The Queen's Choice Page 2

  In the light of a new day, the snowfall had stopped, and everything was bright and glistening. Though it was cold, the air was crisp and fresh, not like in the human world where the people destroyed and polluted in the conduct of their lives. Many Fae feared that same pollution would seep like a dark fog across our borders and ruin our way of life. I figured if it came to that, it wouldn’t be right to blame those who lived in the Territory; instead, the fault would be ours. The only chance for the humans to befriend Nature rather than dominate it was through us and our elemental connections, and we’d locked their race out of our Realm. They had to survive somehow. That was what Illumina and the others who were part of the Anti-Unification League overlooked: the humans’ right to live.

  I flew to the palm—the large knot that made a landing pad before the Great Redwood’s main entrance—then hovered up to my aunt’s private dwelling. I waved to the guards on the ridge, making sure they recognized me before I softly dropped to my feet.

  Like closely stitched netting, thick green vines composed the floor of this part of the tree. To most looking up, this netting was the ceiling since no one passed beyond it without invitation. I took delicate steps, for the vines had give to them; despite our gift for flight, uncontrolled falls could be as deadly for Fae as for humans. Still, I knew the netting could hold more weight than it appeared; resiliency was strength, not weakness.

  The Queen’s companions were sitting around her throne, which was set back and framed by tied-away willow and lavender-leaf curtains. Catching sight of me, Ubiqua dismissed her Court, her smile and voice gentle. The last to rise was Illumina, her long black hair limp and sallowing her face. Still, her features were delicate, and her eyes, green like mine, were cheerless but sharp. She looked me up and down on her way by, and I had the feeling she was searching for changes in me since I’d been gone.

  When the Queen and I were alone, Ubiqua motioned me closer, and I sat at her feet where her entourage had been. Silence hung between us, and I began to worry something was seriously wrong. Though decorum suggested I should wait for her to speak, I took the initiative and opened the conversation.

  “Davic told me you were the one who wanted me to come home.”

  “I asked Davic not to make that known. I thought he might hold out longer than this.”

  We both knew my promised well enough to laugh softly at her remark. Davic had never kept secrets from me.

  “I hope he didn’t alarm you,” Ubiqua went on, the blue of her eyes mesmerizing, like a calming tonic. “That wasn’t my intention.”

  I searched her face for some clue to where this conversation might be going. “Aunt, if there’s no cause for alarm, why am I here?”

  “Because there is something I must tell you, and under the circumstances, sooner is better than later.”

  She smiled, although a deeper emotion seemed to be roiling within her. Her silver hair was loose in wispy curls, though here and there were braids—she treated the children of the Court like her own, and allowed them to play with her long locks. On such a glorious day, what could be troubling her?

  “This Great Redwood I call my home has been alive much longer than I have, Anya, and it will outlive me by millenniums. We are friends. I talk to it, and at times it whispers back to me. And in its great wisdom, it has whispered that the end of my life is approaching.”

  “What?” Her statement rolled over my skin like a shock wave. I studied her in a daze—yes, she was aged, but her skin glowed like a young girl’s, and her mind had lost none of its brilliance. There was no indication of illness about her.

  “But that—that can’t be right,” I stammered. “You can’t be dying.”

  “No, no, I’m not dying.” Ubiqua placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, where it settled without discernible weight. “Not now. For now, I have all the strength in the world. But soon it will forsake me, and there must be someone to whom I can entrust my legacy. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course. You know I’ll help Illumina in whatever way I can.”

  The Prince’s defection from the Realm had transferred the line of succession to the lineage of the Queen’s eldest sibling, Illumina’s father, making Illumina next in line to the throne. But knowing this didn’t negate my reservations about my younger cousin. I hesitated, wondering if I should speak my mind. While I expected Ubiqua would take my opinions in stride, it was nevertheless perfidious of me to raise them.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt, but I...I don’t think she’s ready for this. She needs more time. She doesn’t yet appreciate the value of peace with the humans.”

  To my surprise, no rebuke was forthcoming.

  “I agree with you and am glad our thoughts align. Illumina will not succeed me.” My aunt settled farther back on her throne, letting her words resonate between us, their meaning well within my grasp had I been disposed to embrace it. “I speak of an heir of my choosing and not just my bloodline. Someone who will honor my legacy and not pervert it. Someone who will finish the work I have begun, and bring humans and Fae together.”

  The Queen brought her blue eyes to bear on me, full of conviction and faith, and I was seized by an urge to run, not wanting to hear her next declaration.

  “Will you accept this responsibility, Anya? This honor? Will you continue along the path I have set even after my death, just as you have followed in my footsteps during life?”

  It was hard to hear her over the pounding of blood in my ears. Thanks to the order of my mother’s birth, I had been allowed to live a privileged life without the real responsibility of being royalty, but that was about to come to a clamorous halt. It was true I had struggled in the aftermath of Zabriel’s departure to accept the fact that, despite her idiosyncrasies, Illumina would be next to wear the Laura, the crown of laurels. But though the idea of her ruling had made me nervous, it had also been a relief. It meant no demands were placed on my future. Now the air around me felt charged with expectation, and my stomach burned as I felt the course of my life changing.

  Coming to my feet, I crossed the room, as though that would permit me to escape the question. When I neared the edge of the netting, I paused, looking down at the spiraling ridge, my thoughts likewise twisting and turning in silent debate. I was sixteen, only two years older than Illumina, and not much better equipped than she to ascend the throne.

  And what of my travels? Despite what Davic believed, I didn’t just enter the Territory in search of adventure; my crossings were of assistance to my father, sojourns to gather information about human activities. But a queen couldn’t be gone for months at a time. I would have to stay, and sit, and watch, and listen, always the voice of wisdom and the hand of equanimity. I would be domesticated...trapped in this city, charged with the responsibility of guiding an entire people to happiness regardless of my own.

  Then there was, Nature forbid, the prospect of another war. I did not want to be accountable for deaths before I was even old enough to bring life into the world. No, the Laura would not fit me as it did my aunt.

  “How soon?” I asked hoarsely, forcing myself to look into the Queen’s face. “When are you supposed to die? Can we stop it?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” she responded, her eyes boring into me, uncovering my fears, their roots, and how deeply they coiled. But she persisted, for she put her people and her Realm before all else. “I believe the Redwood’s prediction, but whether you choose to or not will make no difference in the end. I will die one day, and when that day comes, I have to know that someone...someone with a strong and pure heart will be stepping up to rule in my place.”

  “What makes you sure I have a strong and pure heart?” I put a hand against the Redwood’s wall and tightened my fingers, its heartwood sliding under my nails. “I understand your reservations about Illumina—I have them, too—but Aunt, I want my life.”

  Though I felt childish sayin
g these things, her eyes were sympathetic, and she reached out to me, summoning me to her side.

  “There is only you, Anya. Only you share my ideals. Only you can continue leading the Fae toward peace with the humans.” She took my hand, lightly touching the white gold band with a ruby center that I wore around my right middle finger. She held it up to catch the light, reminding me of who I was, for the ring signified that I was a member of the royal family, the ancient Redwood Fae. “On the one hand, you deserve your life. On the other, the Faerie Realm and the human world deserve your dedication. What is your answer?”

  I tugged on a strand of my hair, trying to ignore the warmth and compulsion in her eyes, trying to concentrate on the question and not on the prospect that she might be dead in what—a few years? Months? Mere weeks? The possibilities were enough to break my heart.

  “Who else knows?” I asked. “About what the Great Redwood told you?”

  “No one. I wanted to resolve things with you before I told your father or the Council.”

  “Then you will talk to Illumina.” My spirit settled into a state of numbness and resignation. I had a duty to fulfill that was of greater importance than my own desires. “You will tell her...that I am going to be your successor.”

  Ubiqua smiled gently, pleased by my decision but more compassionate than ever. “Yes, today. And I will immediately send the news to Cyandro.”

  Although my father was her Lord of the Law, I couldn’t fathom the reason it was imperative to tell him so quickly. But the Queen continued to lay out her plans, not permitting me time to dwell on the question.

  “I would like you to bring Illumina to me, and to stay with us when I inform her of my decision.”

  I agreed, despite the fact that this was not a conversation I wanted to witness. My nerves were already raw, and I didn’t think I could handle hearing Ubiqua’s news a second time. While no one, including the Queen, was immortal, she had held me after my mother, her sister, had died following a long illness. She had helped my father to carry on. She had given me reasons to smile when I’d thought there were none. I loved her deeply, and the thought of losing her was devastating.

  I went to find Illumina in accordance with the Queen’s request, taking my time for the sake of my churning emotions. My cousin also lived in the branches of the Great Redwood, though she more so under the guidance of our aunt. She was fourteen, an orphan of just two years. Having experienced the death of my mother, I felt for her, but my empathy did not stop me from recognizing that the girl was strange.

  Illumina’s small shelter was sprinkled with books, odd items she had collected, and blankets, all of which were acceptable enough. But the walls were splattered red and black with whatever images or limericks entered her mind to paint, and sheets of parchment with beautiful but macabre charcoal drawings were strewn across her table. When she found or concocted a message she especially liked, it was no secret that she would use a small knife to carve it upon her body. Her arms were scarred; across the crest of her right breast was engraved: Keep silent your screams and never look back. When she wore a corset dress, she made no effort to hide this particular disfigurement, as though the sentiment would impress others. In my case, it only turned my stomach, and pushed my thoughts toward the sad horror that she had once sat alone with her tool of choice to work her art, blood dripping down her chest, ignoring the pain, and felt proud in the aftermath. Sometimes I tried to envision committing the act myself, the dedication it would take, and the idea kept me awake at night. Illumina frequently disappeared, probably to some hideaway in the Balsam Forest where she found the privacy she needed to mutilate herself, and I wished I knew where, in the hope that I could stop her.

  “Hello?” I called, opening the door, then adding a firm knock upon the wood.

  “Anya,” my cousin responded, coming into the living area from her bed chamber, which was set off by a curtain of leaves. She had such a high, sweet voice, and once she’d pushed back her black hair to reveal her face, I could tell she was delighted to see me. She was a true study in contradictions.

  “Aunt wants to meet with us both,” I told her, my hand still on the door.

  “Yes, of course.” She dropped the book she had been reading, and it landed on the floor with a thump. “She’ll want to tell me herself that you’re to be Queen.”

  She went to a cupboard for a bark cup, still seeming happy. After sprinkling herbs into it from a small container, she extended it to me, and I obligingly ran a finger around the rim, filling it with water I derived from the air. Illumina blew on the liquid, amplifying her body heat until it began to steam.

  “You’re not upset?” I asked, thrown by her dispassionate attitude. To my knowledge, Illumina had always aspired toward the throne in her own way. She was a lonely girl; to her, the Laura would have been a constant companion.

  “I’m not,” she said, now blowing on the drink to cool it. “Honestly, I couldn’t have expected it to be any other way. The line of succession has been a bit irrelevant in our family ever since my father was passed over for the throne and Aunt became the heir. And just like then, you have more to offer than I do, at least in the Queen’s mind. You’ve always been a step ahead of me.”

  I couldn’t disagree, and the moment that followed was one of the longest of my life.

  “I’ve become quite addicted to this tea,” Illumina resumed, her soft giggle inconsistent with the seriousness of her words. “I can hardly make it a day without a cup. Just let me drink this, and then we can go.”

  I waited with her in stilted silence, trying to figure out what went on in her head. Her upbringing had been unusual; that was inarguable. Having been under the influence of both a generous, peace-loving queen and a human-hating father, I could understand the confusion with which she went about her daily life. But sometimes she reminded me of a boulder rolling down a mountain, bounding this way and that, no one quite sure where she would land at any given moment.

  Finished, Illumina set down her cup and flew with me to the palm, then up the ridge to the throne room.

  “Aunt was keen for you to return,” my cousin remarked along the way. “I knew it had to be official business. But why now? And why so urgent?”

  “The Queen will tell you that herself.”

  It wasn’t my intent to be short with Illumina, but I didn’t want to talk about the Redwood’s prediction, for telling another person would somehow make it more real. And if it was real, then my life was careening toward inalterable change.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE WINTER SOLSTICE

  The news of Ubiqua’s impending death was as much a blow to Illumina as it had been to me. Perhaps more of one, after the loss of her parents, her mother in childbirth and her father so recently. She fell to the ground at our aunt’s feet and cried, gripping her hand. It was painful to watch; I didn’t want to be present and didn’t know why I was.

  At last, Ubiqua motioned for Illumina to stand. “You must be strong, child. I am not leaving you today. And Anya will need your help in time to come, when she rules.”

  Illumina took a few gasping breaths, then her green eyes darted to me.

  “How am I to help Anya? Unless it is that you doubt her.”

  Ubiqua’s eyebrows drew together, mirroring mine. “I have never doubted your cousin in anything. She will be a great ruler.”

  “Then you must doubt me. You want me to be an aid to Anya so that I’m not left to my own devices. Is that it?”

  “No! I want you to be an aid to Anya because the two of you should stay close, always.”

  “We have never been close.” Illumina sounded sad now, though an underlying tone of suspicion lingered in her voice. “You know we’ve always disagreed on important issues, issues that, in your opinion, make me unfit to rule or be any sort of aid. Don’t patronize me, Aunt.”

  She
turned her back, seeming so hurt by the end of her speech that I would have called out to her had Ubiqua, her voice unexpectedly stern, not done so.

  “I am not patronizing you, Illumina. In fact, I have a task for you, if you will accept it. One that more than proves my faith in you.”

  The Queen’s words triggered a warning inside my head, but I did not speak out. It wasn’t my place to question.

  “I’m sending you into the human world to find someone for me. Someone very important.”

  Like an angry wind it hit me—what the Queen was going to ask of my cousin—and my lips parted in shock, my poise shredded. A task to preserve Illumina’s dignity was one thing; one that endangered her life was quite another.

  “I need you to find my son and tell him about the Redwood’s prediction. Ask him to come home, if only long enough to say goodbye. I want to see him one last time.”

  Other than the initial efforts to locate Zabriel after his flight from the Faerie Realm, no attempt had been made to track him. My father’s ambassadors in the Warckum Territory would have kept their eyes and ears open for news of the Prince, but the risk of alerting the humans to his identity and presence had been considered too great for any other action to be taken. Ubiqua had thus been forced to accept that her son’s destiny lay in his own hands. If he returned, it would be of his own volition.

  Illumina appeared awed by the Queen’s request, her eyes wide and unblinking, but she quickly acquiesced.

  “I’ll do it, Aunt,” she said, voice solemn as if she were taking an oath.

  “Thank you. I’ve already told the Lord of the Law to expect you. He will advise you about matters relevant to your journey. But I must caution you in one regard. Above all else, you must remember not to speak of your quest to anyone associated with Governor Wolfram Ivanova. He will not be a friend to you in this endeavor.”