Chapter Eight #2
“It’s not your fault,” she said gently, picking up on my defensiveness.
“You didn’t know that Lumenfell is different.
Here, all we have is what we can trade. We take promises and bargains very seriously.
Reneging on them is most often than not a death sentence.
Meallan, that bastard, took advantage of your ignorance.
” She cursed. “Many nights I’ve stayed up late wondering how such an evil shit came from the same litter as Foalan. ”
“What will happen now?” I asked, stepping off the bridge. “Are the villagers in danger?”
“Yes,” she said bluntly. “But the guards will watch over them.”
We dropped the subject as we joined the hustle and bustle of town, although our first stop was to the leatherworks to fit me with my new holsters. All three of them. One for my ankle, thigh, and underbust for the knife nestled between my bosom.
“Wow.” I poked my chest. “So many creative places to hide these things. How many do you have on you?”
Eadaoin winked. “You’ll never know.”
“I love that reply. I’m stealing it.”
She laughed.
Eadaoin and I weaved through the marketplace, picking up glances and stares as we went.
There was something special on that day.
Little tiger cubs, bear cubs, piglets, hatchlings, and other young faeriken raced around, eating sweet apples, waving spinning fans, and shrieking in unintelligible delight.
A platform surrounded the frozen fountain and glaring stone Shadowsoul, holding a jumpy, jaunty band—playing a tune that bobbed my head and tapped my feet.
Despite the heavy air accompanied by the watching wolves, the people were determined to enjoy themselves, and enjoy themselves they were—dancing, eating, laughing, and flirting to their heart’s content.
“What’s the occasion?” I called over the noise.
“I don’t know. I had no idea this was happening today.” Eadaoin accepted a sweet apple from a giggling snake girl. “Thank you, sweetling.” She passed it to me. “Shall we join?”
I hesitated. I couldn’t get distracted. I was leaving Lumenfell for good that night, and there was still much to prepare before Shadowsoul summoned me back for my lessons. “There’s something I have to do first.”
Walking up to the stage, I signaled the fiddler once, twice, five times before he noticed me and stopped playing. Annoyance lit his feathery chicken face until he got a proper look at me. He grabbed the flute player’s elbow—eeking out a harsh, discordant sound.
The music stopped. The dancing stopped. Everything stopped.
Steeling myself, I climbed onto the platform. The band shuffled to the side.
“Excuse me, everyone. I’m sorry to interrupt your celebrations, but there’s something I need to say.” All eyes were on me—as blank and void as the eyes on me when the villagers attacked. Every smile and laugh wiped away.
As much as it pained me, I understood why they hated me. Their king set off to throw over the foreign princess they tossed in his lap, believing her to be a spy. Instead, he brings her to Lumenfell, and the first thing she does is unleash the literal wolves on them.
The funny thing was I’d be a hero back home in Lyrica if they discovered what I’ve done. Setting off a civil war and making the enemy they can’t defeat tear each other apart until they defeat themselves? To all of the summer fae, my blunder was a gift from Meya. But to me...
I was never supposed to be here. Presiding over life and death, setting off wars, playing the deadly game of politics.
It wasn’t my life or my responsibility, but if it was, this wasn’t how I wanted to use my power.
Maybe Kirwan, King Salman, or even Princess Emiana could crow and celebrate the slaughter of harmless villagers living out a simple life of farming, trading, and raising their children, but not me. I had done wrong.
“And I need to say so,” I rang out. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t take the time to learn about the customs and traditions of Lumenfell before I presumed to make decisions for it. I know you think me your enemy, but the truth is”—I hid a sad smile—“I have more in common with you than you might think.
“I don’t wish a single one of you harm, and by my honor, I will see to it that you’re protected.” My eyes traveled back to the wolves standing at the fringes. “If even one innocent person is hurt or killed by a wolf faeriken, Meallan will be killed, and Foalan named alpha of their pack.”
The blowback was immediate.
“Argh!” Snarls and growls turned the air as the wolves surged forward—coming for me fast.
“You do not name the alpha of our pack,” one woman roared. “We do!”
“You have no right!”
I smirked. “I have every right. I am your queen. Unless...” My grin widened. “If you’re claiming I’m not your queen and you’re not under my authority, then Meallan lied about dissolving the borders and welcoming the wolves as equal members of my kingdom.
“If you’re not members of my kingdom, the deal is forfeit and you’re trespassing on my territory. In that case, you can form an orderly line back to your dark pit in the forest.”
No one breathed. The only movement were the eyeballs rolling around in the villagers’ heads, shooting back and forth between me and the wolves.
“What say you?” I snapped. “Am I your queen, or are you leaving?”
The wolves shared a look—their lips peeled back from their fangs. I sensed their desire to sink them in my throat.
“You are our queen.”
I spun around.
Meallan leaned against the platform, munching on an apple.
He winked at me. “And a formidable queen you are. Whatever ignorance you had of our customs, you’ve made a quick study.
” He flung the half-eaten core over his shoulder.
“Never fear, my oh so favorite madwoman, we have no intention of harming the villagers or a single innocent person.
So certain am I that this will not be an issue, that I will accept your terms.
“If anyone in Lumenfell is unjustly slain by wolf hands, I will be put to death and my loathsome brother named alpha.” His smile was almost sweet. “Acceptable?”
I simply nodded.
“Then we’ll be on our way, and leave you to your celebrations.” Meallan jerked his chin and the wolves melted into the shadow—gone as eerily as they arrived.
Sighing, I turned back to my audience. “There. I hope that makes up for—”
“Huzzah! Huzzah! All hail Queen Emiana.”
I blew back, choking on a cry of surprise.
“Huzzah! We knew you would save us.”
“You are our savior.”
“Our champion.”
“Our queen!”
“Oh, ahh...” I was blushing worse than when Alisdair gave false, sweet compliments to torment me. These praises were actually real. “Th-thank you. My pleasure. Please enjoy your—” I scrambled down, helped off my Eadaoin.
“Wow, my lady. That was wonderful.” She squeezed my shoulders, jumping up and down. “You’re a genius. Of course if they’re one of us, they’re beholden to the queen. If there’s anything Meallan would chew his leg off to prevent, it’s Foalan being chosen as alpha in place of him.”
“The solution just came to me,” I confessed. “Although, when you live under a tyrant, you learn many awful ways to bring people to heel by force.”
She laughed. “You shouldn’t speak of your husband that way.”
Crazily, it wasn’t Alisdair I was thinking of.
It was my fath— It was King Salman. Standing up on that stage, a memory assaulted me.
A woman once came to the castle, crying because her entire harvest had been seized to feed the army.
They hadn’t paid her for what they took, or left her so much as an ear of corn.
Salman listened to her weep for her starving children, and said that her land was in Lyrica, and Lyrica belonged to him.
Therefore, every scrap of land and the food growing on it belonged to him—free and clear.
If her crop didn’t belong to him, it meant she wasn’t a citizen of Lyrica.
She was a dissenter and a traitor, and should be put to death on the spot.
She ran out of the throne room crying. Emiana never found out what happened to her after that.
Alisdair’s right. There is plenty of cruelty and barbarism on my side of the wasteland.
“Should we stay and enjoy the festivities?” Eadaoin asked.
“We shouldn’t. We don’t have much time before—"
“Mangoes! Get your sweet, juicy mangoes here!”
I took off through the cheering crowd, picking up pats on my head, shoulders, and back. Stumbling over a raised cobblestone, I fell on the mango cart—popping the merchant’s brow up.
He was a tall, hefty man with grayish, leathery skin, ears twice as large as his head, and large ivory tusks growing from his jaw. I’d never seen an elephant outside of a storybook. The curse sought to change that.
“Mangoes?” I cried. “Truly? You’ve managed to grow mangoes in this climate? How? You must tell me.”
“Not easily, is the answer, my queen.” He tossed me one, stealing an embarrassing shriek of glee from me. “They love sun, heat, and humidity. All in short supply in Lumenfell.”
“An understatement. They need eight hours a day of direct sunlight if they’re to thrive,” I said, holding my mango close.
“And these are huge.” My eyes were big and round, straining to take in the red, orange, green, and pink treat.
I had a mango only once in my life. They were expensive and hard to come by even in Lyrica, but I treated us one year on the twins’ birthday.
One bite, and we devoured them so fast, the mango was gone in less than a minute.
I promised the twins I’d learn to grow them, so we’d have them all the time.
Now I can go home with the news that I learned how to do it! I was so happy, I was bouncing up and down.
I got so deep in the conversation, listening to how he used magic to mimic the sun’s rays, that I almost didn’t hear someone calling me.
“—queen? Excuse me, Queen Emiana.”
“Ana,” I corrected automatically.
A cat woman stepped out from behind her cart, holding a basket. “If you like tropical fruit, you’ll love these.”