Forbidden Queen: A Court Intrigue Fantasy (The Forbidden Queen Series Book 1) Read online

  Behind me, the fire crackled, and I flinched. For a moment, I expected to see the villagers at the window, back to finish what they had started. They wouldn’t dare. Though I was still on edge, I sipped at my tea, syrupy-sweet with honey. The last spoonful of Ellinath’s wildflower honey. Surely honey in Baylore would not taste so rich.

  I sighed, running my fingers through my thick hair.

  Ambervale was the only home I had ever known. Though Mother had spoken of Baylore often enough to form a clear picture in my mind, it was only real in the way Iceling tales were real. It felt like a mythic city, too large and magnificent to exist. And now I was supposed to rule it.

  Yet mixed in with the sorrow and trepidation, I felt a mounting excitement. Instead of wildflowers, I would find rich gowns in every color imaginable. Instead of blueberries, I would feast on exotic foods from every corner of Itrea and the Kinship Thrones.

  I was determined to rule well, no matter what people thought of me. I had faced prejudice and superstition at every turn, but this time it would be different. Unlike this morning, I would not let it cow me. History would remember me as the ruler who changed Itrea forever. I was certain of it.

  When I drained the last cold dregs of my tea and tiptoed off to bed, my mind was still buzzing. Yes, I was sad to leave Ambervale sooner than I had expected, but I was also eager to escape the confines of this isolated village and reclaim my true home.

  * * *

  We scrambled to pack the next morning. Although we would leave most of our belongings behind—our simple country furnishings would hardly look at home in Baylore Palace—we still had to prepare enough clothes, blankets, cooking supplies, and dried goods to last us until the nearest town.

  When Mother and Lyla ventured into town to arrange transport south, Mother gave me strict instructions to remain inside. “It would not surprise me if someone is lurking in the forest watching us. I don’t want you to come to harm.”

  I watched through the window as they left, the summer breeze ruffling my long hair. In the field just behind our house lay a circle of stones around a patch of yellowed grass; several of the stones had been kicked aside by the angry villagers last night.

  To the villagers, it looked like evidence of dark magic, of witchcraft they could not comprehend. But it was merely a way to measure how far my power extended.

  When I stood in the middle of the circle, I could visualize my sphere of influence. Everyone who came within the circle was in danger; I was deadly to those who lingered too long in my presence.

  I had spent many long hours sitting within the circle, memorizing its width, and though my power did not touch plants, I must have killed enough insects and earthworms to sicken the grass.

  From the corner of my eye, I caught a flicker of movement in the trees. Maybe it was just a bird, or maybe it was a villager spying on me.

  I slammed the shutters closed and returned to my packing.

  It was midafternoon by the time Mother and Lyla returned with an ox-drawn wagon laden with supplies. Its driver was a man I recognized but had never spoken to; to my surprise, he did not look frightened as we began piling the last of our belongings into the wagon.

  “Why have you chosen to help us?” I asked as I tucked a stack of blankets beneath the driver’s seat.

  He grunted. “I was planning to run one last trade with Baylore ’fore winter sets in. And your mother’s paying me well.” He glanced at Mother, who smiled. “Anyway, them idiots in town are just superstitious. If they traveled more of the world, they’d see magic isn’t something to be ’fraid of.”

  “He’s very sensible,” Mother said primly.

  The sun had nearly vanished behind a peak by the time we were ready to leave. Though it would have been sensible to wait for morning, none of us voiced this, because villagers were beginning to gather near our cottage like crows around carrion. Most were armed with shovels or pitchforks.

  Ignoring the onlookers, we climbed onto the wagon seat beside the driver. As we descended the narrow, bumpy path between our cottage and the village, the wagon swayed alarmingly; I wished I had chosen to walk. Every jolt rattled my spine, the unpadded seat already bruising my rear.

  Others had gathered along the main street through Ambervale, including Jisho and Molenk. When Jisho raised a hand to wave, Molenk slapped it down, hatred written in the lines of his face.

  I noticed Mother hiding a yawn behind her hand, the inevitable sign that I had spent too long in her presence. I was known as an Extractor, and my magic drew strength and energy from any living creature within a certain distance of me—the distance of the stone circle behind our cottage, to be exact. Within an hour, any person or living creature near me grew drowsy and lethargic, usually succumbing to sleep; if I did not move away from them at that point, it was not long before their organs ceased to function altogether. I was like a noxious gas filling a room, impossible to detect yet lethal if not discovered soon enough.

  “Are you well, Mother?” I asked warily. I did not know how much she had told the ox-driver.

  She leaned back to smile at me. “I don’t intend to sleep on this bench, if that was what you were asking.”

  “Good.”

  I watched over my shoulder as the village receded in the distance, trying to imprint this final view of Ambervale in my memory—the cluster of simple stone and mud cottages tucked in a valley with a ring of steely mountains looming high above. Though I had faced mistrust and ostracism at the hands of the villagers, I still loved Ambervale for its wild surrounds—the tangled, stunted forests that cloaked the feet of the Icebraid Peaks; the wildflower meadows hidden higher in the valley where no one else ventured; and the dizzying heights I had dared to climb when I was younger, before I understood how much my safety meant as the future queen of Itrea.

  Soon we passed into the forest that marked the farthest south I had ever traveled—as far as I could remember, anyway. I had been born in Baylore Palace, and Mother had spirited me away to Ambervale when I was just a few spans old.

  As the trees closed around the road, the scent of pine enveloped us, squirrels and chipmunks chattering in the treetops. I was eager to see what the world held. As beautiful as Ambervale was, it represented just a tiny corner of the infinite unknown.

  Before long, the pace of the oxen slowed to little more than a crawl, which was a sign that I should give them a bit of distance. I jumped down from the lethargic wagon, explaining to the driver that my legs ached from sitting so long, and strode ahead until the wagon was lost in the trees behind me.

  As soon as I was alone, I broke into a run, pulling up my skirts to free my legs. The power I drained from those around me fed a restless energy smoldering deep within, and I had to let it out somehow.

  I ran for what felt like hours, following the road—which was little more than two wagon ruts with grass growing tall between them—as it descended through the forest. A stream churned away to the left, often appearing in clearings as it dropped over shelves and frothed down rocky chutes, and I startled a pair of deer off the road when I tore around one bend. Though my legs burned and my chest seared with each breath, the momentum of the slope compelled me faster and faster, the dirt road blurring before me, the rhythm of my footfalls echoing like a pulse in my ears.

  At last the road flattened out. As the trees grew sparse, high, untamed grasses overtook the dense forest. I slowed to a walk, knowing I had gone too far—Mother would worry, and the ox-driver would grow suspicious. I could not turn back now, though. The end of the forest was too close.

  Just a few hundred paces down the road, the last of the trees ended.

  I stopped, open-mouthed.

  A vast expanse of grasslands stretched south and east as far as I could see, deep purple in the fading light, and to the west a range of distant mountains interrupted the flat expanse, marching south in a line until they too vanished along that horizon. I had never imagined the world could be so vast.

  Even the air tasted different
down here. I breathed deeply, catching the scent of ripening wild grains and dusty, sunbaked earth.

  Looking back toward the forest, I had to tilt my head to take in the full majesty of the Icebraid Peaks, the tallest of which still glowed orange from the vanished sun. None were familiar from this vantage, and all seemed taller than ever. I could have spent all day memorizing the angles of the mountains.

  Instead I trudged back up the road and into the forest, straining to see in the deepening shadows. The energy I had extracted from Mother, Lyla, the ox-driver, and the oxen had worn off now, and my legs began to ache as the road steepened. The extra energy I stole did nothing to strengthen my muscles; it simply drove me to push myself longer and harder than I should.

  I did not appreciate how far I had run until stars began to emerge, the Great Arch glowing in its hazy brilliance. Even then, what felt like another thirty minutes passed before I smelled wood smoke and stumbled across my companions setting up camp.

  The ox-driver’s eyes widened when he caught sight of me. “You were gone so long I nearly went looking for you meself. Did you lose the way?”

  “I just lost track of the time.” I shrugged. “These woods go on forever.”

  “You should stay closer to us,” Mother said sternly. “There are all manner of wild beasts roaming these woods, not to mention bandits that prey upon unwary travelers.”

  “Hardly any bandits up here, m’lady,” the ox-driver said. “Not enough trade goes through this way. You’ll find most of them in the Wandering Woods.”

  I raised my eyebrows at Mother as if to say, “See?”

  “Still, you would be wise to exercise caution.”

  Once we finished our simple dinner, I dragged my sleeping roll into the woods, far from the others. If it rained, I didn’t know what I would do. The others could sleep under the wagon, but I would suffer the elements.

  Thankfully the skies were clear that night.

  3

  The Cloudmage of Lameer

  T he next day we passed into the open plains. The sun beat down on us from a cloudless sky, the hiss of wind ruffling the wild grains replacing birdsong.

  We soon fell into the rhythm of travel, rising at dawn and riding until sunset. With no trees to conceal me from the others, I could no longer run, so instead I walked twenty paces ahead of or behind the wagon, sitting for an hour at a time whenever I needed rest.

  Sometimes Mother walked with me, and she talked me through what I should expect when we reached Baylore. Though I had heard it all before, I clung to every word, desperate to prepare myself for a life I struggled to imagine.

  “It’s a shame we must return early,” Mother said more than once. “Someone is encouraging violence against the forbidden races, and I fear Baylore will be hostile to us.”

  “But my father will protect me, won’t he?” My father—a mysterious, shadowed figure of whom Mother spoke frequently—currently ruled Baylore. “Surely he won’t allow us to come to harm.”

  “He will keep us safe, but our enemies can cause plenty of harm with rhetoric alone.” Mother walked a half-step ahead of me, hands clasped behind her back, chin raised. Even out here, she managed to look regal, her thick black braids wrapped around her head in place of a crown.

  “I’m not worried,” I said. “I know what I have to do. I don’t expect it to be easy.”

  Mother gave me a tight smile. “And for that you are very much my daughter.”

  Though I did not admit it, I yearned for the challenge of politics, the chance to prove myself before my peers. I was certain I could handle anything that came my way. Even the idea of facing off against powerful enemies thrilled me, for reasons I could not explain. Whether because of my birthright or through Mother’s influence, I longed for the excitement of royal life in Baylore.

  I quickened my pace to fall into step beside Mother, imitating her stance—hands behind my back, head high. Though my black hair fell in a braid down my back, fuzzy tendrils escaping in every direction, I could almost feel the weight of a crown on my brow. I was ready for this.

  I was a fighter.

  * * *

  It was not long before I realized the rest of the Itrean countryside was dull compared to Ambervale. The scenery did not change from day to day—the mountains on our right were so distant we did not appear to be moving at all when measured against their girth, and the endless empty horizon grew old after just a few days. I longed to reach the city.

  As I walked, I ran through everything I knew about Baylore, its politics, and the palace itself. We had precious few books in the cottage, so Mother had relied on her memory to teach me everything she knew. I had memorized the names of my father’s advisers, the layout of the palace—which Mother had traced in the dirt many times, more out of homesickness than a desire to teach me—and the names of all five rulers during each period going back three hundred years.

  Baylore worked on a system of elected monarchy, whereby five heirs were chosen for a thirty-year period, and each ruled until he or she was voted off the throne. Each of the current rotation of rulers appointed an heir, almost always a blood relative, which meant five ruling families had governed Baylore for centuries. My father was but one of five rulers in the current rotation; however, he sat the throne now, which meant his heir would step into power when the next thirty-year cycle began just after midwinter.

  This meant that I, a newcomer to Baylore and just eighteen years old, would seize power in a few short spans.

  I could understand why people were afraid.

  * * *

  Several quarters passed, and then a whole span—forty days—had gone by. I wished at times that I could simply walk to Baylore, for I would have halved the travel time without the plodding oxen to slow me down.

  The most exciting part of the journey came when we forded a river to reach Lameer, the first true settlement we had encountered since leaving Ambervale. When the wagon struck a rock in the river and tilted, two near-empty barrels fell out of the back and went bobbing downstream; before Mother could say anything, the ox-driver and I jumped into the waist-deep current to rescue them.

  Mother was deeply disappointed with me when I splashed up the opposite riverbank, skirts plastered to my legs, hugging the barrel and grinning at the unexpected icy dip.

  “You do realize the future of Itrea rests on you,” she hissed, glancing at the ox-driver to make sure he was out of earshot. “You might have been swept downstream before anyone could save you. The current could have dragged you under. And you could still die of cold, with your clothes all wet.” She gestured furiously at my dripping dress.

  “Look, Mother. The town is right there.” Setting down the barrel, I pointed at several thin pillars of smoke rising from what must have been chimneys just behind a short hill. “We can sleep inside tonight and warm up in front of one of those fires.”

  “I can sleep inside,” she said with a dour look. “You will be out here, as always.”

  “I wish we could just tell these people who we are,” I said, mostly to myself. “Maybe they would actually welcome us.”

  “You know exactly why we can’t. You—”

  “No need to lecture me, Mother. I was only joking.” I turned away from her and stalked up the hill toward the village.

  “Kalleah!” Mother called after me. “Don’t you want to dry off?”

  I did not respond. The first thatch roofs of the village had already appeared over the hill; after a span in the wilderness, they looked like the makings of a great city.

  Once I followed the faint, two-rutted track until it met up with the well-defined road of packed dirt running through the center of Lameer, I began to doubt whether this village was large enough to offer lodging and supplies for travelers. This was the northernmost outpost of the main trade routes in Baylore Valley, and I knew well enough how few visitors Ambervale received each year.

  Halfway through town, my spirits lightened as I caught sight of a wooden sign for an inn hanging outsi
de what looked like an ordinary house. When I knocked, I was greeted by a plump woman with flour on her hands.

  “You must be visitors?” She looked me up and down. “We’ve got a spare room at the back that we rent out to travelers. We can cook for you as well, if you want. Might even be able to draw up a hot bath. You look as though you’ve had a soaking.”

  “We’ve come from Ambervale,” I said, slipping easily into the less refined accent I used around villagers back home. Mother hated hearing me speak that way. “I had to rescue a barrel that fell overboard when we were fording the river. I’m afraid I don’t have much else to change into.”

  The woman clucked her tongue. “Dear me, that won’t do, will it? I can lend you a dress while we hang yours by the fire, and we’ll get something hot for you to eat as well. You’re not traveling alone, are you? Where are your companions?”

  “They’re just—” I glanced up the street in time to see the oxen plodding over the hill, our wagon swaying along behind. “Here they are.”

  “Lovely.” The woman patted me on the shoulder. “We have beds enough for you all.”

  I returned her smile. Any desire to reveal our identities had fled—I would receive no such kindness from anyone who thought my forbidden power was a mark of evil. It was refreshing to be treated like an ordinary person.

  A few hours later saw us comfortably ensconced by the fireplace, steaming cider in hand, finishing off the remains of a delicious meal. I decided traders must frequent these parts after all, because I had seen no sign of apple trees nearby, or indeed any source for most of the ingredients in our dinner.