Black, Holly - The Folk of the Air 03 - The Queen of Nothing by Black Holly

Author:Black, Holly [Black, Holly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction
Published: 2019-11-18T14:00:00+00:00

Taking out stitches is slow and painful. My sister does beautiful needlework, and it seems that she embroidered my stomach and side, leaving the Bomb with an endless stretch of tiny stitches that need to be individually snipped, the threads teased out of the skin, and then salve applied.

“Ow!” I say for what seems like the millionth time. “Do these really need to come out?”

The Bomb gives a long-suffering sigh. “They should have been removed days ago.”

I bite my tongue against another howl of pain. When I can speak again, I try to distract myself by asking, “Cardan said you’re hopeful about the Roach.”

Bent over me, she smells of cordite and bitter herbs. Her expression is wry. “I’m always hopeful when it comes to him.”

There is a soft tap on the door. The Bomb looks at me expectantly.

“Come in?” I call, lowering my dress to cover the mess of my stomach.

A messenger with small moth wings and a nervous expression enters the room, granting me a temporary reprieve from being poked. She sinks into a bow, looking a bit like she’s going to faint. Maybe it’s the small pile of blood-covered thread.

I consider explaining, but that’s supposed to be beneath the dignity of a queen, and it would only embarrass us both. Instead, I give her what I hope is an encouraging smile. “Yes?”

“Your Highness,” she says. “Lady Asha wishes to see you. She has sent me to bring you directly to the chamber where she languishes.”

The Bomb snorts. “Languishes,” she mouths.

“You may tell her that I will see her as soon as I am able,” I say with as much grandeur as I can muster.

Although it’s clearly not the answer her mistress wanted me to give, the messenger can do little to challenge it. She hesitates a moment, then seems to realize it herself. Abashed, she departs with another bow.

“You’re the High Queen of Elfhame. Act like it,” the Bomb says, fixing me with a serious expression. “You shouldn’t let anyone command you. Not even me.”

“I told her no!” I protest.

She begins to pick out another stitch, not particularly gently. “Lady Asha doesn’t get to be put next on your schedule just for asking. And she shouldn’t make the queen come to her. Especially when you were hurt. She’s lying in bed recuperating from the trauma of watching while you fell from the ceiling.”

“Ouch,” I say, not sure if I am reacting to the tug against my flesh, her completely justified scolding, or her scathing assessment of Lady Asha.

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