Tattered.
Hopeless.
Broken.
That’s my life now, ever since Daros poisoned me. It’s hard to care about anything when I have no life left in me. “The crowd is going to hate me. I don't even look like a queen.”
“It won't matter that you can’t move well,” Inkga says as she wraps my hair around a simple crown.
Perhaps, but it matters. I haven’t been able to do much. I can still feel everything but lack the ability to move—except for lifting my finger and head a little—and this feeling of helplessness has been overwhelming. “I don’t want to be carried to Wilric’s funeral by servants.” Saying his name chokes me up. Tightens my throat like a rope.
If only he’d stayed safe. If only Daros hadn’t killed him. If only I’d been faster.
Too many if onlys.
“I want to stand in front of the people on my own two feet and address them properly,” I say.
“You’ll command their respect whether or not you stand in front of them. You always do.” Inkga adjusts a few strands of hair and declares me finished.
I look so different than when I first became queen almost a year ago. My cheeks are rounder, fuller, and my eyes are more green than blue. My hair is longer and a lighter brown—almost a dirty blonde. I resemble the First Queen more and more. She's taking over me.
The First Queen. What am I to do about her?
After coming to my dreams for almost a year and offering to help me rule, the First Queen has shown her true colors. I need to eliminate her. We’ve spent too long under her oppression, with queens going bad after some time with her influence.
Her presence draws near. My lip pulls into a half-snarl without my permission.
“Don’t you like it?” Inkga asks.
I force the First Queen’s presence away and smile, though fear consumes me. Inkga deserves more gratitude than I can give her. Besides, she doesn’t know about the First Queen and certainly doesn’t know I'm being taken over. Being haunted. Only Jaku, Daros, Nash, and I know what’s going on. I force my attention back to Inkga. “You’ve done a splendid job. Thank you for helping me.”
She beams. “It’s a pleasure.”
When she turns around to make my bed, I let my expression fall. She’s been nothing but kind, helping me with literally everything. I can’t even eat or take care of the necessary myself. There are some things another person should never have to do for me, yet here I am, in a lounge chair a servant carried me to after several maids helped me change into a black mourning dress.
The sneer creeps back. This time, it’s my own.
There’s a knock at my sitting room door, and Inkga leaves the bedroom to get it. When she doesn’t come back right away, I swear under my breath. She could be attacked, and I can do nothing about it. The image of her lying bruised and bloodied on the floor makes my heart pound. “Inkga? Are you all right?” I ask.
“Fine. Be there in a moment,” she calls back.
I growl, but not so loud she can hear me. As I wait, I work on lifting the pointer finger of my right hand and lowering it again. It barely rises. There’s no point to this. Daros knew what he was doing when he developed this poison and stabbed me with a dagger laced with it. I should be grateful I lived through it with the help of Venda from Faner and her magic. Thanks to her, I cheated death once again, only to be bound to this body, too weak to do anything.
The urge to throw a dagger is overwhelming. It’s been too long since I practiced. Since I exercised.
And there’s not a blasted thing I can do about it.
Not even magic can fix my circumstances. At least, not as far as we've been able to tell with Venda trying.
Inkga pops her head through the doorway, barely noticeable in the mirror. I wish I could turn around so my back wasn’t to her. Not that I don’t trust her—I got over that a while ago. It’s the principle of the thing.
“Nash has a surprise you’re going to love.” She dances into the room and comes around to the front so I can face her. “He’s putting the finishing touches on it right now while Puneah sniffs around. He’ll be here in a moment, to take you to it.”
I hadn’t noticed Puneah leave my side. Despite my being uncertain about her when Venda first gifted her to me, she’s become something of a comfort. I shouldn’t have gotten so lost in my despair that I ignored the sleek, giant, cat-like creature.
But it’s difficult not to.
“What did Nash do?” I try to put enthusiasm in my words, but they come out flat. Everything we’ve been through together—the hurts and comforts, the love we’ve shared. It is true that we could never be a couple, but now we can’t even steal a secret touch.
“Nuh-uh. I’m not telling, or it wouldn’t be a surprise.” She grins and does a happy dance.
I want to growl at her ease of movement, but I refrain.
My mood doesn’t dampen her spirits one bit. She does a little two-step and hurries back to the door. A moment later, Nash comes in with no surprise in sight. My heart gives an odd squeeze, like I'm not sure whether I want to run to him or run away. Either way, I’m stuck in this chair. No running happening.
His smile is shyer than I’ve seen on him before, a hint of mystery in his eyes. “Good morning, Ryn.”
There’s so much I want to say, but I settle on, “It’s good to see you.”
He walks around to my side and bends his knees until he’s eye level with me. “May I have your permission to carry you into the other room, my queen?” The way he says the last two words is like a caress against my heart.
“You may,” I reply.
We can make contact without getting into trouble. Of course, that’s only because I can’t get around without help, and it often becomes necessary for people to carry me. The council gave their permission for these circumstances. Some were reluctant to do so, but enough members were on my side, and between that and my inability to do anything, they didn’t have much of a choice. They wanted to assign a single person to move me around, but it felt strange to have one servant waiting on me all the time. Not even Inkga does that, and she works harder than anyone else I know.
It’s not ideal, but it’s all I have.
“You may,” I reply.
Nash swings me into his arms like I weigh no more than a bird, though I’ve put on some weight since becoming queen, and I'm no longer skin and bones. I’m nestled against his shoulder and chest, where I feel nothing except for the unforgiving metal of his steel vest. Despite that, tingles race across my skin at his nearness.
I take in the scent that’s all Nash—metal and earth. I want to get lost in it and pretend that nothing else exists. That I can stay here forever.
Only that’s impossible.
Puneah comes to our side and follows along as Nash takes me to the other room, Inkga close behind. Nash has been so good to me, but I can’t help wondering how he’s doing deep inside. He won’t talk about his problems and is just there for me. I wish there was more I could do for him. Perhaps if I get out of this melancholy that’s overcome me, I’ll be able to see his needs better.
He stops a few steps inside my sitting room, and Inkga skirts around him to the other side, bouncing on her toes. Nash swivels me around so I can see the room.
At first, I don’t notice anything. All I want to do is hide back under my covers and sleep. Forget about a world where I can’t move or love the man I chose. Where I’ll soon be under the control of a mad woman. Of course, she’s in my dreams too, although I haven’t dreamt of her since I discovered her real intent.
Besides, I can’t go to sleep because I can’t get to my bed without help.
Nash tilts his head to the side. “Do you like it?”
It takes me a moment to figure out what he’s talking about. There’s a chair next to him I haven’t seen before. It’s polished elm, with a high back and sides. Thicker than most, it has four wooden wheels—two large ones in the back, and two smaller ones in the front. Wait. Wheels? On a chair?
“What is that?” I ask.
“I like to call it a wheelchair. Want to try it out?”
“It’s mine?”
“Made it myself. Well, with some help.”
“I…” Don’t know what to say. He made this for me?
“It’s fine if you don’t want to use it, but I thought it might be better if there was a chair we could push you around in, so you didn’t have to be carried around.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me without trying it.” But his smile has grown wider. “Here you go.” He leans down and helps me settle into the chair, his nearness making my heart sing until he lets go. “I thought you might appreciate having it before Wilric’s funeral.”
I stare at the chair. I still won’t be able to move myself, but it will give me less shame than having to be lugged around. “Thank you. Again.”
“We’ll have a servant push you. Inkga could even do it. It’s not the same as walking, but it may give you some freedom.”
Or the illusion of freedom.
It’s more than being transported on a litter and not being able to get off it. This way, I’ll be a little more respectable.
Still want to stab Daros for doing this to me, though.
I shove thoughts of him away. He can wait until we’ve mourned Wilric properly.
The guarded hope Nash and Inkga watch me with makes me want to hide. I can’t be happy. Not now, anyway. But maybe I can fake it. “This will be wonderful. I’d much rather have a chair to sit in. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He leans in closer before pulling back. I have the feeling he would have kissed me if Inkga wasn’t in the room.
I’ve missed our stolen kisses.
“If we’re all ready, we should proceed so they don’t wait for us,” I say.
“I need to go on ahead of you, to take my place,” Nash says. “I’ll see you soon.”
Not soon enough.
When he’s out the door, Inkga asks if I’m ready, and I give her an affirmative reply. She pushes me out into the hall, where my guards are waiting, hands on their swords. Their black outfits and capes as well as the steel vests are a reminder of what Wilric always wore around me. That he gave up his life defending me.
The attacks probably haven’t stopped. I don’t know for certain; I’m not told much anymore, and none have made it all the way. But I can’t imagine that they’ve come to a halt.
I’ll make certain Wilric’s life wasn’t given in vain. I’ll get what I need out of Daros, get rid of the First Queen, and get this country back on track.
If I can live through it all.
A mournful keen vibrates through the air—the howl of pain over a loved one’s death. Wilric’s mother has the perfect voice for a funeral call, low but dynamic. When it’s time to take up the mourning call with her, it feels natural, although I’ve never done so before.
The wordless music moves through me, pulling at my soul and calling to Wilric’s. If only there was a way to speak with him after death, instead of having him hear our broken hearts. I would tell him how grateful I am for all he did for me. That he was more than a guard. Tears fill my eyes, and I blink them back, letting my voice ring louder.
The call goes on for some time, but not nearly as long as Wilric deserves. Voices drop off until his mother, his only remaining family member, is the last one holding the call. Her voice goes high, vibrating through the last notes until it ends as a low whimper.
The Neula comes forward—a woman painted black as death, darker than the darkest cave, wearing a black dress and veil that reaches down to her waist. She stands at the head of the crowd, close to me. I’ve met Neulas before but not at a funeral. No matter how many people I killed, I never attended anyone’s death rites. I didn’t understand until recently that it took several days to prepare the body for this final stage.
“Wilric Tulkon was a beloved son and friend. He will be remembered dearly.” She steps forward until she’s leading Wilric’s remains.
For the first time since I arrived, I bring myself to look at him. There’s no sign of his injury, his torso hidden beneath his guard outfit. He lies on the wooden board that will be his final bed, looking the same as in life, though painted with death. The only things not black on him are his steel vest and ingoula; even his skin has been painted black, the same as the Neula’s skin. The ingoula covers his face like a mask, the pieces coming together to form studded cheeks, with points on his forehead, chin, and nose. The metal gleams in the sunlight against the painted skin.
“Queen Ryn, please grace us.” The Neula points to something behind me.
A servant comes forward, carrying a tray that holds my worst nightmare.
The Mortum Tura.
The blasted drink that got me into this mess in the first place. I start to say no, but before I can get the word out, the First Queen shouts through my mouth, “Give it to me.”
The servant brings the cup to my lips, and I’m helpless as the First Queen swallows, the pounding of her victory dancing around my head.
Everyone stares at me. Now I’m not only an oddity in the chair; I’m glowing. I am thought to be a goddess, when I’m nothing but a weakling.
I turn my gaze to Wilric and focus on him and his sacrifice, while the others look on. The First Queen may have won this round, but I will not let her conquer my spirit.
If only the Mortum Tura made me stronger as it makes the First Queen… But it only feeds her, not me. I wish I knew more about how it worked and why Daros knows what it does.
The Neula turns around, and the men and women who’ve been given the honor of carrying Wilric to his last resting place surround his body. Nash is at Wilric's head, bending down to pick up the board Wilric was laid on.
Once those chosen have lifted Wilric's body, the Neula steps toward the Tomb of Zaco, the first known fallen royal guard. All other guards have been laid to rest in it since, their bones constantly being pushed back as new bodies come. Now it’s Wilric’s turn.
The people are still staring at my chair and my useless body. It would be nice if I could have brought Puneah with me. Her comfort is needed now, but I didn’t want to scare anyone or take attention away from Wilric. She would have been something to ogle at besides me, though.
I shove thoughts of them away as I scan those who matter most this day. Wilric’s mother follows after the Neula.
Inkga rolls my chair forward, but before we turn to trail after the procession, I spot Jem close by through a gap between my guards. Her expression is blank. Stoic. Unyielding to what’s happening around her. Whatever was going on between her and Wilric, she’s closed herself off.
It’s the first I’ve seen of her since he was killed. It’s terrible of me. I should have asked to see her sooner. I’ve been too wrapped up in myself to do anything of worth. Anything to help a friend. I want to catch her eye, to give her a look of understanding, but she doesn’t glance my way before Inkga turns my wheelchair.
The walk—a bumpy ride for me—is long, befitting the journey Wilric’s soul will take to reach its final destination. I believe and hope he’s going to a good place, but there’s no way to know for certain. Only the First Queen’s soul didn’t follow along with the rest, wherever souls end up, leaving me to deal with her.
We start in a park in the Medi part of town, near where his mother lived, and wind our way through the streets. The palace grows nearer, but we’re heading to the left side of it, instead of entering its walls.
When we enter the tombs’ row, there are structures almost as far as the eye can see. Even the Poruah have a place to be laid to rest here. Generations of people are buried within these buildings and catacombs. The greatest tomb of all lies before us. The Hall of Queens.
The building is expansive, resting among the tombs of the guards who served their rulers. Not only has it been added onto throughout the ages, but rumor has it that the building goes deep beneath the ground, to provide enough room to house all the queens.
I will end up there some day. Strange. I always thought I’d wind up in a pauper’s tomb, shoved against hundreds of other people, with no paint or ingoula to send me on to the next life. But when my time comes, I’ll be given a funeral fit for the queen that I am. I’d almost rather have a pauper’s rites and save the people the expense.
We continue to the newest Tomb of Guards and enter, following those who carry Wilric's body. Nash’s arms may be growing tired, but it’s an honor worth every ache and pain.
The torches along the way are lit, shining bright against the white stone. The Neula takes up the keening wail, singing Wilric to his final resting place. The sound echoes around and through me, leaving behind the feeling of despair.
One less person I trust in Valcora. One less person I can count on. One less good man gracing our presence.
And I’m to blame for it.
Daros and I.
As the keen reaches a high pitch, I know what I have to do. As soon as the ceremony is finished, I will go to Daros and demand answers. I need to know what he knows about the First Queen. Every little detail. Wilric will not have died in vain. If Daros is to live, he will be put to good purpose, serving until his final breath.