The Hidden Queen, page 22
The matter-of-factness of her tone, her scent, cuts deeper than the words themselves. Like she’s just been humoring me all these years when I told her and Selen my dreams. Reckon Selen feels the same. Look at little Darin, dreaming of sitting at the grown-ups’ table.
“Stood in a lot of crowds, Olive Paper, comin’ to fetch you out of Desert Spear.” Tears start welling in my eyes. Can’t hold ’em back for long. “Rojvah wants to be a Jongleur, too, and no one’s got her back, either.”
I turn away quick, before she sees me cry.
“Darin!” Olive reaches for me, but I’m already slippery, and her fingers slide right off as I squeeze out the window. Menin gives a shout at my sudden appearance, but he recognizes me and doesn’t try to stop me as I climb to the roof.
Olive leans from the window, looking up at me. “Darin Bales, you come back here!”
I ignore her, leaping to a windowsill. I go from slippery to sticky, and run up the wall like a squirrel runs up a tree. I’m halfway to the palace when she calls a second time, and atop the wall by the third.
I don’t head back to Arick’s chambers. Instead I scale one of the minarets. The tiny chambers atop the towers are empty, save when the dama sing the call to prayer.
Alone at last, I curl up and let myself cry.
The palanquin crawls along, even as Darin vanishes into the night. I know better than to think I could catch him, or find him if he doesn’t want to be found, but I’m ready to be back in my rooms, packing up so we can put this place behind us. If Asome is right, we haven’t a moment to lose.
“Enough of this demonshit.” I open the door, startling Menin.
“Prince Olive?” Menin asks.
I offer him a bright smile. “Have you ever ridden in a palanquin?”
A moment later, I am atop Menin’s horse, and Gared, Faseek, Gorvan, and Jow Cutter break off my escort to gallop the rest of the way back to the palace with me.
The palace guards are surprised, but they do not hinder us. We move freely until we reach the entrance to the hall where my chambers are set. The hall seems empty at first, but the shadows to one side bleed out and detach, coalescing into three men, two dal’Sharum and one kai.
The magic is similar to what my sister Micha used, hora jewelry to draw shadows and silence footfalls. Assassination magic. Yet here they are, making themselves seen.
It puts my bodyguards on edge. I am used to seeing magic at work, but Gorvan and Faseek are not. To their credit, they do not panic, but they are quick to ready spears and shields, though the men have made no threatening moves.
The kai takes a step forward, giving a proper, if shallow, warrior’s bow. A bow of equals. “Greetings, Olive asu Ahmann am’Paper am’Hollow, I am your brother, Vuxan asu Ahmann am’Jardir am’Krevakh.”
That explains the shadow magic. Like the Nanji, the Krevakh are a Watcher tribe. Trained in special weapons and combat, the Krevakh serve the Kaji tribe—my father’s tribe—as scouts and infiltrators, doing the dirty work needed to keep the Kaji dominant, and their hands clean.
Faseek and Gorvan do not relax at the introduction. The Majah and Krevakh are blood enemies, going back through centuries. No doubt my spear brothers see battle as inevitable, though there is no sense of fear about them. The Maze beat that fear out of all of us.
I raise two fingers, and my bodyguard reluctantly raise the tips of their spears to the ceiling. Not quite standing down, but at least a bit further from things escalating.
“What can I do for you, brother?” I already know the answer, but I hold out hope.
“I have come to accept your challenge.” There is no emotion in Vuxan’s voice, like he was accepting an invitation to lunch, and not mortal combat.
“At night.” I blow out an exasperated breath. “I hoped the Krevakh had more honor than the Nanji. They, too, struck me at night.”
Vuxan’s eyes tighten. Inevera told me the purpose of the Krevakh and Nanji was to be without honor, but I know a little of tribal rivalries now. They might not care about brother killing brother in the night, but they do care about being compared to their blood enemies.
Vuxan bows again. “We have been waiting for many hours. We expected you to return before sunset.” I don’t know if it’s a lie, but neither is it a denial. If I were willing to fight, Vuxan would happily oblige.
But I’m not in the mood. I offer a return bow, precisely mimicking Vuxan’s. “I am sorry, then, that you will have to wait a few hours longer,” I say. “Nanji may be willing to attack brothers in the night, but we carry more honor than that.”
Vuxan bows a third time. There is tension in the three men, but I can tell when a person is wound up, and when they’re ready to fight. “We will return at dawn.”
I keep eye contact, cool and measured. “I look forward to it. Weapons?”
“If you wish.” Vuxan smiles. “I will kill you with sharusahk, alone. I do not wish to bloody the palace of the Shar’Dama Ka.”
“You are wise, brother.” He’s a fool. “Our seconds can search us to ensure we bring no weapons or hora to the fight.”
Selen opens the door to our chambers, noticing me down the hall. “Heard voices,” she says loudly. “Everything all right?”
“Ay, Sel, nothing to worry over,” I call back, not looking away from Vuxan. “We’re done here.”
* * *
—
“How can you be so calm,” Selen asks, “when someone’s coming to kill you in the morning?”
“He’s agreed to fight in daylight, without hora,” I say. “They don’t know how strong I am, Selen. Vuxan thinks his sharusahk is better—and he’s probably right—but Micha says the Krevakh like to get in close and grapple. He’s in for a surprise when he does.”
Selen puts her hands on her hips. “Don’t get swollen, Olive. Wonda always said strength ent as important as having leverage and a good hold. You might be strong as a bull, but you choke like everyone else.”
She would know. Selen made me tap out enough times, back in the practice yard at Gatherers’ University. “I’ve had months of intense training since then, Sel, and wrestled live demons in the Maze. I know how to use what I have.”
I hold up my hands when she looks ready to argue further. “But you’re right. I’ll fight smart. I won’t take anything for granted.”
“You could just not fight at all,” Selen says. “We’re leaving in the morning. Don’t answer the door for a quarter hour and Da will show up with a team of Cutters and we’ll be on the road.”
“Can’t do that, Sel.” I harden my voice. “Maybe it wasn’t my best decision to run my mouth in the throne room—”
“Ay, you think?” Selen cuts in.
“But now that I have, my honor is on the line,” I say. “I’m about to take the throne of Hollow. I can’t have them thinking I’m weak or a coward, or I don’t respect their customs.”
“Should you,” Selen asks, “when the custom is siblings beating each other to death over a throne neither of them is likely to inherit?”
“I don’t intend to kill anyone,” I say.
“And Vuxan?”
“Can’t speak for everyone.” I shrug, though I know full well none of my brothers would accept my challenge if they didn’t intend my end. I will sit a throne of my own in a month, if I am not stopped now. “I’d rather talk about what happened here.”
“Here?” Selen asks.
“Darin paid me a visit in my palanquin,” I say.
“Oh, ay, did he now?” Selen’s already on the defensive, which isn’t a good sign. “That woodbrain tell you what he did?”
“He did,” I say. “And why. It isn’t the brightest thing he’s ever done, but it was his decision to make.”
“Like night it was!” Selen snaps. “You think his mam would have allowed it, if she was around?”
It’s not hard to imagine Mrs. Bales putting the fear of the Creator into poor Rojvah, but it’s beside the point. “You aren’t his mother, Selen. And you’re not acting like his friend. He told me about your little game after Seventhday supper with the general. What are you playing at with him?”
“I’m not ‘playing’ anything, Olive Paper.” Selen looks ready to spit.
“Demonshit,” I say. “We were friends with Darin all our lives with nary a problem. Everything changed, after you kissed him.”
“Ay, what of it?” Selen demands. “I’ve kissed a hundred since.”
“At least,” I laugh. “But he’s the only one who put you in a spin.”
“You’re one to talk.” Selen puts her hands on her hips. “Every kiss puts you in a spin. What makes you think Darin is so special?”
“Because Darin Bales isn’t some stablehand that’s sunny to look upon,” I snap, tired of her dissembling. “Darin Bales is ripping magic and we both know it. Always was.”
“So are you!” Selen snaps back. “Or do you think everyone can bend iron with their bare hands?”
“Not like Darin,” I say. “You remember what he was like when we were little? Flitting around the nursery like…”
Selen smiles. “Some kind of fairy pipkin.” We both laugh, and a little of the tension eases.
“Darin’s got feelings for you, Sel,” I say softly. “Any fool can see it.”
“Ay, what am I supposed to do about it?” Selen asks. “He’s been following us everywhere since we learned to walk.”
“And we liked the attention,” I say. “We liked our little pipkin. But then you kissed him, and it was just you he was following. Now he’s a man, and maybe doesn’t belong to either of us, anymore.”
“The core he doesn’t,” Selen growls. “You went missing, and you should have seen him, Olive. Nothing was going to stop Darin from coming for you, and he’d do the same for me. Just like we would for him. If that ent belonging, then I don’t know what is.”
“He’s family,” I agree. “But so are Arick and Rojvah. You think Darin wouldn’t do the same for them? What you’re feeling is something else.”
The hands go back to her hips. “Ay? Tell me.”
I shrug. “I can’t. Only you can answer that question, Sel. You and Darin were alone on the road for months. What does he mean to you?”
“Ent like we played kissy on the road, Olive,” Selen sighs. “First we were chasing after you, and then Darin’s mam and Leesha were gone, too. Didn’t really set the scene for romance.”
“Fair and true.” I nod. “And now?”
“I don’t know,” Selen says. “But can’t shake the feeling that witch Rojvah is using him.”
“What if he’s letting himself be used?” I ask. “What if it’s like he said—she asked for help, and he gave it?”
“That’s just it!” Selen cries. “Darin’s openhearted and trusting enough to get married just to help someone out. Doesn’t make it right for her to take advantage.
“What can I offer him, anyway?” Selen demands. “Darin is magic, and so are you. I’m the odd one out, always trying to keep up with you two.”
“What are you talking about?” I mean the words. “You’ve always been better than me at everything!”
“Because you were holding back!” Selen shouts. “Don’t you think I knew that?”
“Only in the practice yard. Would you prefer I ripped off your arm because I misjudged a hold?” It’s the wrong thing to say, an admission of the lie, even if we both know it to be true.
There are tears in Selen’s eyes. When’s the last time I saw that, outside a funeral service? Maybe never.
“Ent angry at you, Olive,” Selen says. “Don’t hate who I am. Just sayin’ what we know to be true. You and Darin inherited magic powers and grand destinies, and what did I get? A scandal that leaves everyone in my family miserable, and legs so long even the tall boys have to look up at me.”
“Demonshit, Selen.” I know she’s in pain, but I won’t tolerate this false picture she’s painting. “You’re the one everyone wants to be around. You’re the one everyone loves. The life of the party. Darin and I were the ones who didn’t belong. It was all I could do not to break everything I touched! More often than not, Darin couldn’t handle the party at all. Stuck by himself in an attic, listening to everyone laugh at your jokes and kissy stories.”
Selen pulls back, but I reach out, taking her hand and holding her fast. “And you’re a princess of Hollow. Crown princess, now. It will fall on you to take the throne while I’m away.”
“The core you say!” Selen yanks her hand from mine. “What makes you think I have any business sitting a throne?”
“As much as I have,” I say. “We’ve been side by side at every lesson. What do I know that you don’t? And you’re the duchess’ sister. Apart from me, you may be the only one in Hollow with a stronger claim than Elona.” I love Grandmum, but no sane person would want that woman on a throne.
“No.” Selen spits on the floor. “Core with that. Ent staying behind and warming a chair while Darin goes off with that witch and her demon-addled brother, and you abandon us to march off to Creator knows where.”
* * *
—
I try my best to sleep, but despite the bravado I showed Selen, I can’t stop thinking about Vuxan and the fight to come. I keep waking with a start, thinking it is time to prepare, only to find it still deep in the night.
Bells mark the hours, and I calculate how much rest I could get if I managed to drift off now, or in ten minutes, but in my heart I know that if I was going to sleep, I wouldn’t be doing math in my head.
I give up when the sky begins to lighten, pacing the room a bit, before opening the doors and admitting Faseek and Gorvan.
“Do either of you know how this works?” I ask.
Both men shrug. “Your seconds will perform searches to check for weapons, and then you bow and fight,” Gorvan says. “Either you kill Vuxan, or he kills you.”
I tighten my lips but don’t comment. “Faseek, you will be my second.”
Faseek starts to kneel, but stops at the look I give him, offering a warrior’s salute instead. “Gorvan would be a better choice, my prince. Your second will need to fight, if you are not able.”
Not a good answer. Gorvan is a better fighter than Faseek, at least in terms of size, strength, and reach, but no match for a Krevakh prince. Faseek is wiser and more cunning. “That will not happen. Faseek will be my second, and search Vuxan for weapons and hora.”
“And if the Watchers are hiding something?” Faseek asks.
“Then we all fight.”
I look back and see Selen is awake and in her armored robes, a grim look on her face.
Precisely at dawn, there is a knock at the door. I wonder if my brother and his men really did just wait in the hall for the sun to crest the horizon.
We let them in, and Vuxan glances at Selen, then back at me. “It would be best to dismiss her. Domin Sharum is not for the eyes of women.”
Selen snorts and crosses her arms. “Not going anywhere.”
Vuxan looks at her again, then at me, but when I say nothing, he shrugs. “She can stand between sides and judge.”
I nod, and he removes his armor, then we both raise arms, letting our seconds perform a search for hidden items. I’ve told Faseek what to look for, and he does well, making my brother remove the hora jewelry from his wrists, fingers, and ankles. My brother does so with calm confidence, and I remember Selen’s words.
You choke like everyone else.
Everyone warned me, but here I am, muscles all in a knot as I move to face my brother. Vuxan is of an age with most of my siblings—on the sunny side of thirty-five summers. That makes him twice my age, but still in his prime, with twice my experience, at least. Can I really beat him?
“Begin,” Selen says.
My brother wastes no time, darting forward, hand chopping like a hatchet. I swat it aside, but he follows quickly with more attacks, each flowing smoothly into the next, leaving little exposed as he thrusts open palms and stiffened fingers. All the while, his feet move like a dancer’s, trying to position me for a takedown.
I keep my defenses in close, blocking and accepting minor hits without committing myself to an attack that might leave one of my limbs vulnerable.
“I expected better, brother,” Vuxan says. “Do you fear to strike?”
“The chin prince has a coward’s heart,” one of the Krevakh says, and his partner laughs.
They’re baiting me. I know it. And yet it works. I throw a tight punch, and Vuxan flows around it like a viper, threading his arm through my armpit and latching fingers onto my neck, even as he kicks out one of my legs and I slam painfully down onto one knee.
There’s a hole in my guard then, and Vuxan has another hand around my neck, locking his fingers, even as his legs pump to drive me to the ground.
It’s a strong hold, powered as much by my brother’s weight and my own struggles as it is his muscles. Already I can feel my face swelling as he cuts off the flow of blood to my head.
“Olive!” Selen cries, and I know she won’t hold to honor if it means watching me die. I flail a hand gesture her way. Hold.
I slap my hands atop Vuxan’s. “There is no quarter here, brother,” he growls, misunderstanding the gesture.
I wasn’t tapping out, I was locking my own grip. The tight hold, bolstered by weight and struggle, means it’s muscle against muscle, bone against bone. I pull with all my strength, twisting as soon as I feel a shift.
My brother’s wrists break with audible snaps, but to his credit he does not cry out. I let go one arm and throw myself forward as I yank the other. Vuxan flies over my shoulder to land on his back on the floor. His arm is locked, and I twist before he can recover, driving my elbow down hard. The arm shatters, and while Vuxan is too disciplined to scream, his eyes droop, and I finish the fight with a simple roundhouse punch that lays him out on the floor.
