Death's Queen (The Complete Series) Read online

  “If you come with me, I can show you someplace safe to sleep,” the girl says.

  Her sweet tone makes me wonder what she's hiding. Why is she helping? What could be to her benefit? Still, I contemplate her offer. Being among others would make me harder to find, but it's not my place to be with others.

  “I can make it from here.” I make my voice cold.

  She gives me a funny look but hurries on her way.

  When I come out and walk along the river, no one looks at me. I fit in.

  A week of my life goes by in a numb stupor. I planned on getting a job—anything besides killing. Something where Daros couldn't use me. I thought I could put the past behind me. Thought I could move on. But as time passes, the more I realize I'm not entitled to survival. Not entitled to anything.

  I never was. I just didn’t see it before, being Daros's drone.

  I can't move on.

  The faces of those I killed haunt me.

  I want to disappear.

  To become nothing.

  The truth is I gave up my right to live when I stole that right from others. There has to be something I can do about it.

  The bleakness in my chest pounds at me. I don't speak to the other homeless people milling about the dirt-paved streets. Don't acknowledge their presence.

  Now that I've killed so many for Daros, my life is no longer worth anything. I’ve had more kills than I can count. Many more than I should have. I've heard whispers about me. That death comes to many by secret means. That the Shadow Wraith kills in one blow, when you least expect it.

  No one knows who will be next or why. Not even I. Only Daros does.

  The guilt has clawed at me for some time, but only now, when I have so much time on my hands do I realize how severe it is. It's choking, bloodying its way through me.

  I reach the market again. Being in the capitol, it's huge compared to others, I'm told.

  Voices are calling out a jumble of things.

  “Fresh fish. We catch, you cook.”

  “Cotton, wool—we have it all.”

  “Buy a pretty bracelet for your pretty girl.”

  “Roast chicken. Get your roast chicken.”

  “Carvings of all types. Women. Animals. Landscapes. You name it, we can make it.”

  Adding on the sound of customers chatting, and it's a cacophony. It's overwhelming to be against such a rush. The noise feeds my senses, drowning out my fears. For the moment.

  There's an odor in the air, like the place hasn't been cleaned in a while. Over that is the smell of roasting meat. The stalls have so much food, fruits, vegetables, and more. I was little, but I remember the famine. The pain in my stomach becomes stronger at the memory.

  I have no money. I could steal an apple, but it doesn't matter.

  I don't deserve to eat.

  Don't deserve anything but the numbness in my soul.

  I pass the food carts, stop, and stare at a jewelry vendor. The wares on the wooden table are elegant and refined. Bracelets with pearls from far-off oceans. Necklaces with rubies and diamonds. Rings with sapphires. They’re all so sparkly and bright.

  I reach out to touch one. Not to steal it—I have no need for fine things, nor do I deserve them. Just for once, though, I want to see what they're like. If they're hard, like the fake ones I wore on certain jobs. If they're cold against my skin.

  “Get your slimy hands away from my merchandise,” a woman covered in her own jewels shouts. “Get out of here, before I call the law.”

  For a moment, I'm tempted to stay. What if the lawmen did come? Would they take me away? Would they hang me or cut off my hand for attempted stealing? It's a harsh punishment that isn't usually doled out, but I've earned it.

  But no. I take a step back. And then another.

  I could handle the pain, but why bother? Daros would be sure to find me at a public hearing. One of his minions would tell on me. I won't go to him, to be tortured and put back into his service. To be the Shadow Wraith.

  I make my way past other vendors, barely taking them in. I have to will to care about them.

  The crowd thins as I move past the market, but there are still people milling about. I pass a few people spotted with almaca, a disease that will kill them for lack of food. Or perhaps it's the poor quality of food. All I know is these people are lucky. They'll be escaping this dreaded life soon.

  I walk, misery shrouding me. I pay little heed to what I'm doing. Where I'm going. Until I realize I'm headed to Daros's house. My feet must have instinctively gone this way. For torture?

  No. I don't want that. I hurry away, paying better attention to where I’m traveling.

  “You, there,” a thin but muscular man calls out.

  I glance around. He's calling for me. This is it, then. Daros has found me.

  I'll be hauled back to his house, to be tormented. Starved and tortured. Hated. And if he doesn't think I've repented after that, it will be my death.

  A blessed darkness.

  But only an if.

  “Do I know you from somewhere?” the man asks.

  I should run, but my feet won't move.

  He doesn't look familiar, but that means little. I know many faces from the many jobs I’ve done. “No,” I say.

  He narrows his eyes as he leans in closer. “I swear I know you from somewhere.”

  My heart should be racing now, my mouth going dry. None of the usual fear sensors are going off. I'm numb. I don't want to go back, but apparently not enough to send me into caring.

  “Huh. Get on with you, then.” He brushes past me, heading toward the direction of Daros's house.

  It's easy to return to my mindless wandering. I tell myself not to go to Daros's, but other than that, I don't care. I just can't.

  There's a gnawing ache in my chest. Something I can't control or do anything about. Well, there is one thing, but it would be the final thing I'd ever do.

  My feet are silent against the cobblestone. The noise of people comes in the distance. Despite myself, I'm drawn toward them. It's a nicer area here—strips of park, covered with trees and flowers. The crowds are dressed in fine things, and many people give me dirty looks, but it doesn’t matter.

  I reach the palace and find numerous people going through the portcullis and inside the impressive building. But of course—it’s the day for the Death Drink. Drinking the Mortum Tura either kills you or—rarely—makes you queen. The opportunity to try it comes once a week since we lost our last ruler. It's luck I stumbled this way on the day the drink is to be taken by those who chose to risk it.

  What better way to ease myself out of life than with the famous drink? I could kill myself a million ways, but this way would be brave. The way all women are supposed to try. No more waiting for death to find me. I'm coming to it.

  Chapter 2

  I push my way through those moving toward the palace until I'm almost at a run. The white of the building blurs together in a mesh of colors as I rush inside. People tumble around. Elbows are thrown. Legs try to tangle me.

  Nothing can stop me from getting to my goal.

  I dart through the huge open doors, past the guards, and to the first chamber I come to. It's a huge room, with mirrors for walls. The floor is a gleaming oak with numerous people treading on it. There are still others about, but the crowd isn't as thick.

  Up ahead, I see a chalice up on a pedestal, surrounded by a bunch of girls, women, and one man. That's my destination.

  A flicker of doubt goes through me. Do I really want this? I push it aside. Of course I do. I've never been so sure of anything before.

  As I make my way to the back of the group of girls, the man says, “I am Ranen, the Head Advisor of the late queen. I'm in charge of the Mortum Tura this day. We will begin shortly.” His voice is reedy, and he has a tasseled hat and well-rounded body. His dark eyes take in those gathered but glaze right over me. He’s the type of man that thinks he's above anyone else by the way he holds himself and ignores me.


  I push my way forward. I haven’t drawn attention to myself like this before. I was always a whisper, instead of a shout. But now I have to shout if I'm to get the drink. What's more, I won't wait.

  I need it now.

  Some of the girls glare as I move past them. Some look relieved, while others try to bar my way. Much stronger than them, I shove my way through. When I get to the front of the group, where Ranen is standing next to a dais, I yell, “I will take the Mortum Tura.”

  Ranen sends a thick glare at me. He opens his mouth to speak, but I ignore him. Nothing will stop me. Not this man. Not all the pristine, well-dressed girls around me. Not my own fears.

  I take a step up. The dark stone pedestal is etched with the names of those who came before me and failed. I will soon join them.

  With a huff, Ranen says, “Fine. Drink.”

  And then it's up to me.

  One taste—that's all that's between me and death.

  Failing to become queen now means I’ll never fail again. Which is what I want. It gives me some comfort, albeit the coldest kind. The crowd around me watches eagerly, hungry for my death, yet hoping for my life. Hoping for the next Queen. There are many of them in the grand hall of the palace. Enough to almost fill the entire room. Despite their number, those gathered are silent. Everyone's waiting to see what happens.

  They’ve been without a queen since the last one died a month ago. She reigned for almost five years, and her death was a mysterious one to the general public. The palace hasn't released a reason for it.

  Typical. Queens' lives are often threatened by one force or another. Another reason not to become a royal, though I don’t need more.

  My choice is to die.

  The anticipation of having a new, long overdue ruler doesn't diminish the crowd's excitement. The prospect is not nearly as entertaining as that of my agonizing death—the slow, torturous kind.

  Why am I picking this again?

  Right—because even a slow, torturous death is better than letting Daros have me. Better than living life as a ghost, alone and cold.

  For a few long moments, the world cares about what I'm doing, and then it will be over. I'll have gone out trying to fulfill a duty all females have been asked to do but few try, because of the fear of death. We are free to choose whether to drink or not, despite being asked.

  If I had a name, it’d soon be etched into the stone pillar holding the chalice of death or I could be given full control over a country. Things have been like this as far into history as I know. When one queen dies, another is found through the Mortum Tura, to take her place. Many die, but one lives and becomes our new ruler.

  And now it's my turn for one or the other.

  Either way, I will be remembered.

  “It's time,” Ranen says, the tassel of his hat swinging in rhythm with his irritation. Past time, he means. He doesn't want me to try; urchins off the street shouldn't dirty the chalice with their touch. They shouldn't try for the Mortum Tura. Of course, he has no choice but to let me. All unmarried women have the choice—even dirty ones.

  In my defense, I would have cleaned myself, had I realized what I was doing.

  I grasp the pewter stem. This is for the best. I'm done with life, and there's no better way to go out, despite the fact it’s painful.

  Only thing is I'm having second thoughts. Not about death, but about torture. How bad is it going to hurt? I'm used to pain, but there are quick, painless ways to die. I know many. Why'd I have to pick this one?

  They say the last girl to try to become Queen screamed for a full day before she finally gave in to the next life.

  It’s not exactly the end I have planned for myself, but I should have thought of that before I came before this crowd. I won't be a coward and back out now.

  Death, I'm coming.

  I press the cup to my lips and swallow the maroon liquid. It's sweet, like the pomegranate seeds dipped in chocolate I once stole when I was a child.

  Who knew death would be such a treat?

  Trying to be as graceful as I can in my last moments, I set the chalice back on its pedestal. The pain will be coming soon, and the cup will refill itself, readying for its next victim—the next to try and claim the throne. Not that I ever wanted the throne; having everyone watching me is enough. And I don't like it as much as I thought I would.

  The people’s eyes are black with hunger for entertainment of the cruelest kind. The girl that survives the Mortum Tura to become queen will have a trial getting such people to follow her rule. Or maybe they'll be so eager for leadership, they’ll drop whatever they’re doing to worship her.

  I will never know, as I won't be around.

  Is that a pricking in the back of my throat? Is it the start of my drawn-out death? Hurting would be feeling something, which is better than the hollow ache eating away inside me.

  But no, it's a tickle in my throat. Nothing else happens. No hurting. No crumbling to the floor. No blood pooling out of me. No screaming.

  I only want torture.

  Pain.

  Release.

  Perhaps it hasn't been long enough?

  When I glance at the plump Ranen, my thoughts change. He widens his eyes with each passing second, as if he can't believe what he's seeing before him. The crowd's gaze has changed from hunger to awe. First one man kneels, pressing his face to the wooden floor. Then another. And another. Soon, everyone is on the ground. Even Ranen.

  A mirror on the far wall shows me why they hold me in such awe.

  I am glowing.

  Golden and bright, my entire being radiates magnificence. They think me a goddess.

  But I am not.

  I'm just an assassin, ready for death.

  Chapter 3

  The crowd stays prostrate before me for a time that's hard to fathom. The only sound I know is the drip, drip, dripping in my head. I don't know what it is, but it's the most determined thing that's ever been in my life. I’m determined to go back to seconds ago, when I thought this was still a good idea, and change my mind. Before I survived the Mortum Tura.

  What am I to do with these people? I can't rule over them.

  I cannot be Queen of Valcora.

  This can't be happening.

  The stunned silence creeps over me like fog stealing through the night air. How does a death wish, a guaranteed death sentence, turn me into the ruler of a nation?

  I should have picked another way to die.

  Still the people remain prostrate before a girl who moments ago was only entertainment. And before that? Nothing worth remembering.

  But I do remember. The harshness remains at the forefront of my thoughts. If the people knew, they’d have even less of a reason to bow before me. I've been trodden on my whole life, Daros demanding whatever he wanted of me. That can't change now, just because of the Mortum Tura.

  Why do they remain bowed? Why don't they get up?

  It dawns on me I haven't given them permission to rise. Of all things, they’re waiting for me. This doesn't seem possible.

  “Get up.” I don’t know what other words to use, though those two feel clumsy and wrong for this purpose of commanding the people.

  As one, the people do so, but they do not disperse. They stare at me as if waiting for another command.

  What am I supposed to do? I know nothing but stealing and stabbing. And poisoning. And sword fighting. Fine—I know more than I like to give myself credit for, but I know nothing of such things as leading a people.

  I’ve no one to go after now. I’m the one who wants death.

  I want them gone. I want to be out of the light. Out of their lives. “You can all leave,” I say, silently pleading they do so.

  Not one of them moves. Their gazes stay riveted on me, until finally those farthest from me begin to trickle away like a stream that babbles until it rushes away. Though unlike with a stream, there are too many backward glances.

  I give nothing away.

  I’m expressionless.

>   Emotionless.

  Empty.

  When everyone’s left except Ranen and a few men and women around him, Ranen says, “Forgive us for not obeying.” Despite his words, his voice tells me he’s used to being the boss and expects to remain so. “We would like to guide you through your new role and help you understand what to do next.”

  Whether I should be relieved or not remains a mystery. I think not. He disliked me the moment I declared I was going to try the Mortum Tura. Why would my becoming the queen change that? Besides, I distrust his shifty eyes.

  Queen. That's what I am now.

  It doesn't seem real.

  I realize he’s still waiting on me for an answer. “Go ahead.”

  He bows his head. “If Your Majesty would follow me.”

  I grit my teeth over the honorific. Ranen leads me out of the chalice room and through a blank hall. Even the floor is oddly white, though at the next corridor we reach rugs are on the floor, plusher than any I've ever felt before. There are pictures on the wall—lovely landscapes of Valcora that barely hold my interest. The only beauty I see is cold. Calculating. The steep slope of the mountains around us trying to keep us in. To close us off from the rest of the world. Keeping us cut off when the famine abounds.

  “It would be best if you came to me when you need something,” he says. “In fact, it would be even better if you left everything up to me. I've been taking care of this country since our last queen died, and I know how to run it properly.”

  I have a feeling I'm going to dislike this guy more than I already do. I don’t care about running a country, but I do care about his attitude. I've had enough of Daros in my life; I don't need another like him.

  The palace is ornate, filled with drapes of highest quality and pictures of nobility. The hallway is airy and bright, with lots of windows and a tall ceiling. The stone walls seem to amplify the light instead of absorbing it.

  “The first thing we need to do is clean you up. Dress you in something befitting royalty, instead of a…” He looks me over, face scrunched. “Your rooms are down a few more hallways, where your servants will be waiting. They are new. No one has stayed in them before.”