Page 5 of The Witch Queen

“I’ll send word next time before I come. I promise.” She grins satisfactorily. Then I’m pulling away, her arms lingering to get one last touch, leaving her staring after Fionn and me as we make our way out of the Floating Market.

“Do you think you’ll ever actually take a lover? A real one?” Fionn asks, his assessing gaze seeing everything as usual.

“I could ask the same of you,” I challenge with a smirk. He merely nods, and we continue our walk out of the Floating Market in silence. Once we exit the pier that marks the end of the market, Fionn heads in the opposite direction of the palace. I stop him.

“Silene needs to be with us when we debrief. She’s got more brains than us both combined.”

“That’s why I told her to meet us there,” he says with a cocky smirk, nodding toward our favorite gambling den.

I grin wide. “In that case, lead the way.”

The Salty Saloon is dark inside despite the bright Velmaran daylight, its windows covered with light-blocking curtains. Despite it being the middle of the day, the wobbly wooden tables are all filled with patrons drinking tankards of the golden ale and gambling away their savings.

Once we’re settled into a dark corner, away from prying eyes or listening ears, Silene says, “It makes sense with everything we’ve heard that the King is stockpiling thayar in the Northern Mountains, despite intense political pressure about declining supplies. I overheard my parents discussing plans with another noble house to coerce him into restoring their stores. He doesn’t often deny them something like this. He’s got to be planning something big.” We sit in silence for a few moments, lost in our thoughts. “So, here’s what we know,” Silene starts. My lips quirk up in a smile at what Fionn and I tease is her catchphrase. When she faces a problem she can’t sort through, she goes back over the facts methodically. “We know supplies of thayar in Arnia are limited. We know the nobles are pissed about this.”

“Because they are impotent, sniveling rats who rely on its magic-enhancing properties to stay in power and oppress the people of this kingdom,” Fionn interjects.

“Yes, Fionn, we know how you feel about the noble houses. Your commoner birth is showing, and you’re not helping,” Silene remarks, then sticks her tongue out at him.

He gestures in mock offense. “Just trying to add to the list of things we know. We know the nobles are losing their shit because they know what will happen if the people see how weak their magic has become from centuries of inbreeding.”

“As I wassaying,” Silene continues as she tucks an unruly coil of hair behind her pointed ear, “the nobles are pissed, because they need the flower supply to maintain control.” She gives him a look that says,Satisfied?He nods. “We know the story being told in Arnia is that the imports are being diverted to the Nivan Desert. We know the Nivan Desert is also seeing fewer and fewer thayar shipments, which they need to power their air channelers to ship goods across the desert. And we know most of the desert merchants believe the thayar is being secreted away to the Northern Mountains…” She fades off, stopping where we always stop.

“He has to be stockpiling it for a magical purpose, right?” I say. “Maybe another one of his experiments?”

“That is one big fuckin’ experiment,” Fionn adds. He’s not wrong. The amount of thayar that’s disappeared could power the kingdom’s trade for centuries.

“All we can do right now is wait for more information to reach us,” I finally say. “With the upcoming Forum, what my father negotiates with Thayaria and the other kingdoms will be illuminating. Until then, we sit tight.”

They both nod their agreement while I push down my feeling of uneasiness for what must be the tenth time today alone. I need to do something to stop my father. And soon.

Laurel

The Prophecy of the Thayarian Queen has many variations, though the most common reads as follows:

A Queen shall rise whose strength matches the powers of old. Born to a daughter of mortals under the blood moon bloom—unbounded, limitless, her might will see no equal. Blood-to-Blood, the Queen and her fated love will unite what has been torn apart.

A Brief History of Modern Thayaria

The light filters in through the curtain on the balcony as wet, scratchy licks pepper my face. Groaning, I roll away from Lunaria and hide my eyes under the silken sheet of my bed. Undeterred, the large feline nuzzles my neck, purring so intensely it vibrates my vocal cords.

“I’m getting up. You can stop fretting over me,” I grumble back at her. Slowly blinking in the light of the morning sun, I stare up into the intelligent, golden eyes of the wolf-sized cat I consider my pet but who absolutely considers herself my keeper. She leaps from the bed, satisfied that I won’t go back to sleep. I want to do just that to annoy her but instead fling my feet off the side of the bed. Lunaria has always had a keen understanding of my needs, and today’s early wake up is no different.

The air is brisk and biting. I left the doors to the balcony wide open last night so Lunaria could prowl outside before collapsing into bed. It’s early autumn in Thayaria, and the nights are growing colder and colder. Slipping on a robe, I quickly attune myself to the aether pulsing strongly around me, willing the floors to heat and the air to warm. With another thought, the fireplace across the room is roaring, and I sigh in contentment. Much better.

My large bedroom is all soft throws and comfortable leather chairs. The bed is covered in almost as many blankets as pillows, and the pillows take up half of the bed. In the corner is a large palette for Lunaria, though she usually sleeps in the bed with me or on the balcony. Her sleek black body prowls to the curtains blowing in the light morning breeze, and she pauses to invite me to follow her before walking outside.

I part the curtains and step onto the balcony, looking down upon Arberly, the capital city of Thayaria. It’s early, so the city is still yawning awake, only a handful of citizens buzzing in the soft morning light. Beyond the city, the rolling hills of Thayaria glisten with dewdrops, the dark green mounds dotted with swaths of deep crimson and rust from the last months of the thayar flower bloom. This far from the coast, Thayaria is hazy from the barrier of mist I accidentally erected around the kingdom during the war with Velmara, but not so hazy that visibility is impacted. I take a deep inhale, appreciating the smell that only comes with autumn mornings—pine and petrichor, with sweet notes of dew. With one final glance across the pink-hued sky, I turn back to my chambers.

Somehow, Amaryll has already drawn my bath and laid out a breakfast tray, the stealthy housekeeper always one step ahead of even Lunaria. On my way to the bathing chamber, I take the steaming cup of tea and add in a heaping pour of cream.

The large space is one of the few luxuries I allow myself as Queen of Thayaria, with a large sunken tub nestled next to a set of floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking a view of more of Thayaria’s rolling, misty hills. A plush rug covers most of the floor, and there are pipes to pump water into the tub and a small basin tucked against one wall. After undressing and sinking into the steaming water, I sip my tea while watching the verdant hills slowly lighten in color as the sun fully rises.

Twenty minutes later, the water sluices down my wide hips and luscious thighs as I leave the bath. Wrapped in a towel, I gingerly step into the attached closet, looking at the gowns and tunics lining the walls. Choosing a black velvet gown that accentuates my figure, I will the water in my hair to evaporate into the already humid room, then set about braiding my wavy, auburn hair into a single braid down my back. Amaryll will be angry that I didn’t call for her to send in attendants to fix my hair, but most days I prefer it pulled back from my face in a simple style and don’t need servants to do things like braid my hair. I line my eyes with dark kohl and paint my lips a deep red. Returning to my breakfast tray, I refill my mug with more tea and make myself a plate. An awareness washes over me, like a quick prick of a needle to the back of my neck.

Someone is trying to leave Thayaria.

With a sixth sense I still don’t fully understand, I instantly know that they aren’t a port worker attempting to cross the barrier that surrounds Thayaria to haul in goods from a merchant ship. If they had been, I would extend my will and allow them to leave. The mist that has surrounded my kingdom for three hundred years after my accidental surge of power at the Battle of Moormyr has a consciousness to it, representing me while also being separate from me.

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