The Hidden Queen by Peter V. Brett

Author:Peter V. Brett [Brett, Peter V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Worlds
Published: 2024-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

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My left hand rolls the hanzhar along my fingers, even as I go through Mother’s desk with my right.

The top drawers are familiar. I remember rifling through them as a child. Blank papers and writing implements, her blotter and her wax sealing kit. Warding tools. The lower drawers held files and were of little interest to young me.

Now I tug on one, and it resists my pull. Arther gave me the keys for the desk, but while one seems to fit the ornate, warded lock, it refuses to turn. “What’s in here?”

Arther glances up, and I practice making the hanzhar disappear behind my forearm before he sees it. “I do not know, Highness. Personal papers, I expect. The key is not among the copies Her Grace provided, and I have not been able to open it in the months since her disappearance. With so many wards around the drawer, I assume your mother locked it with magic.”

The words remind me of Belina, and I examine the lock more closely, immediately understanding when I see what looks like a red decorative gem in the molded wards. One of the symbols is carved in relief, with the strokes of the ward ending in sharp points.

It’s a blood lock.

Blood locks are powerful magic, but they are fickle. The magic is keyed to the blood of the last person to let the spike draw blood, and in theory will open for no other. In practice, however, close relatives are enough to fool the spell.

I insert the key again, this time pressing my thumb against one of the spikes. Immediately, the color begins to drain away from the gemstone, going from red to pink to milky white. I turn the key with an audible click, and the drawer pops open.

“I must have tried that key a hundred times,” Arther breathes. “How did you…”

“Mother must have meant it for me.” I give the minister a pointed look as he leans in eagerly.

It takes a moment, but Arther remembers himself and straightens. “Yes, of course, Highness. If you will excuse me…”

I wait for the door to shut behind him before opening the drawer. There are heat wards lining the inside. If anyone attempted to force the drawer open, or break the wood, the contents would incinerate.

It’s full of handmade books—personal journals—all written in Mother’s smooth, rolling hand. Over time they become more uniform, but the earliest have flowers pressed into the paper like Grandda Erny taught me to make in his paper shop when I was little. I sniff one, decades old, and it still has a faint perfume.

I thumb it open to a page where Mother is shining on none other than Gared Cutter. I heard stories of how they once courted, but it’s different to see it in Mother’s own excited script. This isn’t the Mother I knew. She speaks of the general as if the sun rose and set upon him, and how she cannot wait for them to marry so she can…

I snap the book shut.

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