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

by Holly Black

I hate being a fool. I hate the idea of my emotions getting the better of me, of making me weak. But my fear of being a fool turned me into one. I should have guessed the answer to Cardan’s riddle long before I did. Even if I didn’t understand it was a riddle, it was still a loophole to exploit. But I was so shamed by falling for his trick that I stopped looking for ways around it. And even after I discovered one, I made no plan to use it. Maybe it isn’t the worst thing to want to be love...

But it’s not as though my own fears are the only reason I was in exile for so long. “Is that why you intercepted the letters he sent? To protect me? Or was it because you’re afraid that he won’t tire of me? Because, my lady, I will always be a challenge.” I admit, it’s a guess about her and the letters. But not many people would have the access and power to stop a message from the High King. No ambassador from a foreign kingdom. Probably not a member of the Living Council. And I don’t think Lady Asha likes me very much. She regards me mildly. “Many things become lost. Or destroyed.” Given that she can’t lie, that’s practically a confession. “I see,” I say, standing. “In that case, I will take your ad...

“I’m so sorry.” It’s an utterly human thing to say and utterly useless, but I blurt it out anyway. Nicasia curls her lip. “You ought to be.” After a moment, she releases Cardan’s hand with some apparent regret. She would have married him once. I very much doubt that my appearance has made her give up the notion.

“Did they catch the would-be assassin?” I ask. Randalin frowns at me, as he often does when I ask a question to which he doesn’t know the answer but doesn’t wish to admit it.

“Do you trust him?” she whispers when Cardan is no longer within earshot. “Sometimes,” I admit. She gives me a sympathetic look. “He was nice in the carriage. I didn’t know he knew how to be nice.” That makes me laugh. At the door to my chambers, she puts her hand on my arm. “He was trying to impress you, you know. Talking to me.” I frown. “I think he just wanted to hear about weird candy.” She shakes her head. “He wants you to like him. But just because he wants you to doesn’t mean you should.”

Our marriage is an alliance. It is a bargain. I tell myself that it doesn’t have to be more than that. I try to tell myself that Cardan’s desire for me has always been mixed up with disgust and that I am better off without it.

I fall asleep waiting for the sound of the door opening, for his step on the wooden floor. But when I wake, I am still alone. No lamps are lit. No pillows moved. Nothing is changed. I sit upright. Perhaps he spent all the rest of the morning and afternoon in the Court of Shadows, playing darts with the Ghost and checking on the Roach’s healing. But I can more easily imagine him in the great hall, overseeing the last dregs of the night’s revelry and swilling gallons of wine, all to avoid lying beside me in bed.

“Who let the councilor in here without my permission?” I demand. Alarm lights their eyes, and one begins to sputter an answer. “I told them not to allow it,” Fand interrupts. “You need someone to protect your person—and your door. Let me be your knight. You know me. You know I’m capable. I’ve been waiting here, hoping—” I recall my own longing for a place in the royal household, to be chosen as part of the personal guard of one of the princesses. And I also understand why she wouldn’t have been likely to be picked before. She’s young and—all evidence suggests—outspoken. “Yes,” I say. “I would like that. Fand, consider yourself the first of my guard.” Never having had my own guard before, I find myself a little bit at a loss with what to do with her now. “By oak and ash, thorn and rowan, I vow that I will serve you loyally until my death,” she says, which seems rash. “Now, would you like me to escort the councilor out of your apartments?”

“There has never been a mortal Queen of Elfhame. And there should not be one now.” “Do you really expect me to give up such enormous power on your say-so?” I ask. “You were a good seneschal,” Randalin says, surprising me. “You care about Elfhame. That’s why I implore you to relinquish your title.” It’s at that moment that the door swings open. “We did not send for you, and we do not need you!” Randalin begins, clearly intending to give some servant—probably Fand—the tongue-lashing he wishes he could bestow on my person. Then he blanches and lurches to his feet. The High King stands in the doorway. His eyebrows rise, and a malicious smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Many think that, but few are bold enough to say it to my face.”

Cardan interrupts. “Why don’t you tell me what you were discussing? I have no doubt you’d prefer Jude’s levelheaded answers to my nonsense, but it amuses me to hear about matters of state nonetheless.” “I was only urging her to consider the war that her father is bringing. Everyone must make sacrifices.” Randalin glances toward Grima Mog, who sets down her tureen on a nearby table, then at Cardan again. I could warn Randalin that he ought to be afraid of the way that Cardan is looking at him. Cardan turns to me, and some of the heat of his anger is still in his eyes. “Jude, would you give me and the councilor a moment alone? I have a few things I would like to urge him to consider. And Grima Mog has brought you soup.” “I don’t need anyone to help me tell Randalin that this is my home and my land and that I am going nowhere and relinquishing nothing.” “And yet,” Cardan says, clamping his hand on the back of the councilor’s throat, “there are still some things I would say to him.”

Faerie bargains have a deservedly bad reputation. They are very seldom straightforward things. Sure, they sound good. Like, you’re being promised you’ll live out the rest of your days in bliss, but then you have one really great night and die in the morning. Or you’re promised you’ll lose weight, and then someone comes along and chops off one of your legs.

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.” There is a swell of noise, of joyful hissing and howls. Many eyes turn to me. I see Lady Asha, glowering in my direction. 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.

“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 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.” He pulls my body against his, cradling my head against his chest.

“I hope you are not considering agreeing to a duel,” says Randalin. “Your father wouldn’t have entertained such an absurd thought for a moment.” “Of course not,” Cardan says. “I am no swordsman, but moreover, I don’t like giving my enemies what they want. Madoc has come for a duel, and if for no other reason than that, he should not have one.”

“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.

Madoc barks out a laugh, his gaze going to me. “Daughter, every time I think you cannot rise any higher, you prove me wrong,” he says. “And I a fool to wonder if you were even still alive.” “I am alive,” I say. “No thanks to you.” 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.

“This is your last chance to surrender,” I say. “Bend the knee, Father.” He laughs again, shaking his head. “I have never surrendered in my life. In all the years I have battled, never have I given that to anyone. And I will not give it to you.” “Then you will be remembered as a traitor, and when they make songs about you, those songs will forget all your valiant deeds in favor of this despicable one.”

“A king is not his throne nor his crown,” he says. “You are right that neither loyalty nor love should be compelled. But rule of Elfhame ought not be won or lost in a wager, either, as though it were a week’s pay or a wineskin. I am the High King, and I do not forfeit that title to you, not for a sword or a show or my pride. It is worth more than any of those things.” Cardan looks at me and smiles. “Besides which, two rulers stand before you. And even had you cut me down, one would remain.”

“Queen Mab created this crown to keep her descendants in power,” Cardan says. “But vows should never be to a crown. They should be to a ruler. And they should be of your own free will. I am your king, and beside me stands my queen. But it is your choice whether or not to follow us. Your will shall be your own.” And with his bare hands, he cracks the Blood Crown in two. It breaks like a child’s toy, as though in his hands it was never made of metal at all, brittle as a wishbone.

In the place where the High King was, there is a massive serpent, covered in black scales and curved fangs. A golden sheen runs down the coils of the enormous body. I look into his black eyes, hoping to see recognition there, but they are cold and empty. “It will poison the land,” cries the smith. “No true love’s kiss will stop it. No riddle will fix it. Only death.”

I need to fix this, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t even think. “I am going to stand,” I promise Grima Mog, who is probably a little alarmed. If I were her, looking at me and realizing I was in charge, I’d be alarmed, too. “I am going to be okay in a minute.” “I know you are,” she says.

“I need to find the Royal Astrologer.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” says Grima Mog. “You’re the queen. If you need Lord Baphen, then he can come to you. Right now, you’re standing between any one of these low Court denizens and being the ruler of Elfhame. It won’t be only Madoc who wants to take over now. Anyone might decide that killing you would be a good way to make their case for being in charge. You need to keep your boot on their throats.”

“I need a new Grand General. Will you accept the position?” Grima Mog’s surprise is obvious. “Me? But what of Yorn?” “He doesn’t have the experience,” I say. “And I don’t like him.” “I tried to kill you,” she reminds me. “You’ve described pretty much every important relationship in my life,” I return, taking slow, shallow breaths. “I like you fine.”

“And if one of your spies overhears plans for my assassination, they do not need to bring me word. Nor do I care how vague the plot or how uncommitted the players. I just want them all dead.” Perhaps that is not how I ought to handle things, but Cardan is not here to stay my hand. I do not have the luxury of time or of mercy.

“I don’t understand how you do it,” she says. “I don’t understand how you can be so calm.” I’m not sure what to say. I don’t feel calm at all. I am a maelstrom of emotions. All I want to do is scream.

“The king is tied to the land,” says Baphen. “Cursing the king means cursing the land itself. My queen, there may be only one way to heal—” “Enough,” I say to Baphen and Randalin and the rest of the Council, startling the guards. I stand. “We are done with this discussion.” “But you must—” begins Randalin, then he seems to see something in my face and goes quiet. “We’re meant to advise you,” says Nihuar in her syrupy voice. “We are thought to be very wise.” “Are you?” I ask, and the voice that comes out is honeyed malice, the exact tone Cardan would have used. It spills out of me as though I am no longer in control of my mouth. “Because wisdom ought to urge you not to court my displeasure. Perhaps a stay in the Tower of Forgetting will recall you to your place.” They all become very quiet.

I think of the stitches in my side and the white flowers pushing up through the snow. I concentrate on that memory and try to draw on the power of the land. He’s a descendant of Mab and the rightful king. I am his wife. I healed myself. Surely I can heal him. “Please,” I say to the dirt floor of the brugh, to the earth itself. “I will do whatever you want. I will give up the crown. I will make any bargain. Just please fix him. Help me break the curse.” I concentrate and concentrate, but the magic doesn’t come.

“You are bold to come here,” I say. “Of all people, you should appreciate a little boldness.” Madoc’s gaze goes to Vivi and Taryn and then back to me. “I mourned you. I truly believed you died.” “I’m surprised you didn’t wet your cap in my blood,” I say. At my side, Grima Mog’s eyebrows rise.

“I cannot blame you for being angry,” he says. “But we have been angry at each other for too long, Jude. You’re not the fool I took you for, and for my part, I don’t want to hurt you. You’re the High Queen of Faerie. Whatever you did to get there, I can only applaud it.” He might not want to hurt me, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. “She is the queen,” Taryn says. “The only reason she didn’t die out in the snow is that the land healed her.”

Madoc says. “You’ve only ever half-understood anything Jude was up to, perhaps because if you did, you couldn’t continue to act as though there are easy answers. She’s made herself a target to keep the target from being on her brother’s back.” “Don’t lecture me,” Vivi returns. “This is all your fault. Oak’s being in danger. Cardan’s being cursed. Jude’s nearly dying.” “I am here,” says Madoc. “To make it right.”

“It’s not easy to help a queen,” Taryn says. “They’re not supposed to need helping.”

Mother Marrow narrows her eyes at me. “So you’re going to use this bridle from the Court of Teeth? I’d like to see it. Grimsen made such interestingly awful things.” “You’re welcome to have a look,” I say. “I’m supposed to tie my own hair to it.” She snorts. “Well, don’t do that. If you do that, you’ll be bound along with the serpent.” You will be bound together. The rage I feel is so great that for a moment, everything goes white, like a strike of lightning where the thunder is just behind it.

“So how ought it work?” I ask, my voice shaking with fury. “There is probably a word of command,” she tells me with a shrug. “Hard to know what that would be, though, and the thing is useless without it.” Severin shakes his head. “There’s only one thing the smith ever wanted anyone to remember.” “His name,” I say.

“It was good of you to stay,” I say. “After Cardan broke the crown, I wasn’t sure you would.” He nods. “I never cared much for him,” he says, staring down at me with his gray eyes, pale as river water. “It was you who persuaded me to pledge to the crown in the first place, and you who brokered peace after the Undersea broke their treaty.” By killing Balekin. I can hardly forget. “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.”

“I didn’t know you, before,” she says, the anguish clear in her voice. There is a hitch in her breath that comes with weeping. “I thought you were just some mortal.” I have to bite my tongue at that, but I don’t interrupt her. “When you became his seneschal, I told myself that he wanted you for your lying tongue. Or because you’d become biddable, although you never were before. I should have believed you when you told him he didn’t know the least of what you could do. “While you were in exile, I got more of the story out of him. I know you don’t believe this, but Cardan and I were friends before we were lovers, before Locke. He was my first friend when I came here from the Undersea. And we were friends, even after everything. I hate that he loves you.” “He hated it, too,” I say with a laugh that sounds more brittle than I’d like. Nicasia fixes me with a long look. “No, he didn’t.”

“So promise me,” she says. “Promise me you’ll help him.” I think of the golden bridle, about the future the stars predicted. “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.” My voice breaks. She gives me a steady look. Whatever else I might think of her, she really does care for Cardan. And as tears roll over my cheeks, to her astonishment, I think she realizes I do, too.

In my dreams, Cardan the snake looms over me, his black scales gleaming. “I love you,” I say, and then he devours me.

“Well, even if the serpent bites off your head,” says Tatterfell, “the rest of you will still look good.” “That’s the spirit,” I tell her.

I said that if I couldn’t be better than my enemies, then I would become worse. Much, much worse.

And if the serpent grows in monstrousness and corruption, if it poisons the land of Elfhame itself, then let me be the queen of monsters. Let me rule over that blackened land with my redcap father as a puppet by my side. Let me be feared and never again afraid. Only out of his spilled blood can a great ruler rise. Let me have everything I ever wanted, everything I ever dreamed, and eternal misery along with it. Let me live on with an ice shard through my heart.

I think of how he would hate to be trapped like this. How unfair it would be for me to keep him this way and call it love. You already know how to end the curse. “I do love you,” I whisper. “I will always love you.” I tuck the golden bridle into my belt. Two paths are before me, but only one leads to victory.

Perhaps I will never live without fear, perhaps power will slip from my grasp, perhaps the pain of losing him will hurt more than I can bear. And yet, if I love him, there’s only one choice.

Actually crying here

All that is loud in my ears is the curse Valerian spoke before he died. May your hands always be stained with blood. May death be your only companion.

“You ought to have taken what we offered,” Lord Jarel says, swinging his spear down toward me. “Your reign will be very short, mortal queen.” Then Grima Mog is there on her stag, taking the weight of his blade. Their weapons slam together, ringing with the force of the impact. “First I am going to kill you,” she tells him. “And then I am going to eat you.”

There is a glee in his face, a terrible joy. Redcaps are born for this, for bloodshed and violence and murder. I think some part of him delights in being able to share this with me, even now. “Stand up.” I have spent most of my life answering to his orders. I push myself to my feet, my hand going to the golden bridle at my belt, the one tied with his hair, the one I could have used to bind him and the one I can bind him with still. “I am not going to fight you.” My voice sounds so distant. “Though I would not delight to see the straps sink into your skin, neither would I mourn.” “Enough blustering,” he says. “You’ve already won. Look.” He takes me by the shoulders and turns me so that I can see where the great body of the serpent lies. A jolt of horror goes through me, and I try to wrench out of his grip. And then I notice the fighting has ebbed, the Folk are staring. From within the body of the creature emanates a glow. And then, through that, Cardan steps out. Cardan, naked and covered in blood. Alive. Only out of his spilled blood can a great ruler rise. And all around, people go to their knees. Grima Mog kneels. Lord Roiben kneels. Even those who moments before were intent on murder seem overcome. Nicasia looks on from the sea as all of Elfhame bows to the High King, restored and reborn. “I will bend my head to you,” Madoc says to me under his breath. “And only you.”

“The curse is broken. The king is returned.” He’s every bit as terrifying as any serpent. I don’t care. I run into his arms.

He waves away a knight who proffers his cloak, despite being clad only in blood. “I haven’t worn anything in days,” the High King drawls, and if there is something brittle in his eyes, nearly everyone is too awed to notice. “I don’t see why I ought to start now.” “Modesty?” I force out, playing along, surprised he can joke about the curse, or anything. He gives me a dazzling, insouciant smile. The kind of smile you can hide behind. “Every part of me is a delight.”