Chapter 32 Leila #2
“What’s beginning?” Leila said, but Magnus simply brought his hand closer to Her face. Scowling, She turned to Raphael, who merely shrugged.
“Haven’t a clue.”
“Aren’t you a keeper at the archives?”
“I’m well versed in Kovahrian history, but this . . .” Raphael gazed out at the swarms of people. “This is beyond my studies.”
One of the guards pounded the end of his spear into the floor, and the balcony fell silent.
In direct opposition, the masses below roared louder, ravenous for something Leila couldn’t make out.
The queen sat casually, basking in the sound of Her people before speaking in her native tongue, “Bring them out.”
The crowd parted, and soldiers escorted a string of bedraggled prisoners shackled to one another, their chains rattling with each step. Onlookers barked and hissed at them as if they were heinous to behold, and some of the prisoners spat and cursed in response.
“Convicts from the Dráhkner dungeon,” Magnus said. “Where we keep our most dangerous criminals.”
“Then why are they here?”
Magnus’s full lips quirked into a smirk. “For the trial, of course.”
“Who accepts the challenge?” the queen intoned, inciting another flurry of shouting. A man burst through the throng, then another, each taking to one knee as they bowed to their queen.
“Challenge?” The word sent Leila’s nerves spiking. “What challenge?”
“The—”
“If you say the trial one more time . . .”
Magnus chuckled, a low, warm sound. “The task is simple. Challengers will be released into the Queen’s Forest, and the prisoners will follow. The challengers must return alive with evidence that all prisoners are defeated.”
“Prisoners who happen to be the most dangerous deviants in the realm of warriors.”
“This is why it is a trial.” Magnus looked Her in the eyes. “Not all are suited for the task.”
His unspoken message was clear—the challenge was a death trap. The Sovereign’s Tournament flashed through Leila’s thoughts, and She winced the vision away. “And what is the purpose of this? Entertainment?”
“This is not Thessen, Your Holiness. Battle is our lifeblood, not our theater.” He stared out at the people below, something akin to pride in his gaze.
“If the prisoners defeat their challengers, they’re returned to their cells where they will live another day.
But each conquered prisoner means fewer bodies in our dungeons.
Empty cells are good for Kovahr and her people. ”
“And these challengers,” Leila said. “What do they gain from all of this?”
“The respect of our queen.”
“That’s it?”
Magnus offered Her a curious look. “Would You not extend grace to someone willing to die for You?”
The queen raised a hand, silencing the masses in an instant. “Does no one else accept the challenge?”
The quiet lingered. Three men and one woman were kneeling before their queen, their heads bowed in reverence. Then movement split through the crowd, and another man broke free from the horde.
Enzo.
He looked up at the queen for a long moment, then took his place among the other challengers, dropping to one knee as the crowd roared in approval.
“Hanzipo.” Magnus tutted his tongue. “How far he has fallen.”
Leila’s heart heaved, threatening to send Her catapulting over the balcony railing. She couldn’t lose another comrade. She wouldn’t survive it. But behind that fear loomed another painful reality—Enzo was sacrificing himself for his queen, as if his actions thus far were of no matter.
As if bringing Leila to Kovahr simply wasn’t enough.
The people below stirred. Soldiers escorted the challengers away while the prisoners were taken in the opposite direction. The queen dismissed herself from the balcony, taking her guards with her while Leila stared down at the ground below—and the spot where Enzo had kneeled.
“You’d like a word with our queen?”
Leila flinched. Magnus was staring at Her, the look in his eyes warm and inviting. “Yes,” She said. “Very much so.”
“I can take You to her.”
Raphael’s and Hylas’s expectant gazes weighed heavily on Her. She’d nearly forgotten they were there, too transfixed on Her festering emotions. She turned to Magnus and nodded. “Thank you.”
She gave Raphael and Hylas one last glance before Magnus led Her away, escorting Her down another grey corridor.
The entirety of the citadel was various shades of darkness, with slate stone walls, black leather armor, and tapestries depicting silver weapons and stormy skies.
Guards pulled open double doors, and She was once again in the throne room standing along a bearskin runner splitting the space down its center.
The steel throne was massive, a pewter color depicting animal skulls and tusks, and giant ram’s horns twirled directly above the queen’s head as if her human form was a mere disguise masking the creature within.
The queen’s leathers had been removed, and instead she wore a simple green dress laced at the waist with a fur mantle lining her shoulders.
Her bountiful piercings were still so foreign to Leila, beautiful in a strange, violent way that left Her both awed and uneasy.
“Come.” The queen beckoned Leila forward. “Finally, we can speak.”
Guards with shaved heads and braided beards lined the room and stood at either side of the queen, bardiches in hand. Magnus nodded toward the throne, a silent encouragement, and Leila continued ahead, taking Her place in the room’s center.
“Your Majesty.” Leila bowed, speaking the queen’s language. “Thank you for your hospitality—”
“Speak Your native tongue,” the queen interrupted. “Your accent, it is close. Very close. But rude. I will not have rude in my throne room.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Come to me. What is it You seek?”
Leila’s face warmed, but She stepped forward, taking root at the foot of the queen’s dais. “I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. We’ve traveled a long way and faced grave dangers to reach your realm.”
“You did not come here to thank me,” the queen said. “You have a request.”
“Still, I aim to show My gratitude. You’ve taken us in without hesitation. You’ve fed and clothed us.”
The queen strummed her fingertips against her armrests. “The request. I am listening.”
“Your Majesty—”
“Pah.” The queen let out a chuckle, waving Leila away with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Leila, we are equals, are we not?”
Leila faltered. This was very uncustomary, perhaps a sign of camaraderie.
They were equals, after all. “Thank you, Prisca.” She bowed Her head.
“I’ll start with the simplest matter. I have family and loyalists in hiding.
They fear My father’s wrath. If I could bring them here to your proud realm—and ensure their safety—I would be forever grateful. ”
“And?” Prisca said.
Leila tensed. “I think we both know why I’m here.”
“We do?” Prisca pursed her lips. “I am so sorry, I do not know this. You must enlighten me.”
“You sent a spy to My father’s tournament. I’m assuming you knew My father had ill intent toward Kovahr—that one day, he would rise against you.”
Prisca sat quietly, devoid of emotion. After a moment’s silence, she shrugged.
“What we face today is far worse,” Leila continued.
“My father’s plans surpass Kovahr entirely.
He aims to colonize the ally realms and rule as their sole leader.
No doubt his hubris exceeds even that. I imagine he intends to expand into the Outlands, or perhaps across the Thalassic Sea.
” Her voice climbed higher, severity dripping from Her words.
“Do you understand? He is waging war for his own glory. He longs to own whatever land he can conquer.”
“I have heard You.”
Leila squared Her shoulders. “I’ve come here to form an alliance. I’ve come here—”
“You’ve come to request access to my army,” Prisca said.
“For both our benefit. Brontes has already seized control of My realm. Yours is next.” Her insides quaked with anticipation, but Her voice was even, Her carriage tall.
“He plotted to frame Kovahr for My death as a means to incite war. That particular plan was foiled, but still he moves forward undeterred. As soon as Thessen is destroyed, he will travel north to conquer your realm.”
Silence filled the space, giving Leila a moment to breathe. As Her nerves calmed, Prisca sputtered out a laugh.
Leila gaped at her. “It’s not funny.” Prisca guffawed louder, and anger bubbled within Leila like boiling water. “Nothing about this is funny.”
Prisca barely managed to compose herself, still rosy cheeked. “It is a little funny.”
The queen’s lingering chuckles ate at Leila, picking at Her already damaged pride.
“You mock Me? Does My plight amuse you?” She set Her jaw.
“I have traveled thousands of miles. I have battled and suffered and lost greatly just to arrive at your shore. My family and staff are displaced and in hiding. My promised is a prisoner enduring unthinkable torture, if he lives at all.” Emotions of the ugliest colors competed within Her, threatening to erupt.
“I am standing here, begging for your assistance. And you sit on your steel throne and laugh at My circumstances.”
A smile blossomed across Prisca’s face, and she leaned back in her seat. “There She is. This is the queen I remember. Fierce.” She pointed a finger Leila’s way. “There is violence inside You. It pleases me to see.”
Leila wasn’t entirely sure how to feel. Should She welcome Prisca’s approval or curse her entirely?
Leila swallowed Her vitriol. “Will you aid Me in My quest to defeat My father? To prevent him from laying waste to your realm and My own?” She raised Her chin, willing Herself to be powerful and mighty.
“Will you unite with Me for our mutual benefit? To ensure both Kovahr and Thessen remain at peace and under the proper ruling of their individual queens?”
Prisca strummed at her armrests yet again. “You travel many miles to see me, yes?” She eyed Leila up and down. “You look tired and weak.”
“I don’t deny the journey has been laborious.”
Prisca was quiet for a long while, her mind turning behind her eyes. “You and Your allies will be safe in my citadel. Your, eh, displaced staff. They come here as well. We have plenty of space. The queen’s people will know the welcoming arms of Kovahr.”
Relief washed over Leila. Her lungs expanded in a deep breath, and Her limbs loosened like warm butter. “Thank you for your generosity, Prisca.” She bowed Her head. “And your army?”
Prisca looked Leila hard in the eyes, a moment of connection, of understanding. She rested her hands in her lap.
“That, I’m afraid, I cannot give to You.”
The words were a boulder launched from a catapult, hurtling Leila’s way. “You wouldn’t be giving Me your army. You would be fighting for the freedom of both the Thessian and Kovahrian people.”
Prisca gestured to the room around them. “As You can see, Kovahr is very much free already.”
“Not for long. Brontes’s army is vast. He has accumulated countless sellswords, has them hidden in secrecy somewhere in northern Thessen—”
“Numbers do not matter,” Prisca said. “Kovahr is the realm of warriors. One of my soldiers has the skill and strength of ten sellswords.”
The boulder sank into Leila’s gut. “You significantly underestimate My father’s will.”
“Perhaps You are right.” Prisca offered another dismissive shrug. “We will find out when he dares to reach my border, eh?”
Leila’s rage awakened, rattling Her insides.
How could She have gone from swift relief to utter despair in a single moment?
Her mind raced, grasping for something, anything of influence.
“Tobias rots in a cell while you sit idly by.” Her hands shook despite Her will.
“Have you no care for what comes of him? You favored him, did you not?”
Prisca offered a sad smile. “I like Your Tobias. But I like my people more.”
“God, you are fucking unbelievable.”
“Young queen, I offer Your family shelter.”
“While My people die,” Leila spat. “Are we not allies, Thessen and Kovahr?”
“According to Your father, no. Not anymore.”
“Brontes doesn’t speak for Thessen,” Leila hissed. “I do.”
A small smirk played at Prisca’s lips. “Then why is it that he sits upon Your throne and leads Your troops, while You are here, tired and weak?”
There it was—all hope dashed in an instant.
She’d given everything She had with nothing to spare, and still it hadn’t been enough.
The irreverence in Prisca’s tone was as brutal as her words, confirming fears Leila had long grappled with.
Perhaps She wasn’t fit to rule Thessen. Perhaps She was a failure through and through, doomed from birth—cursed as a woman born in death, the offspring of a wicked man.
“You would punish Me for the sins of My father, when I stand here, offering allegiance and loyalty. When I fight to save not only My land, but yours as well.” Leila didn’t hide Her rage, the venom on Her tongue a sweet release.
“You would demean My title in My lowest moment and let countless die solely because of your wretched pride. The realm of warriors needs no assistance, yet you have no idea what’s coming your way.
” It was Her turn to eye Prisca up and down, and Her lip curled with disgust. “I thought I’d seen the worst of man within My palace. Perhaps I was mistaken.”
Prisca didn’t move, though something sour shifted in her gaze. “Prepare the accommodations for the queen’s guests. Escort Her to Her chambers. We are finished.”
The guards came forward, but Leila didn’t need their assistance. She turned on Her heel, abandoning the Kovahrian queen while the weight of Her loss crashed down on Her.