Chapter 33 Thessia
Thessia
Under Thessia waited—nothing.
Only empty space, vast distance. And then, far below, the Vestriya Now audience.
Thessia clung onto River, who had magicked them into the crossbeams high over the theater. Peering down from the perilous
height made the queen feel sick. So did the questions exploding in her head like fireworks over the stage.
What is happening? Has the plan changed?
What the fuck is River doing?
“I need you to listen to me,” River said, holding Thessia securely. “We don’t have long.”
“River,” Thessia gasped out. “What—”
“The guild has demanded I kidnap you,” River interrupted. “They threatened Celine. You understand?”
Thessia forced herself to focus. She fought to ignore the deadly drop to the theater below. To concentrate on River, who held
Thessia’s life in her fingertips, literally.
She had no choice. If she screamed, everyone would see, but River surely would teleport elsewhere. Thessia would fall. What
good would being seen do while she plummeted to her death?
She wobbled on the beam. Her heart leapt into her throat—but River held her steady.
Thessia finally looked directly into River’s eyes, finding desperation in her companion’s gaze.
“Trust me,” River pleaded. Gone from River’s racked expression was the hardened, isolated assassin Thessia remembered.
Instead, Thessia saw her friend. Thessia saw someone who wasn’t alone, and knew it. Someone who would fight for the woman
she loved—and, Thessia knew, for her friends. River would not let harm come to Celine, which meant she would not let harm
come to the rest of them, either.
“Trust me,” River repeated.
“What do you need me to do?” Thessia whispered.
She could see the relief in River’s posture, though the other woman held them skillfully balanced on the rafter beams. Releasing
one hand from Thessia, River pulled a blindfold from her pocket.
“This is our chance to find out who is behind the guild’s corruption. I’m going to bring you to them, and I need it to look
convincing,” River explained.
Thessia took the blindfold. “I think you’ll find all my years of being kidnapped have prepared me for this,” she remarked,
wrapping the opaque cloth over her eyes.
She heard River chuckle. River’s other hand found Thessia once more—
Then the beam underneath them disappeared.
Moments later, hard ground, stone, surfaced reassuringly under Thessia. She dropped to one knee, recovering her balance. Ghosts,
she’d never get used to River’s magic.
Blindfolded, Thessia measured her surroundings in the ways she could. The room was dank, cool, stale. Underground, Thessia
concluded. Shuffling sounds of boot soles and metal weaponry indicated other people were in the room.
“Hello, colleagues.” River greeted them formally.
Her voice was unrecognizable to Thessia. Cold, iron-edged. Was this how she sounded in the guild?
“I request an audience with the new leader. I will only deliver the queen to them personally,” River declared.
Someone laughed gruffly. “You won’t be making demands,” the rough voice replied.
“Actually, I will,” River returned with emotionless disdain. “I assume you’ve lost your leverage on me by now? Should have
warned you that scribe is hard to hold on to. You know, I’ve been cast out of the guild long enough to have spent many hours
talking with Celine. Gary’s uncommon ticklishness may have come up. I imagine you found him on the floor in a fit of giggles.
Isn’t that right?”
Thessia fought back a smile, knowing humor would not help convince the guild of her captivity.
No one replied. Thessia heard more shuffling. Embarrassment, most likely.
“I’m the one with leverage. I will deliver the queen to the leader only,” River said lethally. “I will reclaim my position in the guild.”
Thessia tensed. Her humor disappeared. River . . . couldn’t possibly intend to turn on Thessia, on all of them, and return
to the guild, could she? When Thessia first met River Pricemark, River’s only desire was ending her expulsion from the guild.
Now . . .
“You can’t come back,” the man crowed.
“No?” River returned. “Then I suppose I will teleport the queen all the way back to her throne right now. You’ll never have
another chance at her.”
Once more, River’s retort quieted the room.
Thessia held her breath. River was convincing. Too convincing? Her fear rising, Thessia started to struggle. But River’s grip stayed firm.
River had told Thessia to trust her, the queen reminded herself. Thessia would—not that she had much choice.
“I have no reason to give you what I want with nothing in return,” River said. “The leader. Now.”
Someone grunted in displeasure. The metal door of their room scraped open, and the Deathrose Guild lackeys seemed to exit.
For moments, Thessia heard nothing, until—footsteps.
The paces sounded confidently on the stone. Slow, purposeful. Predatory. The footsteps of someone utterly in control. The
way Thessia wished she felt.
The room became colder somehow. Magic? Thessia wondered. Or merely the intimidating power of someone meant to lead?
The footsteps drew closer. Thessia felt River’s grip on her tense nervously. River did not move otherwise, though. Her posture
remained cautious, not combative.
Closer and closer strode the Deathrose Guild’s leader.
Fabric rustled, like someone opening their cloak. Or removing their hood.
The next instant, several things happened. River gasped. In recognition, Thessia realized. Wind passed Thessia’s face with
the whoosh of fast movement. Something struck hard very close to Thessia—cutting River’s gasp short.
River’s grip on Thessia released, and Thessia heard her companion hit the ground.
Whoever stood in front of Thessia had knocked River out instantaneously, faster than she could teleport. Or Thessia hoped River was merely unconscious. Heart in her throat, Thessia waited for blood to pool under her knees—but felt none.
Still, without River’s grasp on her, fear held Thessia captive. Whoever had entered the room was not just powerful. They were
very, very dangerous.
Thessia permitted someone to grab her hands roughly and tie her wrists with rope. Queen or not, Thessia was in no position to resist.
Finally, the leader spoke. A woman’s voice, unnervingly familiar. “Take Miss Pricemark out of here,” she ordered. “Watch her.”
“Someone should stay to guard you,” a rough-voiced man replied.
“I’ll be fine,” the guild leader said. “I wish to speak to the queen alone.”
Thessia trembled. Oh, how she yearned for courage.
No, she counseled herself furiously. She was the queen of Mythria. She need not yearn. She commanded. She could command herself now. She’d known evil. She’d known terror.
She remembered every horrible person who’d ever sought to threaten or control her. None of them had succeeded. Nor would this
mysterious woman.
Over the sounds of the Deathrose man hauling River from the room, Thessia straightened her spine. She controlled her heartbeat.
She summoned Galwell’s strength, Hugh’s self-control, River’s hardened intensity, Celine’s dauntless fire. She even summoned
Ario’s indomitable spirit. Why not, right?
When the leader’s hand found the side of Thessia’s face, she flinched violently. Then something strange happened—the gemstone
on Thessia’s wrist hummed, the talisman tying her to . . . No, it couldn’t be.
Careful fingers grasped Thessia’s blindfold, then removed the cloth, leaving Thessia face-to-face with—
Herself.
Thessia’s head spun. She struggled for comprehension.
Finally, she grasped the devastating irony of her situation. Thessia had often considered herself her own worst enemy. Not
her person—but her name, her image, her title. For much of her life, the queen of Mythria had held Thessia captive.
Now she literally did.
“Tabitha,” Thessia exhaled.
Her body double stood before the captive queen. She wore shimmering golden robes, fit for the commander of the Deathrose Guild—or
the hostess of Vestriya Now, or the queen of Mythria. Her smile shone like Thessia had never seen on the humble, considerate
woman she’d known. It was wide, venomous, and utterly merciless.
Atop her golden hair sat Thessia’s tiara.
“Well, well, well, Thessia. Damsel once again,” Tabitha gloated. “But this time, no one is coming to rescue you.”
“Tabitha, I—I never knew you were this unhappy,” Thessia managed. She felt dazed.
Tabitha laughed in delight. “I’m not unhappy. You were the unhappy one, Thessia. I’m giving you what you’ve always wanted.
Really, you should thank me,” she remarked cheerfully. “You no longer have to live the life you hated. I will become the queen
you so resented being.”
Thessia’s mouth worked, but nothing came out. She hated how deeply her double’s words cut.
Instead of ruling her queendom, Thessia had let her role rule her. She’d become exasperated, stifled, resentful. In her resentment,
Tabitha had found her opportunity.
Thessia had to do . . . something. Even now, her powerlessness overwhelmed her.
“How?” she asked, hopeless.
Tabitha preened. “I never got to have my own life, you know. I was always living the pale shadow of yours. When Galwell returned, I realized how I could not only reclaim my life, but claim yours as well. While I was filling in for you at a dinner for Mythrian arts, I was forced to listen to Chestlewitt’s concerns for his upcoming premiere the entire night.
I gave him the idea to commission the guild to save his play. ”
Thessia’s breath caught. The whole time. Tabitha was behind everything while within arm’s reach of Thessia the whole time.
“Did you know I’d been seeing an assassin in my off hours? Bertram. He was a clumsy lover, but his gifts were useful and . . .
similar to mine.” She paused, shrugging. “Your friend River killed him at the Realm Chalice. Saved me having to break up with
him, I must admit. He’d already served his purpose to me by then, giving me an in to approach the guild and explain exactly
how much they stood to gain with Galwell’s death. My vision impressed them so much, they put me in charge,” she continued.
“But I have to thank you, my dear Thessia, for bringing me to Vestriya. It was only when I filled your spot in the masquerade
that I got to speak to the king and queen of Vestriya directly.”
Thessia remembered it. How Tabitha had explained she’d already traded pleasantries with the king and queen. Thessia had been
grateful. What a fool she’d been.
Tabitha trailed a finger down Thessia’s cheek, gloating. “We came to a new agreement,” she said. “I’d take care of their brewing
coup with the use of my guild of assassins and they would recognize me in your place when the time came.”
“You—you can’t—” she got out.
“Let me stop you right there,” Tabitha said sweetly. She halted her pacing in front of Thessia, holding her perfect posture
above the humbled queen. “I can. I can do everything you can. Because I am you. This”—Tabitha gestured grandly to herself—“is you. No one will ever notice you’re gone. Because this is all that matters
of you, Thessia of Mythria. A face . . . in a tiara . . . on a throne.”
Tabitha leaned down, her identical features level with Thessia’s.
“Nothing more,” she said.
Thessia’s eyes welled with tears. Oh, she hated the feeling. The humiliation, the hopelessness. The realization that everything Tabitha was saying was . . . true.
“What then?” Thessia croaked out. “What will you do? Spread more villainy? Run the guild in secret?”
“That’s the thing,” Tabitha murmured in Thessia’s face. “I’ll do whatever I want.”
Whatever I want.
Thessia hardly recognized the rage mounting in her. She clung on to the feeling, for in the flames, she found the first flicker
of power. Of strength.
No, Thessia would not surrender any part of herself to this impostor. She wanted her life. Tabitha sought to steal her throne,
her power, her independence, her very self. Well, Thessia would steal something in return—her enemy’s confidence, her conviction.
In order to escape, to defend her throne, Thessia would copy her double. She would imitate her own imitation.
While Tabitha smiled, crowned in the glory of her plot, Thessia did the unimaginable. Something royals would not do.
She reared back and spat in Tabitha’s face.
When Tabitha shrieked in disgust, flinging saliva everywhere, the tiara dropped to the floor.
Thessia pounced. In seconds, she seized the sharp metal ornament. She jabbed her wrists downward, using the glimmering crystal
point of the crown to cut her ropes. It was her crown, after all. She knew well how sharp its edges were. She rose to her feet—
Tiara in hand, she swung upward, slicing the length of Tabitha’s face with the crown’s point.
Tabitha screamed while blood poured from the gash. The curtain of crimson descending over the impostor’s features was the
last Thessia saw of her double before dashing from the room clutching her tiara.
She hit the hallway—only to encounter familiar faces. Galwell and Mona were rushing in her direction. They stopped sharply, and Thessia felt Galwell’s nervous gaze examine her for injuries. “We’re here to save you,” he stated with ever-so-Galwell certainty.
“I don’t need saving,” Thessia said honestly. “River does, though. She’s captured down here somewhere. Find her while I return
to the stage. Ario needs help. Tell them Tabitha is behind everything.”
Without waiting for her companions’ reply, she dashed past them, seeking the stage. For the first time, commanding her own
quest felt . . . natural. It felt right. It felt like her.
Damsel? Fuck no.
Thessia would save herself.
A queen and a hero.