Queens of Thorns and Stars

by Elle Cross

  But she's not done.

  The ochre-colored charm around her own neck shimmers and glows as she speaks the words of binding. As she does, a new scepter of polished ebony forms in her hand, overtaking Bramb's old thorny one. The reunited halves of the star stone gleam as graceful spikes form along the scepter's hilt and a sharp, elegant setting of prongs develops at the top. The stone liquifies like mercury and encapsulates itself, reemerging a moment later. An orb appears within the prongs, and the stone floats safely within it.

  “We have work to do, you and I. You may have freedom of power, but you belong to me, dear weapon. Body and soul.”

  Her words take life and slither around me, taking root on my skin. Whereas the king's orders were for my power, her commands will take...me. All of me. My skin and my body have become my new prison.

  And she didn’t need my will or consent to do it.

  “Aren’t you afraid I might kill you?” I growl through my clenched teeth.

  She laughs with abandon. “You may want to kill me. You may try to kill me. But you won’t be able to kill me. Ever.”

  The words of her demand pool black around my wrists, forming cuffs. This is even worse torture than I imagined. She had allowed me to hope. For more than a minute, she had truly allowed me to think that I was free.

  "Why not kill me like the rest?"

  "Kill you?" she purrs the last word. She speaks like a lover, though her words are a twisting blade in my side.

  Words have power, no matter how pretty they sound.

  She circles me, her steps bringing her ever nearer until she stands in front of me, just outside the circle of my reach. Her smile slashes across her face like a knife wound, quick and deadly. "Why would I kill you, when I can break you?"

  So, I’m to be the object of Acanthe’s vengeance. I let my face settle into a careful mask, one that I was used to wearing when I was still allowed to roam the court. Before I tried my hand at breaking the king’s chains.

  "Why are you so upset? You are no longer in the cell. You have the leeway to move about the castle. You no longer have to wait for scraps to feed. You are free."

  "Free to serve only you for the rest of your life, you mean."

  "Our missions align, even if you do not yet know it. You have said many times to me over the years that power and freedom are all that matter in this realm. All you care about.”

  Damn my mouth and hasty words.

  Acanthe turns on her heel, leaving the oubliette, the train of her dress a slithering carcass behind her. I wait until she is out of sight before I allow myself to move.

  How insulting that she expects me to comply.

  I grasp the bars of my cell. Without the stone to power the sigils, the metal yields under my clenched fingers.

  King Bramb was still right in his prophecy. He said that the only way I would taste freedom was over his dead body.

  He’s dead.

  And I tasted freedom, no matter how briefly.

  I can’t stop. Acanthe somehow learned to be who and what she is now. She couldn’t have done it on her own. If she was able to unlock access to an unspeakable power, then so the hell can I.

  I’ll see my freedom yet. But first, I will need to see Acanthe dead.

  Chapter Three

  Sitara

  Lyser and I both spring from the bed and dress. Grabbing Azibat by the arm, I move into my sitting room and drag her down to the couch with me.

  I lean in close. “What do you know?”

  “My sources don’t have much information yet. This is a recent development. But evidently royals from all the courts will be summoned for his funeral.”

  “What of the queen?” Acanthe, the Queen of Thorns, has long been known as The Mad Queen. Once human, King Bramb kidnapped and tortured her before he married her and she never quite recovered. If she’s hosting the funeral, it’s certain to be unlike any gathering Inara has ever seen. And not something I want anything to do with.

  Azibat shrugs. “As far as I know, she’s still alive.”

  “How did the king die?”

  “I don’t know,” Azibat says. “No one does. Murder’s most likely, though.”

  I leap to my feet and pace, my thoughts in disarray. Aside from my parents, there haven’t been any royal deaths in my lifetime. When my mother and father died in a twisted accident, we opted for a private memorial, as is customary in Inara. At the time, other courts sent their condolences, but no one actually came here to pay their respects.

  Funerals are an accepted form of mourning, of course, but no one ever holds them. For all the royals of various Houses to gather to bid farewell to one of our own? It simply isn’t done. As far as I know, this is utterly without precedent. “I need to speak with Old Mag.”

  I sweep out of the room and down the corridor before either of my trusted friends can follow me. The conversation I need to have is best done in private. Old Mag is part hob, ancient and wrinkled, the oldest member of the Court of Stars. She’s wise and wily and not always completely trustworthy. Still, I seek her counsel from time to time. She often has insights that others lack.

  It’s no great secret: I’m young for a queen. At only 730, I won’t even reach breeding age for nearly three more centuries. My coronation was a controversial one and there are plenty in my court who would see me replaced. The last queen, a cousin of mine, served as regent after the deaths of my parents. I was still a child when she chose to abdicate the throne and leave the palace entirely, which threw the entire court into disarray. When the stardust settled, as the only remaining pure-blooded royal, I came out on top.

  Staying there has proved a challenge.

  I want to run through the corridors, to barge into Old Mag’s room the same way Azibat burst into mine. Instead, I force myself to remain stately, if swift, and when I reach the half-hob’s chamber, I knock.

  It takes a moment for Old Mag to open the door, but when she does, she doesn’t seem at all surprised to see me.

  “Well met, my queen.” Her words are pleasant, but I can hear the mocking in her tone.

  “Mag,” I say, in no mood to play games. It’s best not to mince words. “The King of Thorns is dead and royals from all the courts are being summoned to his funeral. I request your counsel on this matter.”

  Her button-black eyes blink, and for the first time in my life, I’m certain I’ve managed to surprise her.

  “That is interesting,” she says. “Come in and sit by the fire.”

  I follow her into her room and sit patiently, waiting for her to speak. It’s useless to try to rush her. Old Mag is many things: as aged as some stars, clever, difficult, unpredictable, prone to fits of whim. It’s never been clear to me whether she supports me as queen. But I do know one thing: when it comes to protecting the court, Old Mag will always help me. Whatever else she may be, Mag is also my great-great-great-grandmother and royal duty burns as strongly in her blood as it does my own.

  As a half-hob, she never had a chance at the throne; that’s a right reserved for pure-blooded nobility. If this bothers her, as it does me, she’s never said anything about it. Truthfully, I don’t think she wants to rule. She knows how gruesome and tedious it can be, and I think she prefers to sit by the fire, listening to the mice gossip and sipping thistle-mint tea. But she takes her role in this court seriously, and when it comes to what’s best for this House, I know I can trust her.

  “Your choices are limited, Sitara. It may be that few royals accept the summons, but you have no way to know. If you decline and others go, it will be seen as a slight. On the other hand, if you go and others don’t, you lose nothing and may gain an ally.”

  “Is a slight really so important?”

  She shakes her head at me. “I know reputation is not something you overly concern yourself with. But it’s not just that the Court of Thorns will be insulted. All the other Courts will perceive it as bad manners.”

  I shrug. “What if they do? It’s not as if I ever interact with them.
”

  “Perhaps. But what if the time comes that you need allies and have nowhere to turn? What if war strikes Inara? Or what if a plague decimates your House and you need help from outside? Where would you turn?”

  A shiver runs down my spine; it’s as if she knows what Avan told me earlier this evening. Still, I choose to downplay it. “These are very dramatic examples, Mag.”

  She folds her brittle brown arms across her chest. “Yes, because those are the only kind you ever respond to. I can’t make this decision for you. But you came to me for advice and I’m giving it. You should go. Let the rest of the Courts see your face and your strength. Make new allies. Find out precisely what happened to old King Bramb and whether there’s a threat to you or anyone else. Make yourself known, Sitara.”

  I sigh. These options had already occurred to me, but I’d hoped Old Mag might see additional choices or try to talk me out of going. I loathe leaving court in the first place, and to go all the way to Thorns? It’s a Dark court completely on the other side of Inara. Most likely now governed by an insane queen I have no interest in meeting.

  “I have no other real choice?”

  She just looks at me, her dark eyes assessing. Testing my courage, perhaps.

  “Very well. It’s already settled, isn’t it?”

  She nods her brown head. “Prepare the court for your absence and have your handmaidens select appropriate garments. That way, when the summons arrives, you’ll be prepared.”

  I stand to take my leave. “As you say. Blessings upon you, Mag.”

  “And on you, Queen.”

  It’s nearly morning already, and I send servants to wake the court. If I’m to travel, firm plans must be made to keep my people in hand while I’m gone. It will be the perfect time for a coup and I need to strategize and plan for contingencies. I also need to deal with my guests.

  I summon Azibat. “Tell Prince Avan that I wish to see him. Privately. I don’t want to discuss this news in front of his entire delegation.”

  “Of course,” she says. “Where should I send him?”

  “The salon.” Smaller than my throne room, the salon is still a formal gathering space. Perfect for a one-on-one meeting with the prince.

  Thirty minutes later, Avan arrives with stately grace and stands before me. “You requested my presence?”

  I nod and gesture at the chair across from mine. “Please be seated and set aside formality. There is news we must discuss.”

  He slides into the chair fluidly and stares at me with intent. For the first time, I see the man behind the careful royal mask. His gray eyes light up with intelligence and interest. “What is it?”

  “My trusted advisors have heard talk that the King of Thorns is dead. And that royals from all courts will be formally summoned for his funeral in the coming days.”

  Avan leans back and steeples his fingers. “Bramb is finally dead, eh? And they’re hosting a public farewell. How unusual. Any news on what happened?”

  “No. I presume that will be made clear at his funeral.”

  “Do you intend to go?”

  “Do you?” I counter.

  He shrugs. “Without a formal coronation, it’s entirely possible that I won’t be included in the summons. Should the Court of Fog receive such an invitation, I think it would be best to send a delegation of royal advisors, particularly as we have no king.”

  I can see how he’s managed to hold his court for as long as he has. He covers his thoughts and emotions well, but this prince is no fool. Whatever is afoot in the Court of Thorns, Avan won’t be caught in the crossfire.

  “An intriguing choice,” I say. “I have decided to bid a final farewell to King Bramb. It is my duty and honor to do so.” Neither of those is true, of course. But there’s no need for Avan to know that. “Have you ever heard of a royal funeral like this?” I add.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t think there’s been one in my lifetime, though I’m sure it must have happened a time or two. It’s a question for the history books.”

  “It doesn’t strike you as strange?”

  He shrugs again, an elegant gesture. “The Court of Thorns is a strange place. I’m not entirely surprised that this is what they’ve chosen to do.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I presume Acanthe intends to claim the throne. You know her story, yes? I can see why she might want to make said claim in front of all of Inara’s nobility. Declaring herself one of us, so to speak.”

  “They say she’s mad, you know.”

  “I’ve heard, though I’ve never had the honor of meeting her to determine that for myself.”

  The honor. Yeah, right. Avan is smooth with his words, that’s for sure. But I don’t want smooth. I want information.

  I lean closer. “Is this what you sensed? The coming doom? If so, what do you make of it?”

  He pauses a moment, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Finally, he speaks. “I can’t be certain.”

  I nod. “I understand. At this point, I welcome even conjecture.”

  “I sense that this is...a beginning, if you will. The wind that turns the tide. I believe Bramb’s death was bloody and unnatural, and I believe it plays a role in the premonitions I spoke of. But it is only the beginning. There will be more.”

  “You think I shouldn’t go.” I do not phrase it as a question.

  He arches a stately silver brow. “I cannot say. Truly. This may be an opportunity or a trap. All I can say for certain is that something valuable awaits you at this funeral. If you are willing to go and claim it.”

  “Something valuable?”

  He nods. “I do not know what. Only that it is meant to be yours, but you must collect it now or lose it forever.”

  Interesting. A reason for me to actually want to undertake this journey.

  “I’m going. It’s already been decided. The true question seems to be whether or not I will return.”

  I reach into my pocket and pull out a small, unassuming gem. It’s smooth and pale, a cabochon snowstone. I hold it out to him.

  “Take this, please. I have its twin. They will allow us to communicate magically with one another, so long as we are both in our own courts. If I could extend their range, I would—it would be useful to be able to speak with you from the Court of Thorns. But at least this will allow me to brief you upon my return. And perhaps plan our next meeting.”

  He takes it with a nod. “I will look forward to it. Now, if you hold no objection, I will gather my delegation and make preparations to depart. I think it best to return home, given the circumstances.”

  “Of course.” I stand and he follows suit.

  “My lady,” he says with a sweeping bow. “I regret not having the opportunity to spend more time in your company. I deeply hope we might remedy that in the future.”

  “As do I.” It’s true. I don’t know Avan well, but for reasons I can’t quite name, I like him. He has a forthright quality I appreciate, and I hope it isn’t merely for show. I don’t think it is. “I shall send attendants to your quarters to help with your preparations.”

  “Before I take my leave, may I touch you? On your hand only,” he adds, noting my raised brow.

  I nod and offer a palm.

  He takes it in his own. His skin is smooth and cool, but I sense strength in him. These hands could kill, if so inclined. He holds my outstretched palm delicately, as though it is more fragile than wing membrane. With a whisper, he lets loose an incantation.

  I feel the magic instantly. It begins as a tingle on my skin, fizzing through me like bramble wine and lighting delightful little fires. Warmth suffuses between my legs, my nipples strain against my dressing gown, and heat rises to my cheeks. I blink at Avan in shock, only to see that I’m not the only one affected. His skin is also flushed, and between his legs, the evidence of his own arousal is unmistakable.

  “What did you do?” I demand.

  He gives himself a small shake, as though to release himself from the spell. “My
apologies. It was only a minor chemistry enchantment. A way to determine our potential…compatibility…should we choose to become allies in the future. I will admit, I was not expecting that level of intensity.”

  I purse my lips. “Well, that’s quite good to know—if it’s accurate. I daresay I’m even more disappointed that your visit has been cut short.”

  “As am I, Queen Sitara. Though I believe we shall meet again soon.” He nods and departs, leaving me alone with a heated body and thoughts of violence.

  If I’m to step into a court in turmoil, I will do so with as many weapons at my disposal as possible.

  I return to my chamber and begin my own preparations. I don’t know when to expect the summons, of course, but I will be ready when it arrives.

  I start with Azibat. “Have you heard any additional information from your spies?” I ask. It has been several hours since she first delivered the news; perhaps there is more to go on now.

  She sits across from me, her tail curled around her waist. “Very little. I fear most of my contacts may not have survived. By all appearances, it was a coup. It seems the queen murdered the king and took the throne. She’s been killing people ever since.”

  “Killing whom, exactly?”

  Azibat shrugs in her feline way. “Prisoners, courtiers, stablehands, kitchen staff. It seems indiscriminate.”

  I arch a brow. “Lovely. Just the court I want to visit, then.”

  Azibat leans forward, utterly serious. “Sitara. It will be dangerous. The odds of survival are slim. You shouldn’t go.”

  I shake my head. “She can’t invite me to her court and murder me, not without serious repercussions. There are severe laws and spells governing that. Besides, there’s something there I need.”

  She cocks her head. “What could you possibly need from the Court of Thorns?”

  “I don’t know. But Avan told me something valuable waits for me there.”