The Queen of Nothing (The Folk of the Air, #3)

by Holly Black

The Royal Astrologer, Baphen, squinted at the star chart and tried not to flinch when it seemed sure the youngest prince of Elfhame was about to be dropped on his royal head.

Baphen was uncomfortably reminded that some prophecies are fulfilled by the very actions meant to prevent them.

“You can’t keep eating random Folk without someone being sent to try to persuade you to stop,” I say.

I guess I hit a nerve. My best skill.

I hate to admit it, but I’ve missed risking my neck. There’s no room for regrets when you’re busy trying to win. Or at least not to die.

I wince. Her voice is much too loud.

“Love is stupid. All we do is break one another’s hearts.”

“I knew you liked her,” says Locke. “That’s why I had to have her first. Do you remember the party in my maze garden? How I kissed her while you watched?” “I recall that your hands were on her, but her eyes were on me,” Cardan returns.

The parlor is as I remember it from Council meetings. It carries the scent of smoke and verbena and clover. Cardan himself lounges, his booted feet resting on a stone table carved in the shape of a griffin, claws raised to strike. He gives me a quicksilver, conspiratorial grin that seems completely at odds with the way he spoke to me from his throne. “Well,” he says, patting the couch beside him. “Didn’t you get my letters?”

“Jude,” says the Roach, still laughing. “We’ve come to save you. Screaming would really hurt the plan.”

“Cardan sent you?” I ask. “Not exactly,” says the Roach, moving the light so that I can see the person with him, the one I elbowed. The High King of Elfhame, in plain brown wool, a cloak on his back of a fabric so dark it seems to absorb light, leaf blade in the scabbard on his hip. He wears no crown on his brow, no rings on his fingers, nor gold paint limning his cheekbones. He looks every inch a spy from the Court of Shadows, down to the sneaky smile pulling at a corner of his beautiful mouth.

“You shouldn’t be here.” “I said that, too,” the Roach goes on. “Really, I miss the days when you were in charge. High Kings shouldn’t be gallivanting around like common ruffians.”

“Perhaps you could just allow yourself to be rescued,” Cardan says. “For once.”

“And he’s begun a new sword for Madoc.” “I wouldn’t mind ruining that before it’s put to my throat,” says Cardan. “Look for the big one,” I say. “That’ll be it.” The Roach gives me a frown. I can’t help not having a better description; the last time I saw it, it was barely more than a bar of metal. “Really big,” I say. Cardan snorts.

“Clap her in chains,” says Randalin. Never have I so wished there was a way for me to show I was telling the truth. But there isn’t. No oath of mine carries any weight. I feel a guard’s hand close on my arm. Then Cardan’s voice comes. “Do not touch her.” A terrible silence follows. I wait for him to pronounce judgment on me. Whatever he commands will be done. His power is absolute. I don’t even have the strength to fight back. “Whatever can you mean?” Randalin says. “She’s—” “She is my wife,” Cardan says, his voice carrying over the crowd. “The rightful High Queen of Elfhame. And most definitely not in exile.”

I pick out one of my old seneschal outfits—a gown that is a long column of black with silver-tipped cuffs and collar. It is perhaps too plain for a queen, but Cardan is extravagant enough for both of us.

“You keep rushing into danger,” Vivi informs me. “You’ve got to stop acting as though Court politics is some kind of extreme sport and stop chasing the adrenaline high.”

“It was terrifying,” he says, “watching you fall. I mean, you’re generally terrifying, but I am unused to fearing for you. And then I was furious. I am not sure I have ever been that angry before.” “Mortals are fragile,” I say. “Not you,” he says in a way that sounds a little like a lament. “You never break.”

“When I came here, pretending to be Taryn, you said you’d sent me messages,” I say. “You seemed surprised I hadn’t gotten any. What was in them?” Cardan turns to me, hands clasped behind his back. “Pleading, mostly. Beseeching you to come back. Several indiscreet promises.”

“So did you murder Balekin?” Nihuar asks me, clearly able to put off her curiosity no longer. “Yes,” I say. “After he poisoned the High King.” “Poisoned?” she echoes in astonishment, looking at Cardan. He shrugs, lounging in a chair, looking bored as ever. “You can hardly expect me to mention every little thing.”

“Long live Jude,” she says with a wink, setting down the tray on a table with a clatter of the pots and saucers and whatnot. “No thanks to me.” I grin. “Good thing you’re a lousy shot.” She holds up a packet of herbs. “A poultice. To draw any fever from the blood and help the patient heal faster. Unfortunately, it won’t draw the sting from your tongue.” She takes some bandages from her coat and turns to Cardan. “You should go.” “This is my room,” he points out, affronted. “And that’s my wife.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe he’d like to hear me scream.” “I would,” Cardan says, standing. “And perhaps one day I will.” On the way out, his hand goes to my hair. A light touch, barely there, and then gone.

“Your Highness,” she says. “Lady Asha wishes to see you. She has sent me to bring you directly to the chamber where she languishes.” The Bomb snorts. “Languishes,” she mouths.

“You think everything’s a game,” she says. “You and Locke.” “Unlike Locke, I never thought love was a game,” he says. “You may accuse me of much, but not that.”

“By oak and ash, thorn and rowan, I vow that I will serve you loyally until my death,” she says, which seems rash.

“The High King and High Queen of Elfhame.”

“Isn’t it fun to dance?” asks Fala the Fool, interrupting my progress across the floor. “Let’s dance in the ashes of tradition.”

Across the room, Cardan raises a goblet. “Be welcome on the Isle of Insmire,” he says. “Seelie and Unseelie, Wild Folk and Shy Folk, I am glad to have you march under my banner, glad of your loyalty, grateful for your honor.” His gaze goes to me. “To you, I offer honey wine and the hospitality of my table. But to traitors and oath breakers, I offer my queen’s hospitality instead. The hospitality of knives.”

All of Faerie knows I am the one who killed Balekin. They know I even spent some time in exile for it. They know I am Madoc’s foster daughter. They do not doubt Cardan’s words. Well, he has certainly made them see me as more than just the mortal queen. Now they see me as the murderess queen. I am not sure how I feel about it, but seeing the intensity of interest in their gazes now, I cannot deny it’s effective. I raise my glass high and drink. And by the time the party ebbs, when I pass courtiers, they all bow to me. Every last one.

“You looked like a knight in a story tonight,” he says softly against my neck. “Possibly a filthy story.” I kick him in the leg, and he kisses me again, harder.

“Mock me all you like. Whatever I imagined then, now it is I who would beg and grovel for a kind word from your lips.” His eyes are black with desire. “By you, I am forever undone.”

“I’m not mocking,” I whisper against his skin. When he looks down at me, his face is troubled. “We have lived in our armor for so long, you and I. And now I am not sure if either of us knows how to remove it.”

I am kind of in control and out of control at the same time.

“I missed you,” I whisper against his skin and feel dizzy with the intimacy of the admission, feel more naked than when he could see every inch of me. “In the mortal world, when I thought you were my enemy, I still missed you.” “My sweet nemesis, how glad I am that you returned.”

I think of his riddle. How do people like us take off our armor? One piece at a time.

Madoc wouldn’t be appeased. He comes from a line of warriors. His mother birthed him in battle, and he plans to die with a sword in his hand.

the Bomb comes to me and takes my hands in hers. “Whatever happens,” she tells me, “remember, I will be watching over you from the shadows.” “I will never forget,” I say in return, thinking of the Roach, who sleeps on because of my father. Of the Ghost, who was his prisoner. Of me, who nearly bled out in the snow. I have a lot to avenge.

“It’s you I love,” he says. “I spent much of my life guarding my heart. I guarded it so well that I could behave as though I didn’t have one at all. Even now, it is a shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous thing. But it is yours.” He walks to the door to the royal chambers, as though to end the conversation. “You probably guessed as much,” he says. “But just in case you didn’t.”

I can’t believe he said that and then just walked out, leaving me reeling. I am going to strangle him.

You love him, too, I think. You’ve loved him since before you were a prisoner of the Undersea. You loved him when you agreed to marry him. Once this is over, I will find the bravery to tell him.

I have some satisfaction in seeing the complete bafflement on Oriana’s face and then the shock that replaces it as she comes to see that my presence at the High King’s side is no elaborate joke. I am somehow wed to Cardan.

I think of Cardan and the way he wore his crown askew, the way he lounged on the throne. It gave him an air of unpredictability and reminded everyone that he was powerful enough to make the rules. I have resolved to try to emulate his example where I can, including with annoying seating.

“That’s what mortal means,” I say with a sigh that I don’t have to fake. “We die. Think of us like shooting stars, brief but bright.”

With my whole heart, I wish Cardan was here. I can almost imagine him lounging on a chair, giving me pointers on speechmaking. It would have annoyed me so much, and now, thinking of it, there’s a cold pit of longing in my stomach. I miss him, and the pain of it is a yawning chasm, one into which I yearn to let myself fall.

Lady Asha looks as though what she’d really prefer is to stab me in the throat.

“And I might have fought for you regardless if for no other reason than a mortal Queen of Faerie cannot help but delight many people I hold dear and annoy many people I dislike. But after what Cardan did in the great hall, I understand why you were willing to take mad gamble after mad gamble to put him on the throne, and I would have fought until the breath left my body.”

“He was willing to break the Blood Crown and trust in the loyalty of his subjects instead of compel it. He’s the true High King of Faerie.”

He turns to look just in time for both of us to see Kaye punch Nicasia right in the face.

I bite the inside of my cheek, embarrassed despite the fact that we were lovers, and wed, and it should hardly be a secret that we like each other.

“I don’t know how to break the curse,” I say, all the tears I haven’t shed welling up in my eyes. “If I could, do you think I would be at this stupid banquet? Tell me what I must slay, what I must steal, tell me the riddle I must solve or the hag I must trick. Only tell me the way, and I will do it, no matter the danger, no matter the hardship, no matter the cost.”