Queen of Earth and Stone

  Crescent Queens

  Book One

  Tricia Meyers

  Copyright © 2023 by Tricia Meyers

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: PB: 979-8-218-22662-6

  Cover designed by GetCovers

  To everyone who cheered me on along the way and supported this wild dream of mine, and to all the wonderful writers who helped me learn and grow, you all mean more to me than you know. Thank you.

  Contents

  Content Warnings

  Pronunciation Guide

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Coming Soon

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Content Warnings

  Please review these content warnings before reading.

  -violence

  -explicit sex

  -blood

  -on page death

  -the death of a parent

  -drowning

  -mild torture

  -strong language

  -sexual threats/threats of SA

  -PTSD/panic attacks

  -animal death

  Pronunciation Guide

  Queen of Earth and Stone

  Evelyn- eve-lin

  Riona- ree-oh-na

  Darrow- dare-oh

  Callan- cal-in

  Aldrich- awl-drich

  Sylvie- sil-vee

  Leysa- ley-za

  Valerian- vuh-lair-ee-in

  Cathal Vaderyn- cuh-hall vuh-dare-in

  Emilia- em-eel-ee-uh

  Dallin- dahl-in

  Prologue

  The Queen Consort of Darkegrove had no doubt her husband was dead. There could be no other explanation for this clandestine meeting. Only the desire to allow the news to reach her ears in a somewhat private place before it was announced publicly would have them calling her here. Leaves danced across the stone of the courtyard, the strong autumn winds setting them to spin in small cyclones around those gathered in the afternoon sun.

  Among them were Queen Consort of Darkegrove Riona Darrow and her husband’s most trusted advisors. They gathered in one of the few areas of Castle Stoneweald with an open sky above, a blessing Riona relished as the sunlight warmed her cheeks. She had been born in the forests of Darkegrove but had rarely spent any significant amount of time there. The daughter of an emissary, Riona viewed Darkegrove as home in name only. She was a child of Avellon, the Halcyon Vale, as far as she was concerned, and though she’d spent most of her adult life in the north, she still fiercely missed the bright light and open spaces of the midlands.

  “It is as we feared, my lady,” Eldred spoke quietly, wary as ever of prying eyes or ears. He was the most senior of King Viktor’s advisors, not only in rank but in age, nearing ninety years, if Riona’s memory served her well.

  “They were overtaken somewhere near the gorge, as far as our scouts can tell, but, well… You know…”

  Despite the cool temperatures, the afternoon sun shone brightly above them, setting the Queen’s auburn hair ablaze in the light. The slight shake of her head only strengthened the illusion that inspired Viktor to call her a flaming temptress, so many years before during their courtship.

  A lift of her hand stopped any further explanation. Of course, she knew, everyone knew, what the cursed creatures that lived in the gorge could do to their victims, and to speak of it now would do nothing more than weaken the steely facade she would now need to wear. Any number of creatures could be responsible, from the giant serpents that stalked the gorge on stormy nights, whose venomous sting could fell a horse in a single strike, or the cusith, wolves that grew to terrifying proportions in the deepest reaches of the northern forests.

  Attacks were rare enough in recent years that many supposed the gorge had gone quiet, a complacency that made her husband feel it safe to make the journey; a complacency that had gotten him killed.

  She knew what matter they would broach next, the matter of the heir. Certain expectations would be held, and things would need to happen quickly now. It was something she and Viktor had prepared for, had prepared their daughter for.

  “My lady,” another, only slightly younger man cut in. Though she had thankfully only spoken to him a handful of times, she knew exactly who the narrow face and wispy brown hair that did little to discourage the rude, albeit fitting, nickname that Viktor had once assigned him belonged to. Lord Ward, Reynard the Rat.

  His nickname was not only fitting in appearance but demeanor as well, and something about the man had always unnerved her. Despite her husband’s assurances that he could be trusted, she didn’t, not entirely. It took a mere glance from the lady’s ice-blue gaze to silence him. Perhaps the mouse would have been more fitting, she thought.

  Eldred merely sighed at his counterpart, forging on with the difficult topic at hand. Reynard pressed on, in a tone that conveyed both his regret at having to broach the subject and his desire to have this quickly done. “My lady, it is the matter of the heir…”

  The queen’s tone matched the coolness of her gaze when she finally replied, having left the pair in silence for several seconds. “I am well aware of what is required of my daughter, and so is she.” A brief glance toward the castle, tucked into the trees just behind them, had her frowning. How small it looked from here, she silently mused.

  It was all stone, mined from the Sgiath Mountains not far to the north. Shades of deep browns and grays helped the structure blend into the thick forest that surrounded it. Designed, she supposed, to keep it safer, more difficult to find by those who may wish its inhabitants harm. If it had once been successful, she couldn’t say, but now it was essentially a useless notion. Everyone knew where Stoneweald stood. If they wanted to find it, they would.

  Now, they needed to depend on much more active manners of protection. Archers and scouts regularly patrolled the forest, acting as the first line of defense, before the more recently added high walls and guard towers even came into view.

  “My lady?” Eldred prodded, drawing Riona from her thoughts.

  “Evelyn knows what is required of her.” Riona sighed, turning her attention to them once more. “She will do what she must.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she turned and began making her way back to the castle, not once looking back.

  Chapter 1

  Her world was changing faster and far earlier than expected. Her father was dead, and she was about to be crowned queen. At not even twenty-two years old, Eve Darrow was mourning her father when she should have had many more years with him. Years to learn to become who and what a queen was supposed to be. But fate had other ideas according to the priests, determined that though the gods were gone, some cosmic power still decided things for mere mortals. She didn’t much believe in things like fate, since the gods abandoned their children a long time ago. Whatever care they’d had for humans had vanished alongside them.

  “How’s this, my lady?” Sylvie smoothed the skirts of her mourning gown. The maid beamed at the princess. Sylvie’s soft, round face practically glowed with pride, a few tears welling in Sylvie’s gray eyes.

  Black satin pooled around Eve’s feet, spilling from a tight bodice that resembled a corset, though it had puffy, nearly transparent sleeves attached. It held no decoration save for some intricate stitching along the bodice in the design of a vine with small blooms, yet it was still lovely, despite being a color she hardly wore. It made her skin appear at least a shade paler than it really was, making Eve feel as though she were the walking ghost she sometimes felt she was. Going through the motions, doing as expected with little direction of her own.

  “It’s perfect, thank you.” Eve lingered in front of the mirror as Sylvie bowed and stepped away to tell the steward they would soon be leaving. Deep red hair had been swept back in a pretty, but simple braid that wrapped around itself at the nape of her neck. A few loose curls had been left to frame her heart-shaped face.

  Pausing a moment to dab her favored perfume, jasmine and lemon, behind her ears, the princess set out to meet with the council. As far as everyone el
se knew, her life had been a straight and simple path, laid at her feet the day she was born. Not a soul, not even her mother, knew exactly why the princess had decided to change course only a few months ago–as if some small, ancient instinct had known what was about to happen.

  The Dowager Queen, of course, knew what she was going to say to the council, and had even helped her prepare. Despite her words of encouragement, reminders that below the soft exterior lay a woman of strength, Eve’s heart pounded in her chest as she made her way to the council chambers, down the hall, and then down the grand staircase that would take her to the lower floors, where all the public areas were.

  Self-doubt raged so powerfully she hadn’t realized she had already come to a stop mere feet from the council chamber doors. A deep steadying breath helped, as Eve reminded herself of who she was, how strong and how sure. No matter how much it frightened her, she had to do this, this was right and would bring change to a kingdom in desperate need of it.

  “My lady?” The gentle prompting of a guard posted at the door drew Eve from her thoughts at last, and she turned, offering an appreciative smile. He dipped his head low, his face a picture of confusion. Great, now they’ll think I’m mad, she thought. Standing silently and staring at closed doors, especially when this was supposed to be nothing more than a formal acknowledgment of long-held traditions, must have looked bizarre. By tradition, the council would present the princess with her choices, and then the planning would begin for the coronation. What little control of her life she had would be gone.

  “I’m ready.” The simple statement signaled the guard to open the double doors leading into the rather large room that housed Darkegrove’s most trusted advisors, the Council of Nine. It had been this way for so many years that none of their scholars could agree on exactly when it had been formed. Another old rule followed simply out of tradition and unwillingness to change. It was nothing compared to the one she now stood to break, of course, but perhaps still a symbol of the stagnation that held Darkegrove in a vice. Nothing ever changed here. Nothing new was ever welcomed, and yet here she stood on the precipice of the most vital and terrifying change her kingdom had ever faced.

  Breathe. You can do this. She repeated her mother’s encouraging words silently, with each step into the room, growing more assured of her purpose as she approached the council, all seated by the oaken table that had dominated the room for as long as anyone could recall.

  Their chatter had been animated, muffled as it was by the doors, as they had awaited her arrival. The moment the doors had been opened, however, they fell silent. Each offered varying degrees of welcome with their gazes. Some appeared open and friendly, mostly the younger of them, she noted, not entirely surprised by that. It seemed the older the men of Darkegrove got, the more surly and silent they became.

  Stagnation. The word raced across her mind, unbidden, as she gazed back at the council. Eldred, their elected leader, cleared his throat, and Eve once again donned the mask of quiet passivity she wore as armor.

  “Princess Evelyn, welcome, and thank you for coming.” Wrinkled features arranged into a friendly smile. As if I had any choice, Eve thought, though she didn’t let the thought slip past her lips or show on her face as she listened.

  “We have chosen two quite appropriate suitors for you to consider.” A few of the councilmen sat straighter, offering their neighbors slight smiles, nodding along with Eldred. Self-important, self-congratulatory fools. “One is the son of Lord Clarke, the eldest of his three. He is an accomplished soldier and hero of the last war.”

  He must be much older than me, she realized, if he were a hero of that skirmish, as most preferred to call it, as it had occurred many years ago. Invaders from the east had come, as they sometimes did, by ship and in large numbers. A test, the elders had said, of Darkegrove’s strength. A full-scale invasion may come one day, though nobody knew exactly when. Still, they had lost many, and it had rattled their sense of security. They may not have seen war with their southern neighbors in many years, and the Sgiath Mountains to the north may have protected them from the unknown dangers that lurked there, but there were still others out there who wished to take what Darkegrove had.

  “Graham Clarke is fair, just, and well-educated.” Eldred leaned forward in his seat and continued, though Eve was far beyond caring at this point. “And handsome, I am told.” The slight grin he donned was supposed to draw a smile from her, she assumed, and make her weak woman’s heart flutter at the idea of such a handsome and just lord taking her hand in marriage, but if anything it made her want to reach across the table and smack him.

  The disdain she felt must have been well hidden, or perhaps they simply didn’t care about her opinion, as none of them showed they realized the direction of her thoughts. Pressing on, he glanced toward the councilman to his left, a subtle nod indicating that he was yielding the floor.

  Reynard, Lord Ward, had joined the council under Viktor’s rule some decades ago and had served him well by all accounts. Her father had trusted his council and had considered him a great asset.

  “Princess.” Though he lowered it briefly, she felt his gaze more acutely than the others. Deep brown, almost black, and small, his eyes were uncomfortable to look at for more than a moment. It wasn’t a question of appearances, but a feeling of being studied like an insect under a magnifying glass. The urge to squirm, to move from his gaze was difficult to ignore. Straightening her spine, Eve settled for gazing at the window behind him instead.

  “Lord Adelio Almont comes from an old family from the western isles. He would bring with him a critical alliance, a barrier between our shores and the far eastern nations that still seek a way to conquer our peaceful home.”

  She let him talk. Going over this Lord Almont’s achievements, his strength in battle and education, though she hardly heard a word he said, focusing instead on the rain that fell outside. Eve wished she could be in her garden, to smell the damp earth, to feel the cool rain hitting her skin. Honestly, to be anywhere but here, about to make the most important and life-altering decision of her life. She wanted to run, to flee, even a secret, small part of her coiled like a snake in response to what was about to happen. Yes, it seemed to say, yes, here we are. Finally, here we are. A tiny voice within, in stark contradiction to the fear she still felt.

  “My lady?” Eldred chimed in, taking over from Reynard once more. He gazed at her expectantly. She had been asked a question and had not heard it, so lost in thoughts of rain and freedom. “Do you need time to consider? We have little time but we can allow a day or two to make the choice, of course.” Eldred’s tone was gentle. He was bestowing kindness, a gift, on her. All nine members smiled now, proud and preening. All benevolence and charity. How generous, how wise, they considered themselves. She hated the lot of them for it, though she knew it was unfair. They simply followed tradition. This was the way things were done.

  “I’m ready to make my decision now.” The calmness of her own voice surprised Eve. She had expected to sound as nervous and unsure as she felt within, but she sounded strong, assured. “I will not marry.”

  A chorus of nervous laughter filled the room. Eldred lifted his hand, silencing them. “My lady, if neither suitor is to your liking, I suppose we could find a third, but with such little time I must implore you to reconsider…”

  “You misunderstand me, lord councilor. I will not marry at all. I will rule alone.” Like a rock dropped into a pond, the impact of her words rippled through them, nearly visible as the attempted smiles all vanished, replaced instead by shock, leaving many of them open-mouthed and gaping.