Page 46 of The War Queen's Daughter

It rankles, but it’s true, and I’m better off saying it, being honest. I can’t face something squarely without being truthful. But that person is also ambitious, but far more subtle and insidious than Vae. They could be anyone.

No. The list is short. And now Amber of Heald is on it.

I don’t want her to be. She’s been here for me since I arrived. But those hands, that touch. I knew her. Yes, her. A woman tried to drown me.

Why would Amber want to kill me?

I’m glaring into my empty cup, lost in thought, only the prickle of a shift in the air making me surface from the depths of my darkening thoughts. I look up to find that a profound hush has fallen over the market square. The bustling noise of the city seems to die, muted, replaced by a ripple of murmurs, a collective intake of breath from the surrounding crowd.

Then, the ground begins to tremble faintly beneath my feet. A low, resonant rumble, growing steadily louder and nearer. It might be mistaken for thunder as it echoes back from stone walls, but I know better.

My bones vibrate in time with the slowly emerging thud in time that breaks from the steady, growing roll to a relentless four-hooved gait. I’ve heard it on battlefields, shaking the very earth as it does now, and I know what it means.

It’s the sound of a large contingent of heavy cavalry, moving at speed. A moment before it appears, the crowd parts, a wave of people instinctively drawing back, creating a sudden, gaping avenue through the previously packed square. They press against the stalls, their faces a mixture of fear and awe as a wave of riders pounds to a halt in the market.

She rides at their head, of course, in full armor and her crown woven into her braided hair, dominating the square, a fierce, imposing figure on a massive warhorse. His shoes strike sparks from the cobblestones, his powerful muscles rippling as Queen Jhanette of Heald raises her fist.

Meets my eyes.

The cavalry division stops dead at her command, to a horse. She’s staring right at me, smiling. How did she know I’m evenhere? Spies, Mother, really? Her armor, her favored plate over leather, gleams under the midday sun, battle-worn but regal. The purple and gold banners of Heald snap proudly in the breeze behind her, the queen’s crown larger than life upon it.

She dismounts, and the entire square sways like wheat waiting for the scythe before this force of nature. I’ve spent my whole life under her attention, and even I’m impressed. I’ve been away too long, it seems, sighing at her unspoken aura of raw power and unyielding ambition. Her very presence resonates in the stones beneath her feet as she tosses her reins to the ground, her mount locking in place.

I’ve been hoping for a way out of this. I knew time was short to do so.

And now, it seems, that time has finally run out.

My mother is here.

Chapter 24

Mother is a stormfront as she strides toward me, arms wide, smile on her face. Light catches the new dents in her breastplate, taken in our last skirmish, and though the armorer has clearly tried her best to smooth it out, I know my mother prefers to keep the evidence of her prowess on the battlefield if she can help it.

It might not be the glittering, decorative armor of the Overking’s guards, but the functional, lethal gear of a true warrior is far more terrifying. That’s the point, of course.

I rise to greet her. What else can I do? “Majesty,” I say, bowing to her.

“Daughter.” She embraces me, the clasps on my leather ringing against her metal chest. “You look well,” she whispers. “I hear there’s been trouble.” She lets me go, that heavy, dark smile of hers, likely meant to be reassuring, never landing its mark.

I’ve been terrified of that smile my entire life, and with very good reason.

I eye the Heald banners as they snap and crackle above our cavalry. Her eyes, sharp and predatory, know exactly what I’m looking at, though she never takes her dark gaze from me.

“Come, Remalla!” She has to be heard. There’s no other volume for Mother but loud, booming, at least in public. She’s a spectacle, and no one will ever forget she’s passed this way. The crowd parts before our riders like a tide retreating from the beach while Mother gestures for me to join her. “Have you not a warm welcome for your mother, your queen?”

“You’ve had me followed,” I hiss at her. “Of course, majesty,” I say.

“Don’t be more trouble than you’re worth,” she says directly to me, for me. “Heald! We will rest here a space, with our princess.” She surprises me, taking the seat that Zenthris left vacant, her greaves ringing when she crossed her muscular legs, looking around as though on a summer jaunt and not riding into destiny. Or what she thinks is destiny.

I’m going to have to disabuse her of that notion. Right before she tries to behead her only daughter.

This is not going to end well.

“Wine!” The queen wants what the queen wants, her voice cutting through the hushed silence. “And something substantial! I’ve been riding for days, and these Protorian roads are softer than a courtier’s breasts.”

A young server, trembling, approaches, clutching a tray. My mother’s eyes, keen and assessing, fix on him. The girl who served me cowers in the doorway and has sent her fellow instead, though she’d have been better off. Then again, knowing Mother, she’d make due regardless.

Her fist closes around the goblet of wine he offers, her gaze sweeping over his youthful face, his slight frame. “How fresh,” she says, her voice dropping low, but with an unmistakably domineering edge. “Don’t stray just yet, sweet thing.” Mother reaches out with her free hand, touches his hair, his cheek. He’s staring at the ground, lips trembling, but he holds his place valiantly.

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