Page 2 of The Dead Queen

The messenger’s eyes grow wide as he gets a proper look at me. Perhaps it’s seeing the elusive heir in the flesh. Or maybe it’s the gore soaking my clothes. His face grows paler by the second. So, it’s the blood, then.

“They’ve finally done it, haven’t they?” I ask the messenger.

Before he can respond, I turn to the washbasin in the corner of my tent. It’s simple and practical, no different from any other here in the borderlands. If the basin’s dented metal is good enough for the soldiers, it’s good enough for me.

After washing the dried blood from around my fingernails, I remove my apron to hide the worst of the gore. I tuck some of the stray strands of hair back into my braid. It’s caked in sweat and filth. Still, the longer I delay, the longer I can put off the inevitable.

A deep sigh escapes me. I’ve always known they’d drag me home, eventually. Me, the harebrained, foolish, stubborn heir. They’ve called me all of it, and worse.

Just like her grandmother, Father always said, as if it’s an insult.

The sting of grief is so poignant it takes my breath away. It still feels like yesterday that we lost Grandmother to Annwyn’s corpse wolves. Logically, I know it’s been much longer than that, but tell that to a broken heart. Tell that to the little girl who lost her best friend. Tell that to the heir who’s had no answers, no explanation for twelve damnable years. A heart cannot heal from death. Even we mighty royals know that.

I splash tepid water on my face to chase away the grief.

Somewhat cleaner now, I look into the small cracked mirror above the basin. Doubtless, the messenger expected an heir of great beauty and refinement. Instead, water drips over my round cheeks, which are flushed with exhaustion. My brown eyes have purple rims, and my family’s trademark auburn hair bursts from my untidy braid in a frizzy halo.

This is it. The heir of Llwyn. I can do nothing to change that.

I turn to the messenger and hold out my hand for the letter. When he passes it over, I bite back a few choice words. This man is not to blame; someone sent him here to confront the king’s rebellious, backwards daughter. The one who ran away three years ago to use the royal family’s birthright, our healing powers, for war. It’s better than being locked up in a gilded tower to fester until my father deigns to die and give me the Fox Throne.

The messenger bows, awaiting instruction. I crack the seal and unfold the paper to find only three words from my father.

“Come back. Now.”

Chapter 2

With my father, the word “now” is meant to be taken literally. There’s no delaying until morning. No taking my time to help one last wounded soldier, or even to sleep away the exhaustion nipping at my bones. Now means now.

By the anxious expression on the messenger’s face, I know he’s secretly praying that I’ll leave without a fuss. Part of me wants to give him a show, something that he could tell his friends about back home.

“The heir threw her scalpel at me! She screamed and swore like a wild animal!”

But the truth is, while the stories about my rebellious nature aren’t unfounded, the specifics are mostly untrue. I’d prefer to sneak out of a political meeting to read a book than cause chaos and disorder. Not that my father ever saw the difference.

I groan and look longingly at my bed.

It doesn’t take long to pack my belongings. I learned to travel light, moving camp every few months, whenever the soldiers gained back lost territory. Everything fits in a satchel over my shoulder, just a few soiled dresses and my grandmother’s silver knife. It’s heavier than it looks, with its bronze handle and dainty moth carvings along the blade. Some might call it a frivolous weapon fit only for courtly fashion, but I take great pains to keep the blade polished and sharp. It’s all I have left of my grandmother.

The last time I saw her she’d pressed it into my hands with a warning: Keep it safe. The next day, she travelled here, to the borderlands. She never came back. Even then, as a child, I understood she was trying to tell me something important. It’s why I spent the next twelve years learning how to use the moth blade. And it’s why I know, deep in my bones, that Grandmother’s death was no accident.

Everything else in my tent can stay behind. I won’t need any of it in Caerwen, the capital city, and home of the royal seat. They’ll strip me of everything short of my dignity. I’ll be primped, scrubbed, and stuffed into ridiculous gowns—all for the glory of the kingdom.

Truth be told, I won’t miss the camp’s endless mud and inadequate latrines. It’s been nearly three years since I’ve had a proper bath, with warm water and lavender perfume instead of cold water from a rain barrel with lye soap. And I certainly won’t miss the constant presence of death that I’ve grown numb to. Without me, the healers will have to rely on basic apothecary and medical skills. There aren’t many nobles with healing power in the borderlands.

It won’t be enough. Then again, neither was I. But at least here I was something, even if only a temporary plug in the hull of a sinking ship.

Still, as much as I hate the thought of returning to my father’s palace in Caerwen, I know I’m ready to go home. When I was a child, no one would tell me what happened to my grandmother, Áine. This time will be different. This time, I will discover the truth. I’m twenty-four now. Older. Smarter. More determined.

And when I find out what happened to her, I will make the person responsible suffer. Just like I’ve suffered every day since she died.

My horse, Nell, whinnies as I strap bags of food and water to her saddle. She’s a smart one. She knows we’re in for a long ride. Her eyes roll warily from the messenger to the two guards he brought for protection on the road.

I lean in and whisper into her soft ear. “I’m sorry, Nell. We have no choice.” I, like everyone in Llwyn, exist to serve my father.

Nell nuzzles her nose into my hand in understanding.

With one last look toward the darkened tents, I swing up onto the saddle. I won’t waste time with messy goodbyes. When the other healers and the soldiers realize I’m gone, they’ll know why. Frankly, I’m surprised it’s taken this long.