Copyright © 2024 by Victoria Black

  Cover Design by Norman Olasiman of Stardust Book Services.

  Developmental editing by Hayley Omega of Stardust Book Services.

  Copy editing by Nastasia Bishop-McHugh of Stardust Book Services.

  Proofreading by Kelly Andersen.

  Interior Design by Victoria Black.

  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 inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  First paperback edition 2024

  ISBN: 979-8-9899130-0-8 (trade paperback); 979-8-9899130-1-5 (ebook)

  Imprint: Victoria Black Books, LLC.

  Visit www.victoriablackbooks.com

  For anyone who knows what it’s like to be spoken over.

  I hope you reclaim your power.

  Pronunciation Guide

  Naqadian Court

  King Alaric Amunet

  ah-LAR-ic am-YEW-net

  Queen Helvettica Amunet

  hel-vet-ih-cah am-YEW-net

  Queen Tamariya Amunet

  tah-MAIR-ee-yah am-YEW-net

  Lord Doric Venrylst

  DOOR-ic ven-RILLST

  General Brom Balenek

  brahm BAH-len-ek

  Lord Terrin Speelstling

  TAIR-rin SPEEL-stling

  Lord Frydrik Moscar

  FREE-drik MOS-car

  Lord Henry Lopaegra

  HEN-ree Loh-PAY-grah

  Etruscan Court

  King Dalm Cazaar

  dallm cah-SAR

  Prince Caryk Cazaar

  cair-IK cah-SAR

  Others

  Aya Jesper

  EYE-yah JES-per

  Calliope Torino

  cah-LYE-ah-pee tor-EE-noh

  Ives Zemyslah

  EYEVS ZEH-mee-slah

  Katzima

  kat-SEE-mah

  Marcus Enora

  MAR-cus EE-nohr-ah

  Rohesia Zemyslah

  roh-HEE-zhah ZEH-mee-slah

  Places

  Amyara

  ahm-YAR-uh

  Cordaena Isles

  cohr-DAY-nuh EYELS

  Drazurc

  dra-ZERK

  Egryt

  EE-grit

  Etrusca

  eh-TROO-scuh

  Fyngr Meres

  FING-ger MEERS

  Galeston

  GAIL-stun

  Malnova

  mal-NOH-vuh

  Naqad

  nuh-KAHD

  Palegos

  PAIL-eh-gohs

  Por

  POHR

  Tencanya Waste

  ten-KAHN-yuh WAYST

  Author's Note

  This work contains topics that may be difficult for some readers including violence, blood, death, animal cruelty, characters dealing with PTSD and grief, torture, and explicit sexual content.

  Contents

  1. Chapter 1

  2. Chapter 2

  3. Chapter 3

  4. Chapter 4

  5. Chapter 5

  Three Years Ago: The War on Hel

  6. Chapter 6

  Present

  7. Chapter 7

  8. Chapter 8

  Three Years Ago: The War on Hel

  9. Chapter 9

  Present

  10. Chapter 10

  11. Chapter 11

  Three Years Ago: The War on Hel

  12. Chapter 12

  Present

  13. Chapter 13

  14. Chapter 14

  Three Years Ago: The War on Hel

  15. Chapter 15

  Present

  16. Chapter 16

  17. Chapter 17

  18. Chapter 18

  19. Chapter 19

  20. Chapter 20

  21. Chapter 21

  22. Chapter 22

  23. Chapter 23

  24. Chapter 24

  25. Chapter 25

  26. Chapter 26

  27. Chapter 27

  28. Chapter 28

  29. Chapter 29

  Author's Note

  Acknowledgements

  About the author

  one

  Iblamed my magic. It was a pathetic spark that had reduced me to nothing more than a puppet queen. If I had my power, no one in the realm would dare touch a mage. I would be lounging in the palace, basking in the glory of being the most powerful soul in alegos. Instead, I was doing the work of a foot soldier, unable to trust that my order would be obeyed.

  But would I ever trust another when it came to her life? The wound of my missing gift had long since scabbed over, but my fear for Katzima was fresh. There was but one thought I clung to as I raced north through the Naqadian countryside.

  Not her.

  I had the fastest mare in the Egrecian herd and still she was not fast enough. I squeezed tighter on the stirrups, willing her onward. Each plot of farmland I passed seemed to stretch forever. But there, in the distance, I could make out the speck that was Malnova’s keep. It had to be.

  Not her.

  Katzima didn’t deserve to die. She was a Healer. She was good. She was kind. But she was a mage. Lord Doric Venrylst, my chief advisor, would say that the lords had a right to execute justice as they saw fit in their territories. He would have told me not to leave the palace in Egryt.

  Not her.

  I inhaled against the hard wall of air that had been assaulting my cheeks since the moment I began this race. Doric Venrylst was not here. And he had not been at the palace to stop me from leaving. The Lord of Malnova had crossed a line. Screw Doric — Gerome would answer for his crimes.

  Teeth clenched tightly against the wind, I leaned forward in the saddle. The black speck of the keep was growing into a dot. I would arrive in time. I had to.

  The uneven farmland underneath me was transforming into a worn path, giving sure footing to my mare. I urged her faster.

  Gerome Gendran, Lord of Malnova, had been hunting down mages. I had known it. And I had done nothing to stop it. Puppet queen indeed.

  It is not your mess to deal with.

  Let us handle the wayward lords.

  You need not involve yourself in such matters.

  My council’s advice echoed in my mind. What had seemed like sage advice a fortnight ago, now soured against my tongue.

  The keep was a looming fortress upon the horizon. No sound of chiming bells or shouting drifted to my ears. I was still outside the village walls, but I prayed that it boded well for Katzima’s fate. It had to. She was the closest thing I had to family, and her death could not be due to my inaction, my foolishness, my ineffectiveness as leader of Naqad.

  Shaking my head, I urged my horse to keep her pace. Later, I could reflect on my many pitfalls as ruler, but now there was only one thought I could allow into my mind.

  Not her.

  The guards came into view, lounging at their posts before the gaping walls. Malnova was a small farming territory in the valleys; they had little reason to be on alert since the war. Large burn marks scoured the stone, entire sections of the wall crumbled, yet to be repaired. I paid them no heed, catapulting through the gates. They had the sense to shout, pushing up from their comfortable positions and stumbling over to their horses. Hooves clattered behind me, but I was already navigating my way through the city.

  Good, let them follow. The more witnesses, the better.

  My mare navigated the streets with an expert’s precision. Under different circumstances, I would have beamed at the evidence of her rigorous training. The guards were still floundering their way through the streets behind us when we approached the keep’s inner wall.

  I paused, assessing the guards stationed here. Unlike those positioned at the gates, these men stood upright, their eyes keenly monitoring my approach.

  “Open the gates,” I commanded.

  The man on the left narrowed his eyes. “Who makes such a demand?”

  I raised my chin high, pinning him with my gaze. “Your queen.”

  The guards snickered. “And we’re the Royal Guard.”

  My eyes blazed as I fought the burn threatening to bloom up my cheeks. “You dare question your queen?”

  The one who spoke stepped forward. “Look, we’re not dumb, ma’am. The queen does not charge into keeps — she parades with her court.” He smiled smugly, clearly proud of himself for the clever distinction.

  I did not have time to waste conversing with small men. My teeth snapped together, and I clicked my tongue at my mare.

  She responded as if we were one, galloping to the wooden gates. At the last moment she jumped, thrusting her front hooves into the wood. It gave. We burst through, and she continued past the meager gardens to the keep.

  The Lord of Malnova had done us the courtesy of leaving the door open.

  To flaunt his great victory over the mages?

  My horse raced up the steps, coming face to face with the guards positioned at the door to the great hall. I did not hesitate this time. The doors would not be bolted, so with a flick of the reins, my m
are burst through these doors as easily as the last.

  We landed in a hall illuminated by the sun’s rays. The Hall itself bore little decoration, save for the hanging banners bearing the red hammer of House Gendran’s sigil. A breeze rippled through the room, stirring the fabric behind the hammer, transforming the crest into a bloody reminder of all that the Gendrans were capable of. My teeth ground together.

  At the front of the hall, bright white light danced off a raised sword. The man holding the weapon looked out of place with his smooth round face and wide eyes. He used those soft brown eyes to glare down at the older woman who knelt shackled on the floor. Defiant tears leaked from her eyes. A rage glimmered there that I understood far too well. My nostrils flared.

  Lesser nobility, wealthy townspeople, and soldiers alike lined the aisle that we now occupied. Every eye in the hall was upon us. Except for the lord and his captive. Katzima.

  Lord Gerome Gendran flicked his gaze toward us, pausing for only a moment before returning his attention to the woman to whom I owed my crown.

  I snarled.

  “Guards,” the lord drawled over his shoulder, as if I were no more worrisome than a curious mouse. “Dispose of these intruders.”

  Head cocked sideways, I assessed the assembled crowd, waiting for his guards to move on me. Relief rolled through my chest as I spied a familiar blonde braid among the spectators. A splash of anger followed. I should have been able to trust the captain of my guard to intervene on my behalf. I shook my head. I would never again trust anyone when it came to Katzima’s life.

  Gerome’s soldiers rushed me, right as Katzima cried out.

  “Monster!” Her eyes were obsidian daggers. “You would let your people die for spite,” she spat, despite the sword he held over her head.

  My gaze was yanked from the dais as the guards reached me. Anytime now, Calliope. I parried their attacks easily with my long knives, their country training no match for me still astride my mare.

  “Katzima, you are sentenced to die in the name of the Crown for practicing witchcraft and aiding the Ophidians.” Gerome’s words dripped with cruel anticipation.

  I urged my mare to the dais. Swishes of metal reverberated around me. The Royal Guard had finally come to my aid. Took them long enough.

  “Witchcraft — you mean healing the sick. The Crown would not stand for this,” Katzima hissed. I could practically see her jaw clenching, eyes alight with fury as I forced my way closer.

  The hall seemed to stretch forever, and the lord did not pause for the battle brewing in his Great Hall. His faith in his guard was almost admirable, if foolish. I broke free of the melee, careening toward them.

  “Pity the Crown isn’t here to pass judgment. That would leave it up to the ruling lord to decide then, wouldn’t it?” He examined the glittering blade, appearing almost bored.

  I drew a knife from its sheath, but I was still so far away. This blasted hall.

  “Your death will be a great victory for this kingdom,” he proclaimed, raising the sword again, madness overtaking his features.

  Enough. I flung my knife, praying to Cieri that the throw was strong enough.

  Katzima’s screech reverberated through my bones as Gerome’s sword sliced the air, approaching her neck. Too fast.

  The knife toppled end over end as it approached the Healer. It wasn’t going to make it in time. But then a ring echoed around the great hall as my weapon found its mark. The sword flew from Gerome’s grip. Relief coursed through my veins so strongly I almost fell from my horse.

  I had hit the hilt of his blade, where his hand had gripped it a moment ago.

  He whirled to face me at last, fury sputtering in his gaze, red trickling from his hand.

  My lips twitched as I beheld the zealot.

  “In the name of the Crown, you say? The queen wants this woman dead?” I dismounted swiftly, as if this were a casual meeting, my mouth open innocently. The battle behind us died down as the soldiers watched. Despite my tone, my eyes were glittering emeralds as I leveled my piercing gaze at Lord Gerome Gendran. My eyes did not leave his as I drew another knife from my belt.

  He took in my auburn hair pulled away from my pale face in intricate braids and fighting leathers of fine make. His lip curled as he assessed the expertly stitched leathers, worn enough to suggest they were not merely for show, but still gleaming in the sunlight, suggesting my wealth. I wondered if he believed me to be a knight, perhaps a mercenary? Or even worse, I could be one of the fabled Ophidians, the abhorrent serpentine assassins whom no one had seen or heard from in years.

  He shrugged, likely dismissing me as nothing more than a foolish girl challenging the Lord of Malnova. “It appears that two may die today.” He chuckled darkly as he sauntered up to me. The motion cast his cheeks into shadow, their hollows darkening with the promise of another victim.

  I laughed, loud and unfeeling. “I doubt anyone else here is foolish enough to attack their own queen.”

  On cue, soldiers bearing the amethyst and silver livery of the Naqadian Royal Guard stepped forward, barely a scratch upon their armor. Warmth danced across my chest.

  I sent my guard the moment I heard a mage was to be publicly executed in Malnova. The news that it was Katzima had not reached me until much later. Without thinking, I had hopped on my horse to ensure my command would be obeyed. I pressed my lips together. Would they have acted without me? I filed the thought away.

  The Lord of Malnova’s eyes were wide, the flush in his cheeks deepening as recognition sparked. This was not our first meeting. He had been one of many suitors attempting to win my hand at one of the earlier balls, right after I had taken the throne. It hadn’t taken more than a conversation for me to know that I would sooner die than marry the self-important lord.

  Now, he sank into a bow before me. “Queen Tamariya Amunet, Your Majesty, if you would allow me to explain—”

  “Why are you attempting to murder one of the most gifted Healers in Naqad? I would like to hear from her. Katzima, please join us.”

  Katzima’s furious snarl had deflated into open relief. Her eyes crinkled, tears sparkling at their corners. She gestured to the chains shackling her to the dais.

  “Calliope,” I ordered. The commander of my guard, my reluctant third, and perhaps the most annoying member of my force, came forward and helped her up and out of the heavy cuffs. Calliope and her damn rule-following had nearly refused my plan. I was sure to get an earful about interfering in the territories later.

  “Katzima is a danger to the realm. She’s been turning the people against you, plotting to steal your throne,” Gerome interjected, words rushing out all at once. “I was stopping her. Every word she speaks is poison, Your Majesty. She is a mage.”

  “As am I,” I spat, fire sparking in my eyes. I allowed the flames to burn as I beheld the sniveling lord, pretending they hinted at a greater power beneath.

  Gerome paled.

  “The young lord lies.” Katzima had recovered enough to steady her voice and wipe her tears from her olive cheeks. While smoothing her hands over her dress, she shot me a look of gratitude, but there was a sharpness to the way she tossed her curtain of jet-black hair over her shoulder.

  Did she think I would not come for her?

  “You are aware of the executions across Malnova. The hundreds of lives lost at their lord’s hand. The people starve in the streets as he turns neighbors against each other.” She spoke steadily as her fierce brown eyes met mine. “I was not the first mage to stand against him. Nor was I the first he sought to execute. Your Majesty, you need look no further than the castle doorstep for proof of the lord’s guilt.” Katzima’s filthy white dress clung to her as she flexed her jaw.