Richelle Mead: THORN QUEEN

Giving up on the gun, I produced my jewel-studded wand and started simply casting out the wights to the Underworld. Instant death. As I did my thing and the guards did theirs, we suddenly reached a point where all grew quiet. The wights were dead or gone.

Everyone in my party immediately looked to see if I was all right, which I found ridiculous since two of the guards lay on the ground, and a number of them were bleeding.

“Forget about me,” I snapped. “Check on them!”

None had died, much to my relief. Gentry were hard to kill in their own world. They were long-lived and hardy. One of the guards had some healing powers, and we spent a considerable amount of time patching the group up. When we finally set out again, Shaya glanced up at the sun’s position and frowned.

“We’re going to be late.”

I thought about Kiyo. Then I thought about Maiwenn, who always looked like some sort of golden goddess, even with her belly ready to burst with Kiyo’s son or daughter. Walking in late to her elite baby party, breaching etiquette under her cool gaze…Well, suddenly I wanted to ride as we’d never ridden before.

Unfortunately, our wounded couldn’t do that. Frustrated, we finally split the party, and those of us who were uninjured rode on at a brisk pace, hoping to cut our time. Before long, we crossed to the Willow Land and slammed into its freezing temperatures. It was just coming out of winter, and spring thaws were in progress, but the chill proved a shock nonetheless. We rode on down the road, determined to get there. We finally made it.

But we were still late.

Maiwenn’s castle staff eyed our bedraggled state but showed me to a room where I could clean up and get ready. Nia practically had a conniption as Shaya and I hastily washed ourselves off and pulled on fresh clothes. Nia’s magical gifts gave her a knack for adorning others and arranging hair. Kind of a magical beautician. It killed her that I almost never utilized her services. I could see her itching to do something intricate to my hair, but I shook my head.

“No time. Make it fast. Wear it down.”

Obliging-but disapproving-she used magic and a brush to work it into gleaming, silky lengths, pulling a little of it up with a barrette and stealing a couple of small daisies from a nearby vase to tuck into the barrette. With her magic, I knew it would stay perfectly arranged for hours. I splashed on some violet perfume, hoping it would cover any sweatiness I’d missed. With that, we were off.

When Shaya and I approached the ballroom, it was obvious we were the last to arrive. The room was packed. I sighed loudly.

“It’s all right,” murmured Shaya. “You’re a queen. You’re expected to be eccentric. Don’t look embarrassed.”

“Is it possible,” I asked, “that we could just sneak in without anyone noticing?”

Before she could answer, a herald stood in the doorway and announced in a voice designed for carrying over loud crowds: “Her Royal Majesty, Queen Eugenie Markham, called Odile Dark Swan, Daughter of Tirigan the Storm King, Protector of the Thorn Land, Beloved of the Triple Moon Goddess.”

Dozens of heads swiveled toward us.

I sighed again and answered my own question. “Apparently not.”

Once I stopped hyperventilating from all the attention on me, I immediately realized Nia had been right about the dress.

Like always, the gentry dressed like that they were going to a Renaissance Faire that served ecstasy. Satin, velvet, silk. Even a little leather here and there. Lots of jewelry, lots of skin. The glittering array dazzled the eye, the colors shining, rich, and vivid.

I wore a sundress meant to have sort of a vintage look. Made of tan gauze scattered with a design of tiny yellow flowers, it had an empire waist and a clingy little skirt that went to my knees. The straps tied behind my neck, and most of my back stayed bare, all the better to show off my tattoos: a woman’s face within a full moon on my neck and a line of violets on my lower back. The dress’s color looked great with the dusky, light auburn of my hair.

Unfortunately, while the shabby-chic peasant look might be expensive and very much in vogue in the human world, dressing like a peasant in a place resembling the set from an epic medieval movie made you look like, well, a peasant.

“Oh my God,” I hissed to Shaya as we walked through the room. “I look completely out of place.”

“Be quiet,” she snapped, in a rare display of the consternation she probably actually always held around me. “You are queen of the Thorn Land. You destroyed one of the shining ones’ most powerful kings. You have the right to wear whatever you want, so act like it.”

I swallowed my retort and hoped she and her tough love were right. As it was, I had to resist the urge to cling to her hand like a child. That inept social upbringing of mine made navigating this kind of attention painful. Shaya had promised to stay by my side and ensure my etiquette, though that had allayed my fears only marginally. With a great force of will, I tried to follow her advice and look haughty and unconcerned by my appearance.

“You must go to Maiwenn first,” she murmured, “and then most of them will come to you for introductions. You’ve been a great source of curiosity, and this is your first public appearance since taking the crown.”

“Got it. Maiwenn first.”

The Willow Queen appeared to be surrounded by a throng of people. We headed toward them. On the way, I received an assortment of nods, curtsies, and bows. The room held a handful of monarchs, my peers, but every other noble held a rank lower than mine. A few of those we passed offered greeting. I suspected I might have met them at a ball I’d attended last spring. Most simply gave me polite murmurings of “Your majesty.”

We reached Maiwenn’s circle of admirers. I meant to hover on the edges, but the people parted for us, soon giving Shaya and me a front-row view.

Maiwenn sat in an ornately carved wooden throne, its whirling designs accented here and there with gold. She herself was golden, with lustrous, tanned skin and long hair that looked like spilled sunshine. A gown of teal velvet-the same color as her eyes-showed her maternal curves to great advantage. Yet, her greatest ornamentation, in my opinion, was the striking figure of Kiyo standing nearby, one hand resting on the back of her chair. He wore gentry clothing tonight, simple black slacks and a long-sleeved white silk tunic that he probably could have worn among humans without question. His eyes, warm and dark, met mine briefly before turning back to the person addressing Maiwenn. Heat flared between him and me in that moment, and electricity coursed through my body as I remembered last night.

“-best wishes for you and your child, your majesty,” the man was saying. “Truly this is a joyous occasion, and we pray to the gods for good fortune and good health.”

I pondered his words, recalling Kiyo telling me this was less of a baby shower and more of a luck ceremony. The gentry did not conceive often, nor did they bear children easily. Infant mortality was high. Old superstition held that a party like this, with so many well-wishers, would imbue the child with luck and ensure prosperity.

The man finished his spiel and gestured to a servant to bring his gift. The servant handed over a small golden chest, about the size of a shoebox, which his master opened with a flourish. A few oohs sounded from those gathered, and I craned my head to see what it held. A glitter of red met my eyes.

“This is my gift to your son or daughter: the finest rubies from my land, polished and cut to perfection.”

I blinked and glanced around, wondering if I was the only one who found that gift ridiculous. What the hell was an infant going to do with a crate of rubies? Choke on them? Those things definitely needed a Not For Children Under 3 warning on them. No one else shared my view, and the group seemed to be in agreement on the gift’s value. Kiyo, however, caught my eye, and I saw the faintest of smiles play over his face as he guessed what I was thinking.