The Essence (22 page)

Dubiously, we’d turned our gazes skyward at his prediction.

“It’s coming,” he’d assured us when I mentioned that the sky looked clear enough. “Just ’cause you can’t see trouble, don’t mean it ain’t there.”

Zafir had offered the man five times the normal fares for each of us, and even though he’d balked, grousing that we were all in danger if we didn’t make it to land by nightfall, in the end he’d agreed. Money did that to a man—made him willing to take risks he’d otherwise avoid.

In this case, I was relieved. We were freezing, all of us. And the idea of spending another night out in the elements held no appeal. Already, I worried that my toes inside my boots, were succumbing to “the nip.” Everyone knew that temperatures could drop so low they’d freeze appendages right off. I wasn’t sure how much more any of us could take.

“Do you think Brook’s already here?” I asked, forcing my teeth not to clatter together when I spoke. “Do you think she’s worried?”

“You heard the ferry operator, people have been coming and going for weeks in preparation for the summit. Three large parties arrived yesterday alone. We can’t be sure any of them were ours.” And then he glanced down at me, his expression softening. “Be patient. We’ll find out soon enough.” His gaze shot back to the looming form of Vannova palace.

“I’m glad we’re not the first to arrive.”

Zafir didn’t say anything; it was third time I’d made that same statement. I couldn’t help being nervous; it was my first summit, my first encounter with other queens. Already, I could feel my resolve slipping. I bounced up and down, trying to keep warm. “You should check on Avonlea again. See if she’s okay.”

Zafir sighed. “She’s fine, Your Majesty. She was fine when I checked on her an hour ago, and she’s still fine. Besides, I doubt she’d complain even if she weren’t.”

“I suppose you’re right,” I admitted, turning my attention toward the darkening sky, although it didn’t change the fact that I was concerned about her.

Ahead of us, the docks seemed to materialize from out of nowhere as the boat parted the dense fog. There were far-off shouts coming from people we still couldn’t see, as preparations were being made for our arrival.

Somewhere out there, a horn sounded. It was a deep noise that managed to cut through all the other commotion. Mere seconds had passed before an answering blast sounded from our own vessel.

The ferry came to a sudden stop then, jolting us as it collided with the side of the pier. Since there were no surprised gasps from around us, I guessed that the abrupt landing must be usual.

And then pandemonium erupted, as the men and women working the piers began throwing thick ropes to the crewmembers onboard. Together they pulled and heaved and fastened until the boat was stabilized and the gangway could be set.

Suddenly I was anxious about getting off the ship.

Nerves seized my innards and I wanted to turn back, to journey back through the Scablands and forget all about the summit. To pretend I had nothing at all to gain from meeting the other queens.

I wanted to go home.

And then I saw them.

Aron and Brooklynn, standing amid the gathered crowds. Brook’s impatient glare made it seem as if she might storm the ship at any moment. Aron, on the other hand, looked relaxed and nonplussed, the way he always did, as if this was just any other moment in any other day.

I gripped the railing and leaned forward, hoping they could see me on the deck. “Aron!” I called out above the din of voices and the grinding of winches and the clang of bells. Overhead, the seabirds called out raucously. When neither of them saw me, I tried waving at them, my arms flailing. “Brooklynn! Over here! I’m here!”

Brook glanced up then, just as Zafir’s arms wrapped around me. Like unflinching iron bands, they dragged me backward. “Do you constantly have to test me, Your Majesty?” His chastising words were quiet but effective. “Let us at least get you off the ship before you start drawing attention to yourself. I’d like to deliver you safely to Vannova, if at all possible.”

I just grinned stupidly. “They’re here, Zafir.”

It didn’t take long for Brook to reach us, for her to shove her way through the horde of impatient onlookers. “I can’t believe it!” she cried, gripping me in what should have been a hug but felt more like she was trying to smother me instead. She didn’t seem to notice that Zafir was still restraining me. I could only imagine how the three of us must have looked, entangled in an awkward, three-way embrace.

Zafir released me, and I practically collapsed into Brooklynn’s arms, my voice bordering on desperation. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you, how worried I was. I was so afraid you wouldn’t be here.”

Brook squeezed me back until my ribs ached. “Charlie! Where the hell have you been?” she demanded. “Where did you disappear to?”

“I swear I’ll tell you everything,” I promised, glancing around nervously, suddenly realizing that the assassin could be here as well. That Brook had most likely been traveling with the traitor. My pulse flicked raggedly and I pulled her closer. “We have to talk. Privately.”

Beside us, someone cleared her throat, an almost imperceptible sound. I might not even have noticed, except that Brooklynn drew away from me.

Avonlea stood there, on the deck of the ferry, her ragged red blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a tatty shawl. I tried to see her the way Brook would, the way I’d looked at her that first day. She was timid, hesitant.

Not at all like the girl who’d shot Niko Bartolo.

“Yes . . . ?” Brook drew out the word, raising one perfect eyebrow and reminding me that there was nothing timid or hesitant about my best friend.

Avonlea opened her mouth, but seemed to change her mind as she took a step away from us. I reached out to stop her before she could flee. “Brook, this is Avonlea. Avonlea, this is . . .” I thought of the ways I could introduce Brook: the commander of my armed forces, my childhood best friend. “Brooklynn.”

Brook smiled, a slow, suspicious smile that told me she was sizing up the other girl. She didn’t have to say what she was thinking. She, like Zafir, was cautious with her trust. “Avonlea, huh? That’s an . . . interesting name.”

I frowned at Brook, but she ignored my cautionary look.

“Char—” Avonlea chomped down on her lower lip, stopping herself from speaking the rest of my name aloud. She ducked her eyes. “Her Majesty gave it to me.”

“You gave her a name?” Brook’s dark eyes turned to me.

I raised my eyebrows. “I did. And a queen’s name at that.” A slow smile spread over my lips as I wrapped my arm around Avonlea. I could feel her shivering beneath her impractical blanket, and I led her toward the gangway where Zafir was already waiting. “Better than being named for a city,” I suggested, winking at Brooklynn as we passed her.

I wished it was Xander who was escorting me, rather than Zafir, as a hundred etiquette lessons flew right out of my head. I could no more remember my own name than I could recall the proper greeting for the queen of Caldera.

Yet here she was, sitting upon a throne fashioned from black marble. The two ivory barbs that rose from its back looked very much like they were meant to bear the heads of those who blundered in the presence of their queen. A warning to those who didn’t know whether to genuflect in submission or to spit at her feet.

As a queen myself, Xander had instructed me not to bow to another queen. But we’d only covered face-to-face greetings. This was different. Queen Neva was on her throne.

My mind reeled as I approached her on unsteady legs, my heart trying to hammer its way out of my chest, and I desperately hoped she couldn’t hear its reckless rhythm. I felt like a fraud—like an imposter posing as a queen—and I was sure she’d recognize me as such the moment our eyes met.

I stopped when I reached the base of the platform she sat upon, knowing I had to do something. . . . anything. And spitting wasn’t it, I was certain.

I was
almost
certain.

I started to bend at the waist, and then belatedly I changed my mind and awkwardly dropped lower, bending at my knees instead. It turned into a strange half curtsy, half crouch, making me look—and feel—foolish. I tried to sweep my arm in a flourish, a grand gesture I hoped, and then I stood, wobbling gracelessly.

When I glanced up to meet her gaze, sure my head would soon be speared atop one of the spikes of her throne, she giggled. “I’d heard you were lovely. . . .” Her voice was deep and lyrical and more regal than I could ever hope to be. “But I hadn’t realized you were quite so . . .
inexperienced
.”

I gaped at her—again, not my queenliest move. Second only to the bizarre greeting I’d just offered her. “I—I’m so sorry,” I stammered, wishing Zafir would say something, offer some sort of defense for my behavior. Maybe explain that I was tired from travel, or that I’d just been abducted and my life was in peril.

Or maybe say that I was slow-witted.

Anything.

Instead he just stood there, looking stoic and guardly. I wanted to pinch him.

Looking at Queen Neva was like gazing at a snowflake. She was draped, from neck to toe, in a fabric so delicate it was virtually sheer, and her skin beneath was nearly as diaphanous. She was almost as pale as the frost that coated nearly every surface of her queendom, including the snow. Her limbs were long, and even while she was sitting, I could see that she was tall and willowy. She reminded me of the dancers in the clubs Brook and I used to frequent. Elegant and sparkling and lithe.

But it was her eyes that held me, practically as light as her skin. Not in the way Sabara’s had been—milky and hazed with age. Queen Neva’s were like staring into clouds of spun silver. It was as if tiny filaments of metal had coiled together to create something both soft and hard, impenetrable yet vulnerable.

She rose, looking the way I wished I looked: simultaneously graceful, commanding, and feminine. Like a true queen.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said in her throaty voice as she took a step closer. Her lips pursed into what could have passed for a smile. “And don’t worry. You’ll be fine, my dear.” She tipped her head closer, as if telling me a secret meant for just the two of us, even though—aside from our guards—it
was
only the two of us in the oversize throne room. “A simple kiss will do,” she explained, not lowering her voice at all. “On each cheek. And it’s entirely unnecessary.” She looped one arm through mine like we were old friends, and her touch, too, had that same duality. That same double-edge of dominance and fragility. She led me with a feather touch, walking me across the massive room. “If anyone should curtsy, it should be me bowing to you.”

I glanced up at her, my eyes wide. “Why ever would you do that?” It was the most intelligible thing I’d spoken since my arrival, which was pathetic at best.

“Because you,” she answered, without glancing down at me, “have taken Sabara’s throne, something no one else has been able to do. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

I smiled at that. “What makes you think I don’t give myself credit?”

Her lips parted into a cool grin, and I felt as if she were looking into my soul . . . reading my thoughts. “You deserve this. You, Charlaina, belong here.”

We reached the door and I glanced over my shoulder, only to find Zafir mutely at our heels. Unlike at the entrance, where it took two men to open the enormous, two-story doors, there was only one girl holding the door for us. As we passed, she stepped aside, dropping one leg behind her and tipping into a perfectly executed curtsy.

I silently memorized the girl’s form, grateful Xander hadn’t been there to witness my disastrous greeting.

We stopped at the base of a curving staircase with serpentine balusters forged from black iron that stretched as far as I could see, disappearing into the upper floors. Its black marble steps matched that of Queen Neva’s throne, as did the flooring we stood on. Ebony crystals dripped from the chandeliers overhead.

For all that Queen Neva was light, the interior of her palace was dark and foreboding. Everything about her was a contrast of sorts.

“Your rooms have been readied, and your wardrobe has been”—she paused thoughtfully—“replenished.”

“How did you—”

She held up her hand and wispy fabric revealed wrists so slender they should have been skeletal. Instead I could see lean muscles flexing beneath her skin. “Communication here is better than that in Ludania. We got word of your
detour
almost immediately. Preparations have been made ever since.” She smiled then, a real smile. “There’s much we can teach you. Much we have to offer. You and I will be great allies, I think.”

I tried to imagine the level of communication that could work at that speed, and could only guess at how it might benefit my people. Suddenly it didn’t matter that I’d made a fool of myself, or that I was nervous. I remembered exactly why I’d come. “I appreciate that, Your Majesty.”

“Neva. Just call me Neva,” she said, releasing my arm and waving over a footman who was dressed in all black. I wondered how Brooklynn had felt, seeing that her uniform matched those of the palace staff. “Show Queen Charlaina to her rooms.” She turned to me then, her expression brightening. “I’ll have dinner sent up to your room. Get some rest, dear. The other delegations will be eager to meet you tomorrow.”