Page 12 of Return of the Vengeful Quee

“A simple updo will be fine,” Charis said, smoothing the skirt of her new navy-blue velvet day dress. A thin silver rope laced up the bodice, and tiny silver ferns were embroidered across the skirt. It was pretty, but Charis was uninterested in wasting time on a complicated hairstyle, no matter how fashionable it might be. The days of needing to send a clear message to her political opponents with her appearance were long gone. Now the only message her opponents needed to receive from her could be delivered with a sword.

Not that a sword was much use against the Rakuuna, but hopefully today’s errand would give Charis another option.

Closing her eyes against the pain of Nita’s firm brush, she focused on what she’d already gained since her arrival in Solvang.

She had an ancient map, painstakingly copied onto a new scroll of parchment over the span of several hours in the library, that showed Te’ash’s location in the dangerous waters above Embre. She had weapons of every description donated by King Gareth, and Holland was happily studying technique and then training her crew how to use each item in the ship’s new armory. She had amnesty for those who’d escaped Calera and a safe place for them to live.

Shifting in her seat, she clasped her hands tightly in her lap to resist the urge to fidget.

“I think perhaps a minucca today, Your Majesty,” Nita said as she yanked another curl through her brush. “With your bone structure, it will look quite fetching.”

Charis couldn’t care less about looking fetching, but she nodded anyway. The faster she agreed to Nita’s suggestions, the faster she would look presentable enough to leave the room.

It all came down to learning the Rakuuna’s weakness so she could leave Solvang before they destroyed her kingdom. It had to be possible to kill them somehow—nothing was immortal.

“Just a moment more, please.” Nita wielded a damp brush and a collection of hairpins like a sculptor determined to turn reluctant clay into whatever she wished. Charis tapped her foot and gripped the sides of the chair to keep herself from squirming.

Her suite was on the east side of the palace. The sun’s rays streamed over the windowsills and puddled on the plush ivory rug in pools of golden light. Hildy slept in a patch of sunlight, her orange-and-black fur looking sleek and warm.

The kitten was her last connection to Father, but she was also a connection to Tal. Every stroke of her back reminded Charis of visiting Father, and every rumbly purr brought her back to her own sitting room, curled up in front of her fire while Tal tucked Hildy into her lap, handed her a mug, and told her to drink the cocoa, pet the kitten, and breathe for a while.

How had he done it? How had he slipped so far past her defenses that he knew what Charis needed before she did?

A knock sounded at her door, and Nalani entered.

“There, Your Majesty. You look a picture.” Nita patted Charis’s hair one last time and stepped back.

Pushing thoughts of the traitor into the darkest corner of her heart, Charis turned to examine the looking glass mounted above the vanity. Her brown curls had been tamed into a swirling coil of braids threaded through with red velvet ribbon and then twisted into an updo. The festive look was a stark contrast to the pallor of her cheeks and the smudges of exhaustion beneath her blue eyes, but there was little anyone could do about that.

“Thank you, Nita.” Charis rose, ignoring the way the room swayed for a moment before righting itself.

The maid frowned. “I’ll ring for breakfast, Your Majesty.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m running late as it is. You are dismissed.”

The instant Nita closed the door behind her, Nalani said firmly, “I’d like your permission to represent Calera in discussions with various members of Solvanish society.”

Charis reached for her new white fur cloak, but then reconsidered. If recent rumors were true, public sentiment in Solvang had turned against her as news about the bounty spread. She would be much less conspicuous on the docks wearing her plain gray cloak.

“You’re not even listening to me.” Nalani stepped in front of Charis and fisted her hands on her hips.

Charis blinked, her focus momentarily shifting to her cousin. “Did you need something?”

Nalani’s dark eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“What is it?” Charis’s mind raced through the potential problems Nalani might be bringing to her attention. Trouble at the refugee apartments? Invitations to events Charis couldn’t afford to decline when she needed to shore up support among the nobility? Holland offending yet another member of the palace staff?

“I need your permission to speak with your authority to members of Solvanish society.”

Charis paused. “Speak about what?”

“Battle plans, medicinal supplies, schooling for our refugee children, and that’s just for starters.”

“Battle plans?” Charis moved toward her closet to retrieve her gray cloak.

“Father’s brother knows a retired admiral. I’m certain I can get him to agree to discuss strategy with me. If you figure out how to kill the Rakuuna and our allies commit ships to our cause, we’re going to need help developing a battle plan.”

“I know what we need. What I don’t understand is why you’re asking to take care of that on my behalf.” The words rushed out, sounding harsher than Charis intended. “A queen should work directly with her military advisors.”

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