Great Sinner Queen [Death and the Maiden, #2]

Chapter Nineteen: Demeter

I aim the last question at Quill, who nods.

'Any time after twelve is good for me,' Dio says, nodding in approval as one of the guards leaves to fetch him wine.

'...it's always a time after twelve,' Sybella says.

Dio gives her a long, long stare. 'That is, my maenad, the whole point.'

'Are you ready?' Quill gives a small clear of his throat.

'Yes,' Sybella and I say in unison, both glaring at Dio.

The guards lead us up the steps in silence. I have a vague feeling of the entire courtyard, mid whisper, watching us as we go.

Quill gives me a small, excited smile. 'Making history,' he says.

I just hope it's the good kind.

The large doors creak open, and I wait for light to burst through. It doesn't; if anything, darkness waits beyond. Until now, everything has had an open sky; this looks to be going indoors. We're at the highest point in the room; the rows of seats around the edges, like an amphitheater, pitch inwards, so that the focus is at the centre.

But as I step through, head of the entourage and flanked by Sybella, Quill and Dio, I realise I've made an easy mistake. The court isn't indoors, but it is covered. We are underneath the leaves of the largest tree I've ever imagined.

The roots form the floor, spreading out in a circle to form the court room.

The throne is there, a seat made of the trunk of the tree. And sat upon it is a woman.

By my estimation, she's only small. She sits with a stately poise, a stillness of an otherworldly statue, and the regal tilt of a queen. Her eyes are large, green, intelligent; they flicker up, towards the disturbance, and her face is cunning. An elfin face— pinched jaw, small nose, arched eyebrows— hides a vicious and sour creature.

I nearly stagger. It's like looking at a mirror, except my eyes are blue, and not nearly as old and sharp. Our hair tumbles down our shoulders and falls across our backs in the same way, but the way she styles it makes me feel like a little girl. Hers is pinned and puffed and curled— mine's ragged, limp and tangled.

I draw myself higher. Appearances are deceiving— and mine's meant to be.

I'm not here to be a hero.

I'm here to play the damsel that needs advice.

So I relax my frown, I let go of my own proud jawline, the sour anger around my mouth. Instead, I gaze around in awe, and it's only half acting. The room is filled with people, all seated on the tiered benches in green robes, and all staring at us.

'Lady Nerissa, of Thesmophoria,' the guard stutters, bowing us forward.

Thesmophoria? I want to ask, but there's a more pressing problem: I don't know what to do from here. Luckily, there's always Quill to keep up my act. I turn to him, eyes wide, and take his arm for support.

'What now?' I whisper to him.

I see him swallow, as nervous as me. Together, we step down towards the centre, the queen eyeing us every step. I realise there's a closer bench of people, all surrounding one man, who is currently chained.

As we reach the last step, the queen rises. Caution flares in her eyes, and for a second I wonder if she's as worried about meeting me as I am her.

'Daughter,' she whispers. She steps across the floor until she's only a foot away.

I push the bitter image of my father conjured at her words. My father, given up his gambling, his alcohol. For me. For what I would have wanted.

'Mother?' I say back, forcing a quiver into my lifeless tone.