The Queen's Choice by Cayla Kluver
Without Evangeline’s spark, it was dark in the room; only the yellowish glow from the street lamps outside assured us we weren’t entombed. The gloom was omnipresent evidence of what my friend had lost.
“You must have some memories,” I encouraged. “Think about being examined by the doctor. Can you work backward from there? What’s the last thing you remember before you were given aid?”
Evangeline shook her head of matted hair, maybe having already tried this approach, maybe not wanting to try at all. The extent to which I understood her apathy was alarming. I certainly hadn’t tried very hard to help Tom Matlock and Constable Farrier identify the hunters who had attacked me. But there was something bigger going on in Evangeline’s case. Spex was still in Oaray identifying Faeries, and that meant others were in danger. She had to recall something.
“You went to Oaray,” I tried again, hoping to trigger her memory. “Roughly four months ago.”
“Has it been that long?” she asked, voice tremulous.
I nodded, my heart aching for her, though I refused to drop the subject.
“It was autumn, the leaves were turning color. You met with two men about getting your travel papers. Their names were Spex and Hastings. Spex was about our age and carried a cane. Hastings was big and bald. You probably went up to an attic room with them, just like you were told to do before you left Chrior.”
Her brain was working now, her eyes flicking back and forth as she sifted through bits and pieces of her memories. Then she sat up straighter.
“I remember them. Anya, do you know what happened to me?”
“Some of it, but not everything,” I confessed, emotions divided over what I was doing. Would stirring recollections help Evangeline, or just get me the information I wanted? “I know a few things because I met Spex. When you went to get papers from him and Hastings, he identified you as a Faerie. They probably drugged you—perhaps put something in a drink. You might have felt funny.”
“Yes,” she interrupted, nodding emphatically. “But it only comes in flashes after that.” She tugged at the knots in her hair, eyes frightened. “I could use some water.”
I rose to fulfill her request, dread prickling my stomach at the images that might be flooding her mind.
After taking a few sips from the glass I brought for her, Evangeline resumed her tale.
“There were Sepulchres, these horrid white things. I didn’t think they still existed, but that’s what someone called them. My captors locked me in a room with one of those creatures and...” Evangeline shuddered and met my eyes. “It knew my elemental connection, Anya. Its face glowed in front of me, and it whispered fire again and again, even though its mouth was...was...”
“After that?” I prompted, not needing to hear her stutter out a description of the webbed skin covering the Sepulchre’s gruesome facial orifice.
Evangeline growled in frustration, hitting her forehead with the base of her palm. Her nails were all different lengths, some chewed, some sharp, all tinged a telltale green around the cuticles.
“That’s when everything in my head gets loud and cluttered, and I want to split it open because there’s too much to hold inside.”
“Then tell me. Let some of it out.”
She gulped in air and tried again. “There was darkness, unending darkness, and...my body was dragged across the floor, and the ground I think, a number of times.” She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the sensations. “Pain, so much pain. And the sound of water.”
There was clarity in this last revelation, and I latched on to the potential clue.
“Here in Tairmor?”
“No, it wasn’t constant. There was an ebb and flow. And the air tasted like salt, and dirt, like I might have been underground.” She sighed, the light that had momentarily flickered in her cornflower eyes fading away.
“I’m sorry, Anya. I don’t know if I’m making this up, or if I’m telling it in order, or really much of anything. The only thing I’m sure of is that I ended up in a hospital in Tairmor. Who knows? Maybe I was in the city the whole time.”
Salt, dirt, water, transport—my mind was coursing through possibilities so fast my head grew fuzzy, and a dry nausea made my stomach ache. This was not the time to panic or speculate, though I wanted badly to do both. Instead, I gave my friend a sympathetic smile.
“You have no reason to be sorry. None of this is your fault. The people who should be sorry are the ones who hurt you. They tried hard to make sure you couldn’t remember anything, but you did. You survived. You beat them, Evangeline.”
“I’ll never fly again. I’ll never set a spark alive. I’ll never cross the Bloody Road and return to Chrior. I’ll never be able to pass the gift of magic to my children, which means they’ll never know the pleasures I’ve loved and lost.” The blankness was back in her eyes. “It doesn’t feel like I beat them. It feels like they took everything from me.”
Her epiphany about children hadn’t occurred to me, and the insight grated like broken glass against my insides. I fought despair at her condition, at mine, and at the future. She and I had lost much more than our own magic—we’d lost it for all those who would follow in our bloodline. I bit my lip, my thoughts going to Davic. He had the right to have Fae children; he deserved to have Fae children. But he couldn’t have them with me. Any child of mine would be little more than human. At that realization, I flushed as though with fever. My bigotry, hidden from me so well for so long, settled on me like crushed velvet, at once too heavy to bear and too comfortable to throw aside. I saw now that I didn’t think a human life worth living. I didn’t fight for humanity because I saw the need for equality, but because I pitied human existence.
I closed my eyes, appalled at myself, then fixated once more on my friend, for regardless of the turmoil I was feeling, she needed comfort.
“I’m here,” I murmured, clasping her cold hands, not knowing what else to say. “You’re not alone. We have each other.”
“At least I had the chance to tell you what happened to me. You’ll tell Ione, if you see her again?”
“You’ll tell her yourself. Don’t think for a moment that she won’t come and visit us.”
I was trying to be upbeat, but the words felt stiff coming off my tongue. Still, Evangeline seemed to find some solace.
“I think I can rest now.”
“You should stay the night. There’s no need to go out on the streets.”
“I will. I’ve already talked to Fi.” She came to her feet and walked around the table to give me a tight embrace, then padded off down the hallway.
I laid my head on the table, so tired my eyes were watering, so tired I’d forgotten to ask how she’d ended up in that alleyway or if she’d heard word of Illumina. That could wait until tomorrow, although her tearful reunion with me seemed to negate hope. And even if Evangeline had seen Illumina, I had to wonder how much of the incident she would recall. As I reviewed the things my friend had told me, it occurred to me that fate had never been kind to her. First her parents had driven her out of her own home with their manipulations and abuse; then her much-anticipated Crossing had turned into a nightmare. The scope of her suffering was almost incomprehensible. More than that, it was horribly unfair.
In need of sleep to clear my head, I stumbled back to the room Shea and I shared with the other privileged guests of the Fae-mily Home. Had they also been sent here by Luka Ivanova? How many of us did he see in a week, a month? Maybe he was naive enough not to realize that someone was hunting Fae—not an opportunistic criminal, but someone important, someone with a goal. The Governor’s son sent us to Fi believing each incident to be an anomaly, but there was nothing anomalous about any of this. These acts reeked of hatred against my people, of a desire to see us all hurt. And as far as I knew, I was the only one who had started putting the pieces together. But wh
* * *
Shea shook me awake the next morning, and I frowned, one hand going to my aching head. I’d slept with my jaw clenched tight, and it as though I’d driven my teeth through my skull. I looked around to see that we were the only ones in the bedroom, everyone else having headed to the dining hall.
“Breakfast,” Shea said, her brusque manner telling me things were not altogether back to normal between us, despite the day that had passed after our fight. I moaned, wanting to keep sleeping, but the smell of sausage, eggs, and warm bread hung like a cloud around me, and my stomach insisted I get up. I began to dress, recounting my conversation with Evangeline while I did so.
“Someone cut off her wings, and it wasn’t hunters after a trophy. Whoever’s responsible wanted to know her elemental connection. I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m starting to think I was lucky I lost my wings before we got to Oaray.”
“And I’m starting to think we should have forced Spex to come with us,” Shea replied, fastening her bullet belt over her shoulder. On one hip she secured her pistol, on the other a hunting knife. Her bed was made, her things packed, and it hit me that she was ready to depart. “I’m positive he knew more than he told us.”
“Shea, we can’t leave yet. I have to stay for a little while and help Evangeline.”
“I have to help myself. I can’t stay in Tairmor any longer.”
The implications of this statement reverberated in the silence until Shea sighed and slung her pack over her shoulder.
“Breakfast?” she repeated, picking up her cloak.
I nodded and accompanied her to the dining room, where we sat beside each other, neither of us speaking. Guilt and recrimination hung in the air, though I didn’t think either of us was especially spiteful. The end of our partnership, which I’d thought I’d postponed, was here after all. I would stay with Evangeline; Shea would go on ahead without me. I searched the faces of the others around us, but did not see my blonde friend among them. No matter—she’d looked so exhausted that she was probably still sleeping. I would catch up with her later. I eyed Shea, aware of how much I would miss her and wanting to tell her so. But before I could open my mouth, a scream rent the air, jolting me out of my chair and causing Shea to spill her juice across the table.
“Damn it,” she barked. “What the hell was that?”
“Fi!” the aching cry went on, raising the hair on the back of my neck. “Fi!”
The owner of the Fae-mily Home came scurrying from the foyer, then zigzagged among the tables to reach the back corridor and the sleeping rooms, everyone’s collective gaze following her progress. At the sound of weeping, Shea and I locked eyes, then stood and walked slowly after her, not wanting to incite a stampede toward the source of the disturbance.
When we made it to the hallway, we hurried to a bedroom at the far end, where a small group of Faeries had gathered. While I couldn’t imagine what had occurred, their expressions of horror and disbelief told me it was bad.
“Nature,” I heard Fi gasp. “Go, get it out of here! No one needs to see that!”
A young boy, pasty with shock, staggered past us, carrying a flask that he quickly deposited in a rubbish bin, and Shea and I stepped into the room. Someone pale lay on the floor, and four others, including Fi, knelt around her. The shade was drawn over the window, and I bypassed the huddled group to allow sunlight to penetrate the scene.
I was wrong. The girl on the floor wasn’t pale. She was blue. Her skin was exposed outside the scant cover afforded by her undergarments, and her limbs were stiff and still. I stood immobilized, not quite able to comprehend the scene. Shea was in the doorway, the boy who had disposed of the flask trembling behind her. Tears like jewels adorned the faces of the others gathered around the body. Fi touched the dead girl’s cheek, withdrawing her hand quickly at the shock of cold. And yet I couldn’t make organized sense out of what I was seeing and feeling. Dead woman. Blue skin. Revulsion. Grief. What was I missing?
I inched closer, and came to the strange understanding that facial features in and of themselves weren’t reliable for identifying people. At home when I saw Davic, I didn’t recognize him by his physical countenance so much as I did by his soul full of inner peace, the presence he emanated. With Shea, it was her fiery, determined spirit; Illumina, her aura of intelligence and her shifting moods. Without Evangeline’s life and personality, she was a mouth and a nose and a pair of eyes almost indistinct from everyone else’s. Gradually, I filled in what was missing, and I saw my friend lying on the floor, her eyes open, and although I’d thought her gaze empty the night before, I understood now that empty was not a word to be used lightly. Evangeline’s eyes were waxy, and had they not been so vibrantly blue in life, I doubted I would have been able to discern their color in death.
Still, I couldn’t react. All I managed were two shocked and anguished words. “It’s Evangeline.”
I was barely aware of movement, but Shea appeared at my side, anchoring me and keeping me upright.
“What happened?” she asked, the question directed to the others in the room.
Fi looked up from where she was kneeling by the body, her orange-and-yellow wings curled around her like a blanket.
“We found her like this, with an empty flask in her hand. Undiluted Cysur—you can’t mistake the smell. She must have taken her own life.”
As the words hit me, I doubled over and lost my breakfast. Evangeline was dead by her own hand, the losses she had suffered too great for her to bear. I hadn’t helped her after all. Maybe I’d even hurt her. Or maybe all she had wanted was the peace that came from telling her story to someone who cared, someone who would see that her friends and family knew her fate. If that need had been keeping her alive, I wished I’d never satisfied it.
I swayed on my feet, and if Shea hadn’t been there, I would have fallen into my own vomit. Images overtook my senses, and I stumbled away from her to press my back against the wall, closing my eyes against the pain hammering my skull.
* * *
I dug my fingers deep into the soil, moist and teeming with life from the ponds all around and the fountain statues that sprinkled water onto everything like dewdrops. The water lilies were pink and ripe, birds chirped their spring songs, and Fae children ran about, chased by their parents, the laughter of both filling the last hollow corners of the woods. Chrior was alive after a long winter spent indoors bundled in warm clothing. Today we were barefoot and free.
Ione and Evangeline made the two remaining points of our triangle, sorting through rocks they found in the mud and speculating about what rare stones they might have uncovered. Even at eight years old, I was aware of how uniquely beautiful Ione was, with her crystalline-clear blue eyes, soft blond hair, and heart-shaped face, and of how unlike the other children Evangeline was. She had a wild appearance—clothes that had been spilled on and not cleaned, and an eager and open expression that suggested she would try anything once.
Evangeline had just finished telling us about the human graveyard she’d found hidden away in the forest, and the angry ghosts that lived there, when a gruff exclamation from nearby caught our attention.
“Illumina!”
The voice was a man’s, and I recognized it at once as belonging to my uncle Enerris. I turned, garnering grass stains on the seat of my pants, and saw my little dark-haired cousin frozen halfway across the green to us. Her ears poked through her lank locks, and her lip trembled. She’d been coming to play with us, and her father was annoyed, Nature knew why. My mother always said to be nice to Illumina and include her in our games, but I didn’t know how when my uncle, whose presence tended to end
“Let her go, Enerris.”
In the background, my mother appeared beside my scowling uncle. He was old and gray and hard, while Incarnadine was soft yet resilient like the flesh on my palm. “Excuse me?” he replied, slowly and deliberately.
“You heard me.” My mother didn’t back down; her vigor made up for what she lacked in height and weight in comparison with her brother. She waved my cousin ahead with a maternal smile. “Go on, Illumina. Go play.”
Practically atremble, Illumina took advantage of this temporary permission to be a child, scrambling around me to settle between Evangeline and Ione, as far from our parents as she could go. There was a moment of silence, then Evangeline hugged her and pointed out the pile of rocks she’d accumulated. Things in the triangle—or whatever shape we now made—returned to normal, though I kept one ear attuned to what was happening behind me. I’d never been hurt by Enerris, or seen him hurt anyone else, but there was something unkind about him, and I didn’t like him being near my mother.
“She’s my daughter, Carna,” he snarled.
“Then be a father, for Nature’s sake. She’s six years old.”
“Haven’t I warned you enough times not to come between me and my child? I’ll raise her how I see fit.”
“Giving her leave to play is hardly interfering in her upbringing.”
“I say it is. I say all you do is interfere. And one day you’ll be sorry for it.”
“I’ll be dead before I’m sorry for trying to give that girl a little joy.”
My mother was unrelenting in her stance, enough so to draw the attention of a few others on the grounds, including the Queen, who came there often to watch the children of her court flourish.