The Queen's Gambit: Book One of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 1) (21 page)

“Yes,” Miya said, looking from Eleanor to Wil and back to Eleanor again. She looked terrified.

“Awls?” Eleanor’s mouth dropped open, and she grabbed her earlobes. “Are you mad?”

“It’s hard to wear earrings with no holes in your ears,” Wil reasoned.

“You
are
mad,” she said. “I’m not doing that.”

Wil groaned and clenched his left fist to his eyes, muttering something. But, Eleanor was distracted by the motion. For, under his sleeve, the band he’d kept so meticulously bound about his forearm was coming loose. And there was a mark on his skin. He dropped his hand to his side as he continued to speak, and it disappeared beneath his sleeve.

“—I have not come to kill you,” Wil was saying as Eleanor’s focus returned to his words. Then Hastian came running into the chamber, a look of alarm on his face.

“My queen?” he said.

“It’s all right Hastian,” Eleanor said, her mind on what she’d seen. “Miya and Wil have conspired against me, but I’ve not let them impale me yet.” The soldier, seeming cautious, looked at Wil before stepping back. He did not withdraw from the chamber.

“The earrings are the finest pieces in the set,” Wil said.

In a motion, one of the earrings was dangling between his fingers. Eleanor’s mouth formed a line. It was a tear-shaped diamond, perhaps the most beautiful gem she had ever seen.

“Thayne sent these earrings from his personal collection,” Wil explained. “Aedon said they had belonged to his late wife, who was the granddaughter of a king. They were a gift from him to her. I wasn’t expecting him to have sent anything of this caliber,” Wil admitted, as he wrapped his fingers around the diamond, and set it back down. “Now, I understand if you don’t want to do this, but, just to satisfy my curiosity,” he put his hand on his chest, “do you have some philosophical or religious objection to the act of piercing your ears?”

“No,” Eleanor said. “Edythe wears earrings.”

“Then, consider it a happy surprise for her wedding,” he suggested. “Now, do we proceed?”

Eleanor looked back to Wil’s arm, willing to leverage pain for knowledge. “Under one condition,” she said.

Uncertain whether it was wise, Eleanor sent both the maid and her guard out of the room. Hastian’s mouth twitched, but he reluctantly followed Miya, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Your left arm,” Eleanor said when they were alone. “I want to see why you keep it wrapped.”

Wil shook his head. “No.”

“I’ve sent them out,” Eleanor stated, gesturing towards the door. “You can trust in my discretion.”

Wil stepped away from her and leaned against the bureau, setting the apple down before he folded his arms across his chest. Eleanor couldn’t read his thoughts, but her hope was that he was considering her offer. He didn’t look away from her face, but Eleanor knew that his mind was weighing the risks of her condition, and he wasn’t really seeing her.

“Why is this important to you?” Wil asked at length.

“Because it is obviously of value to you,” Eleanor said.

“Why do you care what I value?” Wil gave a slight lift of his chin, and his eyes caught her face in sharp focus. The palms of Eleanor’s hands felt warm, and her mouth went dry as she looked at a vein pulsing in Wil’s neck.

“Are we not friends?” she asked.

“Are we?” he said.

“Are we?” she asked him in return.

At first, Wil seemed far away, an observer of the conversation rather than a participant. But, as Eleanor watched, something about Wil’s stance, some attitude of his bearing, shifted, like a flag changing colors, and behind his eyes, she saw a trace of something he had previously withheld: trust.

“Yes, we are friends,” he conceded.

“Yes.” Eleanor lifted the corners of her mouth, feeling grateful, willing to accept this unspoken gift he offered. “Now, don’t tell me that I should let you impale me
twice
without anything in return.”

Wil pushed himself forward and stood before Eleanor. He looked her in the eye as he rolled up his left sleeve and undid the knots with this right hand. Eleanor held his stare, not looking until the fabric had fallen away. Then Wil held out his arm.

“It is the symbol of where I belong in the Imirillian army.” Wil cleared his throat, “More or less.”

Eleanor took his arm in her hands, and because Wil’s skin was lighter where the fabric had covered it for months, the mark almost seemed to jump off his skin. It was in the shape of a shield and beautifully done, deep blood red in color, almost black. Inside the shield, a bird of prey rose elegantly, surrounded by intricate patterns and symbols. She had never seen such artistry, and she had never seen such a thing set in the skin before.

Eleanor moved her fingers across the mark. It was smooth and large enough that her hand could not cover it completely. When she tried, he breathed in, jerking his arm ever so slightly and clenching his fingers. Eleanor knew she had trespassed somehow, and pulled her fingers back.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Wil withdrew his arm from her hands, carefully wrapping the black fabric over the strange mark again, fumbling with the knot and then pulling it tight with his teeth. Then he rolled his sleeve down.

“Shall we proceed?” he asked.

As Eleanor called Miya back into the room, Hastian’s footsteps could be heard pacing in the audience chamber.

Wil took the awl from Miya and handed her the two earrings. Then he picked the apple up off the bureau and came back, standing close, directly in front of Eleanor. Lifting the apple behind Eleanor’s earlobe, he placed the awl against her skin—the pin-sized tip was still warm from the fire—and leaned in closer, careful and focused.

“Keep the earring ready, Miya,” Wil said. “We’ll slide it in immediately after I remove the awl.”

Eleanor’s stomach began to protest. She tilted her head, lifting her chin, watching Wil’s hands nervously from the corner of her eye. She was extremely aware of his knuckles brushing against her skin.

“Now,” Wil said quietly, “You will hardly feel—”

Eleanor bit her lip as the awl went through her ear and into the apple. Wil pulled it out and moved so that Miya could slide the earring into the bleeding hole. But, Miya was clumsy and almost missed, sending the earring hook into Eleanor’s ear rather than through it—the pain was acute. Eleanor bit her tongue, tears coming to her eyes. Miya corrected the hook’s direction and slid it through the hole, her hands shaking.

Eleanor’s eyes watered, but she made no sound, despite the heaviness of the earring.

“Now, let’s finish the other,” Wil said, sounding apologetic. He lifted his hand to her chin, tilting her face to the side.

“Why did we not do this sooner?” Eleanor asked, readying herself as Wil positioned the awl on her second earlobe. “Riding a horse just now will be miserable. It’ll rip out of my ears.”

“You wouldn’t have done it sooner,” Wil speculated, giving most of his attention to the second hole he was about to pierce. “It won’t be unbearable. I’ve an oil that will make it so you can’t feel a thing. And,” he added, “you can take all your anger out on Thistle Black.”

The awl flashed through her earlobe, and Eleanor bit her cheek against the rush of pain. Wil grabbed the earring from the unprepared Miya, slipping it into place.

“Done,” he said.

Miya handed him a clean cloth, and he placed it over Eleanor’s bleeding ear. Tilting her head back, Eleanor cursed herself for agreeing to such a foolish vanity.

“I am not sure we are friends any longer,” Eleanor said stiffly. “This feels awful.”

Wil laughed—genuinely laughed—and stepped back. In that moment, the atmosphere began to thaw between them.

“This will help,” he said, picking up a small vial from the top of the bureau. After dabbing it on the cloth in his hand, Wil handed it to Miya. “Wipe this on both of her ears carefully.”

“He said
carefully
!” Eleanor flinched, for the maid was none too gentle.

“Oh, Your Majesty!” Miya seemed shaken by the entire ordeal. She fretted, trembling as she finished, which only increased Eleanor’s discomfort.

Wil, in the meantime, had lifted an elaborate necklace up to the light. It was a beautiful companion piece to the earrings, a web of diamonds which, once Wil had handed it to Miya to secure about Eleanor’s neck, fell across her collarbones.

It felt heavy and cold, taking Eleanor’s mind off her throbbing ears as she looked into the mirror. She leaned forward, scrutinizing the reflection of the necklace.

“Miya,” she said. “Fetch the Battle Crown.”

After the maid left, Eleanor looked towards Wil. “I don’t think I’ll wear the necklace,” she explained. “The crown and earrings will be enough.”

“It must be quite the crown,” Wil said.

“It is,” Eleanor replied, relieved as the oil began to take effect. “You’ve surprised me again, Wil Traveler,” she added. “Instead of recruiting you for training, I should have appointed you as wardrobe mistress.”

“I am no lady’s maid,” he said, and Wil’s smile had an edge on it.

***

“Here it is,” the maid said, lifting a silk-bound object as she came back through the door.

Wil looked over his shoulder with curiosity, and turned to watch the maid reveal the Battle Crown. It was not like the simple circlet that Eleanor had worn in Ainsley, but rather a remarkable piece. When placed on the queen’s head, it appeared to catch every ounce of command from her body, holding her in place.

A distant observer might have only seen a crown fashioned of gold, but Wil’s closer view revealed a pattern of carved stones and battlements: ten squared turrets rose around the band, the strong stone towers bound by vines. It was a show of strength. It made Eleanor look older. Or rather, Wil thought, timeless.

She was right. The crown, the earrings, the way her hair fell, curved against the nape of her neck—it was enough.

“What’s wrong now?” Eleanor asked, turning her steady eyes on him. Wil pulled his face out of a frown.

“I had not even thought to ask,” Wil said, raising his eyebrows. “But, do you know how to draw your sword properly?”

“Not to your standards, I’m sure,” Eleanor replied. “Miya?”

The maid scrambled to retrieve Eleanor’s ceremonial sword and scabbard. The silver and gold weapon had been polished thoroughly throughout the battle run, although Eleanor had declined to wear it.

“I don’t really know how to do this well,” Miya said as she held the weapon gingerly, and she looked towards Wil for help. After asking Eleanor wordlessly for permission, Wil took the weapon from the maid and stepped towards Eleanor.

“Pardon,” he said, and he secured the sheath to Eleanor while trying to maintain a respectful distance, pulling it tight against Eleanor’s waist. From the corner of his eye, Wil could see Eleanor’s face tighten and was unsure if it was in response to the scabbard or to his proximity.

“See how the scabbard falls down below the hip?” Wil stepped away, speaking briskly. “Now, try to draw your sword.”

“I’ve drawn a sword,” Eleanor said.

“Indulge me,” Wil said, motioning for her to try. “This dress is more inhibiting than your usual wardrobe. If the need arises, you do not want to appear a novice.”

Eleanor’s mouth twitched, but she pulled the sword from its sheath, struggling against the confines of the dress. The movement caused her earrings to swing, and Eleanor tightened her jaw.

“Try it again,” Wil motioned. “Lead with your elbow instead of your shoulder.”

Eleanor drew it out again, leading with her elbow. It was easier.

“Good,” Wil said, sounding deliberately professorial. “If I were you, I would practice that same movement a dozen times. The sheer act of drawing one’s sword can be intimidating.”

Hastian entered the room. “Your Majesty,” he said, “the men are assembled and ready to ride out.”

Eleanor nodded. “I need a few moments alone,” she said. “Then I will be down.”

Hastian watched as Wil left Eleanor’s room, his eyes sweeping Wil with an unreadable expression.

***

Wil was talking with Aedon and Crispin when Eleanor stepped out onto the steps of the hunting lodge. Crispin stopped in the middle of a word and stared, and Aedon turned, the edges of his eyes creasing when he saw Eleanor. Wil took note, scanning each face in the company as they saw their queen.

Eleanor took a few more steps then came to a stop. The sun reflected off the gold beads embroidered into her gown, off the Battle Crown, refracting through the earrings that shimmered as she paused at the top of the stairs. She looked like the blackest night, illuminated only by points of brilliant starlight: the white of her skin was crisp; her copper hair, bold. She reminded Wil of the night sky over the Imirillian desert.

Hastian stepped forward and offered her his arm. Then they descended the steps to where Thrift was saddled. But, it was Hegleh, not Thrift, which was brought forward.

“I forgot to mention this before,” Eleanor said, turning towards Wil, the folds of her gown complementing the movement. “But, I’m commandeering your horse. It was your idea, was it not, to present an image of complete power? And, as Hegleh is the most impressive mount—” she added. “You may ride Thrift until I am finished with Hegleh.”