Queen of the Unwanted Read online

  She wanted that journey to last forever, despite her need to quaff potions against seasickness with every meal. Norah looked positively green even with the potions and spent almost the entire trip prostrate in bed, but perhaps that was just an excuse to stay as far away from Mairah as possible. The enforced proximity of their travel was hardly improving relations between them, and Mairah was certain that Norah dreamed of shoving her overboard. Which was why she made sure to remind the other woman nearly every day that she had plans in place to get her revenge should anything happen to her. She did not tell Norah that her plan was based on having already told the lord high priest about the Mother of All worshippers in the Abbey. She trusted Jalzarnin to avenge her should anything happen, but she did not want to deal with Norah’s hysterics if she learned her secret had already been revealed.

  As much as Mairah enjoyed the sea journey, it came to an end far too quickly, for the king had sent them on a magic-powered cutter that made the eight-hundred-mile journey in about six days. A lumbering cargo vessel would have suited her better, but the king had insisted she travel with all possible haste. He had not spoken to her personally, of course, but he had had Jalzarnin warn her that she would have only one month in Women’s Well to find a cure for the Curse. If she failed, she would no longer be the Abbess of Khalpar.

  She tried not to dwell on what would happen if she failed. She would still have ample blackmail to keep Norah and her friends from preying on her as they once had, but she didn’t see how she could bear to go back to life as an abigail. In fact, if the deadline approached and she did not believe she could succeed, she might very well try to plot an escape, though the thought never failed to send a shiver of panic through her. She had no money, nor had she ever had to fend for herself, especially not in a foreign land. If she managed to escape the guards that watched her with suspicion even when she was trapped on the ship, where would she go? She had to succeed.

  Regretfully disembarking in Grunir, Mairah and Norah had been immediately bundled into a rickety covered wagon hitched to a pair of ragged-looking chevals. The chevals were obviously intended for cargo rather than passengers. Even the cheapest chevals for carriages had at least some rudimentary decoration and were kept mended and in good repair. These two were nothing but wood and metal frames loosely covered by odds and ends of leather that was worn through in spots. Mairah gazed with longing at the much more comfortable and elegant carriage that had been reserved for Solvineld Rah-Solvin, who had been sent by the king as an official envoy to Women’s Well. It was Solvineld’s responsibility to ensure that Women’s Well allowed them to cross its borders, and a man of his wealth and stature could hardly be expected to ride in a cargo wagon.

  As ugly as the chevals were, they were fast, dragging the wagon through the rutted streets at a pace that threatened to shake Mairah’s flesh off her bones. The men of her escort had clearly experienced cheval rides of such speed before, for they braced themselves easily on the hard benches and looked unperturbed, whereas she and Norah clung to their seats with white-knuckled hands. There were no windows to look out of, and Mairah’s perch on the bench felt too precarious to allow her to lean forward and see out the back of the wagon. She’d been under no illusion that she was going on a sightseeing tour, but she still would have liked to have seen more of Grunir than its harbor. She wondered if Solvineld’s carriage had been spelled to ease the bumpy ride, but answered her own question immediately. He was no doubt reclining in comfort and ease while she and Norah—and their guards, who had probably been sent as some kind of punishment duty—suffered.

  So great was the king’s desire to have the Curse reversed that he had ordered the escort to travel straight from the harbor to Women’s Well without a stop for the night—which was why he’d chosen to spend the money on chevals, which could travel indefinitely as long as they were supplied with a steady stream of Rho.

  Mairah had spent many a miserable night during her life as an abigail, but none so miserable as that single night of travel by wagon. Powered by magic, the chevals were sure-footed enough to run full speed through the darkness. They would go around any ruts or holes in the road that might cause damage to themselves or to the wagon they pulled, but since they were designed for cargo—and sturdy cargo at that—they had no care for the comfort and safety of their passengers. The wagon jolted and juddered and bounced ceaselessly, and anytime Mairah made the mistake of relaxing or starting to doze, she paid for it with a new bruise or scratch. They stopped only for brief rests to stretch their legs and relieve themselves or grab a quick bite to eat.

  The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon when the wagon clattered over a wooden bridge, and about a quarter hour after that, the wagon slowed and then finally stopped. Mairah could not see what was going on outside, but she heard the whinny of real horses, and then a deep male voice called out in Continental. Mairah had been taught basic Continental as a girl—facility with the most commonly spoken language in Seven Wells being a mainstay of any young Khalpari’s upbringing—but she’d never had a great ear for it, and having not spoken or heard it in more than a decade, she could not understand a word that was being said, even if she understood the gist of it. They were being challenged at the Women’s Well border, just as they had expected.

  Outside, she could hear Solvineld descending from his comfortable carriage.

  “We have business with your sovereign princess,” Solvineld called in Parian, and Mairah winced. Solvineld was fluent in Continental—else he would be a pathetic excuse for an envoy—and his insistence on speaking his own tongue was a none-too-subtle insult. He was tasked with smoothing the way for Mairah and Norah to enter Women’s Well to fulfill their mission, but this was hardly an auspicious beginning.

  “Is that so?” the soldier asked in passable Parian—no doubt disappointing Solvineld. “May I inquire as to your name and the nature of your business?”

  Solvineld launched into the story that had been crafted to explain Mairah and Norah’s visit. He claimed that Khalpar was experiencing a devastating blight on one of its most prized exports: plums. He’d even brought a sack full of blighted plum pits as proof. He claimed that the blight was spreading and that neither the Academy of Khalpar nor its Abbey had been able to find a cure. They were coming to Women’s Well in desperation, hoping that the unique elements available here could produce the cure they so desperately needed.

  It was at this point that he called for Mairah and Norah to come out of the wagon for an introduction. Mairah’s whole body ached, and she was so weary she wasn’t sure how she would find the strength to clamber out of the wagon. Even the men of the escort looked worn out. Norah, the oldest of them all by at least two decades, had fared worse than any of them and was so stiff that she fell to her knees when she tried to rise. Mairah felt so wretched herself that she unthinkingly gave Norah a hand up, forgetting their hatred for each other.

  The two of them nearly tumbled out the back of the wagon, no doubt looking—and, unfortunately, smelling—as wretched and pathetic as they felt. The light was still bluish with dawn, and there was a mild nip in the air as Mairah stretched as subtly as she could and forced back a yawn.

  Solvineld, looking perfectly groomed and well rested, stood before a party of three armored soldiers, two of whom remained on horseback while their captain had dismounted. In the distance, Mairah could see a few more horsemen heading their way. The captain’s body language was relaxed and easy, but while his men refrained from putting hands to sword hilts, it was obvious they were more than prepared for trouble, their eyes watchful and suspicious.

  Solvineld looked over his shoulder and gave both Mairah and Norah a disdainful look before giving their names to the captain. Mairah noticed that he introduced them as “Mother Mairahsol and Sister Norah” without indicating which was which, as if they hardly mattered, then turned his full attention back to the captain.

  “Her Royal Hig
hness made no mention that she was expecting visitors from Khalpar,” the captain said pleasantly. “I’m afraid you’ve caught us at something of a disadvantage, for we have no welcoming committee prepared to greet you.”

  Mairah glanced at the half-dozen or so soldiers in the distance who were getting steadily closer. In the interest of common courtesy, King Khalvin should have sent an envoy—or at the very least a letter of introduction—in advance of their party. Perhaps he’d feared they would be denied entrance, and that their presence at the border—and the gifts they bore—would increase their chances of being allowed in.

  “What a pity,” Solvineld said. “I suppose our flier must have gone astray.” He pulled a scrolled parchment from his doublet, holding it aloft. “I carry with me a letter of introduction from our king,” he said, then gestured to his man-at-arms, who reached into the carriage.

  The captain showed no sign of alarm, although his mounted men both tensed, hands shifting nearer to swords. They did not relax when the man-at-arms withdrew a small but obviously heavy chest and held it out to Solvineld. The envoy handed the scroll to the captain, then opened the chest to display the selection of jewels it held. For the first time, the captain showed something more than formal and impersonal courtesy, his eyes widening as the gems caught the rising sun’s rays.

  “King Khalvin does not wish us to be a burden on the resources of Women’s Well,” Solvineld said, and he was unable to contain the faint whiff of distaste in his voice. “He is more than willing to compensate your principality for the expenses of our visit and for any aid and guidance you might lend our abigails in their mission to cure this dreadful blight.”

  The rest of the horsemen finally arrived, and they joined their fellows in fully blocking the road. The surrounding land was dense with low bushes and shrubs and the occasional small tree, making it entirely impassable both to the wagon and to the carriage.

  The captain graced them all with a courteous bow. “I must beg your pardon,” he said, sounding truly apologetic, “but I’m afraid I must request my sovereign’s permission before I can formally invite an armed party such as yours to enter Women’s Well.”

  Solvineld sniffed, and for a moment Mairah feared he was going to say something irreparably insulting that would doom their chances. However, as undiplomatic a diplomat as he appeared to be, he was not completely obtuse. “Of course,” he said with a thin smile. “Please do take the letter of introduction and our gift to your sovereign. We will rest and break our fast while we wait.”

  Mairah wanted nothing more than to sink into a bed—she’d have welcomed even the Abbey’s miserable cots at the moment—and sleep until the following dawn, but clearly such was not to be. The captain sent one of his men back to town with the letter and the chest, and Mairah and her companions settled in to wait.

  * * *

  —

  Alys stared at the chest of gems that lay on the table in front of her while her hastily summoned advisers filed into the council chamber. Lord Jailom read aloud the letter of introduction his captain had delivered from the Khalpari delegation, and as Alys tore her attention away from the gems and studied the faces of her council members, she could see they were all easily as confused as she by the sudden overture.

  “Well,” Chanlix said into the uneasy silence, “they clearly aren’t here to research a cure for their ‘plum blight.’ ”

  “No,” Alys agreed. Not after King Khalvin had so forcefully rejected her attempt to establish diplomatic relations with Khalpar. “But what can Khalvin hope to accomplish by sending the Abbess of Khalpar to our town?”

  “They have to be spies of some sort,” Jailom said with a shake of his head.

  Alys raised an eyebrow at him. “Do spies usually arrive bearing gifts like that one?” she asked, gesturing at the chest of gems. Enough gems to more than double what was currently available to their Academy. “Just imagine what kind of spells those gems would hold.” Gems were capable of containing far more elements than mere stone or metal and could therefore hold more complex and powerful spells.

  Jailom shrugged. “It is a bribe, not a gift. And we can be certain they did not arrive here with goodwill in their hearts.”

  “No,” the lord high treasurer agreed. “They merely arrived with enough gems to fulfill some of our trade agreements with Rhozinolm by flier.”

  Alys nodded, for it was well within the abilities of fliers to carry small items such as gems, thus avoiding the expense and danger of the long trade route through Grunir’s harbor. The spell Alys had developed to provide immunity to magic—including illusion magic—was large enough to require a gemstone to hold it, and the lack of gems had so far curtailed their ability to use it for trade, despite what she was certain would be an eager demand.

  “But at what cost?” Jailom insisted. “And why did they send their abbess, of all people?”

  “They’re here because they hope they can reverse our mother’s spell,” Tynthanal said, speaking up for the first time. “That’s the only thing I can imagine that would motivate Khalvin to make overtures to us.”

  Alys closed her eyes and sighed, for he was undoubtedly right. Khalvin had sent his abbess because he believed women’s magic was the key to undoing what many in the outside world called the Curse. The small group of Mother of All worshippers who had settled in Women’s Well called it the Blessing, and the name had stuck in their small principality.

  “They can’t do that,” Jailom protested. “Can they?”

  “No,” Chanlix said with absolute conviction. “I don’t doubt they believe—or at least hope—they can. But Mother Brynna stated unequivocally that the spell cannot be reversed, and I see no reason to doubt her. She was the most gifted seer I’ve ever heard of, much less known. If it were possible for her spell to be reversed, she’d have foreseen it, and she never would have cast it in the first place.”

  Alys closed her eyes again, this time for a very different reason. She had yet to come to terms with just how much of the future her mother had known when she’d cast her spell. Her heart overflowed with pain and rage at the knowledge that her mother had foreseen Jinnell’s death, had deemed Alys’s precious daughter an acceptable sacrifice for her concept of the “greater good.”

  She felt a hand on her arm and knew it was Tynthanal’s. She tried so hard to keep her grief private, to project the image of the strong and stoic sovereign.

  “I agree with Chanlix,” Tynthanal said. “I cannot imagine that this abbess has the power to accomplish so monumental a task. Not even the magic of Women’s Well can do that.”

  Alys opened her eyes and forced her emotions into the background. Her heart pounded in her throat at the effort, but she managed to keep her voice level. “I tend to agree,” she said, eying the gems once again. “But I also believe it would be folly to treat the delegation as if they were harmless. We must make certain to have each member of the delegation carefully watched at all times. And they must submit to a thorough search—each and every one of them—before they are allowed to leave, in case they are here to steal our magic.” She glanced at Tynthanal. “We’ll have to search them ourselves,” she said, for she and her brother were both of an Adept level that would allow them to spot elements no one else in the town could see. “With both of us looking, they will not be capable of slipping anything by us.”

  “So you mean to let them in?” Jailom asked dubiously.

  She stared at the jewels that winked and glittered in the chest. “Those gems are too precious to pass up.” Which, of course, was why King Khalvin had sent them.

  Jailom nodded. “I would be a poor lord commander if I did not point out that we can just keep them. We easily have enough men to turn the delegation away.”

  Tynthanal—who had been Jailom’s commanding officer before they’d both joined the royal council of Women’s Well—gave him a disapproving look. “We are not t
hieves. And the last thing we need is to provoke Khalvin into launching an attack against us.”

  “I know that,” Jailom responded mildly. “But we must consider that Khalpar is our enemy already. Our very existence is likely a provocation to them.” He gestured at the chest. “That may seem a fortune to us here when we have no other access to gems, but it is a paltry amount to a kingdom with its own natural supply.”

  Jailom smiled at the glower Tynthanal sent his way. “I’m not advocating an attack. I’m merely pointing out that it is an option.”

  “Thank you,” Alys interrupted before the debate could continue. “I am still inclined to accept the delegation and exercise a great deal of caution. We must prepare rooms for them in the inn.”

  “And perhaps install a watcher in the room adjacent to the one we give the abbess,” Chanlix suggested. “If she is going to try to undo the spell, she will have to do all of her work behind closed doors, and we should make certain she is not unobserved.”

  Alys nodded.

  “I’ll have a word with the innkeeper,” Jailom said. “I imagine we can offer him and his staff some inducement to keep us apprised of their observations. The more people we have watching, the less likely we’ll miss something.”

  “And I’ll make certain to introduce myself to the abbess and assess her abilities—and her commitment to her mission,” Chanlix said. “I, for one, cannot imagine how a woman who has spent any time in an abbey would wish to undo your mother’s spell.”

  Alys shrugged. “Surely you’ve met some of the ladies my stepmother brought with her from Khalpar,” she said, for the Abbey of Aaltah would have seen several of those ladies through pregnancies. “They take the Devotional far more literally than we do, and they believe women exist only to bear children for their husbands. Even if she’s suffered under that doctrine, the abbess may well believe it.”