Long Live the Queen (The Immortal Empire) (3 page)

Armour. Especially around the neck.

During the Great Insurrection of 1934, Buckingham Palace had been attacked and set ablaze, requiring extensive renovation to repair the damage done by weapon- and torch-wielding humans. If not for halfies, there would be a lot fewer aristos alive, including our sovereign. That was when considerable effort began to produce larger numbers of these half-human births. Because the first British half-blood on record had been born to the Duke of Marlborough’s mistress, the title of courtesan was given to those women whose genetics made these births possible, and they became instant celebrities.

Some people forced their daughters to be tested for the gene. Of course, back then, the only test was to have sex with an aristocrat. People didn’t exactly shove each other out of the way for a spot at the head of the queue.

After the smoke had cleared, and her husband was buried, Queen Victoria retreated to her home, and hadn’t made an official public appearance since. I used to think it was because she
expected everyone to come to her, but lately I’d begun to understand her fear of humanity. The Insurrection happened long before my birth, but I’d witnessed what the Human League was capable of when they firebombed Vex’s car. They were completely hatters zealots who wouldn’t stop until we were all dead.

Security at the palace was a bitch, but I’d be paranoid too if I were Victoria. I was already paranoid enough, and I wasn’t queen of an empire where the majority race was gearing up for another insurrection. Although I reckoned more people had tried to kill me than her. Human League violence had been on a steady rise over the past few months. Aristo-friendly businesses had been bombed or sacked. Rallies and demonstrations against Victoria’s rule took place on a weekly basis. Guards had been doubled at the gates to Mayfair and those around the palace as human protests happened on an almost daily basis. The tension was so thick you could smell it. Literally.

My goblins kept an eye on much of the city – little voyeurs that they were. I was fairly safe in my new home, close as it was to the walls that surrounded Mayfair, but I knew of many aristocrats and halfies who avoided venturing outside of the safety of the West End.

I wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t that I was stupid – well, perhaps I was a touch foolhardy or too proud – but I wasn’t going to live my life in fear. For one thing, I had no idea just how long my life expectancy might be, as goblins lived a bloody long time. And for another, I couldn’t abide bullies. Never mind that I’d been known to be one on occasion.

And then there was the fact that I had a hard time sitting still for very long, let alone living out almost an entire century without leaving my immediate neighbourhood. Hell, I had yet
to make it to the quarter-century mark and I’d already lived in five different homes in various parts of the city.

No, I wasn’t afraid, but I was wary. The only weapon I had on me was my lonsdaelite dagger – it was harder than diamond and so sharp you’d never see the wound if blood didn’t pour out. It had been a gift from my mother a long time ago, and it didn’t set off the hounds at the palace. It was just rock.

But if by some chance Victoria did go for my head, I could at least try to take hers as well.

I walked through the hounds – they were like metal detectors, but were designed to “smell” a body and pick up any traces of gunpowder, harmful chemicals, metals and what have you.

The bloody thing started screaming as I stepped through. “What the fu—” I froze. Eight palace guards surrounded me, weapons drawn. Most of their ammo would be designed for human physiology, but I didn’t kid myself that they weren’t equipped to take me on. You didn’t invite a goblin into your house unless you could hurt it if things went wrong. These guards – some of whom had been my classmates at the Academy – had to have silver-tipped tetracycline-filled bullets.

I held up my hands. “I don’t have any weapons.”

Two came forward to pat me down while another checked the hound’s printout. The dagger was in a sheath concealed in the bust of my corset, so they didn’t find it, thank God. Unless you were part of the Royal Guard, or Peerage Protectorate, carrying a weapon into the palace was tantamount to treason.

Notice that the possibility of being sentenced to death didn’t stop me from bringing the dagger altogether. I rarely had cause to use it, but I felt much more at ease having it with me.

The guard at the hound – he couldn’t have been more than
nineteen – looked up. “It detected traces of goblin, human and opium.”

I flashed a grin – and a little fang. “It was a positively brilliant party. You ought to have been there.”

He stared at me, face totally blank. Then, as he consulted the appointment book, his left eye twitched and the colour drained from his cheeks. “Are you…?” He cleared his throat as he raised his wide eyes. “You’re Alexandra Vardan.”

I nodded. No point in denying it, especially when his bladder-clenching anxiety was so entertaining. “Yeah. I was in the plague den before coming here.” That didn’t make him look any less tense. Probably wouldn’t help if I mentioned that I’d been delivering a corpse for luncheon.

“Look, Her Majesty is waiting on me, so if we’re done here, perhaps one of you brave lot might escort me to her?” Really, they should have asked my name when I came in. If Church was still alive, there’d be hell to pay for knobbing up their duties.

But Church wasn’t alive.

“I’ll take you, ma’am,” offered one of Mr Pee Pants’ partners. She was perhaps all of five feet tall, with shiny turquoise hair and almond-shaped eyes. All halfies had funky-coloured hair as a result of the plague’s effect on that particular pigmentation. To be honest, I hadn’t understood it when they explained it at the Academy, and I didn’t care to now. It only mattered because my own candy colour was fabulous camouflage, making me look only half aristo when I was actually fully plagued. My particular red wasn’t common, but it normally allowed me to move about in relative anonymity. Or it had before the city started to heat up with racial tension.

I appraised my escort. She looked familiar, though she had
to be fresh from the Academy. She must have ranked very high to be put into the Royal Guard so young.

“Are you one of Sayuri’s?” Sayuri was one of the courtesans my father “visited” while doing his duty to the Crown. My brother Val was the result of that transaction.

“Yes.” She began walking, so I followed. “And before you say anything, I know who you are and that you and I share a brother. Believe me when I say that is
all
you and I have in common.”

I arched a brow – it was my go-to expression. “That and a penchant for bitchiness, apparently.” I had to admire her… pluck. It took balls to provoke someone like me, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder how the marrow of her bones might taste as I sucked them dry.

That whole thing about being a monster? Yeah, sometimes I liked it, I’ll admit. There were times when it frightened me, but I
liked
being scary. It was a better high than opium, and it lasted longer. So long as I didn’t get too cocky and forget that I could die, I’d be fine.

She stopped walking and turned to me. “Are we going to have a problem, ma’am?” Maybe I was just overly sensitive, but her tone sounded hopeful.

Or maybe I was the hopeful one. “How do you reckon it would play out if we did?”

“I graduated top of my class.” How very modest of her. Another commonality between us. “I am proficient in hand-to-hand combat as well as sharps and ranged weapons. I am incredibly fast and agile, and strong too.”

I moved without giving it too much thought. Fast as a blink as we rounded a corner, I grabbed her, spun her and slammed her into the wall. I held her hands behind her back, between
our bodies, as I yanked her head to the side and exposed her jugular. I held her like that for a few seconds and let her contemplate her own mortality. To her credit, she stayed very still, but I felt the fight in her muscles.

“I’m somewhat proficient myself,” I informed her before I released her and continued down the corridor. I half expected guards to come running, but no one came. I wasn’t certain if that made me feel better about the situation.

To the girl’s credit, she didn’t try to attack me from behind or retaliate in any way. She simply fell into step beside me, her face flushed. “An excellent lesson, ma’am. One I won’t soon forget.”

Ah, there was the family resemblance with my brother. She had that same attitude as Val that everything was a challenge or an opportunity to improve herself.

“There’s always someone badder than you,” I shared – rather sagely, I thought. “Always someone faster or stronger, smarter or prettier.”

“Lord Churchill taught us the same lesson – without the prettier part.”

I smiled, despite the conflicting emotions conjured up by thinking about Church. “I reckon he did.” Of course he had – he’d been the one to teach it to me when I got so puffed up I wasn’t fit for company.

My companion was quiet for a moment. A maid in a crisp uniform passed us, eyes averted. Only a glimpse of bright orange peeking out from beneath the ruffle of her cap outed her as a halfie. Of course Victoria would be too paranoid to have human servants, but halfies were meant to be fighters and protectors. They were not born to empty chamber pots or do laundry.

Then again, Church always stated that our – no,
their
– purpose was to serve the aristocracy. At the time, I hadn’t taken that quite so literally. I suppose I should consider myself fortunate that I had been as good as I was at violence, because there was no bloody way I’d empty someone’s piss-pot.

Still, the hierarchical thing bothered me more now than it ever had when I thought I was a halfie. I didn’t know then what I know now about the aristocracy, humans and goblins. My world had gone from stark black and white to muddy grey, and my naïve assumption that “aristo” was synonymous with “good” had been trodden into the ground like horse shit in Hyde Park.

“May I ask a personal question?”

I slid a sideways glance at her. “Can’t guarantee I’ll answer, but go ahead.”

“Do you miss being RG?”

That was a loaded question, was it not? “Sometimes,” I replied. It was the most honest answer I could give – and the most non-committal.

The girl seemed satisfied, or perhaps it wasn’t worth further digging. Regardless, she was silent for the next few moments before stopping in front of a set of large double doors.

“Someone else will probably meet you here to escort you back out.”

“I’m sure I can find my own way.”

“You know no one’s going to let you wander around unattended, right? There are closed-circuit cameras all over this place.”

That she was so serious made me smile. She sounded – and looked – so much like Val. “Yeah, I know. I have every intention of behaving myself, no worries.”

She didn’t look convinced, and I can’t say that I blamed her. I wouldn’t trust me either.

I raised my fist to the door and knocked.

“Good luck.” That was the last thing she said to me before leaving me alone to face the woman I’d come to think of as my nemesis. There were those who would think Victoria mad to have a private meeting with me. There were more who would think me mad for agreeing to meet her one on one. Mostly because we were on her territory, and there was no such thing as one on one.

The door was opened by another halfie – this one a girl still in her teens. She must be here as part of a work assignment from the Academy. When it looked as though a halfie might not be inclined towards protection services, they were put into various other stations for trial periods so that their talents and skills might be evaluated. That was how the orange-haired maid had ended up here. The plague was a fickle thing, and sometimes even the best genes couldn’t guarantee the perfect halfie. I was a good example of that.

I hoped for this one’s sake she was better suited to anything but picking up V’s dirty knickers.

She didn’t meet my gaze, but gave me a curtsy so deep her knee must have touched the ground. “Come in, Your Grace.”

Grace? I wasn’t a duchess, I was a queen. It was a deliberate snub – and not on the part of this girl, of that I was certain.

I smirked – not that she saw it – and crossed the threshold. “Thanks.”

“Her Majesty will be with you shortly. Would you like tea while you wait?”

I was going to refuse, paranoid that it might be poisoned,
but I had to think Victoria would be smarter than that. “I would, thank you.”

She bowed her head and left the room, leaving me entirely alone. Now what?

I sat down on a chair that had to be at least a hundred years old, and about as comfortable as a church pew, despite a little padding. Would it kill her to update the decor in this place?

The maid returned a few moments later with tea and some sandwiches, which I dug into. Then, with a cup of tea and a reasonably full belly, I sat back in my chair.

And waited.

I was done waiting. Queen of Britain or not, Victoria could go bugger herself. Thirty-five minutes went way beyond my capacity for bullshit and patience. Not to mention how there was only so much snooping about a girl could do before she grew weary.