Cayla Kluver - The Queen's Choice

Agitated, Thatcher shifted position as though to get up, only to decide against it.

“Shea, you’re not coming with me. If you’re bored, I’ll ask your mother to find more for you to do.”

With a disgusted groan, Shea stormed toward the bedroom. Remembering at the last moment that I occupied it, she halted, her face scrunched with deliberation. Then she knocked upon the wood. I waited a few seconds before inviting her in, not wanting her to know I’d been eavesdropping.

She closed the door and strode to the bedside table, where she struck a match to light the lamp. I watched her carefully constructed expression for signs that I could broach the topic. Then I realized she wouldn’t have come in here if she didn’t want to talk.

“How much is the price on your freedom?” I ventured.

Shea laughed bitterly, the emotion not really directed at me. “I knew you’d be listening. I kind of hoped you would be, if I’m honest.”

“Then...what do you want from me?”

“I want to know if you’ve ever thought someone—someone who’s always been right before—was wrong. About a very important matter.”

I laughed more loudly than she had. Buying a little time, I went to my pack and unsheathed the Anlace, examining the blade. Had I ever questioned someone who was wise and powerful? Ubiqua had handed me her crown. Yet where was I now? Lost in the woods, lodging with human strangers, unable to return home. I should have trusted my aunt’s judgment when she had commanded me to stay in Chrior; I should have listened to my father and Davic. All of which made me the last person who should be giving advice on this subject.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Do you see anyone else I can ask?”

It was a fair point. The Mores lived an austere and solitary life. “Yes, I’ve thought that. It’s the reason I crossed the Road. It’s the reason I ended up that bloody mess your father found.”

Shea paused, digesting this information as she chewed on a thumbnail. “Where were you headed before the hunters attacked you?”

“Nowhere, potentially everywhere. I’m looking for a cousin of mine. He ran away two years ago, but his mother is dying and she wants to see him before she does.”

I stopped, deciding Shea didn’t need to know that the stakes were higher than this, that my cousin’s mother was the Queen and that the fragile politics of two races hung in the balance.

“What did she do to chase him away?”

It was a blunt question, and a rather bizarre reaction to my story. Shea assumed automatically that Ubiqua was to blame for Zabriel’s flight, while I’d never considered that the Queen might be at fault. Feeling it wasn’t her business, I didn’t respond.

“Sounds like an important task,” Shea continued, undisturbed by my evasiveness. “I hope your luck improves from here on out. Lord knows, this family has little to spare.” She laughed self-consciously, as though she had revealed something she should not. “But thank you for being honest, Anya. I haven’t had someone be straight with me for a while now. And I haven’t had a friend in even longer.”

I didn’t bring up the fact that, discounting the time I’d spent unconscious, she’d known me for a total of three days. But then, who was I to reject her offer? She’d saved my life but a day earlier, at risk of her own. There was hardly a better foundation for building trust.

“You can have your bed back,” I volunteered, thinking it no longer fair of me to inconvenience her. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“No,” she said, almost recoiling at the thought. “For one thing, you’re hurt. And for another, you’re a guest. Now let me have a look at your wounds.”

I carefully removed and hung the dinner dress, then let Shea care for my back. After her departure, I crawled into bed, though I left the lamp lit, suspecting she might claim the floor in here rather than her sisters’ room. I heard her come in a little while later, and allowed myself a tentative smile. The barriers between us were falling away. And maybe I needed a friend as much as she did.

CHAPTER SIX

THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

Over the next few days, I joined in more of the family’s activities, helping with meals, playing with the younger girls, and assisting Marissa with her reading and letters. While I had never before spent such intimate time among a human family, I couldn’t help but think their lifestyle peculiar, even for their species. They lived far away from any human settlement, from any neighbors, ostensibly preferring to keep their own company. Thatcher, in particular, continued to make me nervous. From what I could tell, he hunted, cleaned, and repaired his weapons, chopped firewood and prowled the area around the cabin as though on alert for intruders. He appeared to have no livelihood, and even when he relaxed in his armchair with his pipe in the evening, his gun was never out of reach.

My initial assessment of Elyse as timid was a gross understatement, though the reason for her meekness remained unclear. I had assumed she was afraid of her husband, but he never raised his voice or hand to her. Instead, it seemed she was afraid of life itself.

Even though I was on the road to recovery, my body felt heavy and sluggish. I probably weighed less without my wings, but my inability to hover made me feel rooted in a way I never had before. It felt like the earth was working against me, like it was trying to prevent every step I took. This sense of discontinuity with the natural world was demoralizing, and never more apparent than when I bathed and was surrounded by water—water that, when I’d been in possession of my elemental connection, had hugged my skin gently and kept me warm like a silken coat. Now it pressed on me, pulling at me and making it hard to breathe. Before long, I dreaded submerging myself in the treacherous substance. With no ability to communicate with it, the water’s raw power was evident, and I feared the element that had once been my closest ally.

* * *

I was outside one afternoon with Shea, fetching firewood, when three sharp cracks punched through the air, startling us both.

“What’s going on?” I asked, clutching the Anlace that was sheathed at my hip. I scanned the trees, which hugged the More house almost constrictively, on alert for a threat.

“Gunshots,” Shea said shortly. “But not from my father. He doesn’t hunt this close to home. Something’s wrong.”

She patted the pocket of her coat as though to check its contents, then rushed into the trees. I sprinted after her, suspecting I would be more effective in a conflict than she would be—I wasn’t wearing a dress, and would be calmer if Thatcher was injured. Besides, she’d saved my life when I’d run off.

Shea was faster than I expected, or else I was slower, and again I bemoaned the loss of my wings for handicapping me. I caught up to her when she halted, confused about which way to go, for snow was falling and the footprints Thatcher had left on departure were gone.

“Follow me,” I said, mentally re-creating the gunfire in my head. The shots had so abruptly broken the quietude that I could still hear them ringing in my ears, and I thought I could guide us closer to their point of origin. Eventually the sound of a male voice reached us, and we jogged toward it, taking care in case there was peril ahead. We broke into a ring of trees, but heard no sounds other than the dull rustling of an animal in the distance.

“Dad!” Shea screamed, forgetting caution, and I rushed to quiet her, pressing my palm across her mouth. I’d already been attacked once in this forest. What if the voice we’d heard belonged to one of the contract hunters about whom Thatcher had told me? She tore my hand away, her eyes darting frantically about.