Chapter 3

The assassins attacked from the rooftops. The first arrow narrowly missed Avera as Gustav suddenly turned his mount and used his body as a shield. He grunted as the arrow slammed into his armor, denting but not puncturing it.

“Protect the First Princess,” bellowed Gustav as more arrows rained down.

Despite the enemy being high above, Avera pulled the small dagger at her waist. Not very long and not useful for much more than cutting up her food, slicing through twine, or hacking at the big wheel of cheese in the kitchen. She’d have preferred her sword, but it was all she had to defend herself. It should be known Avera had never actually faced a real foe, only those she practiced with in the training yard.

Luna remained steady as Avera gripped her weapon in a sweaty palm, her wide gaze trained on the assassins who rappelled from the rooftops. They were dressed head to toe in dark fabric and feature-covering hoods. The soldiers formed a square around her, blocking her from direct attack.

Much yelling and huffing occurred as the soldiers swung their swords. The knights who’d never seen much action given Daerva’s peaceful nature did their best to counter the skilled assassins. Two knights fell from their steeds as she watched, the attackers quick on their feet, their flashing blades even faster.

Gustav remained near Avera and growled, “Stay by me.”

Fine advice except for the fact the assassins, unmounted, slid between the horses to get close. Luna shuffled away from Gustav’s mount as he parried the thin blade of an assassin. The clang of metal filled the air, a more strident sound than that of the training ring where the wooden guards meant the swords thunked instead.

Chaos reigned as the nine soldiers fought the assassins, six attackers in all. It should have been an even match against trained knights.

The assassins were better.

A knight to her left parried as a man of slim build attacked him in a flurry of strokes so fast she could barely follow the whipping parries of blades as they slashed back and forth. The soldier did his best to counter, but when his horse went down, he never had a chance to block the long dagger that stabbed him in the armpit where the armor didn’t cover. As the soldier crumpled to the paving stones, the assassin advanced on Avera, and she licked her lips.

While she’d trained, she’d never actually had to put her skills to the test, nor had she ever actually drawn blood. When the assassin lunged, Luna quickly stepped to the side and Avera’s reflexes kicked in. She leaned down and slashed with her dagger, catching him in the sleeve. The assassin recoiled in surprise but that was only a feint as his free hand grabbed at her ankle and yanked her from the horse.

Avera only narrowly avoided the blade that swept past, ducking under it. She scuttled to give herself space, not just from the attacker but also from Luna who reared, hooves lifted high, ready to trample him. He saw the danger and brought his arm back to strike the horse. Avera saw red. She threw herself at the man, striking him in the midsection, ruining his blow.

The assassin recovered quickly, shoving at Avera, sending her stumbling a few steps. The man came at her, his rapier moving quickly, but so did Avera. She ducked under the swing, and as she rose, she aimed her dagger at his gut. It slid in easily. More easily than expected. The knife stuck and the assassin staggered back, wrenching it from her grip, leaving her weaponless, but only for a moment. She snatched a fallen knight’s sword from the ground, heavier than her usual blade, but better than nothing. She took stock of the situation.

Four assassins remained—three, if the one with the belly wound died. Only four of the nine soldiers, including Gustav, still stood. Not good odds given the skill of the attackers.

Three of the assassins charged, aiming not for the soldiers themselves but their mounts. The screams of the wounded horses added to the horror. Luna whinnied and panicked when an arrow nicked her hindquarters, and she took off running. Avera couldn’t blame her. She wanted to run, too, but the man she’d wounded lunged, still determined to kill her.

She did her best to defend herself, but the unfamiliar and heavy sword she’d procured didn’t move as she wanted. The assassin knocked it from her grip.

Avera retreated as he advanced.

Gustav took that moment to shout, “Run!” and threw himself between her and the attacker.

While a part of her wanted to stay and fight, standing her ground without a weapon would get her killed and that truly wasn’t on her list of things to do for the day, nor even that year.

Avera grabbed her skirts and swerved around and between those still fighting, racing for the empty bridge that spanned the ravine, the stone structure linking the city to the palace. It only occurred to her as her booted feet thumped on the stone causeway that she presented an open target.

As she turned to glance over her shoulder to check on the pursuit, she tripped and fell to her knees.

It saved her life.

The dagger thrown sailed harmlessly overhead before clattering to the stones. Would they try with arrows next? She’d rather not find out. She jumped to her feet and ran, zigzagging to make herself an unpredictable target. Another dagger clattered on the path, narrowly missing.

Her breathing turned ragged as she pushed herself to reach the palace and its implied safety. Surely if the assassins were busy attacking those left behind, she’d be fine once she reached the portcullis. Just a few more paces.

A scream cut short had her once more glancing to her rear, where she saw assassins on the ground and Gustav limping in her direction. The only one still alive.

The older soldier had a gash across his thigh. As he spotted her looking, he yelled, “Keep moving. Get inside in case there’s more.”

He assumed the palace was safe, but who was to say more didn’t hide within? Still, she had nowhere else to go.

Avera fled past the archway and the wide-eyed guards. Cowards who’d not left their posts despite the fighting. She raced through the bailey and pounded up the steps into the palace. The entranceway, usually full of lounging lords and ladies and a bevy of servants tending them, loomed empty.

Where to?

As if Gustav read her mind, she heard him holler from outside, “Go to the Queen.”

A good idea since her mother would have soldiers protecting her.

Avera’s footsteps echoed loudly as she raced for the flight of stairs that led to the second floor and the royal quarters. The guards at the top blocked her way with their spears at the ready. One of them yelled, “Halt!”

“Don’t poke me,” she yelled, racing up the steps. “It’s me, Avera.”

“Who?” exclaimed the guard. The one by his side must have whispered the reply because he then said, “She’s the queen’s daughter? She don’t look like the rest.”

A good thing there’d been witnesses to her birth or many would have claimed her a changeling, a child exchanged at birth for another. Despite the mutterings that Avera couldn’t possibly be a royal, she’d been seen by many as she emerged from her mother with a thatch of dark hair, mauve eyes, and the royal birthmark that resembled a crown on her thigh. All of the queen’s progeny had it.

The guards didn’t budge despite knowing her identity. “We’ve been told to let no one pass.”

“I want to see my mother.” Not really. Avera knew better than to expect any maternal warmth, however, the queen represented safety.

“Can’t allow that.” The guard shook his head.

Before she could argue, Gustav entered and bellowed, “You’d better not be detaining the First Princess.”

“She’s the heir?” The guard didn’t hide his surprise.

“Damned right she is, and she might be queen before the day ends, so get out of her way, or else,” growled Gustav as he stomped up the steps.

“Yes, Grand Rook.” The soldiers saluted and stepped aside, letting Avera onto the second floor which held the private chambers of the queen, the First Heir, the Second, and the Spare. The third floor was usually only for the children, but Avera still had a room there despite being too old since there weren’t enough chambers on the royal level.

While it would be tempting to hide in her suite, Avera marched directly to the double doors of her mother’s space—doors that hung askew—around which clustered numerous guards who all stood as a barrier between Avera and her mother.

“No one may pass!” announced a fellow with a grand mustache.

Avera halted and sighed. “It’s me, the queen’s daughter, Avera.”

“Who?”

Not again. Yes, Avera made a point of avoiding royal obligations but still, she’d lived here almost three decades. Surely by now everyone knew of her existence.

Clomp. Clomp.

She didn’t look because she knew Gustav strode in her direction. He’d set them straight.

“Why are you denying passage to the First Princess?” Gustav growled. “The queen requested her presence.”

“We don’t have a First Princess. Just a First Prince,” argued the mustached fellow.

“Who is dead, you imbecile, and you’ll join him if you don’t get out of the bloody way.” Gustav had no patience left and the soldiers realized it.

They parted to grant Avera access to her mother’s suite, not a room she’d visited often. As a matter of fact, it had been months since they’d last spoken.

Avera braced herself as she entered, and a good thing, too. A stench permeated the room, that of offal—and death. The massive bed draped in royal blue and gold had people clustered about. Duke Petturi, Mother’s advisor, and a few other lords and ladies, as well as physicians waving thuribles emitting smoke that did nothing to quell the smell.

By the head of the bed stood her mother’s consort, a man almost two decades younger than the queen. The queen had married him a few years ago to form an alliance with the extremely rich Brandy family. Although the maids claimed it wasn’t about the money but because of his looks. Some considered him pretty. Avera thought Benoit a little too polished, as if he wore a veneer over his true self.

Several faces turned to look at Avera, Duke Petturi being the one with the largest scowl. “What are you doing here?”

A grim Gustav replied, “She’s here at the queen’s request, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that Avera is First Princess, which means you should be very careful how you speak to her.”

Avera had never been happier to have Gustav there to rebuke them, although if he weren’t she could have slipped away and not had to deal with what would surely be an unpleasant conversation.

The rook’s cold reprimand tightened the duke’s lips. “Ah yes, the new heir. How fortuitous that she was the only one not within the palace when the attacks happened. Why, one would almost wonder if the First Princess were aware of what would unfold.”

Avera’s jaw dropped. “I had no idea. The first I heard of it was in the market.”

“How lucky for you,” was the duke’s sour rejoinder.

“Is that Avera?” The faint query came from the bed which led to the doctors shushing her. “Keep still. Don’t talk. Preserve your strength.”

“Do not tell me what to do,” barked the queen.

“We are simply ensuring your healing, Your Majesty,” whined Longkin, a physician Avera never liked as he’d tried to get to her bathe in obnoxious concoctions as a teen in an attempt to lighten her skin tone.

“You all know I’m dying,” snapped the queen. “This wound isn’t one that any can recover from. Where is my daughter? I need to speak to her.”

Bodies parted, giving Avera room to approach, yet her steps lagged. The queen had always been a cold and formidable figure, one more prone to criticism than praise.

Avera stepped close to the bedside and clasped her hands. “Your Majesty.” She executed a curtsy and the queen snorted.

“That will be the last time you do that. It seems the assassins were thorough. You are the only heir left of my bloodline. When I die?—”

Murmurs arose and the queen snapped, “Quiet. I am trying to give final words of wisdom to my daughter. Your soon-to-be queen.”

Not a prospect they looked forward to, given the side eyes and twisted lips.

Avera murmured, “Perhaps the doctors can?—”

“Do nothing,” the queen harshly interjected. “A bowel wound is a death sentence, and I don’t have time to argue it. You are now First Princess, my heir, and ill-prepared for what is to come next. There are things you must know if you are to rule.”

“How can I rule when I have no lessons in leading?” Given how far down the line of succession Avera fell, no one ever bothered. She’d instead been taught history, geography, mathematics, as well as music, which she did poorly at, and art, also an abject failure. Her gifts lay in knowledge of trinkets that served little use, and her skill with a blade.

“Your daughter isn’t ready,” Duke Petturi interjected. He acted as Mother’s second and ensured her orders were carried out.

“Then you’ll teach her,” hissed the queen. “Get out. All of you, so I might speak to her alone.” When they hesitated, she tried to rise which led to Gustav ushering out the doctors and the duke. Only Benoit, her consort, remained, but the queen eyed him and uttered a frosty, “That means you too. What I have to say is for the future queen alone.”

“But my love, you heard her. She’s not ready. Perhaps I can guide her.”

“Not bloody likely. Your role as consort ends with my death and given it’s imminent, you might as well start packing.”

Avera had never heard her mother speak so harshly to Benoit. Usually, she had smiles and even giggles for the man she’d taken as consort.

A stiff Benoit marched out of the room and Avera wished she could leave too.

The queen reached for her hand, her flesh cold and clammy as she clasped Avera tight. “Listen to me and listen close. We have little time, and so much I have to tell you. My own fault. I relied on the wrong people.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Suffice it to say, I was betrayed by those I trusted. Blind to the machinations happening in my own country. The greed masked as loyalty.”

“Wait, are you saying we have a traitor?” The thought baffled given their country enjoyed great prosperity. While not the greatest mother, the queen ruled efficiently and fairly. “Surely the blame lies with an outsider.”

“It’s possible a foreign influence aided, however, this attack couldn’t have happened without inside help. There is a traitor, and one close to the palace. Your first task as queen will be to rout them.”

“How, if I can trust no one?” Avera asked rather than insult her mother with claims she’d survive. She could see, and smell, the gravity of the injury.

“Who brought you here?” Mother asked.

“The Grand Rook. He fought off the assassins as we approached the castle. If not for him, I’d be dead.” A realization that hadn’t set in until now. Avera slumped to sit on the side of the bed.

“Gustav has always been loyal to the crown. Keep him with you at all times. I fear the traitor might not be done.”

“You think there’s more assassins?”

“I’d say it’s possible. Whoever planned this meant for the entire Voxspira royal line to die. Without a clear heir, the Lords and Ladies will squabble about who should sit on the throne. Those who fight hardest for it being the most unfit.” The queen’s lips turned down. “Those who crave power often do so to advance their own selfish needs with no care for others.”

“Seems like an oxymoron.”

The queen snorted. “It is because those best suited will be the least likely to attempt to take control. Now on to other matters, as my time grows short. Within my office, inside the desk, which you can open with this,”—the queen pulled out a heavy chain that held both the stamp she used for decrees as well as an ornate key—“you’ll find ledgers of everything that happened under my rule. You’ll want to study them to see how I’ve handled situations. They’ll be a good guide, but at the same time, don’t be afraid to forge your own path. You’re a smart girl. Use that intelligence to rule fairly.”

The compliment surprised. “How would you know what kind of scholar I was?”

“I paid more attention to your studies than you realized.”

“Why?” Avera blurted.

“Because you are special. From a young age, it was clear you saw the world on a different level than most. You seek knowledge, have a curiosity to understand.”

Since it seemed the moment for frankness, Avera murmured, “I’m surprised you noticed.”

“I saw more than I let on, and I am sorry I couldn’t acknowledge your accomplishments, but I had my reasons.” Reasons which the queen didn’t elaborate on, but Avera could guess.

Aldrich had hated it when Avera received any kind of praise or attention. He used to play horrid pranks on her, some that intentionally caused harm, until Gustav caught him one day trying to force her to drink water from the poisonous lake. She still remembered the thrashing her brother received, and while Aldrich screamed that Gustav would hang for laying a hand on him, nothing ever happened to Gustav. At least after that incident, Aldrich left her mostly alone.

“I don’t want to be queen.” The very idea made Avera feel ill to her stomach.

“You don’t have a choice,” came the harsh reply. “The people will need you to lead them.”

“The people barely acknowledge my existence.”

“It won’t be easy, which is why you won’t want to wait too long to choose a consort. The sooner you produce an heir, the better.”

“Marry?” The thought had never even crossed her mind. Avera tended not to pay much mind to men, not since she came to understand that most only wanted to bed the queen’s daughter in hopes of gaining special privileges.

“You need a partner. Someone strong but willing to stand in the background. Seek out one with good family connections. Admiral Venne has a son that might suit. As does Lady Yellowbottom.”

She knew the men mother spoke of, both spoiled and in their thirties, one of whom used to tease her and call her the bastard changeling. “I’ll do my best to find someone suitable,” Avera mumbled.

“I know this is a lot to take in, however, it will be necessary if you’re to hold on to the throne.”

“A throne I never wanted,” she reiterated.

“I know, and that’s why you’ll make a good queen.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Oh, stop with that nonsense. I’m your mother.”

“Since when?” Avera objected. “We’ve only barely spoken. You spend more time with your dogs than me.”

“I’m aware I wasn’t the mother you deserved but that was on purpose. The distance between us was a ruse to ensure none knew how I favored you.”

Avera blinked. “Favored me how?”

“By not killing you, for one. From your birth, once your appearance was noted, I had some that urged me to rid myself of you. Many considered you a bad omen.”

“They wanted to kill a baby?” The shock emerged in her reply.

“They thought you unnecessary, given the three other children I bore. They worried about your parentage. I made it clear you weren’t going anywhere.”

Given Avera might never get another chance, she had to ask. “Who was my father?”

The queen’s lips curved softly. “A stupendous man that I met by chance. We had a torrid affair before he had to leave.”

“To go where?”

“Back to his home. We only spent a short time together before he departed, never knowing you existed.”

“Did you try and contact him?”

Her lips turned down. “I did, but he never replied.”

“What’s his name?”

“Basil. But you’ll never find him. He was from Verlora.”

The inaccessible continent, making him most likely dead. A father found and lost just as quickly. “I’m half Verlorian?” She couldn’t help the shocked exclamation even as it confirmed what she’d long suspected given her unique coloring. It also probably explained her fascination with Verlorian artifacts.

“You are. But don’t let anyone ever tell you that makes you less of a Draevian. Your mixed blood makes you stronger, and never forget you are my daughter.” A fierce claim.

“I don’t feel stronger.”

“You are, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. If they try, take their head.”

The suggestion rounded Avera’s mouth. “I can’t kill people for having an opinion.”

The queen’s face hardened. “You should make an example of those who would oppose your rule. A few beheadings will quickly stop any muttering. Once the people see you’re capable and have Daerva’s best interests at heart, they’ll come around. You’d think they’d remember we already have mixed blood in our line. Your great-great-grandfather married a woman from Verlora.”

“I read about her. She’s the reason we make fat loaves of bread instead of just flat.” The foreign consort had taught the cooks how to make the dough rise and remain fluffy when baked. Avera had learned about it in her history class.

“You see, you won’t be the first. Now, on to the secrets. You will need to visit Fraegus Spire as soon as you can after the coronation.”

“Whatever for?” Fraegus Spire, to the northeast of their capital, was considered to be dangerous, the mountain impassable and inhabitable.

“There is knowledge there, knowledge meant only for the Queen or King of Daerva as it would be dangerous in the wrong hands. It is tradition to visit it upon inheriting the throne.”

“How come I never heard about it?”

“Because the pilgrimage is kept secret. I managed my visit during my coronation voyage.” A trip where the newly crowned royal put themselves on display in all the towns and hamlets so the people might meet their new ruler. “I pretended to be sick in Herder’s Respite which is the hamlet at the spire’s base. In truth, I snuck out while my handmaid covered for me.”

“This whole visit to the spire seems rather complicated. Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell me what you learned?”

The queen shook her head. “I can’t. You must discover it for yourself.”

“The spire is large. How am I supposed to find this knowledge?”

“You won’t. Start climbing and it will find you.”

“Must I do it alone?”

“You can take Gustav with you, as there are dangers in the mountains. However, when the time comes for the spire to reveal its secrets, you will find yourself separated from him.”

Mysterious and unexpected. Avera didn’t know much about the spire and now wondered if that lack of history was on purpose.

“Very well. Should you die and I’m made queen, I will leave right after the coronation.”

“There is no ‘if’ about it. I will die, and shortly. It will be up to you to find the traitor. Make an example of them and rout out any that might have aided. Avenge our deaths.”

“I will.” A solemn vow not so much made out of affection for this woman Avera barely knew, but because of the barbaric nature of the crime. They’d killed a child in its crib! An innocent baby. That kind of depravity deserved the worst kind of punishment.

“As soon as I’m dead you will host a somber but lavish coronation. It might sound garish given the tragedy, but it will reassure the people they have a leader. It’s important they know you’re in control lest anarchy flourish. It’s also a power move to show the lords and ladies you are in charge. Even then, expect them to try and manipulate you for their gain. They need a stern hand to keep them in line.”

“They won’t be happy that I’m queen.”

“If they disrespect you, throw them in the dungeon,” her mother hissed.

“That doesn’t sound like a good way to get them to like me.”

“You must be strong from the start or they will walk all over you. Over time they will recognize you are taking care of them and that their lives are the same or better under your rule.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

The queen’s lips tilted downward. “Too much to cover with the scant moments I have left. I’d rather use what’s left to give you an apology. I know we were not close, and while I cannot change that, I do regret it. Of all my children, you resemble me most.”

Avera couldn’t help but blurt, “Me? But we look nothing alike.”

“I speak more of temperament. I too was curious. When you get a chance, look in my armoire. You’ll see what I mean. Alas, I had to put aside my passion for duty. As will you. Being a queen is hard work. It is also lonely as there are few you can trust or call friend. Many will claim to be both, and yet you will soon discover most want something from you.”

“I’m already aware of that.”

“You can do this, Avera.” Her mother squeezed her hand. “You are strong. Just like your father. Smart, too. Much smarter than your brother. You’ll make a better queen than he would have made a king.”

“Except he wanted to rule. I don’t.”

“Which is why I think you’re better suited.” Mother suddenly coughed and gasped as she writhed in pain.

Avera’s eyes widened to see her mother hurting and ran to the door to fetch the doctors. “Come quick. My mother is in grave discomfort.”

For all her agony, the queen refused any drugs. She barked orders until almost her last breath.

The last words she spoke were reserved for Avera, whose hand she clutched. She whispered, “I love you.”

It left Avera teary-eyed and might explain why she could have sworn she saw a bright mist rise from the corpse. An ethereal wisp that dissipated, leaving behind a world changed.

Avera felt it in her bones. Her life would never be the same.