Warning arrows flew at the walls, but none of them struck their targets. Archery had been nothing more than a sport for too long for the army to aim true. I didn’t flinch. The men continued to march, but they moved slower now, with more caution. Their conviction seemed to waver. My tricks were working.
They moved closer still, and their boots collided with the spots in the long grass where metal and powder had been concealed, pressing them together, triggering a reaction. For a long breath, nothing happened, as the men strode ahead. Maybe my design hadn’t worked, maybe it wouldn’t work . . .
Then the men yelled in shock as purple smoke exploded from the grass.
It had been Naomi’s idea, based on the one failed experiment that had started it all. Aluminum and iodine, combined to create colored smoke that looked like magic. It had taken a little ingenuity to time it right, though. The dew on the grass would act as the water needed in the reaction, but they could not be allowed to mix too early. So my spies had placed fragile, dangerously thin pieces of glass between the aluminum and the iodine. When the soldiers stepped on them, the glass would shatter, the chemicals would mix, and I would get the spectacle I needed.
And if any soldiers stumbled when the glass gave way, well . . . that might help, too.
Some of the horses reared, and the soldiers yelled, too, stopping where they stood. Another moment, and the concoctions burst into flames, sparks flying into the air along with the smoke.
Then the final part of my plan fell into place, and phantoms danced on the smoke clouds again. They were less defined now that sunlight surrounded them, but they haunted the soldiers still, lurching shadows, vengeful gods returned.
My own archers sent a barrage of arrows onto the field. Another sheet of lightning flashed across the sky.
“Surrender!” I yelled. “And the Forgotten will have mercy.”
I couldn’t see if my words had any effect. The soldiers might not even have heard me. The air was too full of smoke and fire now, the sound of soldiers yelling and coughing. Those who attempted to run through the chaos would find their eyes streaming, their chests tightening. They could not charge while they struggled to breathe.
I searched the field for Sten, but he had vanished in the smoke and fire.
Still I stood, listening to the shouts. Men emerged from the chaos, moving away from the city, running, dropping their weapons on the ground as they went. The first few were men on my side, hidden among the ramshackle army to inspire cowardice in others, but more followed, and more, scrambling to escape that immortal wrath.
One man on horseback whirled around, galloping after the fleeing men. And once that noble had broken ranks, all of his men broke with him, the already disorganized army scrambling over themselves to get away.
“Your Majesty.” Holt stood in the gate tower, just out of sight. I did not turn to look at him. “You should come back now. Where it’s safe.”
“No. I have to stay here.” I had to watch my fears play out. Many of the men who’d emerged from the smoke now fell to their knees, staring up at me, a mix of terror and awe in their eyes.
Then the rain came. A downpour, bursting out of nowhere. The raindrops hit a few uncatalyzed spots of iodine and aluminum, creating more bursts of purple smoke and flame. If anyone believed the rain was for Sten, that smoke would disabuse them of those hopes.
As the smoke cleared, I saw Sten, standing at the edge of the chaos, refusing to surrender but unable to proceed as the Forgotten came down around him. Someone was standing in front of him, shouting at him, gesturing with a sword—
Fitzroy. He’d been out in the field? I hadn’t told him he could join the battle. My stomach twisted in fear, but he was unharmed, shouting at Sten. Telling him to surrender.
I stepped off the side of the wall. “I wish to go down there,” I said to Holt.
“Your Majesty—”
I nodded at him and descended the stairs. The city gates swung open, guards standing alert on either side as I stepped onto the field of ash and fear.
“Your Majesty,” the men on their knees murmured, the words forming a chant that flowed through the air. And then, as if the word had more meaning, as though it meant more respect, “Freya. Freya.”
I stepped through them, my head held high, to where Sten stood, weaponless now, glowering at me.
“I did not kill your friends, Sten. I did not want them dead. I know you didn’t, either. But I am queen now, and I will protect my kingdom from anyone who attacks it. And the Forgotten will protect me as I do.”
And with no weapons, no army, no one left to support him, Torsten Wolff could hardly disagree.
THIRTY-THREE
“I SWEAR ALLEGIANCE TO QUEEN FREYA, THE ONE TRUE queen of Epria.”
I sat in my throne, crown on my head, as a soldier knelt before me, head bowed. I nodded at him, hands folded in my lap to hide my nerves. “Thank you,” I said, and I put all my happiness, all my genuine relief, into the words. “You may rise.” The soldier stood, head still bowed, and stepped aside to allow the next man before the throne.
True to my word, every man who had surrendered during the battle had been pardoned. Even those captured fighting were pardoned and recruited into my army, if they agreed to swear loyalty to me. And so I had sat on my throne all day, hearing oath after oath, dwelling in the relief that I was alive, I had survived. No one else needed to die now.
But there was still the problem of Sten. He was in the dungeons now, and I had to decide how to deal with him. The assumption, of course, was that I’d have him executed to ensure he never posed a threat again. To show the cost of rebelling against the queen. But I meant what I had said, about wishing to avoid more bloodshed. I didn’t want anyone else to die. Not even those who’d been trying to kill me. But I couldn’t let him go, couldn’t exile him. He could easily try to gather forces and attack again.
So was I to leave him in the dungeons for the rest of his life? Somehow, that didn’t feel like justice, either.
At least he’d be easier to deal with than any lingering threat in the city. My show had convinced most people—what else could have caused all that smoke and light?—but I couldn’t have convinced everyone. There would always be doubters, and if they chose to put that doubt into action . . .
I shook my head. I was safer than I had been. I had followers of my own now, and love and respect, besides. If anyone plotted to kill me, they wouldn’t find much support.
And then there was Madeleine. Beautiful, charming Madeleine, who had helped me in the end. If I told anyone else what she had done, they’d scream for her execution. Madeleine would deserve it. But I couldn’t bear to see that happen. I couldn’t see what good that would bring.
No more bloodshed. No matter what.
When the last soldier had sworn his allegiance, the old throne room emptied out, leaving me and my advisers alone. I stood, my legs aching after too many hours on the throne, and stretched. “That went well.”