To Court a Queen Read online

  One of the winged hounds let out a long howl. Sevaine stiffened. “They’re coming. Devin … please, please make it through this. I need you to make it through this. Promise me.”

  “I will.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew how powerless he might actually be to keep the vow. Still, she managed a faint smile before she slipped under the bed and out of sight again.

  Devin stood and faced the door. It swung open.

  Olysa eyed him skeptically. “You seem ready.”

  “I am ready.” He shrugged. At least as much as he would ever be.

  “Follow me, then.”

  Though Devin didn’t see Sevaine slip from the cottage after their departure, he knew somehow she had. He sensed her somehow, watching over him, and he prayed to God she wasn’t about to witness his death.

  They entered an open field, and Devin stopped short. The glass tower jutted from the green grass like an icicle. It might’ve been invisible if not for the light from the newly risen sun, glinting through its transparent surface and refracting into a thousand rainbows. At the top, on a narrow platform holding her throne, perched Agalea.

  Unfurled to their full span, her wings fluttered gently. From the distance—he estimated the tower to be perhaps a hundred feet high—he could not see her expression, but he could imagine it. Haughty, self-satisfied, and disinterested in the fate of the mortal who she probably assumed would die in the attempt. Well, Devin had some tricks up his sleeve—or, should he say, in his boot?

  Three rows of benches surrounded the tower, crammed full of fae of all sorts. While the majority were fairies, he saw some tall, fair folk who had a closer resemblance to humans, if not for their pointy ears and unnerving beauty. Perhaps high elves? Smaller folk, about the size of two-year-old children only with adult proportions and green skin, sat on the ground in front of the benches, which would’ve been too high for them.

  “I really do wish you luck,” Olysa whispered near his ear.

  He didn’t answer. It wasn’t luck he needed. At least, not only luck.

  “My loyal and devoted subjects!” Agalea shouted from the top of the tower. The crowd fell silent. “We have gathered here today to witness this brave human attempt a feat no fae has yet to achieve. To climb this tower in a continued effort to win the honor of my hand…”

  Ignoring her, Devin broke away from Olysa and strode towards the tower.

  “Wait!” the captain of the guard hissed. “You’re supposed to start after the speech!”

  “Sorry, can’t hear you. Got a tower to climb,” Devin called over his shoulder.

  The crowd murmured, and Agalea faltered in her public address. Reaching the tower, Devin sat down and pulled his supplies from his boot.

  “This task is not for the faint of heart—” Agalea continued, her tone less certain. The eyes of the crowd burned into Devin now, ignoring their queen. Whispers rose from the audience like leaves rustling in the wind. Devin stuck the metal spikes into the toes of his boots. He kicked at the tower. With a clink, the spikes pierced the glass and stuck. With some difficulty, he wrenched his foot free again. He gave a satisfied grunt. Whipping the leather cord around the tower, he caught the other end.

  “Well, I guess we’re just getting started then.” Anger rippled through Agalea’s voice, but Devin ignored her. His hands gripping the leather strap, he leaned back until it pulled tight against the tower. In a jump, he landed a foot above the ground. With the clink of breaking glass, his boots stuck to the surface. He paused, half expecting the glass to shatter beneath him and send him crashing to the earth. Instead it held. Letting out a relieved sigh, he leaned forward to slacken the cord, and worked it a little higher up. He jerked his left foot free, pushed it in again a foot or so up, then repeated on his right.

  The crowd fell silent.

  After about three or four halting steps, he achieved some semblance of rhythm. Line slack, line up, left foot up, right foot up, line slack, line up, again and again. Sweat beaded on his forehead and slicked his palms. He chanced slipping the cord ends to a single hand so he could wipe his brow. As he did, he caught sight of the ground, now far beneath him. Of course, a glance upward showed that he’d only gone about a quarter of the way up the tower. Yeah, this was going to take a while.

  The light reflecting from the tower’s mirror-like surface dazzled him, and he had to squint to keep from being blinded altogether. His arms ached, and his legs weren’t feeling much better. Well, it wasn’t like he had any way to pause for a break.

  When he reached the halfway point, the audience’s hushed tones rose to an excited buzz, like a hive of bees informed of a meadow of flowers.

  “He’s doing it!” someone shouted. “Can you believe it? The mortal’s almost to the top!”

  Devin grinned and picked up the pace. The top of the tower taunted him. He could see it now, if he angled his neck right. It seemed so close, but at this rate, it would take at least another ten of his jerky hops. A figure leaned over the edge. The sun at her back shadowed her features, but he knew that it was Agalea. Watching him. He grimaced. It would be just like her to step on his fingers when he got there. He’d have to watch for that.

  “You’re almost to the top, Sir Devin,” she called down.

  “Yep,” he shouted back. “Give me a moment, and I’ll be with you.”

  “Seems I made this a little too easy, then. Well, the challenge isn’t over yet.” Menace flavored her words.

  Devin froze, staring up at her and bracing for anything.

  Mumbling more of the incomprehensible language, she snapped her fingers. The sky dimmed. A gasp rose from the observers, followed by an eerie silence. A black cloud, not of mist but rather large, dark, swirling particles, formed around her hand. She snapped again, and the cloud condensed. It trickled through her palm like water then twisted and churned on the other side, forming an amorphous but solid black shape as wide as her wingspan.

  Devin’s stomach twisted.

  I need to get out of here. With the only reasonable way to go being up, he pushed onward, trying to get to the top before whatever foul magic she’d worked came to completion.

  A harsh cry split the air. Wings sprouted from the blob which burst, sending a cloud of gray mist in all directions. Flecks of it rained against Devin like stinging hail. A monstrous crow, its wingspan easily three times what was natural, swept from the fading mist, straight at Devin.

  He ducked his head, pulling himself against the tower. The crow’s wings buffeted his face. It wheeled away from him. He dared to look up. The bird’s reflection, clear on the tower’s mirrored surface, hovered behind him for two wing beats, then it swooped.

  With the rip of fabric and the hot, sharp pain of talons through flesh, the massive bird raked its claws across Devin’s back. He clenched his jaw. If he reached the top, she’d call it off. She had to. That was the challenge, to reach the top. If he reached the top, it would be over. He jerked one foot free.

  The crow slammed against his shoulders. His hold slipped, and his loose leg flailed madly for a foothold. Claws rent his back. With all his might, he shoved his foot in place again before flattening himself into the tower. The bird struck repeatedly. At the first few hits, his muscles screamed for mercy. Fire raced from the wounds across his body into his brain. In spite of his attempts at stoicism, he screamed. The smell of blood tainted his every breath.

  Then as quickly as it had formed, the bird left. With a great caw it wheeled away. Hazarding one eye open, Devin watched as it scattered into a thousand pieces of ash on the wind.

  He clung to the tower like a cat stuck in a tree. His tattered shirt flapped in the wind—at least he hoped it was his shirt. He had a nauseating feeling that his flesh might be shredded to that point as well. The world swam. The tower seemed to sway, rocking. His hands slipped from the cord, and he barely managed to tighten his grip before it slipped from him. Gray circled his vision. He felt cold and hot all at once. It was only a few more feet. If he let go, he’d fall
to his death, but if he could push a few more feet—

  It was over. He didn’t have the strength to climb any farther. Soon his arms would go numb, his hold loosen, and the fall would take his weakened body.

  “Devin!” a single voice penetrated the growing fog, faint like a bird’s cry in the distance, but his name. He knew his name … and he knew that voice.

  Sevaine.

  He’d promised her. It was a stupid promise, but he’d said he would survive.

  Leg muscles trembling, he yanked one foot free. The weight of his own boot dragged him to one side, and his breath jolted in his lungs as he caught himself. Hardening his mind, and by extension his body, he wrenched his leg upward. The spike pierced the metal with a satisfying crash. He laughed, or sobbed, maybe a bit of both. Tightening his hold on the cord, he repeated the process with the other leg. Again, it worked. Sweat stung his eyes, though he felt weirdly cold. His teeth chattered, but he loosened the cord, whipped it upward, and climbed.

  A rhythmic cracking sound rose from beneath him, and terror gripped him by the throat. Was that the beat of flapping wings? Had the death crow returned?

  No, this was fainter, farther away, and more than one of them. A tumult reached his ears, cries of encouragement, shouting voices, clapping … they were cheering him. The crowd was cheering him on.

  Sevaine and Olysa were right. The kingdom wanted the bloodshed to end. They wanted him to win. Agalea alone was the one prolonging the suffering. She expected him to fail, had thrown a death crow at him when it looked like he might not.

  No, he wasn’t giving up. Not now.

  Gritting his teeth against the waves of hot agony rolling up and down his spine, he pushed forward. Finally, his head broke the top of the tower. The pointed toes of Agalea’s silk slippers stared him in the face. With one last push, he released the cord and catapulted himself onto the tower. She yelped and stumbled back.

  He half-crawled, half-wormed his way to safety, then curled up at her feet, shaking, aching. Blood pooled about him, the scent of it burning his nostrils and closing his throat.

  He’d made it.

  “Well, I suppose you’ve technically beaten this trial.” Agalea poked him in the side with her foot. “I’d say there’s a good chance the wounds will kill you before you get a chance to face the next, but for now, you’re my champion.” She bent down and kissed his cheek.

  Revulsion rippled through him, and it was all he could do not to snarl. He wanted to sleep. He wanted something to dull the pain, and most of all, he wanted to see Sevaine. Instead the last thing he saw before darkness took him was the pristine but hateful face of the fairy Queen.

  Chapter Eleven

  Waves of pain washed over Devin, drowning him, pulling him into dark depths of agony that threatened to crush him before thrusting him into the light of consciousness for a sharp, unwilling breath.

  Through it all, Sevaine never left him. How he knew that she was there at any given moment, he couldn’t always tell. Sometimes he heard her voice, soothing him, begging him to hold on, not to give up. Other times it was her touch, either soft against his cheek or brow or agonizing as she tended to the gashes on his back. Mostly, though, it was something else. Something undefinable that swore to him, whatever he could or couldn’t see, hear, or feel, she was there. She was there, and she wanted him to stay.

  So he stayed.

  After an uncertain span of time, he drifted on a sea of gray, occasionally jolted by a sharp spike as the inflamed wounds screamed for mercy. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, but if he concentrated, he could gather marginal impressions of the world around him. He was lying on his stomach, on a bed. Someone was nearby, two someones, and they were speaking—about him.

  “I suspected he was getting some help to survive, but you are the last one I would’ve thought would be aiding him. Why?” Olysa? What was she doing here?

  “My motives don’t matter.” Sevaine, of course. Her presence made more sense. “What does matter is I can’t get him through this. I’ve done everything I can to treat his wounds, but they aren’t closing up right. They look so angry and … I have no magic. Please, Captain. I know you are a healer as well as a fighter. You have to help me save him.”

  Olysa laughed. “And why should I waste my magic on him? He barely survived the last trial, and the next is bound to be even more difficult. Even if I heal his body to its original soundness, he’ll be dead within a week from our queen’s interference.”

  “You have to.” Sevaine’s whimper sent a pang of agony through Devin, somehow sharper than that from his actual injuries. “He fought so hard … I know you want these cursed trials to end as much as I do. You’re tired of collecting men to be served up to Agalea like hinds for a feast. I’ve seen how you drag your feet, how you make excuses every time she demands a new competitor for her hand. Devin … he’s our best chance. He’s already passed two trials. I know he can overcome the third, but not like this. Please! I’ve done everything I know how to. Mundane healing has gone as far as it can with him. Please, Captain Olysa, I need magic!”

  Olysa breathed a great sigh. “You think he has a chance?”

  “I have to believe he does. He’s strong and clever, but more than that, he’s stubborn. He’s probably the most stubborn man I’ve ever met, but as infuriating as that is, it might just get him through this. I have to believe it can.”

  “I’ll do my best. Even the slightest hope of ending the bloodshed is worth it.” The bed shifted beneath Devin as another body settled beside him, sitting, not lying. He tried to open his eyes, but weakness ran through his veins in place of blood. The same shuffling words spoken by Agalea now spewed from Olysa’s mouth, twisting around his brain like encroaching vines, until he couldn’t think straight. The heat that raged across his skin and through his muscles eased into a pleasant warmth before cooling altogether. For the first time since the trial, he didn’t feel pain, only comfort and exhaustion.

  His whole being longed for sleep, but he longed for Sevaine even more. He wanted to talk to her, to tease her, to let her know he was going to be all right so she didn’t need to worry over him any longer.

  Again the bed shifted as Olysa arose. “There. When he wakes up, he should be as good as new.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Tears tainted Sevaine’s normally laughing tone. He struggled to reach out to her, but his lips seemed glued shut, his muscles leaden.

  “You look familiar, felys … are you the former property of Lord Lincor?”

  “The Lincor family did purchase me from the markets when I was a child, yes.”

  “Hmm. Most slaves would be grateful to have their owners killed, therefore freeing them. That you’re here, trying to end the thing that allowed you your freedom, suggests ulterior motives. Revenge, maybe? Was Lord Lincor your lover?”

  In spite of his weariness, Devin’s ears opened wider.

  “No. It wasn’t like that, but yes, I am here because of him. Because I know what it feels like to be deprived of someone you care about.” Sevaine’s voice cracked. “You know as well as I what Agalea’s trials have cost the kingdom. Every man who died attempting to win her hand was someone’s son or brother or friend. Do I really need an ulterior motive to want to put a stop to it?”

  “Most people have them, whether they need them or not.” Silence fell over the room.

  Devin mulled over Sevaine’s words. He’d sensed long ago that ending the trials was a personal crusade, spurred by something far stronger than a vague idea of righting a general wrong. Still, who was this Lord Lincor? She’d said not a lover … oddly, that relieved him, as foolish as it was to envy a dead man.

  “Well, whatever your reason, I hope you’re right about this one.” Olysa’s footsteps crossed the room. “I wish you both all the luck in the world. You’ll need it. More than I think you’ve imagined.”

  “Captain Olysa!” Sevaine gasped. “Do you know what the third trial will be?”

  “To my
knowledge only Agalea does. I’m truly sorry I cannot offer you more aid, but I’ve already taken a risk in coming here. Again, may the Creator bless you, for I cannot.”

  The door to the cottage creaked open then clanged shut. Sevaine whimpered and sank onto the bed beside him. Her fingers combed through his hair, melting his resolve to remain awake away like an early spring frost. Devin made one last futile attempt to open his eyes to see her, then fell into the welcoming arms of slumber.

  He awoke to the sensation of fingers still gently ruffling his hair. The light in the room was fading, marking it as late afternoon, early evening—though of what day he couldn’t be certain. His stomach grumbled, and his tongue prickled, longing for water. He rolled onto his side and stared up at Sevaine.

  Her eyes widened then a broad smile blossomed on her face. “You’re awake!”

  “Or having a great dream.” The sun glinted on her dark blue eyes and through the gold of her hair. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.

  “Are you feeling all right? The lacerations seemed to have healed.” She ran her hand over his shoulder and onto his back. He focused on the area. Some stiffness, but no pain, even when he flexed.

  “I’m fine.” He sat up. The blankets fell about his waist, exposing bare skin. She flushed. A quick assessment assured him that he was at least wearing his trousers, so he pushed aside his discomfort. “How long was I out for?”

  “Nearly three days. I finally got desperate enough to beg for Captain Olysa’s help yesterday. She was uncertain at first, but she wants to end the trials as much as I do.” She crossed to the table where a small stack of folded garments lay. Picking out a shirt, she returned to him. He slipped it over his head, moving his arms gingerly in case the wounds broke open again. From what he could feel, they’d closed completely, but no sense in testing that.

  “I caught snippets of your talk.” He rubbed his chin. Bristle scratched at the back of his hand. He needed a shave. “So that was yesterday?”