Chapter 50
Anyka sat hunched in her wheeled chair in the sitting room of her royal apartment, the heavy velvet drapes drawn against the bold afternoon light that dared to creep into her space. The sun hurt her eyes, and these days, she had enough pain.
The room stank of herbal poultices and the faint metallic tang of old blood that no scrubbing or incense seemed to erase. A low fire crackled in the hearth, but its warmth never truly reached her.
The wound in her back and chest throbbed with every shallow breath and slight shift of her weight. To think that Beatryce had done that to her…
Anyka sighed, causing herself more pain. She heard the whisperings. How it was a miracle that she still lived. To her, it seemed more like a curse.
She was weak. Pathetically, humiliatingly weak. Most days she could barely stand without assistance, and even the short journey from her bed to this chair left her breathless and drenched in sweat.
What kind of life was that?
Worse still, this horrid, wheeled contraption of dark wood and black silk cushions had become her unwilling throne, a daily reminder of how far she had fallen. She hated it almost as much as she hated Sparrow Meadowcroft.
Her hatred for the Radiant queen still burned pure and fierce in her chest. How Sparrow must be enjoying Anyka’s downfall.
Anyka wished the same for her.
Galwyn perched on the carved back of her chair. He ruffled his glossy black feathers and chirped at her.
She reached up and stroked his breast. “I know, my darling. You hate her, too, don’t you?”
He cocked his head, watching her with bright, intelligent eyes, and let out a soft, rasping croak as if agreeing. Or maybe he sensed her rising agitation.
The bird had been her constant companion for years, a small, loyal presence in a court full of traitors and fools.
He was still that. Anyka held out a trembling hand.
Galwyn hopped on and gently preened her fingers, his beak cool and familiar against her skin.
The contact gave her comfort that nothing else did these days.
Ishmyel sat a respectful distance away, reading through the village newspaper. He’d taken to visiting her for at least an hour a day. Fortunately, he never said much.
She studied him. His face remained carefully neutral, but Anyka had known him long enough to read the tension in his shoulders.
He looked up to find her watching. “Still no confirmed sighting of Beatryce, my lady,” he said as though he was reporting a sale at the village market. “None of the guards have found any sign of her.”
“And Dren?”
He shook his head, his gaze back on the paper. He didn’t much like looking at her these days. “He seems to be gone as well. Maybe they went off to have some time alone after the wedding.”
Anyka snorted. “That was as much a wedding as this is a ballroom.”
Ishmyel said nothing else.
The longer Anyka thought about it, the angrier she got. Her fingers curled into the armrest of the chair, knuckles whitening. A sharp lance of pain shot down her spine from the wound. She suppressed a gasp. “My daughter would not just vanish, Ishmyel. Not since taking the crown.”
Her voice came out thinner than she liked, strained by the constant ache. “Send more guards. Bribe, threaten, burn villages if necessary. I want her found before Sparrow can gloat further.”
Ishmyel bowed his head, almost as if he wanted to hide his face from her. “It will be done. But there is more, your highness. There has been no word of Elyra, either. The continued absence of the new Minister of Magic is deeply concerning. If the Radiant forces have taken them—”
Galwyn let out a sharp caw, mirroring Anyka’s fury.
Was Ishmyel lying to her? Did he know something?
She stroked Galwyn’s feathers again, drawing what little strength she could from the soothing motion.
“If Sparrow has done anything, I will find a way to kill her myself. The same goes for anyone who knows anything about Bea’s disappearance. ”
Ishmyel’s eyes rounded, but then he had the gall to look skeptical. “I do not believe you have the strength for such a task, niece.”
She ignored him. “Double the search parties. Send Dren’s guards out, too. Hire a tracker. Hire a legion of them. Do something to—”
The door to the apartment burst open and Wyett rushed into the sitting room without ceremony. His face was ashen and his breathing ragged.
Anyka’s heart clenched. “Is there word of Beatryce?”
“No, my lady. Just this.” He clutched a sealed parchment in one hand, the Radiant dragonfly seal visible.
“When did that arrive?”
“Just now,” Wyett said, holding out the letter to her. He and Ishmyel exchanged glances, but Anyka was focused on the letter.
Her stomach twisted at the sight of it. She lifted a weak hand, the motion pulling at the wound in her back and sending fresh pain radiating through her body. “I cannot read it. I don’t have the strength. Ishmyel, you do it. Read every word out loud. Leave nothing out.”
“As you wish.” Ishmyel accepted the letter and broke the seal with a crisp snap. He unfolded the heavy parchment. Then he cleared his throat and began.
“To Queen Anyka Blackbryar of Malveaux,
“I write to you not as an enemy, but as a queen who has had enough. I am done trying to find peace with Malveaux so long as you or your daughter wear the crown.”
Anyka frowned. This was a new tone from the Radiant queen.
“Your daughter, Beatryce, accompanied by her Minister of Magic, Elyra Evenshade, her councilor, Merylynn, and her husband, Prince Dren, came to Starfall under the pretense of negotiations. It’s my understanding from Merylynn that you were not entirely aware of this meeting, so let me tell you what happened. ”
Husband. The word slammed into Anyka like another blade.
Sparrow knew Beatryce had married the troll prince in secret?
Rage surged through her, hot and pure, but it was immediately undercut by a wave of dizziness.
She gripped the arms of the wheeled chair, her wound throbbing viciously.
Exactly how much had Merylynn told that horrid woman?
Ishmyel continued, his voice steady but tightening.
“Beatryce had her Minister of Magic attack us. In the chaos that followed, several of my people were injured, but my Professor of Magic’s power was greater.
My forces secured the scene. As a result of this foolish attack, Princess Beatryce and Elyra have been imprisoned at Tenebrae.
There was no need for a trial as their attempts to kill me and my party were witnessed by all in attendance.
They will remain there for the rest of their lives. ”
A life sentence. In Tenebrae.
Anyka’s breath caught in a sharp, painful hitch that ended in a guttural howl. “How dare she!”
Her daughter, her heir, and her greatest pride, locked away like a criminal for the rest of her life. How could the ruling queen of Malveaux be treated with such disrespect?
The affront of it all hurt more than the wound in her back. Beatryce would go mad in such a place. She would never last a week, let alone a lifetime.
Anyka’s heart began to hammer irregularly, each beat tugging at the damaged muscle the blade had pierced. Sweat beaded on her forehead. A strange pulling sensation tugged at the edges of her awareness, like invisible hands reaching from somewhere far colder and darker than any fae prison.
“Continue, Uncle,” she rasped, waving a quavering hand. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders. Galwyn shifted closer, his feathers brushing her neck as if offering what comfort a raven could.
Ishmyel’s expression grew more somber. “Prince Dren and Merylynn are being held at Castle Clarion. Merylynn has requested and been granted asylum in exchange for full testimony regarding Princess Beatryce’s actions, including her role in the attempt on my life at Starfall, as well as the larger schemes against the Radiant throne.
She has already provided invaluable information.
If her family is harmed in any way, I will consider that an attack against Summerton. ”
“That traitorous little wench. I knew she was no good. I warned Beatryce about her.”
Wyett frowned. “My lady, please don’t overtire yourself. Perhaps the remainder of the letter should wait until you’ve had a rest.”
“No,” Anyka snapped back. “I need to hear all of it. Now.” She coughed as the last word stuck in her throat, each exhale racking pain through her chest. She waved at Ishmyel again. “Go on.”
With a sigh, he read. “There is more you should know before you decide your next move. I am aware that Princess Beatryce and Prince Dren were secretly married. I will be informing the trolls of this union when I apprise King Drath of his son’s situation.”
The room seemed to tilt. Anyka’s vision blurred at the edges. The trolls might see this as a betrayal, not understanding the circumstances. If their alliance crumbled, Malveaux would have no one on their side.
Everything she had built, every sacrifice she’d made, every drop of blood she’d sweated, was unraveling at the hands of Sparrow Meadowcroft. Her hatred for the woman burned like acid in her veins, pure and unrelenting. That mortal-world usurper. That thief of thrones.
Her blood rose, making her heart work. She opened her mouth to get more air, but it didn’t seem to help.
Galwyn cawed loudly, as if sensing her distress, and pecked gently at her sleeve.
The tug on her spirit grew stronger and she recognized it now.
It was the icy pull of the Beyond, a cold current pulling at her spirit, trying to draw her away from the pain, from the throne, from everything she refused to surrender.
She inhaled and shuddered. The Beyond would not have her today.
Ishmyel pressed on. “Here are my terms, offered this time only. A moderate successor must take the Grym crown. Someone willing to set aside centuries of hatred to broker a genuine, lasting peace between our kingdoms. The divide between us must end. Our people deserve to live without fear of the next dagger or devastating spell or army at their borders. If such a ruler steps forward and swears to these terms, I will release Dren and work with that new ruler toward open borders and shared prosperity.”
Anyka held fast to the chair as she rolled her eyes. “She lies.”
Ishmyel kept reading. “Refuse, or stall with tricks and delays, and the consequences will be swift. Malveaux will be leveled with every means at my disposal.”
“Leveled,” Anyka screeched. “How dare she? That would mean war.”
Her uncle shot her a look. “We are already at war with Summerton. What it would mean is an end to Malveaux.”
As she sputtered at the outrageousness of it all, he continued with the letter.
“I will take control of the Grym throne myself and install governance that honors both bloodlines in the most peaceful way possible. The choice is yours, but the suffering of your people will rest on your shoulders alone.”
“Hah!” Anyka barked, even as the outburst made her heart pound erratically. She ignored the dizziness that spun her head. “That’s what she has always wanted. My throne.”
Ishmyel held up his hand. “There’s more.”
“Of course there is,” Anyka muttered. She pressed her hands to her chest as pain radiated through her in a new way.
“You still have time to choose mercy over madness, Anyka. For the sake of every citizen who did not ask for this war. I await your response within twenty-four hours or I will consider your silence to be your refusal.
“Queen Sparrow Meadowcroft.’”
Silence filled the sitting room. Only the crackle of the fire and Galwyn’s soft, uneasy croaks broke it. Anyka was stunned by the boldness of the Radiant queen’s words and vows.
Ishmyel lowered the letter, his face pale. “My niece, what would you have us do?”
Anyka tried to speak. Her throat constricted, the muscles straining against the growing pressure in her chest.
“Beatryce…” The name emerged as a broken whisper, barely audible. “She will never survive at Tenebrae…like some common criminal…”
Wyett rushed to her side. “You really should rest.”
“Tell that wretched woman she will never have my throne…” The strain was too much. The hatred for Sparrow surged one final time but the Beyond pulled harder, a relentless, icy tide dragging at her soul.
Her damaged heart, pierced by her own daughter’s blade and now shattered by this news, lurched violently. Pain, white-hot and crushing, exploded from the wound in her back, radiating through her spine and ribs and down into her arms.
The room spun and nausea rose in her gullet. What was happening to her?
She clutched at her chest, nails digging into the fabric of her gown, snagging on the shawl that felt like a noose.
The tug intensified, the veil between life and death thinning, whispering promises of release from the pain, from the endless fight. But Anyka fought it. She would never yield. Not to Sparrow. Not to death.
She grabbed Wyett’s arm and stared into his eyes, too proud to beg for help. “Beatryce…”
“Yes, my lady. We will free her.”
Her heart gave one final, agonizing squeeze, then faltered completely. An uneven, wet gasp escaped her lips as the pain blinded her. The wheeled chair creaked as her body slumped sideways.
Her vision tunneled, her hearing disappeared. Darkness closed in. Death had come for her.
The cold embrace of the Beyond swallowed the last sparks of her hatred, her rage, her unyielding will to rule.
Queen Anyka Blackbryar was no more.