Vesha
The morning of the ceremony dawns bright and clear, mountain air crisp with the promise of celebration. I wake alone in the great bed, Ghazrek already gone, and for a moment I simply lie still and marvel at how much has changed.
Four days ago, I was a terrified tribute hoping to survive. Tonight, I'll be crowned queen of the Stoneblood clan.
The transformation should feel impossible, but instead it feels inevitable—like pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.
I'm not the same woman who arrived here in desperation.
I'm not even the same woman who faced down the human envoys three days ago.
I'm becoming someone new, someone stronger, someone worthy of the crown that waits for me.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts, and I call for whoever it is to enter. The door opens to reveal Aino, the head seamstress, her arms full of midnight blue silk.
"Time for the final fitting, my lady," she says, her tusks gleaming as she smiles. "Today we make you a queen."
"Will the children be ready?" I ask, thinking of Lavi's excited chatter about flower-scattering and Jorik's serious dedication to polishing his ceremonial blade.
"Oh, those two," Aino laughs, pins between her teeth as she adjusts the hem. "Probably off on one of their adventures. They'll turn up when their bellies start growling."
After the fitting, I make my way to the great hall to review the final preparations.
The massive space has been transformed into something magical—garlands of mountain flowers draped from every beam, long tables set with polished metal and carved wood.
Servants bustle everywhere, carrying trays of food that smell like celebration itself.
"My lady!" Greta calls from near the high table, her massive arms gesturing at the feast laid out. "Come taste the honeyed wine. It's the Warlord's favorite vintage."
I sample the sweet, complex liquid that warms all the way down. "It's wonderful. Strong enough to honor the ancestors?"
"Strong enough to wake them," Greta laughs. "Perfect for toasting the new queen."
The morning passes in a blur of final preparations. I approve flower arrangements, review seating charts, practice my ceremonial responses with Elder Thrakk until I can recite them in my sleep. Everything is perfect, exactly as it should be.
Which is why Nessa's worried expression when she finds me in the kitchens stops my heart.
"My lady," she says, approaching with hands twisted in her apron. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but have you seen Lavi and Jorik?"
Something cold settles in my stomach. "No. Are they not in the nursery?"
"Haven't been seen since last night. You know how they love their hiding games, but this is longer than usual, and with the ceremony tonight..." Nessa's voice carries real worry now. "Their mothers are starting to get concerned."
I force my voice to stay level. "I'm sure they'll surface soon. Children have their own sense of time."
But as Nessa hurries away, ice spreads through my veins. Two children, missing on the day of my coronation. The same children who were meant to participate in the ceremony, who would be easily recognized and approached by anyone claiming to need their help.
I make my way to the nursery, moving faster with each step. The warm, bright room feels wrong without Lavi's chatter and Jorik's serious commentary. Something catches my attention immediately.
Lavi's doll—the fierce little warrior woman she carries everywhere—sits carefully placed on her pillow. Too carefully. When I'd seen her playing before, that doll was either clutched in her arms or dropped carelessly when something else caught her interest. She would never arrange it so precisely.
"She left her doll," I whisper to the empty room.
My hands shake as I touch the carved figure. Lavi wouldn't willingly leave this behind. Which means she didn't leave willingly at all.
"My lady?"
I spin to find one of the younger nursemaids, Kira, in the doorway. Her expression is puzzled rather than worried.
"Have you seen anything unusual?" I ask. "Anyone who shouldn't have been here?"
"No, my lady. Though..." She hesitates. "Yesterday evening, when I was banking the fires, I thought I heard voices in the corridor. Adult voices, speaking quietly. But that's not unusual with all the ceremony preparations."
"What kind of voices?"
"I couldn't make out words. But the accent sounded... different. Not quite our way of speaking."
Human voices. It has to be.
I leave the nursery fighting to keep my expression calm while my mind races. If someone has taken Lavi and Jorik, if they're being used as leverage, there's only one group that benefits from threatening me on the day of my coronation.
The human envoys who have lingered far too long in our stronghold.
I make my way through the corridors toward the guest quarters, but before I reach them, a familiar voice stops me cold.
"My lady? Might I have a word?"
I turn to see Garrett, one of the human envoys, standing near the entrance to a small antechamber. He looks nervous, sweat beading his forehead despite the mountain chill, and his clothes are dusty as if he's been riding.
"Garrett," I say carefully. "I thought you'd be preparing for departure."
"Soon," he says, his eyes darting to the servants passing nearby. "But first, I have a message. From your family. Perhaps... somewhere more private?"
Every instinct screams danger, but if he knows something about the children, I have to hear it. I follow him into the small chamber, noting how he positions himself between me and the door.
"Your family wants you to understand something," he begins. "Your position here, as queen of these... people... it creates certain complications."
"What kind of complications?"
"The kind that could destroy everything your father has worked for." His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Lord Blackmoor is demanding the return of his gold, plus penalties. Your father faces complete ruin."
I laugh, a sharp, bitter sound. "Garrett, were you not in the council chamber? I made my feelings on my father's contracts perfectly clear. That is no longer my concern."
His composure cracks for a moment, surprised by my directness.
He thought he had leverage that no longer exists.
He recovers quickly, his expression hardening.
"A pity. Then we must speak of larger matters.
" He leans forward, and I catch a whiff of red clay on his boots—the distinctive rusty mud that clings to anyone who's traveled the eastern approaches.
"You could solve everything with one simple act. "
My blood turns to ice. "What have you done?"
"Nothing irreversible. Yet." He pulls a small glass vial from his pack and sets it on the table between us. "During tonight's ceremony, when you make your royal toast—the final one—you drink this instead of wine."
"Poison."
"A sacrifice," he corrects with desperate conviction.
"Your death will not only void the treaty that binds your people to these savages, it will create chaos.
It won't start a war with us, my lady. It will start their war.
Ghazrek's rivals will smell blood, the clans will turn on each other, and they'll be too busy tearing their own throats out to ever threaten our borders again. "
The cold logic of it makes the room tilt. This is a political assassination, and I am to be the willing weapon. The trap closes, and for a moment, I can't breathe. He's offering me a choice between my life and the lives of two children.
"And if I refuse?" My voice is a whisper.
His expression hardens, and he reaches into his pack again. This time he pulls out a small wooden horse, crudely carved but clearly made with love. I recognize it immediately from the nursery.
"Then two innocent children might not make it home from their grand adventure," Garrett says softly. "They're safe for now, comfortable and well-fed. They think they're playing a game, helping some nice humans with an important task. But their continued safety depends entirely on your cooperation."
The wooden horse falls from my nerveless fingers. "Where are they?"
"Somewhere they can see your stronghold but won't be found by searchers. They're being entertained with stories and games, told they're brave helpers in something very important." His voice carries mock sympathy. "We'd hate for them to learn the truth about their situation."
"You bastard."
"I'm a patriot. I am risking two children to prevent a war that would kill thousands." He gestures to the vial. "Your death creates the political chaos we need. Your family's honor is restored. And two children get to grow up safely."
I stare at the poison, my hands trembling. "How do I know you'll keep your word?"
"Because live children who can tell stories about getting lost during the queen's coronation are much more valuable than dead ones. The moment you collapse, riders will be sent to 'find' them and bring them home as heroes."
"I need time to think."
"Of course. But remember—if you refuse those children will always wonder why their Queen Lady hasn't come to save them." He stands, leaving the vial on the table. "They speak of you constantly, you know. 'Queen Lady this, Queen Lady that.' They trust you completely."
The words are expertly chosen, designed to make me feel responsible for their fear rather than him. But knowing it's manipulation doesn't lessen its effectiveness.
After he leaves, I sink into the nearest chair.
He hadn't just brought a threat; he'd brought the weapon. My weapon, to be used against myself. My hands are trembling, not with fear, but with a rage so cold and sharp it feels like swallowing ice. He thinks he’s trapped me. He thinks my only choice is to die for his political games. He’s underestimated me.
I think of Lavi's tiny hands patting my cheek, of Jorik's quiet pride. They are counting on me. My mind flashes back to my mother's library, to the stolen books and the hours spent learning. My old tutor’s words echo in my mind, a mantra of survival.
Always know the cure before you risk the poison.
I stand, my movements no longer hesitant but precise. My decision is made. And it will require every ounce of skill I possess.