The crowd stays prostrate before me for a time that's hard to fathom. The only sound I know is the drip, drip, dripping in my head. I don't know what it is, but it's the most determined thing that's ever been in my life. I’m determined to go back to seconds ago, when I thought this was still a good idea, and change my mind. Before I survived the Mortum Tura.
What am I to do with these people? I can't rule over them.
I cannot be Queen of Valcora.
This can't be happening.
The stunned silence creeps over me like fog stealing through the night air. How does a death wish, a guaranteed death sentence, turn me into the ruler of a nation?
I should have picked another way to die.
Still the people remain prostrate before a girl who moments ago was only entertainment. And before that? Nothing worth remembering.
But I do remember. The harshness remains at the forefront of my thoughts. If the people knew, they’d have even less of a reason to bow before me. I've been trodden on my whole life, Daros demanding whatever he wanted of me. That can't change now, just because of the Mortum Tura.
Why do they remain bowed? Why don't they get up?
It dawns on me I haven't given them permission to rise. Of all things, they’re waiting for me. This doesn't seem possible.
“Get up.” I don’t know what other words to use, though those two feel clumsy and wrong for this purpose of commanding the people.
As one, the people do so, but they do not disperse. They stare at me as if waiting for another command.
What am I supposed to do? I know nothing but stealing and stabbing. And poisoning. And sword fighting. Fine—I know more than I like to give myself credit for, but I know nothing of such things as leading a people.
I’ve no one to go after now. I’m the one who wants death.
I want them gone. I want to be out of the light. Out of their lives. “You can all leave,” I say, silently pleading they do so.
Not one of them moves. Their gazes stay riveted on me, until finally those farthest from me begin to trickle away like a stream that babbles until it rushes away. Though unlike with a stream, there are too many backward glances.
I give nothing away.
I’m expressionless.
Emotionless.
Empty.
When everyone’s left except Ranen and a few men and women around him, Ranen says, “Forgive us for not obeying.” Despite his words, his voice tells me he’s used to being the boss and expects to remain so. “We would like to guide you through your new role and help you understand what to do next.”
Whether I should be relieved or not remains a mystery. I think not. He disliked me the moment I declared I was going to try the Mortum Tura. Why would my becoming the queen change that? Besides, I distrust his shifty eyes.
Queen. That's what I am now.
It doesn't seem real.
I realize he’s still waiting on me for an answer. “Go ahead.”
He bows his head. “If Your Majesty would follow me.”
I grit my teeth over the honorific. Ranen leads me out of the chalice room and through a blank hall. Even the floor is oddly white, though at the next corridor we reach rugs are on the floor, plusher than any I've ever felt before. There are pictures on the wall—lovely landscapes of Valcora that barely hold my interest. The only beauty I see is cold. Calculating. The steep slope of the mountains around us trying to keep us in. To close us off from the rest of the world. Keeping us cut off when the famine abounds.
“It would be best if you came to me when you need something,” he says. “In fact, it would be even better if you left everything up to me. I've been taking care of this country since our last queen died, and I know how to run it properly.”
I have a feeling I'm going to dislike this guy more than I already do. I don’t care about running a country, but I do care about his attitude. I've had enough of Daros in my life; I don't need another like him.
The palace is ornate, filled with drapes of highest quality and pictures of nobility. The hallway is airy and bright, with lots of windows and a tall ceiling. The stone walls seem to amplify the light instead of absorbing it.
“The first thing we need to do is clean you up. Dress you in something befitting royalty, instead of a…” He looks me over, face scrunched. “Your rooms are down a few more hallways, where your servants will be waiting. They are new. No one has stayed in them before.”
I have servants? I can't imagine what that’ll be like. I've always taken care of myself. I'd prefer it remain that way. Others can't be trusted.
We pass several servants, dressed in light blue and scurrying through the halls, who aren't as plump as Ranen, but are clearly well fed. I think of my bony body matching most of the Poruah class and can't help but keep my gaze down. Daros kept me fit enough to do my job, but nothing more. Starved only sometimes. Mostly, I was fed protein. It left me thin but strong. At least I have that on the lowest class of people.
If only I’d gotten a job as a servant when I was little, things would be so much different.
Not that I had a choice.
After a long walk in silence, with several twists and turns, we stop at a door.
“These are your rooms,” he says. “Your servants will attend to you, and then I will see to your training.”
He almost glares, which is unnerving, so I hurry through the door, only to be met by a woman who ushers me through the room to a second room. It is airy with a vaulted ceiling, and half a dozen well-rounded women are waiting for me.
My maids, apparently.
I've never needed one. Why would I need six?
“We drew a bath for you, and then we will head to the springs,” one of the oldest ones says.
A bath? When was the last time I had one of those? And what does she mean by springs?
I sulk to the tub and flick my hand through the water. Warm. But they’re all still here, staring at me. There’s been way too much staring in my direction today. How idiotic of me, to think I wanted to be noticed for once.
A couple of the women hold vases. Another holds a brush, and yet another holds a tray of what I think are soaps. I've never seen such tiny, elegant, colored soaps before. What's the purpose behind everything I’ve been through and what they want me to go through?
“I will do this myself,” I say.
As one, they nod—who trained these people?—and set their things down on a table by the bath. They file out of the room, except for the one who spoke before.
She says, “We will return in half an hour if that suits you.”
“It does,” I reply. I'll have this done in ten.
As soon as she closes the door behind her, I strip, grateful to get out of these sweat-crusted clothes, and get in the tub. The water feels good on my aching body. I grab a soap bar at random and a scrub brush and run them across my hands as if the past will go with the layers of skin if I scour hard enough.
It doesn't.
Ten minutes later, I'm clean and dressed. I explore the room, checking every nook and cranny. Every drawer and under the bed. The drawers are carved with intricacy. The four-poster bed is sumptuously soft. I wouldn’t be able to sleep on such a thing. Even the carpet is more cushioned than my bed back at Daros's. The curtains are a red velvet that matches the drapes around the bed.
As far as I can tell, this place is unoccupied. There are no personal belongings. Might as well be my room at Daros's house if it wasn't so refined and furnished.
Twenty minutes later, the women return. The one who spoke before glances at me, her cheeks pulled down in a perpetual scowl. She’s tall, easily the tallest one here, and thick boned. Her eyes are small on her face, while concentrating heavily on me. For a moment, I think she disapproves of the job I did. If she doesn't like how I clean myself, she'll have to get over that aversion quickly.
“Please follow me, Your Highness,” she says.
Not as bad as Your Majesty, but still not right. What do I want to be called? I don't know. Something not so… pretentious.
I haven’t thought much about not having a name. Once, when I was still small, I asked Daros why I didn't have one. His response was that I didn't deserve one. Calling me girl was good enough for him. It should still be good enough for what I am.
I deserve nothing more.
The woman leads me through the palace via a different route than the one I followed before, her steps in time to some rhythm I can't hear or follow. The area isn't unlike before, despite going all this way—drapes around huge windows; portraits of unfamiliar people or landscapes on the walls; and flowers here and there, on tables dotting the halls, in pots, or in corners. Beauty the likes of which I know of and have seen but haven’t owned.
The maid opens a door that leads to a muggy room, outside of which wait several guards, male and female, dressed in steel and black. The room is large, with a pool of smooth marble in the middle and pillars on the sides. Everything is white and pure in here.
Everything except me. I’m anything but pure.
“This is the queen's bathing room,” the woman says.
“I already took a bath.”
She lifts a brow. “That was to prepare you for this experience. May I please assist you?”
I'd rather cut off my own finger.
She gets the message because she points at the vials and combs next to the pool and says, “Here are your bathing necessities.”
There are more items here than I've ever owned at one time. Not that it's something I'd tell her. Instead, I try to hide my surprise. “What are they all for?”
“Are you certain you don't want assistance?” she asks instead of answering.
I add an edge to my voice. “What are they all for?”
She inches back.
Good. She knows who she's dealing with.
She explains the items one at a time and slowly, but it's still more than I can handle. A soap with grit, to make my skin smooth. One to make me shine. One to make me smell like a queen. Why do I need a soap for that? And why does the queen have to smell a certain way?
She shows me fat-toothed combs to get out tangles. A strange-looking tool to massage the scalp. A brush. And more items that blur together. How am I going to remember all this?
Doesn't matter. No one needs this much for just a bath, let alone life. If it was something important like poison, I would remember every word she spoke.
Once she stops droning on, I tell her to leave, and she does so. I get a better look around the room. So many pillars around this place. Too many places to hide.
I burst into a run around the pillars, boots smacking against the marble. I quiet my steps as I go and check each place someone could hide behind. I can't imagine the palace people would leave someone in here with the Queen when I clearly want to be alone, but then again, minutes ago I couldn’t dream that anyone took two baths in a row. Especially in a pool of such elegance.
There’s no one behind any of the pillars, and though the room is large, I'm not even breathing hard by the time I return.
Good. I'm still at my best.
The only door is the one I came through, and it’s shut. I should have privacy. Not that I trust it. One never knows where there are peepholes or secret entrances.
I hurry into the pool, the water sluicing across me. It's more perfect than the bathwater, somehow smoother than normal.
While the water waves around me, I wonder about the Mortum Tura. How does the cup choose the next queen? What does it look for in a queen? It can't be by anything good—virtue, kindness, or purity of heart—because I'm an assassin.
Does it matter? Maybe it's all random. I brush it aside. Despite my misgivings, I find myself luxuriating in too many of the items. Not that I know what they’re all for. The smell of roses makes me feel almost carefree.
I take my time scrubbing even though I already feel clean. I even get between my toes, the mole between my big toe and the one next to it on my right foot stubbornly holding on. No other spots mar my body but that one. Daros was careful not to do any lasting damage.
Once I'm done—or rather, once I've gone overboard—I hurriedly rinse in the pool. I get out, dry off, and dress as quickly as possible in the garment left for me. It's a flimsy thing—a thin layer of material which covers me, though it's big. A dress. Something I don’t wear. Another thing I have to remedy.
A faint patter behind me is the only warning I get before a rope digs into my neck and my back smashes against someone behind me. Someone big and strong. It has to be a man, the way he's gripping me. If I wasn't so busy choking, I'd smile. This is what I wanted, only not in the way I expected.
Why this person wants me dead, I'll never know, but he's doing me quite the favor.
My instincts peak to life. Not a lot, but enough to make my reflexes flare. I lean forward, then head-butt the man and connect with his neck. He sputters and jerks backward but instead of letting go, he takes me with him.
My vision flickers. Where are my daggers when I need them?
That decides it. I still deserve to die, but it will be on my terms, not this brute's.
I press his trigger points on his wrist, and immediately, icy air cools my neck with the rope’s release. I duck, jabbing my elbows back as I go. There's an umpf behind me. I somersault forward, then spin to face my opponent.
His face is an unfamiliar mix of pox marks and sheen. He grunts and comes at me head on, rope still in hand. Guilt sluices through me, but he did bring the attack to me.
I spin out of the way at the last moment, hitting his kidney as he passes by. His faint cry brings the sound of footsteps hurrying through the hall toward us.
The look on his face says he knows we'll soon no longer be alone. A meaty hand grabs my arm before I can slip away. I kick him where it will hurt the most before he can dodge out of the way. He lets go with a grunt. It was low of me, but I don't want to be under his thumb when help arrives.
I kick his groaning self into the pool. As he goes in with a splash, others enter the room.
That was not nearly quick enough of them. Where did the assassin come from, and why did he want to take my life? Is he one of Daros's men? Someone I don't know? Did Daros already find me, or is someone else after my life now that I'm the queen, even though it's been a scant time?
“You might want to be faster next time,” I tell the two men and the tall woman staring at me with wide eyes, frozen in their places. And then I leave the way I came.
My hands tremble something fierce.
Why didn't I let him finish me off?