligned with his—
“What’s wrong with you?” he growled in my ear.
I didn’t answer, since my blood was pounding too hard in my ears to hear anything clearly. My neck still spiked with pain. My windpipe still wheezed with each breath.
His hands shifted, and my power flared. I tried to push it down, but my adrenaline had spiked. It was too high. I couldn’t control it. I could not stop the surge of power that ripped through me, ready to protect me. Like a cannon, or dragon fire, the glowing green pulse of energy blasted from my body.
“Sard!” I screamed, as the pulse touched each of the men in the room. Their expressions changed, dulled; vacant smiles grew on their faces like dandelions. False, weedy happiness invaded their systems. A sense of calming peace. My power. My curse. Because forcing peace on others had a price.
Pain ran up my arms like fire and I felt the skin burst apart on my forearms. Deep, trench-like wounds opened under my sleeves and blood soaked them.
“Ahhh!” I howled, cradling my wounded arms.
Ryan dropped me and tilted his head, a dopey, puzzled expression coloring his features. His thick lips hung open.
Behind him, the sixteen-year-old soldier stared at the weapons like they were mounds of gold. He looked stunned, or amazed, or … “Feels like a sex hangover,” he elbowed his training partner. “You know. That moment right after when you still can’t quite see straight?”
Ryan snapped out of his daze a bit at that, and moved in front of me. It almost felt protective. But I wasn’t sure. My sleeves were soaked. The extra padding my mother had sewn into my gowns wasn’t equipped for this kind of blast. I wasn’t equipped. I felt light-headed. And not in the good way the men did. Not from peace magic. From blood loss.
I stumbled. I would have fallen face-first onto an axe if a pair of arms that were not thick as tree trunks hadn’t scooped me up and turned me around. I stared up into Quinn’s grey eyes as he clutched me to him.
“My sister. I need my sister. Take me to Avia.”
I slumped forward and let the spy master carry me away. I could only hope he’d bring me to my family and not showcase my weakness to the world. I could only hope he hated me slightly less than my other husbands.
Chapter Seven
I faded in and out of consciousness as Quinn carried me through the palace. He cradled me against his chest. And though he was a relative stranger, and I was at my most vulnerable, I felt safe in his arms. This warm feeling and a dull memory of being rocked filled my mind. And then a strange song. One I didn’t remember ever hearing. It was beautiful and lilting. Had one of my wet nurses sung it to me? I couldn’t remember as I faded into oblivion.
When I came back to reality, Connor walked next to Quinn.
“She fainted? She always faints,” Connor shook his head, and the brown curls I loved so much swayed against his forehead.
I didn’t always faint. He just didn’t happen to know about the blood-letting side effect of the peace power, a power my mother liked to publicly claim could ‘tame dragons.’ No one knew. Stupid geas.
I didn’t hear Quinn’s response, but I felt him hold up my arm.
“She’s bleeding!” Connor let out a string of curses.
I shook my head. I had to swallow several times before I could speak. “Just a little. I need Avia.” Shite. Even that much speech left me gasping, short of breath.
“Where the sard is Ryan? Why didn’t he heal her?” Connor roared.
Declan’s voice drifted from somewhere. “You know how he gets. He has a patrol tomorrow. He can’t go on a rage bender. Let me see.”
I pulled my arms in as tight as I could and turned into Quinn more, hiding from their prying eyes. If my mother knew they’d seen, I’d be done for. “I’m fine. Stupid mistake. I need Avia. Only Avia.”
Quinn didn’t respond, just continued down the hall. I heard a smash somewhere behind me. But my eyelids flickered closed before I could figure out if it was Declan or Connor smashing things. Maybe it was Ryan—
The next time my eyes opened, I was nearly naked. I only wore a shift. But I was in a bed and covered by sheets. My arms were bandaged, and it felt like the bleeding had stopped, but they still throbbed dully. And I was cold. I yanked at a down comforter that had been near my waist, pulling it up to my chin.
As my eyes adjusted to firelight and candles, my sister leaned into view. She had apparently perched in a chair at my bedside. Which was her bedside, as I took in the details of the room. She’d always been a fan of rose quartz and tapestries full of handsome minstrels. Avia had a book and a cup of tea on a side table next to her chair. Her hair had been plaited into braids and she was in her night robe. So I supposed I’d been out for quite a while.
“You’re the absolute worst! Worst person in the sarding world. You leave me with your shite husbands, trying to pawn those asshole old men off on me. Leave me with mother and that stupid crown. And then you come back! And you don’t even have the decency to let me wallow in my hatred! You get sarding hurt! So that I have
to care!”
I bit back a smile. “I’m sorry, Squawk.”
She stood and slapped my stomach, the effect muffled by the comforter. “You should be. Worthless shite sister. And don’t call me that.”
“You’ll always be Squawk to me.”
“I’m sixteen—”
“Still squawking like a gull, too.”
“I do not squawk,” Avia squawked as she sat back in her chair with a humph.
I decided not to push her further. She had helped me, after all.
My eyes flickered around the room as I fingered my bandages. It looked empty. Other than the flickering candles scattered about the space, there were no signs of life. I didn’t see them. Not one stupid husband.
“How’d you do it?”
“Do what?” Avia raised her brows, but her look was too self-satisfied for me to believe she didn’t know what I was talking about.
“How’d you get rid of them? The shite husbands. Did Her Majesty lift the curse?” I sat up in bed, pulling the covers around me.
“Of course not,” Avia studied her nails, preening, dragging out the moment.
“What then, oh wise and most gorgeous sister?”
“The pet name is dead,” Avia pointed a finger seriously at me.
“Absolutely,” I half-lied. We’d see how genius her solution was before I killed the name off entirely.
“I had Quinn wait in here and made Connor go to the next room, behind the wall. Then I sent Quinn away. I told him they’d need to take shifts a room over while you recovered.”
“I could kiss you right now. I didn’t know what I was going to do … how’d you explain what happened?” As one of the few people in the world who knew the price of my magic, she’d been put under the geas of secrecy too. My mother had even placed the geas on my fathers. No one could reveal my vulnerabilities.
Avia shrugged. “I didn’t have to say anything. Ryan made assumptions. Thought you’d scraped against one of the weapons. Or … something about a dented tankard?”
“I smashed him with one, so I guess—”
“Long as they don’t know the truth …”
I leaned back against the headboard. “I wish they did. For their own sakes. I know why—”
“After what happened to your dad, mother’s protective,” Avia kicked her feet onto the covers, smacking my thigh in the process.
I sighed.
Avia and I spent a long moment, both staring at the flames in her fireplace, both of us trying not to remember what had happened to my biological father.
“Why’d you leave?” she finally asked.
“To find a cure.”
She turned, and her eyes met mine. Hers were wet with tears, her lashes clumped together. She must not have been repressing the memories quite as well as I had. “I miss our dad, Lewart.”
“Me too.”
“He always snuck up on me in the hallway. Did you know that? He’d always jump out and scare me. To keep me on my toes.”
I laughed a little. “No, I must have been with the tutors when he did that.”
“He was wonderful.”
“He was.”
“I wish he’d found a cure. A way to stop this.”
“Me too.” I swallowed the lump in my throat at that selfish thought. He’d tried. Once he’d known I had the same powers he did, he’d tried.
“Did you find a cure? Is that why you’re back?”
Avia looked so young and vulnerable in that moment, with her tears and her braids and her hope-filled expression. I held out my arms and she scurried into bed beside me. She left the sheet between us but tugged the comforter over herself and snuggled into my arms. I was brought back to childhood. To the many nights she’d fallen asleep in my bed claiming she had a story to tell me, or that she’d seen a shadow monster in her room. She was only sixteen, still just a child. I hugged her tighter and stroked her hair.
“I wish I’d found a cure, sweet girl. I wish. The wizard I hunted is apparently as mythical as the dragons are now.” I planted a soft kiss on her forehead.
The sheets became damp. Avia had started to cry again.
“Does that mean … I’m still going to have to become queen?” she whispered.
Her broken tone cracked my heart. I didn’t want to answer. But I’d never lied to my sister. Not about anything serious. I couldn’t lie. But I could answer in a way that was more comforting. Less intimidating. “I’ve gotten better at controlling my power.”
“But today—”
“Was a mistake. I’ll do better.” I pulled her even closer. “I’ll do better. And I’ll help you. Train you and protect you. So that you’ll be ready.”
At that last, she let out a sob. “I don’t want to be ready.” She clutched at me.
“Sweet girl, I hope you never need to be.” But she would. Because my father’s fate was to be my fate. And today only proved that four years of control could be wiped away in a single instant.
I let her cry until she had no more tears. And I held back my own. Because this was about her. I held her and let my hopes of a quick solution and quick escape go. Instead I focused on how I’d felt when I was her age. A teenager, unsure of everything, too scared to test my mother, intimidated by the world and its expectations of me. At least I’d had Connor then. A companion to lighten the journey. I’d left this poor sweet girl alone with the burden of a kingdom on her shoulders. And four headstrong men who’d clearly not taken the time to reassure her.
They’d be hearing about that tomorrow.
My little Squawk drifted off to sleep and I started to join her. But as I stared at the flames in her fireplace, strange thoughts entered my head. I imagined it was Quinn next to me, not my sister. I imagined that I was surrounded by his arms and that his soft breath fluttered like a feather against the skin of my neck. I imagined safety and warmth and companionship. I imagined him whispering, “It’s all right, Dove. I’ll protect you.”
I closed my eyes. Clearly, the blood loss was making me delusional. I curled up and pushed the hallucinations and my worries away as sleep overtook me.
Chapter Eight
The sun and the maids rudely awakened me. After my injury, I’d have loved a lazy day under the covers. But queens do not rest, my mother always said.
So, just after dawn I was up and prodded and poked until I was fitted into a red brocade gown with a high neck and told that a morning tea for the nobility had been planned to welcome me home.
Of course, Her Majesty summoned Connor and I to her rooms for a briefing before that. We had to have our story straight, after all.
Connor appeared in Avia’s doorway just as my hair was fitted into a silver tiara. His dark brown curls were slightly messy, and I had to hold back the urge to fix them. He wore a light blue shirt that matched his eyes and offset his tan, and breeches that were form-fitting under his leather boots. In other words, he was the perfect picture. Everything I’d remembered and loved but grown up. With sexy stubble.
I gulped when I saw him. Every bone in my body ached to hug him.
But his eyes avoided mine and his lips thinned as he offered me his arm. He was cold and stiff as he escorted me to my mother’s chambers, though he smiled and nodded to everyone near us. He looked like my best friend but didn’t feel like him.
Maybe I’d deluded myself thinking the letters would be enough. They clearly hadn’t been. Though our arms touched, it felt like there was a wall between us.
I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong nearly a dozen times, but there was always a courtier or a servant or someone within earshot. I’d seen the slightest word turn into a whirlwind of gossip within the palace. And I didn’t want that. Not for him.
Instead, I also focused on those around us, giving little waves to the nobles and nods to the servants we passed on our way to the north wing. It felt wooden, and fake, when I wanted to flip off half the people I saw for how they treated their tenants.
Lady Aster shot her race horses rather
than let them retire to the meadows or be used in the fields. She got a tight-lipped grin.
Countess Orunta and her husband group were known to raise taxes on mead so that they could build themselves luxury ships. She got a weak wrist wave.
A dozen times, I spotted open doors. I really wanted to yank Connor into a room and let him yell at me until we were alright again. But I’d have to curb the barroom brawling techniques I’d gathered these past four years. I was certain the incident with Ryan had already caused loads of gossip. I couldn’t let it get worse.
When we reached my mother’s rooms, Connor held open the door.
Inside, my mother and one of my fathers, Peter, sat together on the bed. He fed her breakfast. It was a sight that was endearing, but also a testament to how weak she truly was.
I lifted my chin. She’d never want acknowledgment of her weakness.
I waited as Peter lifted a cup of tea to her lips and helped her drink.
Declan’s mentor, Peter, was the most patient of my fathers. He’d always been the one to teach me things as a child, from math to archery. He’d never spoken a harsh word to me. Always carried a sweet in his pocket. He was a scholar and a softie.
After he dabbed at my mother’s lips with a napkin, she shooed him away, gathering her bright green dressing coat closer to her rail-thin body.
I broke form and ran to Peter and gave him a quick hug. He’d grown larger around the middle since I’d seen him. But his eyes were just as kind as I remembered. He hugged me back and placed a quick kiss on my forehead. “You’re in trouble, you know, Blossie.”
I nodded against his chest. “I know.”
“Your mother needs you. Evaness needs you. No more running.”
I nodded; I didn’t tell him I’d come to the same conclusion last night.
Peter left the room, taking my mother’s maidservant with him. Apparently, my mother and sister had become more accustomed to demanding privacy in my absence. I had been the only one in my family to kick out every servant in my chambers when I’d been younger.
I smiled at mother. “Queen Gela, what will you do if you need to blow your nose and no servant is here to help you?”
