Palace of Silver (The Nissera Chronicles #3) - Hannah West Page 0,2

Water had always decided who was worthy of elicromancy. And now Valory had that power, carrying the Water’s legacy. She was more than a mere Purveyor, like Tilmorn had been before she made him a Healer. She was more than a Neutralizer. She was the source of elicrin power.

On the heels of our triumph in Darmeska, we returned to our respective homes and punished those who had wronged the realm. Devorian supported me in pushing Uncle Mathis aside so that I could become queen of Volarre.

I had thought my trials were over. How was it that overthrowing a tyrant was somehow easier—or at least more straightforward—than taking up the scepter to rule?

“Theft and murder have escalated in our towns, Your Majesty,” one of the mayors at the far end of the table said. “Our people have resorted to eating draft animals and seed grains. They’re desperate for food.”

I gulped, trying to remain calm so I could think. If the mayors hadn’t arrived early, Hubert would have counseled me privately. But if he helped me now, my inexperience would be all too apparent.

A din from outside drowned my thoughts. “What is that shouting?” I demanded.

One of my guards hurried to the windows behind me. “There’s a crowd approaching the palace gates, Your Majesty.”

I rose and turned to see for myself, blinded by the brilliant sun glistening on the distant hills. I blinked the stars from my eyes and found a horde marching along the cobblestone thoroughfare, winding uphill past shops and markets to our towering palace.

“Is it some sort of parade?” I asked, squinting into the distance. “Why was I not informed?”

“It’s not a parade.” Hubert sounded alarmed as he appeared at my side.

My stomach clenched. Even from afar, I caught angry flashes of farm tools and fists punching into the air, unintelligible chants and jeers. “It’s a riot,” I said.

The courtyard guards realized this before I did and slammed the wrought iron gates so swiftly that the silver-gilt lily emblems shivered. The loud clanging sliced through my skull, and when it faded, the words of the people’s chant became clear:

No magic kings!

No magic queens!

Let mortals rule!

End the suffering!

The chant evolved into shouting as they slammed against the closed barrier, rattling the iron bars. With a boost, a young boy managed to scramble halfway up the gate and find a foothold on a silver lily petal. He threw his leg over to straddle the arch, his keen eyes searching the palace windows. Our gazes met. He slid a bulky stone from his pocket and reeled back his arm.

I jolted away from the window a mere half second before the glass burst, shards singing as they scattered over the floor.

Hubert clasped my elbow. “Get her to an interior room,” he said to the guard.

“I need to speak to them,” I insisted. “They’re my people and they have grievances to air.”

With a thunder of hooves, mounted guards cantered through the courtyard and lined up along the gates, daring the swarm to push through. One of the guards grabbed the boy by the wrist and yanked him from his perch. He hit the ground with an unsettling whap and curled into himself, writhing in pain.

“Stop!” I cried. “Hubert, make them stop!”

“Protecting you and the royal residence is their duty,” Hubert said, urging me toward the door. “It is below the dignity of the crown to acknowledge the demands of subjects threatening your life. We must get you to safety.”

“I’m an elicromancer, Hubert. I am safe.” He couldn’t truly understand what I’d endured, what I’d seen others endure. “No violence. That is a command.”

“Your guards will do what they must,” Hubert argued calmly. “I’ve served your family for many years. Your parents trusted me in these matters—”

“And look what happened to them,” I snapped. The ice in my gaze was even more effective now than before I earned my scar.

Compunctious, Hubert bowed his head but didn’t avert his eyes. He lowered his voice, even toned. “That only reinforces my point. Like you, your parents thought their magic would keep them safe. And they were caught off guard.”

The room suddenly felt too cramped, the air too warm, the riot outside as raucous as an unruly storm. Elicromancer-hating rebels had slain my parents during a diplomatic overseas excursion to Perispos. And now the crowd out there was clamoring for the fall of elicromancer rulers.

The reign of the Moth King had not been kind to mortals—nor to elicromancers who resisted him. But mortals couldn’t see the latter fact.