THE SEVENTH QUEEN
After the gasp-inducing cliffhanger ending of The Frozen Crown, the exciting conclusion to the epic story of Askia—a warrior, witch, and queen-to-be—as she confronts the monster that stole her throne…and is holding her prisoner to steal her magic.
The Empire of Vishir has lost its ruler, and the fight to save Seravesh from the Roven Empire is looking bleak. Moreover, Askia has been captured by power-hungry Emperor Radovan, who plans on making her his wife simply so he can take her magic as his own, killing her in the process. Aware of his ex-wives’ fates, Askia must find a means of avoiding this doom, not only for the sake of Seravesh, but now for Vishir as well. She must put both nations first and remember Ozura’s advice: you must play the game in order to survive. Askia was born a soldier, but now it’s time to become a spy.
But it’s hard to play a game where the only person who knows the rules wants to kill her.
And time is a factor. The jewel Radovan has put around her neck will pull her power from her in thirty days. Worse, Vishir might not even have that long, as the two heirs to the throne are on the verge of civil war. Without any hope for help from the south, without any access to her magic, alone in a hostile land, Askia is no closer to freeing her people than she was when she fled to Vishir. In the clutches of a madman, the only thing she’s close to is death.
Yet she’d trade her life for a chance to save Seravesh. The problem: she may not have that choice.
PRAISE
“Complex worldbuilding and fascinating characters propel the intricate plot to a deeply satisfying climax. Sword-and-sorcery fans won’t be able to put down this gripping tale of female solidarity and triumph.” — Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Kelly’s plotlines fit together like an intricate puzzle, and the hints of romance and in-your-face betrayals keep the pages turning… A satisfying conclusion that showcases intriguing characters, epic worldbuilding, and all the political and personal scheming a reader could want.” — Library Journal
“The satisfying conclusion to the story launched in The Frozen Crown features incisive prose, along with a plot that continues to defy fantasy tropes.” — BookPage
“A hidden gem!” — BiblioSanctum
EXCERPT
The room around me was remarkable for what it lacked. It was beautiful, as sumptuous as the hallways that led to it, but every touch of beauty was marred. A bed sat on the opposite end of the long, rectangular space. Its frame was carved with vines and flowers, and the four posts rising from the mattress looked like the roots of some great tree. But there was no fabric where the canopy should have been. And where a tapestry should have hung behind the bed, there was nothing either. Just a dark-paneled wall and a wicked-looking tapestry hook.
I circled the room and saw that it was the same with the two windows on the wall to my right. They were wide but barred. There were rods for curtains, but the curtains themselves were gone. The fireplace between the windows crackled with flames, but its metal grate was padlocked shut. Same with the long wardrobe on the opposite wall. And the bathroom, whose doorway didn’t actually have a door. The tub, made of cream and gray marble was studded with golden fish–shaped taps, but no water came out when I tested them.
I shuddered at the image this room conjured. The comfortable, homey touches; the plush bedcovers and overstuffed armchairs; the wide table set for chess and the vanity covered in makeup—it was all veneer. Designed to lull, to croon a song of comfort and safety. And if I squinted just right, I could almost imagine that this was nothing more than a stateroom fit for a foreign noble.But I’d never been much of a liar—not to myself. And this room was filled with lies. Lies and the memory of the women who came before me. Women who, if this room was any indication, had done everything they could to get away from Radovan. Even if the only escape was death.
I shook my head and went to the wardrobe. Its stubby little legs offered a sliver of space where I could stow the knife. It wasn’t much of a hiding spot, I thought as I wedged the blade between the wood and the thick blue carpet, but it’d have to do.
“Surely you can do better than that, girl.” “Siv,” a second ghostly voice chided with well-worn exasperation.
“What?” the first voice demanded. “If she’s canny enough to lift the blade off Qaden, she can certainly do better than this.” Ice slipped down my back and wound down my limbs. An ice that had nothing to do with fear, but the tether constraining my magic. I smiled, touching the chain hanging against my chest. It was cold—but there was no pain. No fire. Strange. Straightening I turned and found the room crowded with women.
Hailing from the whole breadth of the continent, they were young and old, fair and plain, united only in that they were all dead. One stood at the window, back turned away. Another knelt before the fire, warming her hands. Two more sat at the table contemplating me over the chessboard. The last two stood a few feet away, as odd a pair of companions as I’d ever seen.
The second ghost was a familiar one. I’d seen her fair face leaning over me when I first woke in this hellscape. She was young, my age or slightly older, and held herself with the cool poise that gets beaten into every generation of noble women. She clasped her hands in front of her neat-looking gown and watched me like I were an animal she was afraid of spooking.
I grinned, nodding to the woman who’d first spoken. “The room’s bare—you have a better idea where to hide it?”Laughter shone in her eyes. “Voyniks are predators, love. And predators don’t look up.” I followed her gaze to the top of the wardrobe. Sure enough, there was a very dusty shelf made by its top, hidden behind ornate scrollwork on its face.
“You must be Radovan’s wives?” I said, transferring the blade to its new spot.
“Got it in one,” the rough-looking woman said with a grin. “Look at you, face-to-face with a room full of ghosts and not a goose pimple on ya.” “She’s a death witch, she must be used to seeing ghosts,” one of the women at the table—a priestess judging by her robe, said. “Though seeing Siv in my bedroom would surely make me scream with fright.”“You’d be screaming,” the rough woman replied with a smirk, “but it wouldn’t be from fright.”
“Siv,” the regal-looking woman said with a quelling glance. “Perhaps a few introductions are in order. I am Princess Eliska of Raskis,” she said, visibly trying for a smile before gesturing to the woman beside her. “This is—”
“I can introduce my damn self, thanks much. I’m Siv of Switzkia, woman of the world and privateer—” “You mean pirate,” the priestess corrected tartly. Siv grinned. “Never convicted.”
The woman beside Asyl allowed a slight nod. I knew the Graznian fire witch was the oldest—in age—of Radovan’s wives.
Built like a wire, she surveyed me with what looked like mild disapproval. Though perhaps it was the three ragged scars ripping down the left side of her face that gave me the impression.
The stories said that the merchant queen once got into a fight with a black bear. And won.“And you are?” I asked the plump woman kneeling by the fire.
“Ragata,” she said, smiling at me in a dreamy way.
“Ragata,” I repeated to myself, memorizing the face of Radovan’s second wife before looking finally at the last ghost. Her back was still turned away, and a long veil covered her from crown to waist. It waived with her every diaphanous exhalation. “Then you must be Katarzhina.”
If Radovan’s first wife heard me, she gave no indication. Just stood there. A silent monolith to betrayed trust and broken love. The other wives looked away.
“Don’t mind her,” Siv said in a whisper that nonetheless carried. “She’s not one for talking.”“Radovan said I wouldn’t be able to use my magic while wearing the Aellium stone,” I began. “I even tried to summon one of my men, but it didn’t work.”
All the queens but Katarzhina glanced at Asyl. The priestess brushed an invisible something from her lap with a secret, knowing look. “Radovan was misinformed,” she said, so smug her gossamer body sharpened.
“You’ll still be aware of your gift, even if you cannot necessarily use it. It’s a narrow distinction, and not one that would be of any use to an elemental witch.” Asyl sniffed as if elemental witches were by definition not worth mentioning. “But for spirit witches like you and I, it makes all the difference. It allowed me to sense Radovan’s intentions, even while all my other powers lay fallow.” I nodded along. “And it’s letting me see all of you. Radovan doesn’t suspect?”