The Queen's Choice by Cayla Kluver
“I’ve already told Zabriel,” I replied without thinking, intending to shift focus from my tragedy to the reason all of us were here.
Illumina’s jaw tightened and her spine stiffened, her body language revealing that the Prince hadn’t bothered to contact her.
“You’ve seen Zabriel?”
“He found me,” I clarified, not wanting her to feel she had failed in her mission. “Found you, too. He said he had people looking out for you—probably our escort and his men.”
I gestured discreetly to Fane, who was still whistling, swinging his feet out in a little jig as he walked to go along with his music. He’d shown no interest in our conversation, but despite his nonchalant manner, I doubted he was indifferent to the arrival of William Wolfram Pyrite’s extended family. Shea was watching him like a mother bear eyeing a wolf, so I didn’t concern myself with him. She’d alert me if he did anything threatening.
“I would have found him, you know,” Illumina asserted, staring straight ahead without blinking. “Zabriel’s not as clever as he thinks he is.”
“He does think he’s pretty clever,” I acknowledged, hoping to bring a little humor to the conversation. Illumina’s dispassionate delivery was more suited to someone tracking an animal than to a person close to reconnecting with a long-lost family member.
She continued without acknowledging she had heard me. “That fellow in the pub was going to help me find him.”
I stopped walking, the color going out of my face. “You told Spex about Zabriel?”
“No,” Illumina scoffed. “Of course I didn’t. I’m not stupid, Anya.”
“I never said you were.”
She sighed and halted, the wind playing with her hair, letting it rise and fall in wisps and sheets. Confused, I met her gaze.
“I’m sorry for being rude,” she said, her voice softer, less challenging. “It’s just been a difficult couple of months. But I wasn’t going to tell the spotter—Spex—about Zabriel. I was only going to use him.”
I cringed at her word choice, though it didn’t make sense for me to care about Spex. Still, his forced presence at the execution was close to the surface of my memory. Did anyone ever look at him without trying to figure out how to use him? Not wanting to dwell on the thought, I resumed walking before Fane could notice we’d stopped.
“You’re working with humans now?” I asked, wondering if Illumina’s experiences in the Territory were opening her mind. Was this what Queen Ubiqua had intended when she’d set my younger cousin this task?
Illumina gave a high-pitched giggle that drew questioning glances from Fane and Shea, and she looked so giddy I thought she would clap her hands together. In the next instant, her expression had cleared, with no transition. Perplexed, I wondered if she had forgotten what she had found humorous.
Her composure regained, Illumina leaned close to me. “Using the spotter isn’t the same as working with him.”
I gazed into her eyes, which were but inches from my face. The perimeters of her irises were almost black, emerald saturation creeping in across the distance to her pupils. Sometimes dead like stagnant water, other times vibrant like Nature itself, my cousin’s eyes were as variable as the rest of her.
“If you know what Spex is, why would you risk talking to him?”
Illumina shrugged. “I was willing to take the chance that he wasn’t interested in me. There are things more important than my safety at stake in this game.”
I didn’t know what to make of this statement, but she was right about the stakes. Zabriel was the priority in this task we now shared.
“How do you know the spotter’s name?” my cousin queried, shrewd as always.
“I met him in Oaray and saw him again in Tairmor. How do you know about his talent?”
“I pay attention,” Illumina vaguely replied, an unsatisfying answer, one that shed no light on what route she’d taken across the Territory. Could she have gone through Oaray after all? Had Spex simply forgotten her face?
“Keep up, lads!” Fane shouted, and it took me a moment to realize he was speaking to us. Since there was no one else to hear or obey his directive, Illumina and I hastened to join him and Shea. “We’re a good ways from any savory part of the city now. Being an unsavory type myself, I’m not worried about my own skin, but you lot ought to stay close.”
We were leaving the harbor behind and entering a maze of dark, pitted streets in a part of Sheness that looked unfriendly at best. Though discomfort prickled my nerves, one thing seemed to be true—Captain Fane was at home in our seedy surroundings, strolling along with hands hooked in his coat pockets. He even skipped over cracks and puddles without looking down. A glance at Shea’s cramped and tense posture told me she didn’t appreciate his lackadaisical manner, while Illumina glared upward at the clouds of pollution that separated us from the stars. The walls of the buildings on either side of us were slick with grime, and walking these narrow alleys felt almost like being underground again.
Fane continued onward, leading the way to a dilapidated two-story house that was alive with light and unpleasant noise—drunken cackling, shouting, even the yowls of a disgruntled cat. There were a couple of sailors on the front porch, but no neighbors about, or at least none who dared complain about the racket.
With a nod to the pair whom I presumed were on watch duty, Fane hopped up the steps to open the door for us, and we crossed the threshold into a large parlor. To my surprise, the place was warm and clean, with a fire smoldering in the hearth and plenty of faded sofas and chairs for seating. A woman nearing her elder years was leaning out of a doorway to yell at some sailors who were lounging about. With a jolt, I recognized them as the ones who had taken Spex.
“You should wash up before you come into my home,” she squawked, brandishing a dirty dishrag. Her admonishment only served to draw rough laughter.
“Welcome to Aunt Roxy’s,” Fane said, winking his blue eye at us. He strutted ahead and took the woman’s hand, spinning her into the main room and finishing with a dip. “She feeds us and sews up our clothes and wounds, and does absolutely none of it with a smile on her face.”
The dishrag knocked Fane’s hat off his head, revealing gray hair plastered against his skull. Now that he was in brighter lighting, the age that his lean and nimble form belied was apparent. He couldn’t be much younger than the grumbling woman in charge of the place.
“Should’ve taken the damn thing off when you came inside, Captain,” Aunt Roxy snipped, bumbling out of his arms and straightening her clothing. She was dumpy and round, gravity unfairly pulling her features downward, but it was her attitude most of all that gave her an unpleasant countenance. While she wouldn’t have been pretty even with a smile, she could have risen into the ranks of the homely. She displayed no interest in learning our names, instead waving at the sailors with both arms like she was herding cattle, barking at them to finish the dishes. They scurried off to the kitchen, one of them good-humoredly giving her a kiss on the cheek.
Now that Roxy had cleared the room of all but Fane and the three of us, the atmosphere changed, growing more serious.
“Upstairs,” the virago pronounced, though no one had addressed her further.
“He up there?” Fane asked.
“Him and the boy. Locked the little shit in a cupboard to muffle his whining.”
Fane grinned. “I assume you mean Opal’s kid, not Pyrite.”
Roxy rolled her eyes. “I’ll bring up some food when the cleanup crew has finished earning its keep.”
Though it felt disrespectful to be a stranger in someone’s home, Roxy didn’t appear to mind our presence. Either Fane’s endorsement was enough, or she had grown accustomed to a lot of peculiar comings and goings. As she vanished into the kitchen after the sailors turned kitchen help, I became aware of weird noises coming from above—a thump
There were two rooms on the second floor: Roxy’s bedroom, and the room for everything and everyone else. The latter space was floored with knotted wood and held half a dozen beds, two wash tables, a coal-burning stove, and a desk at which Zabriel lounged, boots propped on its surface. His copious blond hair was sticking up and out over his forehead, and one hand rubbed his bristled chin. To my shock, his shroud was down, and his black-and-green wings glistened in the lamplight. I stared at them for a long time, at the smooth, effervescent membrane that ticked every so often, the movement natural and involuntary. Wings wanted to fly. My concentration was broken by a fat tabby cat near Zabriel’s feet who growled out a nasal crescendo at a floor-level cupboard whenever its locked doors buckled from the inside.
“Can he breathe in there?” Fane asked, hooking his thumbs in his belt.
Zabriel glanced over his shoulder at the cupboard. “Hey, Tiny, can you breathe?”
Spex’s response was loud and rude enough to be taken as an affirmative. Zabriel shrugged at Fane, who took a seat in the only other chair in the room, motioning for us to make similar use of the beds.
We acquiesced, though Illumina perched on the edge of a mattress at greater distance from the rest of us than was necessary. Her arms were crossed, and she was observing the goings-on like she did the crowd during celebrations in the Great Redwood.
“Hello, cousin,” Zabriel greeted her before giving me a nod. He tapped a quill pen against the desk. “Nice cloaks, Anya. I assume they came from Gwyneth?”
Before I could answer, his gaze shifted to Shea and he made an expression that was somewhere between a grin and a grimace. “I see Smiley came, too. Wonderful.”
“I’m Smiley. He’s Tiny,” Shea rejoined, eyes sparking as she pointed to the cupboard. “What does that make you? Unoriginal?”
“Where did you find her, Anya?”
Shea huffed, grinding the heel of her boot into the warped floorboards. “I’m not a lost puppy, you know. And frankly I’m beginning to wonder why we bothered finding you.”
Zabriel’s dark eyes widened, comically indignant, while Fane hooted and slapped his knee. But Illumina, looking pale and dignified, interrupted the exchange to address me.
“Accepting gifts from humans outside of official circumstances is not proper for Faerie dignitaries. You shouldn’t have taken that cloak, Anya, let alone be wearing it. Or do you no longer consider yourself a representative of the Fae? I suppose that would be understandable under the circumstances. Appropriate, even.”
I gaped at my cousin, struck dumb. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fane examining his hat as though he’d never seen it before. A stuttering sound came from Shea, likely because she wanted to defend me but couldn’t figure out how to do it. I was used to Illumina saying inflammatory things in the same tone she might have used to recite a recipe, and even I was struggling to pull my wits together.
“I see you’ve inherited your father’s tact.”
It was Zabriel who had spoken up in my defense. He tapped his pen on the desk a few more times, its rhythm consistent with rising irritation. Then he flicked it away, and it landed in the corner near Spex’s cupboard. All traces of his egotism were gone, and his gaze sliced across the room like a throwing knife, permitting Illumina no reprieve. She shifted her position, a reaction I’d never elicited from her; neither to my knowledge had Ubiqua. There was something special about facing an accusation from Zabriel, an underlying message that seemed to say: You’ve been seen, and you can never be unseen.
“The loss of Anya’s wings makes it necessary for her to adjust to life in the human world,” he went on, “but it in no way supplants her heritage. You prefer to be underestimated, Illumina, to have people think you’re young and misguided so you don’t get blamed for the assertions you make. But I’m not that gullible. And since your Queen and the majority of the Faerie people seek peace with the humans, your objections are transparently personal. Don’t masquerade them as political. Unless, of course, they embarrass you, which would be understandable. Appropriate, even.”
Illumina was trembling, her snowy cheeks so flushed that it looked like blood had been smeared on top of her skin. She wasn’t humiliated; she was infuriated. A blow against her politics or her dignity was the worst kind of insult she could be dealt.
“Just because an opinion is popular doesn’t make it right, Zabriel. Or do you think it’s right to attack Fae and sell their wings? After all, that’s a popular pastime here in the Territory.”
Having repaired a bit of her dignity, Illumina raised a hand to brush back her hair, her expression sullen.
“Relax, cousins. I meant no harm.” Peering up at us from under her brows, she sulkily added, “Though I’m not sure the same can be said of you.”
“That’s enough squabbling,” Fane declared, slapping his hat against his leg. “This is getting us nowhere.”
“You’re right,” I piped up, ready to put our disagreement behind us. “We shouldn’t be arguing. We should be making introductions. Captain, I’m Anya, and this is my friend Shea. I assume you already know Illumina, since I suspect you and your men have been keeping an eye on her. And Shea, this is Illumina. Illumina, meet Shea.”
Fane stood and extended a deep bow. “My pleasure. At your service, lads.”
Though Shea and I exchanged a look, no one corrected the captain, probably sharing my presumption that we were simply victims of his vernacular. As he retook his seat, Shea opened her mouth to say something to Illumina, but Zabriel jumped to his feet, interrupting her.
“Good to have that out of the way,” he declared, rubbing his hands together. “Now let’s focus on the business at hand.”
My older cousin’s bright and passionate disposition was back, and though it was not his intent, Illumina was once more relegated to the background.
“You, you, you, and Tiny,” Zabriel continued, pointing at those of us seated on the beds before waving dismissively at the cupboard, “are all here for the same reason. To find me.” He paused, crossing his arms over his chest, his aptitude for showmanship on full display. He loved to be at the center of attention, which was fortuitous, because others loved putting him there. “In case you haven’t already realized this: no one finds me unless I want them to.”
“Here comes the speech,” Fane interjected, drawing a scowl but not a comment from Zabriel. The older man’s words had some effect, however. My cousin’s posturing diminished, and he cut to the chase instead of embarking on whatever self-gratifying monologue Fane had referenced.
“The point is having the lot of you looking for me has become inconvenient. So I figured I’d save you the effort and the embarrassment, as well as keep you from getting hurt, and just bring everyone together.”
“Spex was looking for you, too?” I asked, drawing a series of agitated poundings from inside the cupboard. “Zabriel, he’s a Faerie spotter. This could be serious. Do you know who sent him?”
Before Zabriel could deride the notion that his enemies were near to pinning him down, Fane leaned forward and gave an actual answer, one that wasn’t geared toward establishing William Wolfram Pyrite’s reputation for his new audience.
“It took the Ivanova family long enough, but they’re finally coming round to the possibility that your cousin may be Fae. The man who tried to get in our way outside The Paladin—Opal’s his name—is a bounty hunter who’s had his eye on Zabriel for a while. He must have called in a favor from someone higher on the food chain to get his very own spotter, unless the government is straight-up employing mercenaries now.”
“Adrien Opal.” Zabriel fell back into his chair and hooked one leg over the arm, gazing at the ceiling as though reminiscing about an old friend. “His game’s get
Fane cackled, then winked in my direction.
“He’s out of the way for the time being,” the Captain reiterated. “But he’ll be back for Tiny in due course. I assume we’ll give him up in the name of good sport?”
“I don’t know what else we’d do with him. I’ve already got myself a spotter.”
My eyes darted between the two pirates, irritated at their callous attitudes. Spex might represent a deplorable cause, but he was still a person, not a chess piece.
“You can’t give Spex back! I watched the Governor kill his father in Tairmor. He’s a slave. But since Opal witnessed his abduction, right now he can’t be blamed for running off. This might be the best chance he has to be free.”
“I’m right here,” Spex growled amidst a fervent clatter inside the cupboard. “And I’m not free!”
“All right.” Fane sighed, and he crossed the room to flip the latch on the cupboard door. Spex, black hair a mess, tumbled onto the floor, the tabby cat hissing and barely scrambling out of the way. With remarkable quickness, he got his feet under him and dashed for the door. But Fane was quicker, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, popping a few buttons off in so doing. Not ready to give in, Spex swiped at the captain like a feral animal. Catching hold of Spex’s arm, Fane produced a pair of shackles and snapped one end around his wrist. The other end he attached to the leg of a nearby bedpost in a way that would require our prisoner to drag the bed with him were he to attempt escape.
“Take a break, spitfire,” the captain instructed, leaning against the closest wall to supervise Spex. “Is that any way to thank me for letting you out of there? You might have scratched my pretty face.”
Spex was still poised for flight, straining against the metal band that held him. But however avid his fury, he wasn’t going anywhere. With a glower, he slumped to the floor and pulled his knees against his chest.