ESSA
True to Kortoi’s word, my captors treated me as a queen.
I fell into the bed, still filthy and bloody, and slept a black, featureless slumber.
When I awoke, I found a crowd in my room.
As promised, they’d sent seven handmaids, ready to do my bidding.
Two were sprites, one a spinster of perhaps forty years named Maryn who had once served my mother, and the rest were young servant girls who had probably been taken from noble households—and were more likely to spy on me or poison me than to offer me help.
“Well. Hello,” I muttered, swiping my hair from my face. And they all scattered like seagulls, two to draw the bath, one to fetch a brush, three more to find me suitable clothes.
The attention was an embarrassment. Before Charcian’s fall, I’d only had one handmaid, Rohree.
Ah, Rohree… how I missed her.
And I’d have traded these girls and a thousand more to have Rohree back by my side.
We’d gotten her back from captivity only to lose her once again.
Clua had rescued her, then crossed the countryside at great peril to return her to us.
The Gray Brotherhood’s witch had pursued them, and when she caught up, she’d unleashed some fell enchantment that had rendered both Rohree and Clua unconscious.
And they remained that way—unable to move, or open their eyes, or speak.
We kept them with us, drizzling soup into their mouths, cleaning their bodies, toting them on litters when the army had to move, all in hopes they’d return to themselves once again.
But it had been over a month now, and neither of them had so much as blinked.
It was another loss… My mother. My home. Charlie. And two of my best friends.
Seeing those unfamiliar servant girls only made me feel the sting more sharply.
I gathered them up again, kept Maryn, since she was a familiar face, and sent the rest away. Maryn finished drawing the bath, brought me a meal, arrayed me in fine clothes, and dabbed me with perfume. I endured it all expressionlessly, feeling like a corpse being dressed for burial.
Suddenly, a realization struck me. I couldn’t feel Othura in my mind.
“Where’s Othura?” I demanded. Maryn had spoken hardly a word to me so far. Like the experienced servant she was, she’d been waiting for me to address her, and I had been taciturn. Her face lit up when I started to speak, then fell again when she heard the question.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I believe they’ve put her in the mad dragon cage.”
I gritted my teeth. I’d guessed as much.
The mad dragon cage had been built centuries ago, when the kingdom was battling a band of rogue dragon riders.
It was lined with lead, so a dragon locked inside couldn’t communicate with their rider on the outside.
In recent years, it had been used only to house dragons who’d recently lost a rider—for grief-mad dragons had been known to devour whole villages in their rage and sorrow.
It explained why I couldn’t hear Othura.
It infuriated me that they’d imprisoned her there—but it made sense.
They could hardly leave her roaming free, at least until I’d promised to be a good girl and cooperate.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Maryn said, looking as if she’d locked Othura up herself.
“Please, call me Essa,” I said.
“Of course,” Maryn said with a timid smile. “If I may say so, I’m so happy to see you alive and well.”
“I am alive…” I said.
“And all will be well,” Maryn said. “In the end, anyway. I’m sure of that. I served your mother for many years. You have her strength.”
I looked at her. “My mother is dead. I watched her fall from the sky. Watched her sink under the sea. She was not strong enough.”
Maryn looked at the floor. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”
I took a deep, shuddering breath, then put a hand on her shoulder. “No. Forgive me. That was harsh. I appreciate your faith in me. I hope I have strength enough to deserve it.”
Maryn returned my wan smile.
“I wish I could pick up a sword and help you,” Maryn said. “Alas, that’s not my gift. However, I can make sure you look pretty while you’re saving the kingdom. That’s something, at least. And your presence has been requested at court. Come, let’s pick out a dress.”
They held a feast in my honor that night, those sons of whores.
The ballroom was festooned with finery. The tables overflowed with food: roasted boar, smoked zyrfish, pestos, goat cheese-stuffed pasta, pastries oozing with ablinberry jam, and a hundred other delicacies—while the people outside in the city were probably starving, I thought with ire.
A page boy in Natath house livery led me to the head table and sat me in my mother’s seat, and all the gathered nobles applauded with grotesque enthusiasm when they saw me.
The two dozen or so Gray Brothers present applauded in their own way, by rubbing their palms together and making a sound that reminded me of snakes hissing in long grass.
I immediately felt foolish. The last time I’d faced these people, I’d been in battle garb with a sword at my hip.
Now, I wore a glittering gown, like some human bauble—although I still wore my dagger, affixed about my waist with a silver cord.
Maryn hadn’t succeeded in getting me to relinquish that, at least.
As the only surviving member of my immediate family, I sat at the head table alone. But my enemies beamed up at me from the second table. Kortoi, Natath, Hoatan—and Ollie was seated with them.
Natath rose his tankard in a toast.
“My friends, it is a joyous day! The princess has returned to us. Soon, we shall make her our queen!”
The cheer that went up from the noble boys made me wonder how long they’d been here, for they seemed more than half drunk.
“And then,” Natath continued, “we shall end this rift, uniting our people once again. We shall rebuild Charcain and our beautiful city of Issastar, defeat the cursed Admites, and usher in a new era of glory and prosperity for our people!”
Shouts of agreement filled the hall.
“What of the old era?” I called, my voice sounding flat and quiet after Natath’s booming oratory. He turned to face me, looking startled and annoyed that I’d spoken.
“Your Majesty?” he asked.
“The era where my mother was queen and the Skrathan ruled the skies. Tell us, what was so wrong with that era that you felt the need to tear it down?”
The lord’s face reddened, but it was Hoatan who spoke.
“Your mother died from a necromancer’s guns, Your Majesty,” the Torouman said.
Kortoi’s eyes flashed with amusement. “May her soul fly,” he added.
I felt my lips curl into a snarl, but Ollie subtly shook his head, bidding me to hold my tongue.
If I could hear Othura now, no doubt she’d have been telling me the same thing.
The Torouman had a saying: The foolish dog barks, but the lion hunts in silence.
I’d done enough barking already. The wise thing would be to hold my tongue, bide my time, and wait for my chance to bite.
It was hard, though. I was my mother’s daughter. Shutting up was not my specialty.
All eyes were on me, waiting to see what I would say next. When I remained silent, a smile of triumph spread across Lord Natath’s round face. He raised his glass. “To Princess Essaphine.”
“To Princess Essaphine!” resounded throughout the hall, and everybody drank.
We ate. Though the feast looked beautiful, and though I should have been starving from my exertions in the previous day’s battle, I couldn’t have been less enticed if the food were made of ash. It seemed to have no taste, and I took no pleasure in it.
After the plates were cleared, the bottles came out in earnest, fine vintages of Easastar Red, tankards of Bright Bull, and drams of bitter scutt that soon had the room roaring with conversation and laughter.
It was customary at any queen’s dinner that guests could approach the royal table to pay their respects, share news, or ask favors.
And one by one, they began to come. The first few were elder noblemen and their wives who came to offer condolences for the loss of my mother, welcome me back to court, and express their hope that the unpleasantness and violence of the past few months would be laid to rest by my return.
I met their pleasantries with as much patience and grace as I could.
Next, a few noble boys who’d built up their courage came to greet me, red-faced with drink and nerves.
They met me with simple words, but their leers and hungry eyes told me they thought only of the bydrune—and speaking to me now was only their way of gloating that they would soon have their way with a queen.
I dismissed them all coldly, but the last young man was bolder than the rest.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he said.
“I thank you.”
“All the boys are.”
“Good.”
“But I think I’ll be the one.”
“The one?”
“To put a baby in you. My seed will find its way home. You’ll see. When I gush, it’s like a—” he grabbed his crotch, but before he could finish his sentence, a hand grabbed him from behind, and he jerked backwards like a dog being snatched up by the collar.
“Hey!” He turned, angry, and the man who’d come up behind him cuffed him in the face, sending him stumbling.
“That’s no way to speak to a queen,” my defender growled.
I expected a fight to ensue, but instead the young noble welp put a hand to his cheek and hurried away with tears in his eyes.
“I apologize for him, Your Majesty,” my protector said, turning back to me and ducking into a bow.
When he straightened up, I nearly gasped.
He looked so different than when I’d seen him last that I almost didn’t recognize him.
His riding leathers were gone, replaced with a green velvet tunic and a black cloak.
His face, which had been pallid and emaciated when I’d last seen him, had regained a look of health.
His hair had been washed and tied back, and though it still held vestiges of its green color, it was closer to its natural sandy brown color.