Page 17 of The Nymph King

Gavin’s face reddened. “I found the woman half the realm is searching for. Send word to the estate if you don’t believe me, but she is not disappearing while you debate procedure.”

The guard studied Imani again, then motioned to another soldier. “Escort the cart. Nobody leaves it until the estate decides what to do with them.”

With a loud grating and clanking, the gates opened.

Imani looked straight ahead, impassive, as a hundred pairs of eyes settled on her. She did not acknowledge the whispers or the shifting weight of attention. If they needed something to read, she would give them exactly what she chose, nothing more, nothing less. Power was not just held. It was performed. And she understood, now, how much of it depended on what others believed they were witnessing.

She was prepared for their wrath, disbelief, and hatred as they made the trek to the estate. She was, after all, a wanted murderer.

Vathis was an old city with uneven brick roads, and the cart rocked and rolled slowly through the crowd. As whispers spread, more elves clamored to catch a glimpse of the wanted woman and the Crown of Life.

Knowing moved through them faster than certainty.

“That’s her.”

“The woman from the posters.”

“Imani Aowyn.”

An older Norn woman pressed both hands to her mouth, then bowed deeply. “A Norn queen,” she whispered, almost reverently.

Someone behind her scoffed. “A murderer wearing flowers does not make a queen.”

“Tanyl is no king of mine,” another man shouted back. “Let the Norn rule themselves again.”

A rotten apple struck the side of the cart hard enough to burst against the wood.

Esa jerked away from the spray.

“False queen!” someone yelled.

Another voice answered, “Gods bless the Queen!”

Cheers rose from one section of the street while jeers answered from another.

Imani kept her chin high.

This was what Tanyl’s campaign had actually accomplished. He had made her famous enough that no one needed an introduction, but he had not made the realm agree about what she was. To some, she was the murderer from the notices. To others, she was proof that a Norn could sit a throne again. And judging by the curses thrown at Tanyl’s name, not everyone in Vathis had accepted his version of the war.

And still Imani stared straight ahead. Regal. As if she had always belonged in this role.

The truth was that she couldn’t face being anyone else. So, she’d be the fugitive queen. And if she wore it long enough, convincingly enough, it would stop being something she merely pretended. It would become something she defined… when the fugitive became the ruler. The line between survival and rule was thinner than she had once believed. All it required was the moment she chose not to step back.

It wasn’t a good plan, but it was a start, and she had always known how to build from nothing.

The closer they got to the estate, the larger the crowd became. Some Norn bowed as the cart passed. Others crossed their arms and refused. One man shouted, “Gods bless the Queen!” and several people around him clapped.

“She’s no queen!” someone screamed from across the street.

A fist-sized clump of mud sailed over the crowd and struck the wagon behind Imani.

Gavin swore. “Get back!”

The people surged anyway.

“Tanyl murdered enough of us!”

“She murdered people too!”