Queen of the Shadow Menagerie, page 47
“Are you displeased?” Ruenen asked, smiling. “We hired the best seamstress in the country to make that for you. I think you look incredible.”
It had been a scramble to outfit Marai’s last-minute queenly wardrobe. She had nothing to wear except for that plum gown from Baatgai, and Marai refused to wait for more clothing to be made before getting to work. Seamstresses altered Queen Larissa’s old gowns, making adjustments for Marai’s wings. She’d worn simple dresses the past week to attend Witan meetings, and to visit Kadiatu and Leif’s graves on the moor.
This dress was the most important one she’d ever wear, according to Rhia. Marai’s coronation gown.
“I’m getting used to this reflection,” she said, angling her chin down. Her fingers fidgeted with the fabric at her sides. Ruenen guessed she was trying not to pick at her cuticles.
“Wait until they put that crown on your head.” Ruenen understood how Marai felt. She hid it well, but he often saw the churning emotions swirling around in her eyes. The sharp transition from nobody to royalty had been overwhelming for him, too. Honestly, he thought she was handling it better than he had.
She’d arranged for the Menagerie refugees to be moved into the army barracks until she could find a more permanent solution. Not only that, but Marai awarded those who’d gone on the rescue mission to receive a significant sum of money, and gifted Braesal and Tarik baronetcy.
The Witan had, of course, protested, but Marai shot them down with a strong and simple, “it will be done.”
Ruenen had never seen Corian at a loss for words before, but watching the lord go silent with shock brought pure joy to Ruenen’s heart.
In the past few days, he often caught himself staring at her. When Marai sat on her newly-crafted throne, addressing the Witan with her piercing gaze and razor-edged tongue, or eating dinner across from him in their private dining room, or curling up in front of the fireplace at the end of the night. The realization hit Ruenen over and over again. That’s my wife. That’s my wife! And she’s home.
And that day, she’d officially be crowned Queen of Nevandia.
He approached his wife at the mirror and wrapped his arms around her. “How do you feel?”
“Nervous.” She said it tersely, and Ruenen knew she didn’t want to admit such a weakness. “I don’t want . . . all those eyes on me.”
Ruenen kissed her cheek, held her tighter. “I’ll be right there with you. Keep your eyes on me, and ignore everyone else. All you have to do is repeat whatever Head Monk Baureo says.”
“And not trip over my feet while dancing, or say something insulting to a foreign ambassador at the reception.”
“You managed not to do either of those things at my coronation.”
Marai scowled, making Ruenen’s smile widen. “None of them want me to be Queen. They’d rather this be Rhia’s coronation.”
“That’s only because they’re terrified of you.”
Marai shot him her seething look of death.
Ruenen laughed, turning her around to face him. “My love, you’ll settle in your role as Queen, and the people will adjust and learn. Other kingdoms may fear you, scorn you, but no one will dare provoke the Faerie Queen. Not even Corian and Wattling. I think you’ll enjoy that part. You’ll become a legend in the hearts of some—”
“And a monster in the eyes of many.”
“It won’t be long before people start giving you hand pies in the street, too.”
Marai exhaled slowly, as if prepping her mind and body for battle. “I don’t want to make any mistakes.”
“You will, and that’s acceptable. I make them all the time,” Ruenen said with a shrug. “No leader is perfect. In fact, many are downright terrible. What matters is that we both work for the good of the country, and our people. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble doing that.”
A knock came at the door, and Anja’s face peered inside. “Your Grace, it’s time.”
Marai took another deep breath, steeled her face, and squared her shoulders. “I’m ready.”
The castle monastery had been decorated the same as Ruenen’s own coronation, but this time, he waited at the front, next to Monk Baureo, ready to receive his Queen.
Marai strode down the aisle, chin held high, fur cape trailing behind her. Her gaze latched onto Ruenen’s, and never left, as she ignored the whispers, the gaping mouths, the judgmental and fearful stares. In fact, their murmurs only seemed to bestow upon Marai a renewed confidence. With each step forward, her body relaxed into a posture of strength. She was used to adversity. This was just another kind of battlefield, and Marai would always rise to the challenge.
Ruenen beamed, and pride warmed his chest.
The visiting Astyean nobles and ambassadors were balanced out with a healthy number of magical folk, as well. The fae were present, including young Holt and his friends, as well as every single member of the Menagerie. Werewolf friends of Tarik from Ain had arrived, drawn to the country by the Faerie Queen. And Nosficio, fully covered to avoid the sun streaming in through the windows, had a place of honor standing amongst the Witenagemot.
Marai’s presence in the room was electric. The air crackled with intensity, promises of hope, and a small bite of danger. She lowered to a knee as Monk Baureo recited the ancient texts, and placed a gilded, emerald-studded crown upon her head, the twin to Ruenen’s own.
As she stood and faced her people, Marai, the newly crowned Queen of Nevandia and the Fae, radiated power. She looked confident, regal, formidable, sending a clear message to all opposed that she’d never cower, never yield, and never surrender.
A sly grin spread across Ruenen’s lips as he imagined Marai wearing nothing but her crown and that formidable expression later that night . . .
Two months of peace settled across the land like snow flurries, soft and slow.
Tacorn’s loyalist rebellions became few and far between, and a new cohesion had formed between each group of residents: Nevandians, Tacornians, and magical folk. Steady progress, and lots of hard work had gotten Ruenen and Marai to this point.
The burdens of being King didn’t feel quite so overwhelming or stifling when shared with Marai. Ruenen settled into a rhythm, turning to music, or the training ring, or sometimes a blacksmith’s forge, to refocus and reprioritize whenever he needed a break.
After a long day of meetings, Ruenen collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed. Marai was seated on the settee, thumbing through a proposal she and Rhia had drafted to grant Nevandian women the right to own, purchase, and inherit property.
Always working. Always fighting for someone.
“Why not come to bed?” Ruenen asked, rubbing the spot next to him, waggling his eyebrows. “You’re working too hard.”
“This is the first major law Rhia and I have drafted together, and we want it to be infallible.” She twirled a stick of charcoal between her fingers, then jotted a note onto the page.
At her side sat Keshel’s journal, opened to the page with a sketch of a little girl, ribbons adorning her wild hair. Ruenen often caught Marai rereading the journal in her downtime. Keshel and his prophecies were never far from her mind. Neither was Cavar.
The flames in the fireplace hearth heated their chilly bedroom, bathing Marai in a beguiling, gentle glow. She sighed in frustration, setting down her work.
“I can’t concentrate.” Marai stood and walked to the large window.
Her face clouded over as she stared at the city. Winter had arrived early. White flurries floated down from the sky, lightly dusting the roofs of Kellesar.
“What’s wrong?” Ruenen asked, observing the sharpness of her gaze, the rigidity of her back. Her wings were taut with tension. “Is our friend flying around out there?”
The winged shadow creature, or grotesque as Thora liked to call them now. The white-haired, hawk-winged fellow never hurt anyone, and he wasn’t around often, but sometimes Ruenen spotted him soaring above the castle spires, watching, learning.
“No shadow creatures in sight,” she replied.
And there hadn’t been since Marai returned to Astyean shores. The other creatures had gone to ground again.
“Then what’s bothering you?” Something clearly was, and it must have been especially troubling for Marai to avoid speaking about it.
“Yesterday, I felt a shift in the air. A tremble in the earth. Something’s coming.”
On the bed, Ruenen sat up straight. “What do you mean?”
Marai glanced back at him, expression grave. “Cavar’s finally on his way.”
Blood rushed in Ruenen’s ears, cold snaked under his ribs, as the statement crashed through him. “Are you certain? How can you tell?”
“I can feel dark magic coming closer, like an oppressive, suffocating weight sitting on my chest. I’m connected to it now. The force, the pressure, gets stronger every day, and sometimes, at night, I hear Him.”
Ruenen stood, joining Marai at the window. His wife rarely spoke of such things. She never discussed her days in the Menagerie, the effects of dark magic on her body, but he could sense her fear in the atmosphere as if it were a vibrating string on his lute. He didn’t need to see it on her face to know that the memories tormented her.
“What does He say to you?” he asked, hating the way Marai shuddered, as if she could hear the magic speaking to her even then.
“He calls for me. His voice grates against my bones, glides across my skin, like He wants to lure me deeper into the darkness. To use me. To claim me.”
“Cavar’s doing this?”
“I can sense Cavar’s stone approaching, but it’s the magic that’s tugging on me. The Lord of the Underworld wants me, Ruen.”
Heat traveled up Ruenen’s neck. Anger smoldered at the fringes of his eyes. I’ll kill anyone who tries to take Marai from me. Ruenen rarely had such murderous thoughts, but Marai truly feared this Lord of the Underworld and the power He had over her. Ruenen wouldn’t let this maniac touch a single hair on his wife’s head.
“In Keshel’s journal, he spoke of how the darkness will always try to corrupt the ‘Chosen,’ to taint their magic, because once the Lord of the Underworld succeeds in claiming her, there’ll be no stopping Him. His darkness already succeeded in luring me to use its power.” Marai glanced down at her stained fingers. “He wants to use me for something terrible. To help him escape the Underworld. He wants my power.”
Ruenen’s body went rigid with controlled fury. “He will never take you away from me, or from Nevandia. You don’t belong to Him.”
“He’s using Cavar to get to me. That must be why He planted that stone on Andara. Why He helped Rayghast. They were only puppets. He’s been after me this whole time.”
Ruenen bit his lower lip, calming his anger and fear. Marai didn’t need him to get upset; she needed him to be practical, to stay focused. “We’ve prepared for Cavar’s arrival. We have a solid plan to defend against him and Koda, and we still have Innesh’s amulet locked away.”
Marai and Raife’s fire had destroyed the other two amulets Ruenen had hidden in the chest, but it took a lot of power to turn the amulets to dust. Both Raife and Marai had been exhausted from the effort.
“We don’t know how many Guardians Cavar’s bringing with him. It could be three or thirty.” Marai picked at her cuticles. “Thirty amulets, Ruen. We only have one.”
“We have you. We have Aresti, Raife, and Braesal, an entire army. You don’t think we have the strength to beat a group of wealthy foreign lords who don’t know this country, and have never fought a day in their pampered lives?”
“They don’t need physical strength or numbers when they have those amulets.” Marai backed away. A muscle feathered her jaw, and she took a deep breath. “Besides, I don’t know how effective I’ll be in a battle.”
Ruenen scoffed. “You’re jesting, right?” Lirr’s Bones, Marai could do literally anything, defy the impossible, in Ruenen’s mind, but the look in her eyes chased the smile from his face. “What are you not telling me?”
“I think dark magic isn’t just calling for me,” she said slowly, hesitantly. “It’s calling for her.”
Ruenen didn’t need to ask who “her” was. They’d been talking about only one “her” for weeks. He waited for Marai to continue. Her morbid, eerie conjectures were starting to disturb him.
Marai’s steady gaze pinned Ruenen in place, and he suddenly understood.
His eyes went wide. His heart kicked a frantic beat. “Are you sure? Are you really . . .”
Marai nodded with a nervous swallow. Shaking hands touched her flat abdomen.
“I’m going to be a father?” he asked in breathless amazement.
Marai nodded again, this time with a small smile.
A lump formed in Ruenen’s throat as tears stung his eyes. “How long have you known?”
“A few days. I wasn’t sure at first, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up . . .” She fiddled with her cuticles again, speaking in a rush. “This wasn’t how I’d imagined this reveal. I’ve been anxious and terrified for days. I wanted to deny the truths right in front of me, but I’ve been studying Keshel’s words, and I know what I feel. Keshel told me she was mine, and I can feel her inside me. She’s ours, Ruen. I know it. I know it so strongly that I can’t think of anything else sometimes. I can already feel her magic growing.”
It clicked into place then. The signs had been there for days. How she’d been picking at her food, how she’d looked paler, more tired than usual. Ruenen had thought she was overworked trying to prove to herself and the world that she could be a great queen.
Ruenen had prayed every day in the monastery for this. But gods, the news tore his heart in two. He was so incredibly happy, excited, and nervous, but this child was coming at the wrong time. Cavar was on his way, and Marai’s scarred body might not be able to carry a babe to full-term.
And if Marai was right, Ruenen’s daughter was already being summoned by the darkness before she was even born.
He pressed his forehead to hers. “This news makes me so happy, my love. I’ve wanted this for ages, and I cannot wait to raise our child together . . . but I’m scared. For what will undoubtedly be a difficult birth for you. That the Lord of the Underworld is going to come after our daughter.”
Marai placed her hands on either side of his face and smiled. “I’m not afraid. Not of her. Not for us.” Her smile vanished. “Cavar is another problem. We need to put our focus on him right now.”
Ruenen dragged a hand through his hair. This is too much to take in. “How long before he arrives on Astyean soil?”
Marai’s mouth twisted. “It’s hard to tell. I don’t know how long he’s been traveling. We know we’d normally have at least a solid forty-seven days from when he set sail, although that might be more now that it’s winter on the Northern Sea and the waters are rougher. Then, however long it takes him to travel here to Nevandia from Baatgai.”
Roughly a month and a half. More if the weather slows him down. “We’ll need to tell the Witan. Have Avilyard prepare the troops.”
Marai shook her head. “There’s no use pitting humans against those amulets. Cavar will decimate our forces. As with Rayghast, the only way to challenge someone with magic is with magic. We’ll need shields, like the ones Keshel erected.”
Marai had already taught Raife, Aresti, Braesal and the other fae to create those invisible barriers, but they weren’t anywhere near as strong as Marai’s or Keshel’s.
“We’ll need to pray that it will be enough,” Marai said, her usual steely determination in the face of battle somewhat dwindling. “We’ll need everyone with a drop of magic in their veins to fight.”
“I think our favorite vampire might be able to assist,” said Ruenen. “Maybe he can rally other vampires to join us, and the werewolves from the outer reaches. There might be more fae hiding somewhere.”
“That’s a long shot. Nosficio’s social proclivities are rare amongst vampires. As a whole, they have little interest in collaborating with anyone, and he’d only have a month to find these folk and bring them back here.”
“Then he’d better start today.”
Nosficio was never far from Nevandia, unless he was visiting Nieve in Grelta. He enjoyed his place on the Witan, and the grand castle apartment that came with it.
Nyle stood outside their door, guarding the royal chambers, when Ruenen peeked his head out. “Send word for Nosficio, please.”
The young guard’s brown eyes widened, then he bolted down the hall; the sound of his clanging armor disappearing when he reached the stairs.
“We’ll be ready,” Ruenen said, turning back to Marai. “If we have to evacuate Kellesar, send everyone to Dul Tanen, we will. If we have to greet Cavar in Baatgai, before he steps off the ship, we will.”
“We cannot bring an army of fae, vampires, and werewolves into another country,” Marai said. “The Emperor of Syoto would view that as an invasion.”
“I’ll write to him. I’ll warn him to prepare his own forces to block Cavar’s entry into Baatgai.”
“You wrote to Emperor Tetsuo before, and he wrote back a dismissive reply then.”
“Yes, but that was under different circumstances,” Ruenen said. “He had no interest aiding in the search for you. This time there’s a threat to his own people, and I have a responsibility to warn him about a potential attack. Even if Tetsuo ignores me again, I will have done the right thing. You and I will do everything in our power to keep our people safe, regardless of what happens with Syoto. Hopefully, you can stay on the sidelines and avoid fighting at all.”
Marai visibly recoiled. “I don’t want to stay on the sidelines. I want to fight for my people, for my own freedom, for your safety . . . and our daughter’s.”
She wore the face of the Lady Butcher in that moment. The one that clearly told him he could go burn in the fiery hell of the Underworld. How could Ruenen compete against that ferocious expression? Marai had never scared him, even when she’d actively sought to in their early days, but no one was immune to palpitations upon witnessing that seething look of death and power.
