Queen of the Unwanted Read online

  Even she had doubted the veracity of her own vision! But even so, she had confided in Jalzarnin, embellishing her vision with additional details to suggest she might use her power as abbess to undo the Curse. And whether because she was an exceptionally skilled liar or merely because he’d wanted so badly to believe her—likely a combination of the two—he’d been convinced. No longer would she sleep on a miserable cot in a dormitory filled with snoring women! Never again would she be forced to fast—or take a beating—anytime one of the senior abigails took exception to her tone of voice, or the expression on her face, or the thoughts they imagined she was thinking.

  Jalzarnin laughed. “You know me, dearest. I do enjoy the savoring of joyful anticipation.” He waggled his brows at her, and she laughed with delight.

  It was true that he was a master of foreplay. So much so that he always purchased two hours of her time instead of the traditional one.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said wonderingly, covering her mouth with her hand as she shook her head. It had been a long time since she had felt anything resembling genuine joy—the glee she’d felt when Mother Wyebryn had blithely drunk the poison Mairah had slipped into her wine didn’t count—but that was what she felt now. “How did you manage it?”

  He propped himself up on his elbow, smiling at her as his eyes glowed with satisfaction and pride. “I told you the king would do anything if he thought it might undo the Curse. I was not exaggerating. It makes sense that it would take women’s magic to reverse what the Abbess of Aaltah did, and it therefore makes sense to have the most magically gifted abigail leading the effort. The king saw that logic as clearly as I do.”

  It sounded more like wishful thinking than logic, as far as Mairah was concerned. The Curse that the Abbess of Aaltah had cast was unthinkable in its scale and power. The woman had sent out fliers all through Seven Wells, explaining that the Curse had been generations in the making and that the three women who’d died in its casting were the only ones who had any idea how it was accomplished. It had affected the Wellspring—the source of all magical elements, which were said to be the Creator’s seed. And it had changed the most common of all elements: Rho, the element of life. It seemed the worst kind of hubris to imagine anyone could simply reverse it. Not in this lifetime, at least. Not that she’d ever allowed any such sentiment to see the light of day.

  “The trade minister will come by the Abbey tomorrow,” Jalzarnin continued, “to deliver the official decree. This is the last night you will spend as an abigail.”

  It was all Mairah could do not to leap out of the bed and dance for happiness. From the moment she’d set foot inside the Abbey—no, from the moment she’d started down the path that had led her here—she had considered her life all but over. Becoming abbess wouldn’t come close to restoring the life she’d had before her ruin, but it was a far cry from the miserable drudgery she’d resigned herself to.

  “At least, as long as the king has reason to hope you will succeed in reversing the Curse,” Jalzarnin finished, draining all that joy and replacing it with cold horror.

  “What?” she cried, hoping he didn’t mean what she feared.

  He sat up and put a comforting hand on her thigh, giving it a squeeze. “Don’t panic, dear one. You will be named abbess on an interim basis, but the office will become officially yours in six months’ time.”

  “Six months?” Her voice rose to something near a shriek. “You expect me to reverse this impossible spell in six months? Are you mad?” Her fellow abigails already despised her. She could only imagine how they would feel about her after she’d been their abbess for six months. If she should be removed from office and returned to their ranks…She shuddered. Hard to imagine she could be treated worse than she was right now, but she was certain that was exactly what would happen.

  “Of course I don’t expect that,” Jalzarnin soothed. “And neither does the king. All he wants is to see signs of progress. He wants to be reassured that my recommendation is sound and based on logic, not emotion.” He grimaced briefly. “He is not unaware that I have formed a certain degree of attachment to you, and though I believe he trusts me and trusts my judgment, he is a careful man.”

  Mairah folded her arms over her breasts—a gesture that was protective, rather than modest. She’d survived being ruined once—and it was a ruination she’d made a conscious choice to accept—but she wasn’t sure she could survive it a second time.

  Jalzarnin drew her into his arms, and though she didn’t resist, she didn’t melt into him, either.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to risk?” she murmured, trying not to think about just how much more miserable her life could become. Perhaps it would be wiser not to try than to risk trying and failing. Not that she supposed Jalzarnin was exactly asking this of her. He had already spoken to the king, after all, and the king had already decided to appoint her.

  “You will be named abbess permanently,” he said, his voice ringing with conviction. “Of that I have no doubt. You are gifted in so many ways.” He released her, then cupped his hands around her face, forcing her to meet his earnest eyes. “You deserve so much more than life has given you. I can’t give you everything you deserve, but I can give you this chance. Remember, all you have to do is convince the king you have made progress. I know you can do that!”

  Mairah swallowed hard, forcing down her fear. Jalzarnin was the lord high priest—presumably the most devout man in all of Khalpar. He and his fellow priests preached that the Curse was an abomination, an insult to the Creator’s will and a blight on all humanity. And yet right now, he didn’t sound like a man in the grips of a pious fervor, desperate to restore the natural order.

  “And will you be satisfied?” she asked. “If I appear to show progress but don’t actually reverse the Curse?”

  Jalzarnin smiled ruefully. “I’m a realist, darling. I don’t think a spell that was generations in the planning will be reversed quite so easily as our king and many of my fellows wish. I also think that the Creator allowed it to happen, and that therefore it may very well be His will after all. But of course I am not a fool and have no intention of sharing these sentiments with anyone but you.”

  Mairah nodded and bit her lip thoughtfully. It was not an unqualified victory, and the dangers involved were immense. But Jalzarnin had given her hope where none had existed, and for that she could only be grateful.

  “You will be a magnificent abbess,” he said, gazing at her like a man infatuated.

  Mairah smiled and practically glowed with the praise—despite her natural skepticism. She was under no illusion. She recognized the depths of his ambition and was well aware that he viewed everyone around him through the lens of his own self-interest. But one thing she knew: compared to her, he was a rank amateur.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Corlin looked startled when Alys swept into the dining room, leaping to his feet so fast he almost knocked over his chair. He had not been home when Tynthanal had visited, and apparently he’d had no inkling that Alys had decided to emerge from her room. Guilt gnawed at her once again, and she wondered how many meals he’d eaten at this table in solitude while she’d surrendered herself to grief. He was grieving, too, and though she doubted her ability to comfort him, the least she could have done was keep him company.

  He’d never been the demonstrative sort, her son, so Alys was not surprised that he did not fling himself joyfully into her arms, though his stiff and very proper bow felt strangely accusatory.

  “Your Royal Highness,” he said in greeting.

  Protocol demanded that even her closest family members bow and greet her formally when in public, but there was no one else in the room at the moment, and she was sure she was not imagining the chill in his voice and bearing. Her throat tightened, and she had the momentary urge to turn and flee the room. She fully understood why Corlin was angry with her, why he blamed
her for Jinnell’s death. After all, she blamed herself, too, even if logic insisted there had been nothing she could have done to save her daughter had she remained home instead of traveling to Women’s Well.

  Alys sucked in a deep breath and stiffened her spine. She was done with running away.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been…absent for these last several weeks,” she said. “It was terribly selfish of me, and…” Her voice trailed off as Corlin refused to make eye contact, his gaze fixed on something just above her right shoulder. She felt as if she were looking at a stranger—one who clearly did not like her very much.

  Wishing she could think of something to say to make it better, she took her seat at the head of the table. Corlin remained standing until she was settled, once again freezing her out with his overly proper court etiquette. A footman entered the room and served the first course, a clear broth redolent with the scent of locally grown herbs. Despite her emergence from her room, Alys had not come close to recovering her appetite, and she knew she would have to force herself to finish even this lightest of all dishes.

  She glanced at Corlin, who sat ramrod straight in his chair and stared at the wall. He did not reach for his spoon. As an experiment, Alys picked up her own spoon and dipped it in the broth, stirring it around as if waiting for it to cool before sipping. Corlin’s hands remained in his lap as she slowly lifted the spoon to her mouth and took a delicate sip.

  As soon as she took that sip, Corlin’s seeming paralysis was broken and he set to the soup with gusto.

  Alys shook her head and put the spoon down with a firm thump. “I get the message that you’re angry with me, Corlin,” she said. “You needn’t work quite so hard at it.”

  He paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. His gaze shifted briefly in her direction before he remembered how vitally important it was that he not make eye contact. With a start, Alys remembered acting in a similar manner to her own father more than once over the years. She had never forgiven him for divorcing and disgracing her mother, and she had never been shy about letting him know that. Corlin had learned from the best how to deliver a very effective cold shoulder.

  He put the spoon down and stared straight ahead, apparently riveted by the dining room wall. “I know you were too busy to notice, but I’m now fourteen.”

  Alys flinched, her heart giving an unpleasant thud. She’d sunk so deeply into her sea of self-pity and self-indulgence that she had actually forgotten her own son’s birthday! It was unconscionable, and she could hardly blame him for being angry. Surely she should be able to mourn the death of one child without neglecting the other.

  “I’m so sorry—” she began, knowing that no words could take away the hurt she had caused, but Corlin wasn’t interested in hearing her apology anyway.

  “I’m of age to join the Citadel now,” he interrupted. “I have already spoken to Lord Jailom about it, and he assures me I will be accepted as long as I have your permission.”

  Alys was struck speechless, staring at her nearly grown son and seeing instead the chubby, cheerful toddler who’d once clung to her skirts. But there was a hint of peach fuzz on his cheeks, and the subtle broadening of his shoulders and chest showed he’d spent a considerable effort honing his swordsmanship as he drilled with the soldiers of the Citadel. She had initially been against him training with the soldiers, but learning to wield a sword was an essential part of any young nobleman’s upbringing, and she’d eventually decided there was no harm in allowing him to learn from the best.

  “Is that where you’ve been all this time?” she asked.

  His eyes narrowed and the muscles of his jaw worked. “You’ve barely stuck your head out of your room since the funeral,” he said, his voice full of sharp edges. “How would you know whether I’ve been anywhere other than here?”

  A footman peeked in the door, saw that neither Alys nor Corlin had finished their soup, and vanished again.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been so neglectful,” she said. “I wish I were a stronger person, wish I could have found the will to…” She blinked rapidly as tears threatened. It was all she could do not to bolt from the room and dive back into the darkness and safety of her bedroom. The condemnation in Corlin’s eyes was more than she could bear when her soul was still so terribly fragile.

  “Do I have your permission?” Corlin asked. “Lord Jailom said I could start immediately. He needs all the cadets he can find if we’re to have a real army someday.”

  “You’re the crown prince,” she said, grasping for an excuse. If Corlin joined the Citadel, that meant he would leave home and live in the barracks. Women’s Well was, of course, a very small principality, and the Citadel was within easy walking distance of her house—just as it would be from her palace, when that building was completed—and yet she felt certain that if he moved away, she would lose him for good. “Joining the Citadel is meant to be a lifetime commitment, which is fine for a second or third son, but not for an heir.” Not to mention that there were few things she wanted less than to have her son become a career soldier—especially in a time that was almost certain to see war.

  “Lord Jailom says there is precedent,” Corlin insisted.

  Alys was going to have to have a word with her lord commander for putting this idea in Corlin’s head.

  She sighed, suspecting it was very much the other way around. But Lord Jailom had apparently done nothing to discourage it—and she’d been too busy licking her wounds to put an end to this before it began. The thought of Corlin going into battle made her feel dizzy with panic, though of course cadets—especially the youngest of them—were only called into battle in the gravest of emergencies.

  I can’t lose you, too, she thought, but she had the good sense not to put the sentiment into words.

  “Just because there is precedent doesn’t mean you should do it,” she said. “You never much enjoyed—”

  “It doesn’t matter what I enjoyed in the past. I need to do this. I need to know how to fight. I need to be ready when the time comes.”

  “You will not fight!” she snapped, panic making her words come out sharper than she intended.

  Corlin shoved his bowl away, sloshing lukewarm soup onto the table. Anger rolled off him in palpable waves, and Alys barely recognized the sweet, mild-mannered child she had raised. It was natural that a boy his age would begin to rebel against his mother, and it was also natural that he should be angry after everything he had gone through and everything he had lost. But the intensity of that anger scared her—and made her wonder what he would become if he could not let go of it.

  Maybe joining the Citadel would be the best thing for him. Maybe the drilling and sparring would give him a much-needed outlet for the rage that currently had nowhere to go.

  “You don’t even care what I want, do you?” he snarled. “You’ve decided to keep me tied to your apron strings because you think that will somehow make up for leaving Jinnell and me alone, and I have no say in it.”

  Alys put a hand to her stomach as if to stanch the bleeding as his words stabbed into her. He’d chosen her softest, most vulnerable spot, and the pain was so vicious she had to close her eyes to contain it.

  For a moment, the room was silent, and all Alys could hear was the ringing in her ears as the world threatened to crush her. Then Corlin heaved a loud sigh.

  “Forgive me, Mama,” he said. “I didn’t mean that.”

  But of course, he had. She had trusted that her children would be safe in Aalwell, never imagining that her father might die in her absence and her half-brother ascend the throne. She’d trusted her father to protect his grandchildren, which he certainly would have, had he lived. Alys could not have anticipated her father’s death, but she still should not have left her children unprotected so long. She would carry the guilt of those decisions for the rest of her life.

  Forcing her eyes open, she regarded her son.
She did not want him to be a soldier, even temporarily. But perhaps it was about what he needed rather than about what she wanted.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, hoping there was no quaver in her voice. “A soldier’s life is not an easy one, even when he is but a cadet.”

  Corlin snorted. “But I was never destined for an easy life, now was I?”

  “No. I suppose not.” Alys had never considered her own life particularly easy, but she’d had no idea how much harder it would become after her mother cast the spell many referred to as the Curse. She would do anything in her power to protect her son against the repercussions, but no, his life could never be easy. “If you’re sure this is what you want, then you have my permission.”

  * * *

  —

  Queen Ellinsoltah of Rhozinolm stood before the mirror in her dressing room and smoothed her hands down the skirt of brilliant blue silk that draped her hips, emotions rioting in ways she had never expected. Behind her, Star, her lady’s maid, hummed approvingly, plucking at her belled sleeve so that it lay just right.

  “It is so lovely to see you wearing a proper color once more, Your Majesty,” Star said. Then, unable to stop fussing, she reached up and adjusted the jeweled snood that restrained Ellin’s hair.

  Ellin blinked at her image in the mirror, hardly recognizing herself. “I had not realized how…accustomed I had become to wearing black,” she murmured, and was surprised to find her eyes stinging with tears. One year ago yesterday, she had lost her mother, father, uncle, and grandfather all in one terrible, terrifying evening. It felt almost like a betrayal to lay her mourning clothes aside.

  Star patted her shoulder gently. “Just because you no longer wear black does not mean you no longer mourn. Today will be difficult, but it will get easier as time goes on.”

  Ellin turned to her maid with a wry smile. “I very much doubt that,” she murmured. She would grow used to wearing color again, just as she had somehow grown used to being the queen. But with the end of her official mourning would come a new and daunting set of obstacles.