The Queen’s mismatched eyes narrow. “You may call me Octavia.” Up close, I notice her porcelain skin, high cheekbones, and delicate laugh-lines. Her sandy-brown hair is wound into a braided bun at the base of her neck.
“Thanks. Call me Myla.” I scan the scene. The Great Ladies stand near the steps to the royal pavilion. They all cluster around Adair, pointing at me and giggling. Ugh. My hands ball into fists.
With long fingers, the Queen lifts a golden wine goblet from a nearby table. She looks out over the crowd. I can almost see the wheels of her mind spin. “The Great Ladies stare at you, Myla.”
I turn in their direction and glare, my eyes flaring demon-red. Their faces whiten. Quick as a heartbeat, they all turn away.
I smack my lips. “Now they’ve stopped.”
Octavia stifles a smile. “I wish I could do that trick.” She gestures across the tournament grounds to where Lincoln must be stalking around. “My son doesn’t look at you at all.”
I make a point of not gazing in the direction of her point. “That’s fine with me.”
“I see.” She sips her wine, watching me closely. “Are you enjoying the tournament?”
“Honestly, no. I knew the ghoul who fought the Earl of Acca. Killing him was not—” I clear my throat. “He wasn’t a worthy opponent, that’s all.”
A smile curls the queen’s lips. “Spoken as a true thrax.”
My back teeth lock with anger. “I’m a quasi-demon…As the Earl of Acca was quick to point out.” And your son, too, although I won’t say that to your face.
“I know. I’ve seen your tail.” I glance at her mismatched eyes. Behind them, mental gears whirl and spin even faster. I have the weird feeling she knows exactly what I was thinking about Lincoln.
I sigh. It’s bad enough sitting through another of these boring tournaments, let alone making small talk with Lincoln’s calculating and somewhat creepy Mom. I fidget in my chair and watch the gate swing open on the tournament green. An Arachnoid demon crawls out onto the field of battle. Arachnoids are ten-foot tall daddy-long-leg spiders with extra armor and a bad attitude. They have tiny bodies, thread-thin legs, and giant pincer mouths with a poisonous bite. Across the green, the Earl of Kamal marches onto the field, a tiger by his side.
I shake my head. “He should’ve brought a falcon.”
Octavia sips her wine. “And why’s that?”
“The tiger can fight the Arachnoid’s legs all day; it won’t make a dent. They have light armor that’s good as dragon scales. But the demon’s body is pretty unprotected, especially from the top. A bird could go after it pretty easily.”
In the edges of my vision, I see my tail straighten Octavia’s crown. That thing so needs a leash. Frowning, I give it a smack.
Octavia arches her eyebrow. “I was about to thank you for doing that.”
“It wasn’t me. My tail has a mind of its own sometimes.”
Her lips purse. “Interesting.” She eyes me from head to toe. Suddenly, I understand how animals feel in the zoo.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Why’d you invite me here, Octavia?”
She chuckles. “I wondered if you’d ask the obvious question. Would you believe me if I said it’s a matter of quasi-thrax diplomacy?”
“No.”
“That’s wise.” She sips her wine, examining my face, and then sets the goblet down. “I brought you here because I think my son finds you interesting.”
My eyes almost pop out of my head. I look behind me. Someone else must have snuck into the pavilion. “Me?” I tap my ribcage.
She nods.
“You don’t know your son very well.” He’s a pompous jerk who would never be interested in a ‘demon’ like me.
“Perhaps.” The corners of her mouth round up slightly. “I think I know you, however.” Octavia snaps her fingers. Bera rushes to stand before her.
The handmaiden bows. “Your Highness.”
“Escort Myla to my family’s tent.” She pats my hand. “I gave your measurements to my smithy. He’s made you a suit of armor. I’d like you to fight in the tourney under the crest of my homeland, the House of Gurith.” She gestures to the tournament field, where the Earl of Kamal battles the Arachnoid. “Whoever kills that demon first, wins the tournament and is named the greatest warrior in Antrum. I think it will be you.”
My heart leaps in my chest. “Yes!” I jump to my feet and stand beside Bera, then pause. I scan the queen’s mask-like face. The wheels of her mind still whirl and churn. “Why’re you helping me?”
“Bera, will you wait for Myla at the base of the stairs?” Her handmaiden nods and steps away.
The Queen curls her finger in my direction. “Come closer.”
I lean forward; Octavia whispers in my ear. “I’m helping you, my dear, because you and I are the only two females in this vicinity who aren’t nit-wits.”
My face stretches into a wide grin. “I like you Octavia.”