Page 83 of Queen of the Night
“King Renton entered years ago.” Gretta doesn’t even look at me when she says it, just matter-of-factly marches ahead as if I shouldn’t be that surprised.
“And the rest of you?” My voice grows higher with concern.
“Much later. Renton recruited me to his cause years ago, but lucent wasn’t weak enough at first for more than one of his soldiers to cross every so often. It was dangerous, and he lost many. But in the past year, he has made much progress.”
“The last year…? Recruited…?” I whisper.
Add to that the fact that this woman is a traitor and suddenly I hate her for doubting Ikar, until I remember it doesn’t matter anymore, and sorrow descends again.
She looks over her shoulder as she speaks again. “And these last weeks? It seems as if lucent has collapsed altogether. Gloam is thriving now. More of his soldiers arrive every day.”
She smiles and waits for my reaction, as if I should be overjoyed the same as she.
Is this why lucent has decayed so quickly in such a short amount of time?
If it’s accelerating this fast… will there be a time that evenIcan no longer use it? The thought brings tingles of panic, but what can one lone Tulip do? Ikar was the man for this.He’sthe one who knew the kingdom, the one who knew how to use a sword and command an army, the one with a mark from Lucentia that bound him to his kingdom. What doIhave to offer? My people hate me, I’m practically useless with a weapon, and soon I may not even be able to lay claim to lucent magic. I don’t want to care anymore; it’s all too much, and the numbness invites me to dive a little deeper, but I resist. This may be my only chance to get answers, and it seems Gretta is willing to talk.
“He recruited you?”
She nods, leading me down a long, dark hallway. “Yes, there are other recruits here as well. It didn’t take much toconvince me that his side will win in the end. Just wait, you’ll understand soon.”
I’d rather eat a plate of live insects for dinner at Mama Tina’s than have the conversation she implies, but she’s not the one to argue over it with, so I keep my mouth shut. The interior of this building looks like any elegant home would, I guess, except this is the gloam version. Surprise, surprise. I suppose if a gloam master can call a river monster from the depths, then they could create something such as this. Everything moves like it should only be misty gloam… I brush my hand against whatshouldbe a foggy wall and find that my fingers do, in fact, meet something solid andcold. I shiver at the oddity. Gloam creatures are common enough, but I’ve never seen it used this way, and it’s more than concerning. I didn’t even know it was possible.
Like the walls, there’s nothing to indicate that a floor exists beneath mist that wafts around my boots, but somehow it holds the echo of footfalls on wood. The sensation makes me wonder when I last ate or drank, that maybe I’m not quite right in the mind after what I’ve been through.
Gretta leads me through a grand, but narrow, hallway with four closed doors on either side and two large open ones ahead. Already I glimpse a dining table and hear the deep voices of a group of men. I straighten my shoulders to prepare myself as I step through in all my blood-covered glory. I stand there, expecting the room to pause. I wait for the gratifying flash of anger at the state of my appearance in his, the supposed king’s,home. But he sits at the head of a long gloamy table… and grins.
I didn’t realize it was possible for me to scowl any further. Not one person seems bothered that I show up the way I am. In fact, the men who line both sides of his table don’t even appear surprised, though they’re dressed in what must be their bestand cleanest in a camp such as this. One that seems much too permanent.
He stands slowly, the grin never leaving his face. “My future queen, Avenara. A Black Tulip.” He says the last part almost reverently.
He gestures my way, as if everyone isn’t already looking at me. The weight of their gazes deepens, and I bite my tongue to keep myself from screaming that I am no one’s queen.
He swings an arm to the seat at his right that is noticeably empty. “Come, join us.”
What did Tatania tell me?We must play the game if we want to win.Fine. I’ll play the blazing game. And well.
I stride his way, holding eye contact with him even though my instincts scream to look away as the blue of his eyes triggers the sorrow I’ve so carefully ignored since I left my room. I walk around the back of his chair, and he moves to help me with my seat. I was doing so well, but as soon as I sit and feel his hands behind me, I’m reminded that the last man to help me with my chair was Ikar, and I unintentionally scootch it in almost violently. Can anyone else tell I’m as fragile as a vase full of spider cracks waiting to collapse?
I blink to clear my eyes, and my hands shake as I stare at the feast before me—a feast I should want to devour. Two varieties of perfectly cooked meat, a delectable smelling soup that reminds me of one that Maurine serves in her small bakery back home, and crusty bread with fresh butter and an assortment of root vegetables glisten as if freshly cooked. It’s all perfect… except for my distinct lack of appetite. Eventhatreminds me of Ikar, because, for the first time in years, I actually felt like my belt might be getting a little tighter since he kept me so well fed. Guess I’ll be back to punching holes in it again. It’s fine. Hunger and Iare good friends.
Dinner begins, and I sit silently in my chair, doing my best to avoid conversing with anyone. Especially the man to my left. The man to my right laughs and says something to the man beside him about some sort of creature I’ve never heard of before. I look up to see if I can figure out what he’s talking about, my curiosity piqued.
“Avenara,” Renton says.
My gaze swings around, and at that moment, I realize my plate is piled with food.When did that happen?
“You should eat.”
Why?the numbness whispers, but I play the game. I tentatively cradle the gloam fork, which looks as light as dense fog but feels like the cold of silver in my hand as I decide what item on the plate will go down easiest on a stomach that has no desire. I choose one of the vegetables and stab it with my fork. It’s not very satisfying. The gloam fork’s prongs pierce it easily. I lift it to my lips and chew without any saliva at all. It’s while I’m chewing that I realize how hungry I am. And thirsty.
I snatch the goblet like a heathen and drain it, feeling a little life trickle into my limbs. I take another bite. And another. I grow full after several, and I realize how dull my senses had become. For a moment, my mental clarity is back, the numbness fades, and I can think. I allow myself to lean on instinct to fight for my survival, which has always had to be strong, habitual, even. I block out the heavy blackness in my soul that is grieving and focus on Mama Tina and Renna. I know they’d be crushed if I never returned. Can I do this for them… if not for me?
“Who are you?” I ask him quietly, aware of the other dinner attendees and the fact they may try to listen.
“If you’re finished, we can discuss this privately.” He places his hands on the table and moves to stand.
“I’m not.” I shove a large bite of meat in my mouth and force myself to chew.
