Queen of Ruins

Chapter One

I t looks so pretty, Katherine whispers, tilting her face toward the night sky.

From the dark, off to my side, Kennard growls. It’ll be a beautiful death if you don’t quit your gawking and pay attention.

Snow drifts from the feathered clouds, landing on us as we lie on our bellies atop a high hill surveying the landscape below. Lilting bits of white fleece dance about as they make their long journey from the slate sky above to the surface of the winter-crisp earth. As a girl, I celebrated every new snowfall, running into the courtyard to stare in wonderment as the miraculous fluff flitted down to kiss my tiny nose and cover Devlishire—and the entirety of the world—in a blanket of serenity.

How fleeting peace—and the memory of it—truly is.

There. Jamis points to the rise of a hill forty yards from where we lie. He’s beside me, pressed into my side to keep me—and himself I’m sure—warm against the frigid night. The snow beneath me has melted, the moisture creeping through my cloak, into my dress, and even into the breeches beneath it. My body is doing its best to warm me and the earth upon which I’ve been prone for over an hour.

I squint against the falling flakes, my gaze straining in the direction Jamis points. An orange glow lights the valley behind a hill, illuminating the land’s subtle rise and casting undulating shadows on the surrounding land.

Idiots, Josef whispers harshly from my other side. Dont they know nothin’ ‘bout war

I smile at the fact that, until three months ago, none of us knew anything about war. A year ago, I was a naïve princess sent to marry the most powerful man in the Unified Kingdoms. But after being betrayed by my father, brother, and their allies, I know far more of combat than most men twice my age.

I study the hill, watching for the shadows of people to move across the glow of the campfire. My ears strain to pick up sounds of camp. Throughout the Unified Kingdoms, battles are being waged daily. A band of knights would make quite a clatter as they shed their armor and weapons, recovered their horses, and settled into rest. Even a group of peasants would make noise, but there is nothing. Only the glow of a fire. A beacon to give away the unsuspecting people who might be gathered around it.

It’s a trap, I whisper. They know we’re in the hills. They’re trying to draw us out.

It was only a matter of time before our location was discovered again. For months, we’ve raided the resources of Roarke and King Lester. We’ve stolen weapons, food, and livestock almost daily. Acting on information from Legion E spies deep in Devlishire and Carling, we’ve known when they moved their riches and have intercepted those as well. Once the Alliance of Beasts—as I’ve come to call them—discovers our location, we move on to our next target. With a band of fewer than twenty members, we’re able to move through the Argralands efficiently to keep ahead of the larger troops. But this time, they’ve caught up to us far faster than expected.

Silence gathers around us as we scan the shadows. Just as I think I was mistaken about troops lying in wait, a bird bursts from a tree, chirping in fear. Instinct kicks in, and we drop our heads. The glow of our faces against the night is likely what they’re looking for. Crisp blades of wild grasses poke through the snow and into my face. I reach back. My stiff, numb fingers to pull the cloth of my hood over my head. I peer over the hill again as I draw a dark woolen flap across my nose and mouth, securing it on the opposite side.

Katherine belly scoots alongside Jamis, and Kennard slides into place beside her. The crunch of snow under them seems to echo throughout the night, though I know the sound hasn’t traveled beyond our small group.

They’re ahead. Kennard’s voice is thick and gravelly, even in a whisper—as thick and war-torn as his body. There’s been no movement from our flanks. We’d have seen them if they’d followed our path.

Jamis nods. Recent experience has taught him to trust in the skills of his most loyal adviser.

I focus again on the glowing hill, unease filling my belly with roiling waves of warning. Pulling my hood from my ear, I close my eyes and listen, straining to hear beyond the obvious in the way Isobel has instructed me. My ears pick up the subtle breeze, the breaths of my allies, the horses hidden in the trees behind us, the crackle of the fire ahead of us, and there, on a subtle shift of air, is a warning. Though I can’t make out the words as Isobel can, a message is being carried from one tree to another. Deep in my heart, the goddess Nithenia guides me to hear and understand the message, even though it lacks words as I know them. They’re lying in wait. If we come looking, they’ll have the cover of the hills and bushes. We’ll have the fire at our backs. They’ll have the advantage. There’s a small troop, there. I point to the left of the hill.

And there, Katherine adds with a finger angled to a prominent peak.

Through a series of hand gestures, Kennard communicates he and Katherine will lead the troops waiting in the trees behind us. As they make their way around the base of the hill, Jamis, Josef, and I will move in from the front, drawing out those waiting to ambush us. The plan is counterintuitive, going against everything I, as a queen, ever learned about war. The king isn’t sent directly into battle, and he isn’t used as bait. And though I was far better trained in swordfight than any other monarch in recent times, my skills were intended for defense. I doubt Esmond, my old trainer and friend, ever dreamed he was preparing me to march directly into an ambush. But I’m a queen in name and memory only now. All I rule is in rubble and those who purported to be my allies won’t rest until Jamis and I are dead and our land under their control.

As the others crawl away into the darkness, I roll onto my back, inhaling deeply to calm my body and mind in preparation for the looming conflict. I let my right hand wander to my waist, confirming the presence of the leather belt purse that holds my small dagger—a gift from Esmond, given to me before the Battle of Allondale. Its hilt is small and shaped to fit in a closed fist. The blade is long and narrow—a well-placed jab would puncture a grown man’s life force with devastating consequences. My hand follows the familiar path to my hip, patting the sapphire-encrusted hilt of the dagger Jamis gave me on our first and last trip together to Devlishire. Behind that is the solid hilt of my sword, everything I’ve relied on during previous fights as they should be.

I look to the sky, seeking the vast darkness beyond the falling flakes. Nithenia, I place my trust in you. Allow my arms to be strong, my blade true, and our victory swift. Steeling my body for battle, I roll to my right hip and into a low crouch, the weight of the sword on my left hip threatening to pull my back to the ground.

Jamis and Josef are rising to their feet as well. Before standing, I use one finger to draw a pattern of five wavy lines in the snow, the symbol of Nithenia, devised by my sister and me when we were young and beholden to laws banning the worship of the long-forgotten gods. My dark gray cloak falls across my body as I fall into place beside Jamis and Josef to walk into an ambush.

Under the best of circumstances, the darkness of the night enhances the vast emptiness of the rolling hills outside the Unified Kingdoms. But now, as I wait for danger to pounce, the earth itself seems to be holding its breath in anticipation. Silence has fully engulfed the landscape. There are no sounds of forest animals scurrying in the dark, no wolves calling through the night or coyotes yelping their high frantic cries. Only the crunching of snow beneath our boots casts any sound.

Although we know where the enemy troop lies, our gait is slow and cautious, giving the impression we are unaware of the danger that lies before us. When we near the base of the hill, a bush rustles. The movement is subtle, but the leaves on the trees above and the surrounding bushes remain still, indicating the movement was caused by something—more likely someone—behind it.

Jamis reaches to push me behind him. Josef angles closer, pinching me off. Despite the number of times I’ve proven myself in the few short months since the Battle of Allondale, they can’t overcome their natural inclination to shield me.

At the ready, mortal. Nithenia’s warning fills my head with a keen awareness of everything surrounding me. My right hand grips the hilt of my sword. I lift slightly, pulling it free of the initial resistance of the leather that holds it. I control my breath and center all the energy into my body, allowing it to tumble and roil in preparation for when I call on it.

Crunch, crunch. Our cautious footsteps explode through the otherwise silent night. The bush is only feet away from us now, with the foot of the hill just beyond. My gaze darts along the crest of the surrounding hills, searching for any sign of movement from those lying in wait or our own band of marauders. My mind calculates where Kennard and Katherine should be with their troops by now—at least, I hope they are there. If they were overtaken, we are walking into a trap and our own deaths.

We near the fire, my pupils constricting to shield against the assault of the flame. I focus on the dark beyond, but my eyes betray me.

Snap. The sound ricochets through the valley, followed by an explosion of movement—and then yelling. Men in metal armor burst from behind the bushes. They run at us as more men pour from over and around the hills and from the tree line behind.

With no sign of our troops, Jamis, Josef, and I turn our backs to each other as we draw our swords and step in to meet our attackers. I let out a primal shout as I meet the first blow, easily deflecting it and drawing my blade across the soft, exposed skin of the man’s neck.

The night is filled with the grunts and heaving sounds of humans at war and the sharp clatter of clashing blades. Fury driving me, I imagine each opponent is my brother. Images of villagers who yielded to Roarke’s rule, only to be struck down in front of their wives and children, fill my head. I swing hard and true, intent on ending his life with each blow.

Our assailants' attention is drawn to the rear line as our troops pour from the shadows and begin taking out the enemy with a stealth they’ve never experienced. Before they’re even aware of the risk, half have been dispatched by our band of knights and forestland warriors. Realizing the risk and having quickly lost the upper hand they were so certain of, the front line enhances their effort. They swing their blades with the strength and desperation of men determined to win. But they are no match for our unit. We’ve lost more than they can imagine. Fueled by rage, we are an army with nothing left to lose. Each of us is willing to cast our own lives aside to achieve vengeance against the army that stole our lands and those we love in the name of greed.

When the bloody fighting ends, the last alive is a boy no older than fifteen. We always pick a young one, the most frightened if possible. Kennard has driven the boy to his knees and bound his wrists. Katherine, blood-spattered, fierce, and beautiful, holds him in place with an arrow drawn and ready—daring him to flee. His eyes are wide, and his body shuddering against fear and cold as he watches the tip of the arrow that could be unleashed at any moment.

Our troops are busy, scavenging from the bodies in the narrow valley, the scarlet ink of their lives painting the pure white canvas beneath them. Josef cleans his blade with snow as Jamis and I approach the boy. He can barely look away from Katherine. Jamis demands his attention, smacking the wide surface of his sword against the boy’s hip. Who’s your king?

Tears pour from the boy’s pale eyes. It’s something we’re accustomed to. They’re young and filled with the purpose that’s been demanded: defending their kings and kingdoms. Raised under the rule of the Unified Kingdoms in peacetime, the boys still don’t realize the idealized notion of riding out to claim victory in the name of their king is childish and simple. The Unification has crumbled. War-time allegiances will protect these boys or be the reason for their deaths. Their allegiance might have been given poorly if it were even a choice. Most have been conscripted, forced to fight for the king they were raised under or the one who has conquered their homeland. Centuries of theoretical loyalty have left them poorly prepared to make rapid decisions about which side to align with. We try to take that into account.

I…I’s in Prince Roarke’s army, sir.

Jamis draws a hand back and strikes him. It doesn’t affect me anymore. If I could, I’d strike every person who aligns with my repugnant brother.

The boy lets out a cry, his tears falling faster from his red, swollen eyes. A thick stream of moisture begins to work its way from his nose as well. His shuddering increases as Katherine takes a step closer—her expression daring him to flee. He throws his hands up, wide eyes bouncing from one of us to the other in rapid succession. Please, sir! They ‘scripted me. I’nt ‘ave no choice.

Jamis and I circle him slowly. It’s a show we’ve perfected. We assess him, tipping our heads from one side to the other as if considering what to do with him. It only takes us a moment to determine which of us should proceed—an unspoken agreement we’ve adopted. With this boy, it will be me.

I crouch in front of him, so close our faces nearly touch. Raising my brows and with a voice near a whisper, I ask him the one question I already know the answer to. Do you know who I am?

He nods as he tries to lean farther away from me. His skin has blanched, casting the freckles into prominence. His chin quivers.

Say it.

Qu-qu-queen Malory, he stutters.

I ensure my voice is low and ominous, a quality that’s come about naturally and I’ve come to like. Tell my brother I’m coming for him. And if you and I meet on the battlefield again, you won’t live to see your next breath.

I stand and stride into the dark without another word. Jamis and Josef fall in behind me, followed by Katherine, Kennard, and the other dozen men in our troop. We let the shadows of the forest envelop us before we even turn to glance at the boy. He can no longer see us, yet he remains on his knees, shivering in the dark. The orange glow of the ambush fire behind the hill casts the only light into the snowy night.

Make sure he goes, I tell Davion, a fierce Fairlean Josef insisted would be a useful addition to our contingent. Most of the boys we leave behind will flee on their own, usually after waiting a short while to be sure they are, in fact, safe to do so. A few have tried to honor the dead littered around them before moving on. There are a few, though, who immediately run in the opposite direction of our departure. Only twice has Davion had to return and goad the boys to leave, and each was Roarke’s soldiers.

We mount our horses, then slip deeper into the woods. The deep regions of the Argralands—forest lands west and south of the Devlishire and Claxton borders—have proven to be as ideal for our needs as Fairlee. The lands are nearly unchartered, uninhabited, and untraveled due to thousands of years of frightening tales and offer plenty of places to hide. We ride for nearly an hour, winding through the trees along a course we now intuitively know until we come to the small pool of fresh water at the mouth of a cave. Several Fairleans remained behind to protect our camp, and they gather around to relieve our horses of their blankets and straps and help carry the cache of weapons and gold pieces we recovered from the bodies.

A fire crackles in the mouth of the cave, heating the inner chambers. Several small animals are cooking over the flames, the aroma filling the camp and making my mouth water in anticipation of my first hearty meal in days.

Davion appears ten minutes later. He’s gone. Headed north. Although he’s speaking to Jamis and me, he’s looking past us, searching through the people gathered in the main chamber of the cave for Katherine. It was only a week ago I first noticed him seeking her out, though she has yet to notice the increased intensity of his attentions.

We should clean up, I tell Jamis. After I retrieve clean strips of cloth and fresh clothing, we make our way back into the cold. We follow the familiar path through the dark that leads around the pond to an inlet. The thick overgrowth of trees hang low, the row of brush providing some measure of privacy for my husband and me.

I dip the torn cloth into the frigid water and then hand it to Jamis before drawing my own across my skin. The dirt and grime of the past week in the forest is wiped away from my hands with the scarlet stains of tonight’s fight.

Has it been only one week since our last bath?

My skin alights in reaction to the stinging cold of the water against the night. My body embraces the freedom to breathe without the thick covering of smoke, perspiration, and dirt—the result of our new vagrant lifestyle. I could have never imagined the simple act of wiping away filth could bring about such a feeling of decadent self-care.

I pass the rag over my forearms, pushing the braided bangle around to ensure I’ve cleaned the blood from it as well. With the bracelet clean, I wring out the rag in the water and then wipe my face and neck. I turn my back to Jamis. Would you? He fumbles with the pearl buttons along the back of my dress, my skin prickling as each new inch is exposed to the winter air. The cold stings as it assaults my back, but it’s the feeling of being alive despite everything that’s conspired against me, so I welcome it.

Isn’t it time to give up the gowns? Jamis’s voice is a soft murmur in my ear. Low and taunting. I know where the simple sight of my bare skin takes his mind, and I relish that power. He trails a finger along my spine, his breath coming in hot bursts across my back.

Katherine and I have taken to wearing men’s breeches, but we haven’t been able to entirely give up our gowns. Though we’ve given up our underskirts—and the front panels of our dresses have been torn away to allow us more freedom of movement while riding and in battle—we’ve each kept our two favorite gowns. Our peripatetic new lives are far less nourishing than court life. We’ve lost much of our softness, giving us the room to pair tunics under our gowns for additional warmth. I am a queen, and I will wear my finery until it wears away and falls from my body.

Is that so? Jamis’s fingers slip under the material and lift, causing the gown and tunic to fall from my body as one, pillowing at my feet. The cold air across my body gives rise to a gasp, but I control my reaction and turn slowly to face my husband, arms at my side.

"What is it that you want, my king?" I offer a teasing smile as I slowly bridge the small space between us. I’m eager for the heat of his body, but I try to maintain my facade of control. When he pulls me into his arms, I press against him. His kiss is deep and demanding, an evolution from the timid, tender boy I married.

He tastes of war and desperation, bravery and vengeance, and my body responds to its likeness. I reach under his tunic, pushing the material away as I press into his heat, clutching against him, demanding him.

Jamis lifts me, and I wrap around him. He pulls me against him, tighter still as he reaches out for something to stabilize him—the tree that has served us before, though he’s more cautious now, not wanting to pull splinters from my backside again.

When our passion is spent—our long, languid sessions of making love in the palace are long behind us—we quickly pull on our clean clothing. As I lift the gown to my waist, Jamis reaches one hand out, his finger traveling along the skin over my heart. It’s almost gone now.

I look down at the design my sister Laila painted over my heart before the Battle of Allondale. The symbol of Nithenia that we created as children is nearly gone. The dark, thick, and black lines are now so faint they may be mistaken for shadow. But though it has faded to the eye, the symbol is burned into my soul. I’m no longer bound by the conventions of the former Unified Kingdoms. There are no kingdoms any longer—their laws forgotten along with all the loyalties that bound us together. And now, my heart belongs to the long-forgotten goddess, the one deity who made sense. A goddess who stood against her brethren to protect the people who put their faith in her alone. A goddess who fought against the strongest of the gods, including Nemii, the god of opposition, met their threats with bravery and cunning—and overcame them in the end.

I shrug as I pull the gown and tunic over my shoulders, turning so Jamis can pull the ties together. It was only temporary. My fingertips linger on the spot over my heart, where my sister drew the symbol. It was the last time I saw her. Though messengers assure me that she is well and remains in Fairlee, it’s been so long since I’ve seen her.

We’ll be back in Fairlee soon. You’ll see her again. Jamis places a soft kiss on my forehead before he turns to gather our discarded clothing. I join him, and we silently scrub the grime and stains from our garments, a task we’ve grown accustomed to. Jamis tucks the clean items under his arm before reaching for my hand, leading me along the dark path toward the cave.

Everyone looks up as we enter, then turns their attention back to the spit and the animals roasting in the flames. Josef’s gaze lingers as he takes in Jamis and me. My skin flushes with heat in response, though I have no reason to be embarrassed at having spent time alone with my husband. Josef’s dark eyes harden, and his jaw clenches. In a fraction of a moment, though, his expression relaxes. When he meets my gaze, his face softens, and he offers a slight nod before returning his attention to the meal. He doesn’t turn his back to us, though. He never does. I feel as though I’m always in his sights, though I don’t find that awareness to be intrusive—or even troubling.

Jamis and I drape our wet clothes over a boulder near the mouth of the cave to let the heat of the fire dry them.

I survey the troops. They’re gathered around a secondary fire, one with a stew pot hanging over the flames. Each is sitting on the ground, relaying the excursions and skirmishes they took part in that day. A pile of new swords lies behind them, forgotten amongst the cherished bounty of four skins of wine. Their laughter is infectious and long overdue.

As Jamis moves to join them, Davion scoots closer to Katherine, though there was no need for him to make more room. I eye him and his proximity to my friend. While I’m sure his intentions are good, and Davion is a loyal soldier, I’ve become cautious of most everyone but the small group of people I know I can trust without a doubt: Jamis, Katherine, Isobel, Kennard, and Josef.

My gaze travels across the group, eyeing each of my