The Essence E-Book

Kimberly Derting

• Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Pledge Trilogy
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 420

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

I knew who whispered inside my head.Sabara.She was still here. Living inside my body.Taunting me.Seventeen-year-old Charlaina, overthrower of Queen Sabara's brutal regime, is now sovereign of Ludania. While seeking to bring equality to her previously divided country, Charlie also struggles to adjust to the responsibility thrust upon her. Not everyone is happy with their new Queen – a burgeoning resistance to Charlie's rule is rapidly gaining momentum.And external enemies are not the only ones Charlie must contend with. Though it has been months since her demise, Sabara's influence is far from over. The evil queen's Essence has fused with Charlie's psyche and is viciously fighting to overpower her. Pushed to the brink of exhaustion, can Charlie perform her royal duties, combat Sabara's influence, and face an ultimate betrayal?

Leseprobe

The ESSENCE

KIMBERLY DERTING

To my Granny, who taught me that no woman needs to be what’s expected of her. I miss you.

Contents

Title PageDedicationPART IPROLOGUEIBROOKLYNNIIIIIIVNIKOVVIVIIPART IIBROOKLYNNVIIIIXBROOKLYNNXBROOKLYNNXIBROOKLYNNXIITHE ASSASSINXIIIMAXXIVPART IIIBROOKLYNNXVXVIBROOKLYNNARONXVIIXVIII BROOKLYNNXIXBROOKLYNNXXEPILOGUEACKNOWLEDGMENTSAbout the AuthorBy Kimberly DertingCopyright

PART I

PROLOGUE

He approached respectfully, cautiously. Warily.

She’d always been capricious, his queen. But of late, she was nothing less than unpredictable.

He knew why, of course: the new queen of Ludania.

He waited twenty paces from the throne, as was customary. She would speak first. Until then, his lips remained tightly sealed.

When at last he heard her voice – like the chords of a song, lovely and melodious – he knew her mood. Tolerant. Magnanimous.

Yet he couldn’t suppress the trepidation that always quivered in his belly during these brief encounters.

‘Come closer,’ she coaxed, and he found himself drawn toward her in the same way that some animals were drawn toward their brightly colored predators. ‘I can barely see you all the way back there. And I want so badly to see your face.’

He stepped closer, counting his paces in his head so as not to overstep that invisible barrier between respect and indiscretion, all the while allowing himself to fall prey to her seductive tone. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’ When he reached her, he had to quell the urge to bow, a habit he’d only recently developed. One that had been browbeaten into him in his new post.

Here, though, it wasn’t an action that would be tolerated.

Forcing himself to remain upright, he waited for her to explain why she’d summoned him.

‘I hear she’s managed to take the throne fairly effortlessly.’

It wasn’t a question, and his mind grappled for the appropriate response, knowing full well he had best not answer incorrectly. ‘Not so effortlessly, Your Majesty. She still struggles with decorum and with balancing the new freedoms of her subjects. Not all are pleased by the changes she’s making.’

She considered his words and he could practically feel her mood easing. A knot unraveled within his own chest.

‘I hear she has many who stand by her side, including Sabara’s own grandsons.’

His lips ticked up. He answered without hesitation, ‘They are male, Your Majesty. What does it matter if they support her reign?’

She smiled back at him, and he felt a surge of promise at having known the right response so quickly. He wasn’t stupid; he had only to trust his instincts.

‘I hear,’ the queen continued in her lilting voice, ‘that she is beautiful.’

At that he faltered. He knew what she wanted to be told, but to lie was unforgivable. He conjured an image of Queen Charlaina in his mind – her pale blond hair and shimmering blue eyes and skin that glowed even when she didn’t realize it was so. He tried to find some fault he could relay to his queen – something that wouldn’t reveal his forgery. Instead he lowered his voice to a whisper, hoping she wouldn’t notice the apprehension hidden there. ‘Not half as beautiful as you, Your Majesty.’

That, at least, was not untrue. His queen was nothing if not striking.

And heartless, he realized, as she spoke her next words.

‘I want her dead.’ There was no change in her inflection; it was that same conversational banter. As if she were simply searching for information, prying for news, as she would with any good spy.

Yet even he knew this was no ordinary request.

He cocked his head, unsure what the proper reaction was now. ‘Dead,’ he stated flatly, careful not to question the command.

Her lips bowed, ever so perfectly, making her look more like she was ordering dessert than an assassination. ‘Dead,’ she said again. ‘You can handle that, can’t you?’

He took another step forward, no longer concerned with decorum. ‘And how do you propose I do that, Your Majesty? How do I get her away from her guards and her family and the contingent of soldiers who follow her every move? Are you expecting a suicide mission from me?’

‘I thought you might ask that.’ She raised her hand, a quick signal, and the door was opened. A young woman with tangled braids and dirt-covered clothing shoved her way inside. She was younger than the queen and himself, yet she carried herself with more confidence than both of them combined. She didn’t count her steps or wait for the queen to speak first.

She grinned when she saw him standing there. ‘Didn’t expect to find you here.’ He couldn’t help noting that she sounded even less like their queen than the last time he’d seen her.

He bit his lip against the urge to tangle his hands around her braids and drag her up against him, yet he said nothing.

‘The summit is approaching,’ the queen responded, ignoring the brazen girl who stood insouciantly before her. ‘It’s been many decades since an invitation’s been extended to a queen of Ludania.’ Her lips pursed, as if she were holding back a secret. ‘This year’s going to be different, however. This year the Vendor queen is to be summoned. And this year, she’ll have to leave the safety of her palace fortress to travel north.’ She looked at each of them in turn. ‘I expect the two of you to find a way to stop her from reaching her destination. Understood?’

He didn’t dare hesitate, and he didn’t have any qualms about what he was being asked to do. It was an order, after all. ‘Of course, Your Majesty. Anything else?’

The queen’s gaze narrowed when she answered. ‘Keep her safe,’ she explained, casting a quick glance at the girl with smudges on her face. ‘She might not want the part, but she’s still my sister, and a princess of this realm.’

The girl drew a razor-edged knife from her boot and flashed her teeth at the queen. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m not the one who’ll need protecting.’

I

In the privacy of my dreams, I’m a warrior.

I’m still me, of course, just a tougher version of me. More valiant and fearless.

I’ve always loved those dreams, the ones in which I can wield a weapon without breaking a sweat, or cut a man’s throat without blinking an eyelash. In them, my body is honed and fine-tuned. My mind is as focused as any Canshai master of lore’s, and I, too, can move objects simply through my powers of concentration. My spirit is dogged.

No one can stop me. I am invincible.

I tried to summon those feelings now, as I lay facedown in the mud, blinking furiously against the grit blinding me, and spitting out mouthfuls of pond scum. Unsteadily, I wobbled as I rose to my feet, moving entirely too slowly, my legs trembling beneath me.

I am fierce, I tried again to convince myself, but that unblinking resolve I so desperately craved had been seriously shaken.

My weapon had disappeared somewhere in the slimy pit I had just pulled myself from, so it was only me … and my opponent. I needed to think quickly. I knew he wouldn’t wait long before striking again.

Staggering to my full height, which unfortunately was not nearly as impressive as his, I struggled to find any weakness in his defenses. He was both massive and armed, and, as if reading my mind, he lifted his steel blade to his forehead in a mock salute, his lips twisting into a sneer.

‘Your Majesty.’ His voice rumbled – a sound like thunder coming from deep inside his chest. ‘It seems you find yourself in a most precarious position.’ His eyes narrowed as he closed the gap between us, and my heart stuttered. ‘Whatever shall you do?’

He lunged then, thrusting his sword toward me, the sharpened edge glinting as it sliced through the air. Fortunately, I recognized its trajectory and was able to react in time, dodging left at the very moment the blade arced right.

I felt the air ripple at my earlobe. Too near a miss.

But even as relief uncoiled in my chest, I felt my foot slide in the slick mud. I lost my balance and careened backward, falling hard once more. My breath rushed out in a painful whoosh as my spine connected with a sharp stone beneath me. My mind was still scrambled, trying to beckon my inner soldier, trying to conjure that fierceness within … to overlook the pain.

Warriors do not cry, I admonished myself silently. And then I dared a quick glance at his feet, which were still coming for me. He is a true soldier.

I swung my leg. It caught him right behind the ankles, hooking them, and I dragged as hard as I could, trying to sweep his feet from beneath him. My fingers clawed at the soil beneath me as I struggled against his massive weight, but I refused to surrender.

And then I felt him give. I felt him buckling above me, and he, too, was falling.

The moment he was on the ground, at the same level I was, I raised both my booted feet, my knees cocked and my thick heels aimed directly at his head. The blow could be deadly if delivered correctly. In the temple, just as I’d been taught.

I hesitated, staring into my attacker’s hard brown eyes. He’d had no qualms about hitting, kicking, pushing, and nearly stabbing me. I knew because I bore the bruises to prove it.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he jeered, his white teeth flashing, reminding me that he didn’t have mud in his mouth. ‘Finish it.’

I wanted to. I wanted to be the girl from my dreams. Tough like Brooklynn, or determined like Xander. Willing to kill if necessary.

But I wasn’t. And I couldn’t.

Sighing, I dropped my feet as I turned to roll onto my stomach so I could push myself up from the ground.

And then I froze as my numbed mind recalled the first rule of battle: Never turn your back on your opponent.

Before I could reconcile my mistake, he was on top of me. I never even heard him. He was stealthy, like a tiger. And I was at the receiving end of his claws.

The knife at my neck seemed to have materialized from nowhere, and there was a moment when my blood turned to ice as he dragged its blade along the base of my throat until its point converged with my hammering pulse.

‘That’s what happens if you break rule number one,’ he growled against my ear, his breath like fire. Then he withdrew his blade, shoving me back to the ground. And again, I found myself eating dirt.

‘Dammit, Zafir,’ I complained, getting to my already battered and bruised knees. ‘You knew I’d given up, there was no need to attack again.’

Zafir held out his hand, both as a gesture of submission and as a genuine attempt to help me up. I took it, but only because my back was still throbbing where the rock had jabbed me. ‘There’s always need for attack. Remember that.’

‘I’ll never be a skilled combatant, will I?’

‘No,’ he stated flatly, gripping my hand and yanking me to my feet as if I weighed less than nothing.

I swayed slightly and glared at him, but kept my mouth shut. He was right, of course. I was inadequate.

I waited while he waded up to his ankles in the shallow pond to retrieve my sword – his sword, actually – and wipe it clean. Bending over, I stifled a groan as I hefted the one he’d been using from the ground where it had fallen. It weighed at least five times what mine did and had intricate carvings, not just around the hilt but continuing along the length of its curved blade. To anyone else, the carvings would appear to be gibberish.

To me, the girl who could understand all languages, they were poetic: Danii, a weapon forged of steel and blood.

I grinned over the fact that Zafir’s sword bore its own name. And that whoever had crafted his steel had lovingly engraved a message declaring not only its name but also its origin. I’d asked him about it once – about the origin of the weapon and the language engraved into its blade. He’d told me only that he wasn’t born in Ludania, and that the weapon had been an ancestral gift.

‘We’d best get back before Sebastian tells your father what you’ve been up to.’

‘We,’ I corrected, trading him weapons so that I didn’t have to drag his through the silt, and wishing, once more, that I were stronger. ‘What we’ve been up to, you mean.’

Zafir glared down at me. ‘I wanted no part of this. I’m a reluctant participant.’

‘But a participant nonetheless,’ I maintained, lifting a brow. ‘And maybe if you were a better instructor …’ I trailed off, trying not to let my disappointment come through in my voice.

‘It’s not my instruction that’s lacking.’ His pointed gaze found me. ‘Your Majesty.’ He added my title as if it were an afterthought, even though we both knew it wasn’t.

‘Whatever. I might as well be spending all my time in riding lessons considering how little my fighting’s improved. At least then the horse might do what I want her to.’

‘I believe those were my exact words. You need riding lessons, not fighting lessons. You’re a queen, not a soldier.’ And then he added it again, this time his lip twitching ever so slightly. ‘Your Majesty.’

We reached the stand of spark willows, beneath the largest of which we’d tethered our horses. During the day, the drooping branches’ tips, which nearly brushed the ground, were extinguished and the trees served as the perfect shelter for the enormous animals we’d ridden, shielding them from view. At night, however, the nibbed ends of each branch would burn bright in shades of blues or reds or white, depending on the blossoms. A million tiny buds of light would flicker and flash, casting this entire sector of the forest in an ethereal glow in which nothing – and no one – could hide.

Something I understood all too well, I thought as I glanced down at my hands, where light flickered just beneath my skin.

Zafir slipped through the curtain of wilting boughs and, after a moment, returned holding the reins of two magnificent mares. Magnificent, that was, to those who appreciated horses.

Unlike me.

It was unnatural for humans to be riding animals. Or at least that was what my aching body insisted, even before I readied to take the saddle once more.

I wasn’t like Brooklynn. I seemed incapable of learning that natural rhythm required to master horseback riding, that same rhythm she possessed when sitting astride her stallion. The easy way her body moved and rocked, not just in sync with the horse, but almost as if she’d become an extension of it. Like part of a single fluid wave in which they seemed to become one.

I, however, remained separate from my animal, remaining stiff, and bouncing and lurching uncomfortably. My body fought the motions of the beast beneath me, resistant to its gait.

In truth, they terrified me, the horses. All of them. They were large and unpredictable and far too powerful.

Yet another reason I could never truly be warrior. What kind of soldier couldn’t manage her own steed?

Stretching my back and preparing for the ride home, I reached up to the saddle’s horn and balanced one foot in the stirrup as I hauled myself up, throwing my other leg over the smooth leather seat. Once I was settled, Zafir handed me the reins, and as he did, my stomach tightened. I hated this part. I hated that it was in my hands to command this beast.

A country, sure. An animal larger than my royal guard, no thank you.

When we returned, Sebastian was already waiting for us in front of the stables. He rushed out to take the reins from me, and held the mare steady while I dismounted.

I glanced around, searching for Brooklynn. ‘Is she here yet? She promised she’d be here when I got back.’ I hated the edge I heard in my own voice. ‘She’s late, isn’t she?’

Zafir took great care to stifle a yawn.

Sebastian frowned and bowed low, clutching the leather reins in his hands. I stared down at the top of his head, envious that any man could be blessed with such lustrous curls. They were the color of polished mahogany, matching his eyes to perfection. It was unfair, considering that I’d been born with hair and skin so fair they were nearly transparent, not a single curl in sight. ‘Your Majesty. I’m sure she’s just running …’ He lifted his head and scowled upward at the sky, noting the sun’s location, completely unable to mask his worry about the time. ‘… behind schedule.’ His last two words sounded less than convinced, and I fought the urge to giggle at his attempt to assuage me.

Zafir was less composed, and his laughter boomed like a thunderclap across the meadows, making the poor stable master jump. ‘Knowing Brooklynn, she’s probably off causing trouble. Probably getting you into a war, if I had to wager.’

I cast a warning glare in Zafir’s direction; Sebastian didn’t deserve to be laughed at. ‘Don’t worry, Sebastian, I don’t blame you for Brook’s absence.’ I sighed heavily, not wanting to do this alone, and unwilling to admit why. ‘I suppose we can start without her,’ I muttered.

Sebastian perked up at the idea, and I was reminded that this was his true passion. This was why he’d been made stable master after barely reaching the age of legal consent. At eighteen, he was the youngest stable master the palace had ever had. No one knew his way around a horse the way Sebastian did.

Plus, he was patient – assuring me I would grow more comfortable, that my skills would improve. That time would give me the confidence I so desperately needed.

But Sebastian was serious about his instruction, and training with him was as physically exhausting as my fighting lessons with Zafir. It wasn’t simply about sitting in a saddle – anyone could do that, he’d repeated time and time again. He wanted me to learn the finer points of horsemanship: riding bareback, emergency dismounts, jumping, and groundwork. He worked both the horse and me until we were unable to work a moment longer.

‘You won’t be sorry, Your Majesty,’ Sebastian vowed, pulling his red bandana from his back pocket and tying it around his head, something he always did before my lessons. ‘With a little more practice …’ He hesitated, as if trying to convince himself and not me. ‘With a little more practice, you’ll be riding like a champion.’

I bit the inside of my cheek at the thought of me as a champion rider. ‘That sounds …’ My lip quivered ever so slightly. ‘… wonderful.’

Sebastian’s face lit into a huge, triumphant grin as he dipped his head once quickly before straightening and spinning on his heel, his shoulders high.

‘Oh, and Sebastian?’

He stopped and turned back around. ‘Yes, Your Majesty?’

‘Will you please just call me Charlie?’

Sebastian’s brows crumpled, uncertainty clear in every feature.

But it was Zafir who answered. ‘No.’ His voice was like iron. Unyielding. And then he looked down on me from his horse, and his gaze was equally obstinate. ‘He will not, Your Majesty.’

BROOKLYNN

Brooklynn stood on the street, staring up at the scarred sign that hung above the door. She hated the pang that coursed through her, the ache of nostalgia that betrayed her as she questioned whether being here was wise or not.

Still, wise wasn’t her reason for coming. And neither was nostalgia.

She had a job to do. An important one. Longing had no place in her world … Not today, anyway.

She tamped down the emotions and shoved her way through the battered wooden door. Even the weathered brass of the door handle beneath her fingertips was entirely too well known to her.

Inside, she scowled at the man behind the counter. He looked older now than she remembered, more haggard. The skin around his eyes was lined and leathered, as if he were a man accustomed to a life of hard labor. As if he’d spent years working in the fields rather than inside the walls of a butcher’s shop. She watched as he rubbed his grizzled beard, graying in places it surely hadn’t been before.

It was his eyes, though, that held her attention as he noticed her standing there – they were as sharp and focused as ever, and filled with spite. She’d always hated that physical similarity between them: the dark brown of their eyes.

He wiped his hands on his stained apron, and Brook was reminded why she’d never been bothered by the sight of blood. She’d grown up with it.

‘I need a minute,’ he grumbled in Englaise to the older man behind the counter with him.

‘I’m almost off work,’ the man responded in a firm voice, as if he was accustomed to having this conversation. ‘Five minutes. And then I leave, whether you’re finished or not.’

Brook watched as her father’s face drained of all color. She could tell that he wanted to scream, that his rage was bubbling so close to the surface that even she was cringing inside as she waited for the explosion that was surely coming. But when he answered, his words were quiet. Controlled. ‘It’s my store, Anson. Do I need to remind you again? You work for me.’ The muscle at his jaw flexed, jumping spastically. ‘I make the rules here.’

Anson just shook his head, as if the notion was absurd. ‘But I shouldn’t have to remind you that I have rights now.’ And then he repeated, ‘Five minutes.’

Her father untied his apron and threw it on the floor as he stormed into the backroom, leaving Brook to either wait or follow.

She was comfortable with neither, but she was already here, and they had only five minutes. She might as well get this over with.

Casting an apologetic look at the older man, she slipped behind the counter and went through the doorway that led to the chilled room where her father was holding a cleaver and slicing – pointlessly – into the remains of a carcass that had clearly already been carved, its usable meat already packaged.

‘Can you believe him? Six months ago he was mopping blood off the floors and discarding entrails. He wasn’t even permitted to speak to me. Now I have to pay him a wage he doesn’t deserve and allow him to interact with my customers. Now, he thinks he can tell me what to do.’ He hacked into a section of rib cage and pieces of bone and flesh sprayed outward. ‘This is your fault. You and your queen!’

Brooklynn walked toward the familiar carving-block work surface and ran her fingertip over a section in which she’d carved her name when she was just a girl, back when she still made all of her B’s backward. The wood had been new then, shiny and polished, yet her father hadn’t chastised her for marring it. He’d simply marveled at her handiwork, boasting that his daughter might have a future as a woodworker or an artist.

He’d never imagined she’d become a soldier.

Or that she’d turn against him.

‘You need to tell them to back off. What you’re doing is foolish,’ she insisted, ignoring his complaints about the New Equality. ‘All you can hope to accomplish is to get yourselves killed.’ She glanced up to watch his reaction.

His face twisted into a sneer. ‘Is that what your queen tells you? That we can’t gain enough power to overthrow her?’ He took a step closer, still clutching the bloodstained cleaver in his fist, and Brook recognized that both his language – the all-too-familiar guttural intonations of Parshon – and his stance were meant to intimidate her. ‘If I recall correctly, we wouldn’t be the first to challenge a queen … and win.’

Brooklynn’s eyes narrowed at the close-minded coward who stood before her. She drew her fingers away from her childhood carving, disgusted that she’d allowed herself to remember the man he’d once been. It was hard to imagine why she’d so desperately yearned for his approval for so many years, why she’d craved his notice.

Because he’s your father, she silently chided herself. Of course she’d wanted his approval; she’d been a little girl without a mother and he was all she’d had.

Maybe if he’d spent more time with her after her mother had died, made her feel like something other than a housekeeper, she wouldn’t have found a home with Xander’s rebel army. Maybe she wouldn’t be a commander in the queen’s army now.

‘You can’t win, is all I’m saying,’ she spat back at him, speaking only in Englaise – the voice of the people – and knowing that it galled him that she did so. He preferred the old ways: a class system in which he was better, by birth, than nearly half the country. But what he conveniently forgot was that, by that same system, he was classified as a Vendor, and there’d been those who’d looked down on him, in the same way he looked down on Anson.

Brook, however, would never forget what the class system had meant: a lack of free will. ‘How many supporters can you possibly have? Three, maybe four hundred? To do what, go backward? To undo the good Queen Charlaina is trying to do? To give up the freedoms her reign has offered? Are they willing to give their lives for your cause?’ She gave him a look that said exactly what she thought of his cause: not much. Then she glanced down casually at her fingers, examining a hangnail. ‘Besides,’ she explained, ‘we’d crush you in a matter of seconds.’ Her lips parted slowly, spreading into a grin as she glanced up again. It was daring, filled with intentional defiance as she baited the man before her, watching as the color rose in his face.

His lips tightened and his jaw flexed. Not a flattering look for him, she noted.

‘You don’t know the half of whose support we have. What would you say if I told you that you’re outnumbered? That I could stop you from leaving here today if I gave the order? That me and my little insignificant band of protesters have the queen’s best friend at their mercy?’ The meaning of his words was crystal clear. He would sacrifice his own daughter to send a message to the queen.

Fortunately for her, Brooklynn didn’t back down that easily. ‘What if I reminded you that you don’t have the queen’s best friend at your mercy, but rather the commander of the First Division of the Royal Armed Forces? What if I were to tell you that to harm me would be considered treason, and that the mere threat that just passed your vile lips could send you to stand in front of a firing squad? Or worse, get you sent to the Scablands?’ She took a step toward him, closing the slim gap that remained between them, until they stood – father and daughter – nose to nose.

‘You don’t have the authority,’ he challenged in Parshon.

There wasn’t a trace of tolerance in her hardened expression. ‘Try me.’

He studied her for a long moment. He laughed then, a tight sound. Brook could taste the foul flavor of tobacco on his breath, lingering with the rancor inside him. The skin around his eyes wrinkled, like crumpled paper, but the eyes themselves remained flat. Emotionless.

‘I was only jesting, dear daughter. You know I’d never harm you.’ And suddenly he was the father who’d bragged of Brooklynn’s wood-carving skills. The same man who’d held her up on his shoulders to watch street performances and had given her sugar-covered fruits and sweets when her mother wasn’t looking. He reached out to stroke her cheek. Brook jerked away when his fingers – so cold they felt as if they belonged on a corpse – grazed her. ‘We’re flesh and blood, you and I,’ he cooed. ‘If we can’t depend on each other, who can we count on?’

II

I crept as silently as I could into the kitchens, which weren’t nearly as quiet as I’d hoped they’d be. It was hard enough to sneak around with a giant by my side, and it only became harder with everyone bowing to me and whispering words of respect, and then whispering some more when I passed. Gossip mostly.

This was one of the hardest things to get used to: people noticing me. I’d spent my entire life trying to go unobserved.

Funny, though, how convention tried to dictate my actions now, when once it was simply convenience. I’d merely worn the clothing available to any girl of my status – the Vendor class – and never thought to complain. Now that I could wear whatever I wanted, now that class was no longer an issue, I hated being told what was – and wasn’t – proper for someone of my stature.

And pants most certainly were not considered queenly.

I ignored the strange looks I received for my attire – gapes and stares whenever I donned trousers. But it made no sense to try to sit sideways on a horse when I could gain much better balance by sitting astride, something a skirt would never allow me to do.

Plus, the fighting lessons. I couldn’t possibly fight in a dress, could I? Not with any amount of decorum, anyway.

Of course, my father could never know that. He didn’t approve of me doing anything that put me in harm’s way … and hand-to-hand combat would most certainly fall under that category, lessons or not.

The rest of it, taking my place on the throne, hadn’t been nearly as hard as I’d imagined. I’d adjusted quickly, or at least I’d adjusted quickly by my standards. Considering that I hadn’t wanted the position in the first place, I thought I was doing pretty well.

In fact, there were things I actually liked about my new role.

Like seeing my country released from the tyrannical rule of an oppressive queen and her antiquated notions. Hearing the words of Englaise spoken everywhere I went, while never having to pretend I couldn’t understand what was being said. And the fact that my parents no longer had to work from sunup to sundown to provide for us.

I grinned as I caught a glimpse of my father, his arms buried all the way to his elbows in a thick pillow of bread dough as he concentrated on kneading and pulling and twisting the mass, forcing it to conform beneath his insistent hands. Some things, it seemed, would never change.

A woman in the kitchen staff caught me standing in the doorway and dropped into a curtsy. ‘Your Majesty.’

My father glanced up from his task. ‘Spying now, are we?’

I stepped all the way into the immense kitchens, Zafir remaining silent by my side.

The palace kitchens were a far cry from the kitchen my father had once worked in – the one in our family restaurant. Here, he had seventeen ovens, five enormous sinks, and an endless stretch of counter space on which to work.

Yet even though he refused to stop working in the kitchens, he had acclimated to this life much faster than I had. He looked younger, healthier, happier than he had in years. Maybe ever. Even the callouses on his hands had grown less coarse during the weeks since he’d stopped toiling at our family restaurant.

I smiled. ‘Just wondering why you can’t find something else to fill your time. A hobby or something. Maybe you should take up horseback riding. We could take lessons together.’

Wiping his hands on the well-worn towel that draped from his belt, he met me in the center of the polished marble floor, finer than any of the stone tiling found in the vendors’ part of town. ‘Yes, I can see that’s working out so well for you.’ He reached out and plucked a leaf from my hair as he examined me with a worried expression, surely inspecting the bruise on my cheek that had nothing at all to do with riding. ‘Are you certain this is something you should be doing?’

I shrugged. It’s not as if I enjoyed the lessons. ‘That’s what I’m told. If I ever plan to leave this realm, the train lines only extend so far, and until we can establish trade with the other queendoms – those with access to fuel – we don’t have a lot of other options. Sabara’s resistance to technology and change has left us stunted.’ Her name tasted like bile on my tongue, leaving a bitter aftertaste that turned my stomach. ‘Ludania will progress if I have any say in the matter. Even if it means I have to learn to ride a horse …’ I shrugged again.

He laid his hand on the side of my face, pressing it to my cheek like he had when I was just a girl. ‘Well, be careful. It’s admirable that you feel such a strong desire to tend to your country, but you need to take care of yourself as well.’ He glared at Zafir, not caring that the guard stood several heads above him. ‘Your country needs its queen.’

‘I’m fine,’ I said, and I wondered which of us, exactly, I was trying to convince. ‘Besides, I think I’m getting better at it. The horse is starting to like me.’

Beside me, Zafir chuckled beneath his breath.

I turned to scowl at him. ‘What? You don’t know. You weren’t even there.’

Riding lessons were one of the rare occasions Zafir left me in someone else’s hands, mostly, I assumed, because he didn’t care for the horses and only rode when absolutely necessary. Each and every time, though, he told Sebastian that he was under the threat of dismemberment should any harm fall upon me. And although I was sure Zafir was only joking with the boy about injuring him, Sebastian took the giant guard at his word, keeping close watch over me during those lessons.

‘I hear things,’ Zafir answered. ‘And the things I hear sound nothing like the things you just said. If it’s possible, I hear you’re actually getting worse.’

My mouth opened to argue, but my father spoke first. ‘You are supposed to be with her at all times. You are never to leave her unattended.’

Zafir shifted uncomfortably. It would have been almost laughable to see the giant squirm, but just as a smirk found its way to my lips, my father turned on me. ‘Is that how you’re running things around here? Exposing yourself to danger by roaming about without protection? You put us all in danger by behaving that way, Charlaina. Angelina’s not yet ready to take your place should something happen to you.’

It was impossible not to notice that everyone around us had stopped what they were doing and were listening as my father scolded me. I felt like a child, and my shoulders fell as I dropped my head. He was right, of course. But it wasn’t entirely my fault.

I tried to remind myself that I was the queen, that I was the one who gave orders. This was my queendom. But it didn’t matter. He was still my father.

I shot a scathing look at Zafir. ‘I wasn’t alone,’ I finally answered, but my voice carried no real weight, and even I knew it was a pathetic excuse.

‘Really?’ If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve sworn my father was enjoying this, letting me know that no matter what my position, I was still his daughter. Honestly, though, I think he was really just worried. ‘Who was with you? Claude?’ he asked, naming another one of the royal guards. ‘Xander or Max? Because I’m sure it was none of them; I’ve seen them around the palace today. All of them.’ He emphasized the last words, making certain I wouldn’t try to lie to him, to appease his fears.

‘Sebastian,’ I admitted, almost in a whisper.

I knew even before he responded what was coming. ‘Sebastian?’ he said, practically choking. ‘The stable boy?’

This time I lifted my head to meet his gaze. ‘He’s the stable master.’

‘He’s just a boy!’

Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. Outwardly, I tried to be reasonable. ‘Dad, he’s not. He’s of age, and he’s the best instructor there is. Besides, nothing happened.’

My father’s eyes raked over me, taking in my mussed hair, my dirty face, and my ripped trousers. He knew something had happened, but he didn’t need to know I was training to fight as well. He’d never forgive Zafir if I told him that part.

‘Fine,’ I finally said, hating his scrutiny and knowing he wouldn’t relent. ‘Next time I’ll take Zafir.’ I could feel Zafir stiffen beside me, and I had to squelch the urge to smirk. That’s what he got for mocking my riding skills … or lack thereof. ‘Will that satisfy you?’

And just like that my father was smiling at me, as if he’d never been worried or angry in the first place. But there was a triumphant gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. ‘That would make me more than satisfied, Charlaina. That would make me positively overjoyed.’ And then he winked at me. ‘Now you should go get cleaned up.’

I was learning that a palace dinner was as choreographed as any intricate dance production. The courses were served at predetermined intervals, and the kitchen and serving staffs were masterful, understanding the nuances – the subtlety of the meal’s progression – in ways that made it seem effortless. They would appear with new offerings before I’d even realized that the last plates had been removed from before me.

Dinner was one of the rare moments I had with my family, as a daughter and a sister, and, as my time became stretched thinner and thinner, I frequently found myself looking forward to our evening meals.

Yet another adjustment to life on the throne.

Spread before us now was a succulent roasted goose drizzled with a honeyed citrus glaze, peppered parsnips drenched in a rich cream sauce, and asparagus tips coated with herbed butter. My father’s breads – served hot and fresh from the ovens, with crisp brown crusts – were placed at even spaces across the table. I closed my eyes as I caught a whiff of the warm loaves, remembering the days when I was the serving staff. I reached for a slice as I listened with growing interest to the discussion around me.

‘Preparations for your visit are coming together nicely,’ Xander explained, looking pointedly in my direction. ‘The question is: Are you?’

I traced my fingertip around the carved pattern on the cup sitting on the table before me. It was a seal that had once been outlawed in my own country: the Di Heyse family crest. ‘I think so,’ I answered, trying to sound more confident than I felt, and ignoring the flutter in my belly whenever the subject of my upcoming visit to the Capitol was broached. ‘I’m not sure what more I can do to prepare. I don’t think it’s whether I’m ready or not at this point, I think it’s whether the people are ready for me.’

I didn’t say what was really on my mind. I didn’t remind them of the last time I tried to go out in public.

I didn’t have to.

‘It’ll be fine. Everything’s been prepared. Word has been spread. No one will be surprised this time,’ Xander explained, his mouth curving playfully. ‘They’re as ready as they can be for a queen whose skin glows.’

I grimaced at the reminder, my eyes dropping to my hands in my lap. Sometimes I could almost forget what everyone else saw when they looked at me … the light dancing just beneath the surface of my skin. ‘It’s starting to fade,’ I answered pathetically. ‘It’s nearly gone now.’

At that, all eyes were on me, and I felt my skin burning anew. I knew they could see the lie in my words … every place they looked.

My lips tightened into a hard line. ‘It’s faded,’ I insisted, this time with more conviction. ‘And it will be full daylight when I venture out. Surely it will be less … less …’ I struggled for the right word. ‘Noticeable.’

Max reached beneath the table and squeezed my hand. ‘It’ll be fine,’ he said in the same reassuring tone Xander had used. And then, because I needed it, he leaned closer, his voice dropping. ‘They’ll love you. Just like everyone else does. They’ll know that you are the one responsible for making things better, and that you have their best interests in mind. No one’s ever worked so hard to make their lives better.’ A slow smile tugged at his lips, and my concentration slipped.

It was Xander who brought me crashing back to the present. ‘And yet despite all of your hard work,’ he interjected with a laugh, his voice ringing down the length of the table, ‘I wonder how many other queens are eating dinner with their fingers.’ He winked conspiratorially at Eden – standing guard at my sister’s back. Eden, who pretended not to notice his every move. It was almost easy to forget that she and Xander had once worked together so closely, that she had been his right hand as he’d led the revolutionary movement that fought to overthrow his grandmother’s cruel regime. It was almost impossible not to notice how Eden’s moods shifted whenever Xander entered the room, how the very air around her became lighter. More hopeful. Yet her expression remained vigilant, her duty never forgotten.

My gaze slipped to the slab of buttered bread I held halfway to my mouth. How was I supposed to eat it if not with my hands? I wondered silently, refusing to give them the satisfaction of thinking I cared at all. With a fork and knife? I dropped the half-eaten bread onto my plate.

‘What makes you think it won’t be just as awful this time?’ I argued, turning the conversation away from my table manners. I hadn’t forgotten the gasps of surprise during my official coronation, when my cape had been removed and those in attendance had gotten their first real glimpse of my skin.

‘That was then, Charlaina,’ my father said, reaching across the table to push more bread my way. Bread, to him, was always the solution. ‘Surely they can have no qualms now. Not after these past months. Not after all the positive changes you’ve made.’

I weighed my father’s words, along with the fact that my glow was no longer a secret. I couldn’t stay locked inside my palace forever. I’d been training for this job for months now, learning the proper way to be the queen of Ludania. It was time for me to meet my people.

I stood alone in my bedchamber, wishing I could find peace the way everyone else did. Only when the hour ticked far past midnight did Zafir ever leave me. When there was nothing to do but sleep. The guards posted outside my door never moved, but I often wondered if they knew about the secret doors, the hidden passageways behind the walls that tunneled like a labyrinth, connecting one room to the next.

I stared into the mirror, pondering my own image and wondering if Xander and Max were right when they’d said I could do this. I wondered if I was the right girl to be sitting on the throne and ruling Ludania.

I understood the reasons it had to be me, of course, yet at times I still felt like a fraud. Like a girl playing dress up … donning a paper crown decorated with only glitter and glue.

Clumsily, I reached to unclasp the delicate necklace I still wore as it glinted at my throat. My fingers were shaking, and frustration welled as I struggled, fumbling with the clasp.

Then I heard it. A voice.

I can help you. The voice was hushed, almost far away as if it were coming from down a long, hollow tunnel, but I knew who was speaking. I knew who whispered inside my head.

Sabara.

Sabara who should have died months ago. Sabara upon whose throne I now sat, whose queendom I now ruled.

She was still here. Living inside my body.

Taunting me.

I dropped my hands as I gaped at my image – my image – staring back at me from the mirror. ‘Leave me alone,’ I whispered, wondering how I’d sound to anyone who came upon me now, standing in the empty chamber of my bedroom. Talking to myself.

The mad queen.

That’s what I’d become, I thought as I stood there, waiting for something to happen. Silence stretched like an endless cord that tugged at my gut, making me realize I was all alone, that she hadn’t heard me.

That maybe she wasn’t really there at all.

My shoulders fell.

I was tired, so very tired, and I had to be up early in the morning.

My bare feet crept along the carpet to my bed, the covers rumpled from when I’d tried once already to sleep. I prayed fervently that this time I’d find what I so desperately needed. Rest. Peace.

I curled into a ball, wrapping my arms around myself and felt my eyelids fluttering, growing heavier and heavier …

And just as they closed, I heard the faintest voice coming from deep within me.

Let me help you, Charlaina.

III

I tiptoed through the darkened palace hallways, wishing it didn’t have to be this way, wishing I had another choice. But I didn’t. Not now.

There were times, during the deepest part of night, when I could almost forget who I was. Almost forget the responsibilities that weighed on my shoulders, forget the future I was expected to forge, and the lives I held in my hands. At least until I passed the occasional sentry and saw them start suddenly with recognition, bowing their heads low and shattering the silence with their reverent ‘Your Majesty’s. In the spaces in between the night watchmen, in the shadowed stretches where no one else dwelled, I could almost believe I was still the same girl. The same Charlie I’d always been.

Except that Sabara was with me … even when I was awake.

I approached the guard standing outside the heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway. Here sconces that had not so long ago held candles and oil lamps were now outfitted with electricity, and a small bulb cast him in a bowl of pale light. Like all the others, his eyes widened as he realized who it was that approached.

I lifted my finger to my lips before he could utter the all too familiar, all too formal phrase as I stepped past him. He didn’t try to stop me, despite the fact that the person he guarded slept soundly on the other side of that door.

I eased it open, grateful that the hinges were well oiled so it didn’t creak, the way many of the palace doors still did. Inside the darkened bedchamber, the newly appointed royal guard glared at me. My lips curved as her black eyes burrowed into me, lancing me with suspicion.

I was above reproach and she knew that, but her overprotective nature was one of the things I admired most about Eden – one of the reasons I’d accepted her as my sister’s guardian. She trusted no one.

But I was her queen. She had no business second-guessing my reason for being here. Even if it was the dead of night.

I nodded at the woman now sworn to protect Angelina with her life.

Leave us, I mouthed, and saw the flicker of hesitance cross Eden’s face before acceptance loosened her stance. She sighed from between clenched teeth, her only audible answer. Yet the air around her remained charged, as it was wont to do in her presence. Her moods were palpable, and I could feel her dissatisfaction with my request. Yet she obeyed silently, slipping from the room.

As I caught sight of my little sister, a tiny angelic form buried beneath layers of delicate silk and finely woven damask, my breath hitched. I hated to see her sleeping alone. I hated that we no longer shared a bed.

It won’t work, the voice whispered in my ear, and I closed my eyes, ignoring it as I crept closer on bare feet. I didn’t wish to wake Angelina; the last thing I wanted to do was frighten her. But I needed her now.

I stood beside the bed for a moment, wondering at the luxuries we were now afforded, and realizing that they changed nothing. We still needed each other. And we still had secrets.