Queen Rising (4 page)

“You should eat something.”

“No, you've done so much already.” Margot tried to rise to her feet, but the pain in her leg stopped her. “Maybe I'll just stay a little while.”

He presented her with some bread and cheese.

She ate every scrap of food before really looking at the boy who had given it to her. He looked harmless enough. His clothes were fine, made of silk that commoners did not wear, but she could see at their edges that they were well-worn. And there was room in the suit for a half of another person. Either he had fallen on hard times or they weren't his clothes at all.

“Where did you come from?” he asked, examining her.

His
eyes stopped on her clothing. The only thing that she was wearing that was remotely fine was the shawl that Ora had made for her. She clutched it tight around her body.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“To be honest, I had every intention of robbing you . . .”

Margot looked down at her shabby dress and touched it as if to prove her point. “Why would you want to rob me? There were people in the square who obviously were far better off than me.”

He answered without hesitation.

“People like you tend to keep valuables on their person.”

“People like me?”

“Poor people,” he said without blinking.

It had never occurred to her that she was poor. Her whole life could be divided into before the witches and after. And she was in the after. And here, apparently, what was in her purse mattered.

The boy continued, “But you don't have a purse. In fact you don't have anything at all . . .”

“What are you? Are you a thief?”

“You're a witch, aren't you?” the boy side stepped answering. “I thought those creeps had just set off some fireworks . . . but you
are
the fireworks.” He looked her over again.

“Not quite. I'm not anything.”

“Everyone is something. You just have to choose.”

Margot thought of the Hollow. She had chosen, but the magic and the witches had not chosen her in return. “Being a witch doesn't work like that.”

“Everything works like that.”

She thought about contradicting him, but that would involve spilling her entire story and she wasn't ready to do that.

“You should get some rest.”

“Why are you helping me?”

The boy cocked his head in surprise. “To be honest, I don't know.” He took the plate from her and grabbed a blanket off the foot of the bed. He began to cover her leg.

“I can't sleep here,” Margot said, her voice filled with incredulity.

“Why not? Oh, where are my manners? I am Rule, by the way.”

Learning his name felt significant somehow. She considered lying but that was something that she had never done.

“Margot. My name is Margot.”

“That wasn't so hard, was it Queenie?”

“Excuse me?”

“Obviously you have better accommodations elsewhere?” Rule asked, with an arch of his brow.

“I am the furthest thing from a royal,” Margot said, thinking of Go who was much closer to being one. “I am a . . .” She was going to say “witch” but she stopped herself because it was no longer true. “Thank you for your kind offer. I would be grateful to stay.”

“I'll sleep in the chair,” Rule said preemptively.

Margot gave him a long look. His comment about her being too good to stay here came back to her. He had taken care of her. And she could not take his bed on top of that. Besides, his charm was starting to grow on her. There was something about him that made her feel calm.

“
That's ridiculous. We can share the bed,” Margot said quickly.

But when she positioned herself on the bed, she found herself almost paralyzed at the prospect of sharing the bed with him. She was aware of the weight of him when he sat down on the edge of the bed. And when he settled in and faced the ceiling, she felt him
not
looking at her. Margot wasn't sure if her nervousness came from sharing a bed with a boy or if it was this boy in particular.

There were no boys at the Hollow. And she had never given any thought to romance the way Ora did. But lying here next to him she became more aware of him. He did not smell of earth or water or fire like the witches. Or even flowers, like Ora.

He wore some kind of scent that was spicy and sweet and male. She inhaled and exhaled, turning further away from him.

Rule did not think of her in that way. She was sure of it. But to her surprise, she was starting to think of him that way. She wondered what he was thinking—if he was thinking of her—as he shifted to get comfortable.

The muffled sounds of a couple yelling came through the walls.

“Quiet is a stranger here. The girl is an actress and the boy is ridiculously jealous. They go on like this for hours . . .”

Rule talked like there was no difference between them lying here and them standing up. She had her answer. He was wholly unaffected by her.

Margot turned toward him purposefully as if to prove to him and to herself that she could be unaffected, too.

“Do you ever stop talking?” she asked. But when she looked at him this time, he was fast asleep.

12

When Margot woke, Rule was gone and there was a simple orange dress at the foot of the bed. It looked to be about the right size for her. It was probably stolen. Had Rule stolen it for her?

Before she could process the idea, the bedroom door swung open. Rule stood there holding a paper bag that smelled of breakfast.

“What's that?” she said, pointing to the dress.

Rule opened the bag and handed her a cup of coffee and tore off a chunk of bread—all with one hand. She should not have been surprised by his dexterity. He was a thief. But she had never seen anyone's hands move that fast.

He finally answered her question as she held the hot cup between her hands.

“I believe it's a dress. I think you should burn the rest of your clothes. Except the shawl. I sense that it has some sentimental value. And it's kind of beautiful.”

“What is this for?”

“You can't go back out to the square wearing that. No one would let you get close to them.”

She looked down at her dress reflexively. She flashed on a memory of Go asking her to find a better dress for her visits. She had not cared about her clothes then anymore than she did now. But Rule wasn't living at the palace. And he wasn't a wannabe royal. Why would he care what she wore?

“Why would I want to get close to anyone?” she asked instead.

“You asked me last night why I helped you. I think we can help each other. I can make a Robber out of you. And I am sure you will help me, too.”

“I don't want to steal from people.”

“You said yourself that you didn't know what you were. This is the place where you can be whatever you want to be. And I can help you make a home here. Or you can go back out there and starve.”

“I could find work. The kind that does not involve picking pockets.”

“No one will hire you. No one will take you in. Witches or almost witches have only one home in Algid.”

Margot considering biting back, “I would rather die.” But she couldn't say the words because what she wanted was to live. And she felt the gravity of the boy and the dress and the promise of being something new.

13

Rule took her to another town to try out her robbing skills. The busier the town square, the lower the chances of getting caught. The glittering buildings looked like cylindrical lipstick tubes twisted halfway up toward the sky. Margot could see the web of beams winding their way up.

“This is Dessa,” Rule said. “Now pick a mark.”

Margot's instinct was not to go for one of the generals policing the square. Instead, her first choice was a rather haughty-looking woman whose nose was almost cartoonishly raised in the air. But Rule shook his head.

Rule directed Margot to a middle-aged man whose suit was clean but a little shabby. She realized that he was chosen for those shabby edges. Like her, Rule assumed that the man would probably be carrying his most valuable possessions on his person.

“Excuse me,” Margot said, falling in step beside the man.

She struck up a conversation about being new in town and wanting to see the sights. And as predicted, he was only too eager to show off and launched into a history of the town and the things that she could not miss.

Rule said that the key was seeing what the mark needed most. She'd seen what that was: someone to talk to and someone to lead.

When the man paused to point out the theater, Rule came walking from the other direction and bumped into the man, brushing against his shoulder.

At the exact moment of contact, Margot slipped her hand into the man's jacket, pulled out a couple of his coins, and slipped them into her pocket.

Margot endured a few more minutes of the tour and then parted ways with her mark, who thanked her for the pleasant, if one-sided, conversation.

Her heart was racing as she exited the square to meet Rule outside the town's gate.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I'm going to throw up,” she blurted. A wave of nausea chased the excitement.

“Good, that means you care.”

To be honest, it wasn't the same as magic. Her heart was racing, but there was no warmth rushing through her. Still, Margot could hold the coins in her hand. She could touch them and they were not going anywhere. They were tangible and they were hers. He had given her that. And there was a part of her that was more grateful than she liked. His words echoed back to her, and so did the words of her mother and the Witch of the Woods:
There is no such thing as family. There is no bind that cannot break.

She pushed the words aside and rolled the coins over and over again in her pockets.

“Next time can we pick someone who has more money?” she asked out loud.

“Greedy, greedy, Queenie.”

But it wasn't what she meant. Margot hadn't taken every coin in that man's pocket because she knew that he needed them.

She stopped short. “What did you just call me?”

“Queen Margot,” Rule said without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because you think you are too good for this. And I don't see how you are in any position to judge.”

Margot
looked hard at him. Rule was right. But he was wrong, too. She knew she wasn't a witch anymore. But their idea about sacrifice was still a part of her whether she liked it or not. Magic was a gift. Or a product of sacrifice. Witches did not take. They did not steal.

“Maybe we're both too good for this.”

“There isn't anything I am too good for,” he countered without a second of hesitation.

“I just mean, what if we went after the purses of the rich instead of the poor?”

“Don't you think I've thought of that, Queenie?”

He glanced back toward the square where a couple of policemen were walking.

“They don't investigate when poor people are missing something.”

“We'll be long gone before they notice anything is missing . . .”

Rule laughed.

“You really think you can teach me how to rob better?” he asked, his voice filled with challenge.

“I think magic makes everything better,” Margot countered.

14

Margot and Rule went back to the boarding house and counted up their take for the day. He handed her half of it and ordered her to hide it. Even from him.

“Why should I hide it? You know every inch of this place,” Margot pointed out lightly. She was almost amused at how he felt he had to remind her on a daily basis of what a bad guy he was.

When she visited Go that day, Margot was wearing the orange dress. She smoothed it down. She couldn't wait for him to see it. She didn't look like a witch. She could pass for a lady.

Go entered. Ingri, the maid who had been bringing him to see her every month for what seemed like forever, trailed behind.

“Leave us,” he ordered Ingri.

Margot remembered seeing him year after year, his small hand in Ingri's. But today, he dismissed her as if she was nothing to him.

A look of hurt flashed across Ingri's face before she beat a hasty retreat.

Margot looked sharply at her brother, wanting to admonish him. “Go,” she began, “how can you talk to her that way?”

“She's the help . . .”

“And you think you aren't?” she blurted.

Go laughed. “I am not a maid, sister.”

She sighed and looked down at her dress, but she would not let her excitement be dimmed.

“What do you think?” she said, twirling around for him to see the dress.

Go blinked at her innocently. “The dress? The ladies are wearing pink this year,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Well. I am hardly a lady and I like it. I think it suits me.”

“It's much improved.”

“Would Sir Go actually deign to speak to me if we crossed paths out there?” she asked, taking his arm in hers and trying to push him to take a walk around the room with her.

He resisted. She dropped his arm.

“People call me Goddard now.”

“Well, la-di-da . . . But you will always be Go to me,” Margot countered.

Go did not join her in her smile, and Margot sighed. She was used to this, having to work to get Go back to himself. But every time it seemed to take a little longer and be a little harder. And today she really just wanted him to be her brother again without all the work.

“That's the thing, sister. You are not that far off. I am closer to being Sir Goddard than I ever thought I could be. Than I ever dared imagine.”

“Go?” she asked.

Go got up suddenly and began to pace back and forth, telling her of his hopes and dreams for his future within the kingdom. She had to stop him in the middle when it just got to be too much.