A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire 1)

My skin flamed hot as the insinuation struck a chord. There was no doubt in my mind that she was horrified by what I’d become. I really couldn’t blame her. The knowledge that her firstborn child murdered people on the regular had to haunt her. Except it was far too often upon her request.

I told myself not to respond. There was no point. But I rarely heeded that voice of reason. “I’m only capable of what is expected of me.”

“And yet, you stand here beside me, having failed what was expected of you,” she replied quietly. “While our people continue to starve and die.”

The skin along the back of my neck prickled as I forced my voice low. “You care for the people?”

The Queen watched Andreia in silence for several seconds. “They are all I ever think about.”

A low, harsh laugh fought its way out of me, and she looked at me then, but I didn’t think she saw me. “What is so funny?” she asked.

“You,” I whispered, and the skin under her right eye twitched. “If you care for the starving people, then why didn’t you take the coin spent on yet another gown and give it to those who need it?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “I wouldn’t need to keep up appearances and spend coin on yet another gown if you had fulfilled your duty, now, would I? No more Rot. No starvation.”

Her words fell upon me as if they were made of the numerous sharp pins that jutted from the ball of material Andreia had placed on a nearby table.

“Instead, I am called the Beggar Queen by kingdoms that once prayed for an alliance with Lasania.” My mother cast her gaze to mine. “So, please, do go and find another area of this vast property to haunt.”

“Then I suppose I will go roam the woods and join those spirits there,” I muttered.

Queen Calliphe’s mouth tightened until her lips were bloodless. “If that is what you’d prefer.”

The apathy of her tone—the utter dismissiveness—was worse than if she had smacked me in the face. Anger stung my eyes, took root deep inside me, loosening my tongue as it had so many times before. I wasn’t always like this. I’d spent the better part of my life doing exactly what I was told, rarely refusing any request or order. I’d been quiet, whispering through the halls of Wayfair, so focused on capturing the attention—and maybe even the affection—of the Queen. But that had stopped three years ago. I’d stopped holding my tongue. Stopped trying. Stopped caring.

Maybe that was the answer to what that damn god had asked. Why I ran so eagerly toward death.

“You know, if begging for alliances is such a step down for you, you could always do what the Golden King did,” I pointed out, keeping my voice barely above a whisper. “Then you can continue standing by while everyone else cleans up whatever mess there may be.”

Her gaze snapped back to mine. “One day, that mouth of yours is going to get you in the kind of trouble you won’t be able to talk your way out of.”

“Wouldn’t that make you happy?” I challenged, aware of how Lady Kala and the seamstress were dutifully attempting to ignore us.

Her gaze iced over. “Leave,” she ordered. “Now.”

Brimming with anger and a heavier, suffocating emotion I refused to acknowledge, I dipped into an overly elaborate curtsy. My mother’s nostrils flared as she stared at me. “Your wish is my command, Your Grace,” I said, rising and crossing the room.

“Close the door behind you so there are no more inconsequential interruptions,” Queen Calliphe stated.

Closing my eyes, I shut the door without slamming it—a feat that took every bit of willpower I had as I reminded myself that her words could no longer reach me soon. In the hall, I drew in a long, deep breath and held it. Held it until my lungs burned, and my eyes started to water. Until tiny white bursts of light appeared behind my lids. Only then did I exhale. It was the only thing that stopped me from grabbing the door handle and slamming it over and over.

Only when I was confident that I could trust my actions did I open my eyes. Two Royal Guards stood across from my mother’s chambers.

Gods, they looked…absurd in their uniforms, like puffed-up peacocks.

The two men stared straight ahead, their expressions bland despite the fact that I’d just stood in front of them for several moments, eyes closed while holding my breath. I supposed that wouldn’t even register on the scale of odd things they’d witnessed me do.

The stinging in my eyes and the burn in my throat were still there as I started walking, rubbing the back of my left shoulder where the crescent-shaped birthmark tingled. It had to be the numerous sconces lighting the hall. It had nothing to do with my mother. There was no way she could have any effect on me. Not when she wore her disappointment in me like a second skin.