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The Queen of Nothing

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Holly Black
Holly Black

Holly Black, born on November 10, 1971, is a renowned fantasy fiction writer from the United States. Her works are known for their unique imagination and profound emotional depth, which have won her a large fan base. more

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“Since you're mortal, Jude, I cannot hold you to your promises. But you can hold me to mine: I guarantee you safe passage. Come back to Elfhame with me, and I will give you the means to end your exile.' 'The means to end it?' I ask. If he thinks I don't know better than to agree to that, he's forgotten everything worth knowing about me. 'Come back to Elfhame, tell me what you would tell me, and your exile will end,' he says. 'I promise.”

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“So did you murder Balekin?' Nihuar asks me, clearly able to put off her curiosity no longer. 'Yes,' I say. 'After he poisoned the High King.' 'Poisoned?' she echoes in astonishment, looking at Cardan. He shrugs, lounging in a chair, looking bored as ever. 'You can hardly expect me to mention every little thing.”

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“Cardan was not an easy child to love, and he's only grown worse with time. He would scream to be held, and then once picked up he would bite and kick his way out of my arms. He would find a game and obsess over it until it was conquered, then burn all the pieces. Once you're no longer a challenge, he will despise you.' I stare at her. 'And you're giving me this warning out of the kindness of your heart?' She smiles. 'I am giving you this warning because it doesn't matter. You're already doomed, Queen of Elfhame. You already love him. You already loved him when you questioned me about him instead of your own mother. And you will still love him, mortal girl, long after his feelings evaporate like morning dew.' ... 'Is that why you intercepted the letters he sent? To protect me? Or was it because you're afraid that he won't tire of me? Because, my lady, I will always be a challenge.”

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“The polished wood door is still carved with an enormous and sinister face, still flanked with lanterns, but sprites no longer fly in desperate circles within. A soft glow of magic emanates instead. 'My king,' the door says fondly, it's eyes opening. Cardan smiles in return. 'My door,' he says with a slight hitch in his voice, as though perhaps everything about returning here feel strange. 'Hail and welcome,' it says, and swings wide.”

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“He was nice in the carriage. I didn't know he knew how to be nice.' That makes me laugh. At the door to my chambers, she puts her hand on my arm. 'He was trying to impress you, you know. Talking to me.' I frown. 'I think he just wanted to hear about weird candy.' She shakes her head. 'He wants you to like him. But just because he wants you to doesn't mean you should.”

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“I could worn Randalin that he ought to be afraid of the way that Cardan is looking at him. Cardan turns to me, and some of the heat of his anger is still in his eyes. 'Jude, would you give me and the councilor a moment alone? I have a few things I would like to urge him to consider. And Grima Mog has brought you soup.' 'I don't need anyone to help me tell Randalin that this is my home and my land and that I am going nowhere and relinquishing nothing.' 'And yet,' Cardan says, clamping his hand on the back of the councilor's throat, 'there are still some things I would say to him.' Randalin allows Cardan to hustle him into one of the other royal parlours. Cardan's voice goes low enough for me to not make out the words, but the silky menace of his tone is unmistakable.”

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“Randalin rushes toward the door, nearly running into Heather in his haste. He blinks at her in astonishment, clearly not prepared for the presence of a second mortal. Then he departs, avoiding even a glance in my direction. 'Big horns,' Heather mouths, looking after him. 'Little dude.' Cardan leans against the doorframe, looking very satisfied with himself.”

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“I told him to watch out,' the Roach says. .... 'But would he listen? I'd have ordered him, if not for the little matter of him being the High King.' 'Cardan sent you?' I ask. 'Not exactly,' says the Roach, moving the light so that I can see the person with him, the one I elbowed. The High King of Elfhame in plain brown wool, a cloak on his back of a fabric so dark it seems to absorb light, leaf blade in the scabbard on his hip. He wears no crown on his brow, no rings on his fingers, nor gold point limning his cheekbones. He looks every inch a spy from the Court of Shadows, down to the sneaky smile pulling at a corner of his beautiful mouth. Looking at him, I feel a little light-headed from some combination of shock and disbelief. 'You shouldn't be here.' 'I said that, too,' the Roach goes on. 'Really, I miss the days when you were in charge. High Kings shouldn't be gallivanting around like common ruffians.' Cardan laughs. 'What about uncommon ruffians?' I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and his laugh gutters out. The Roach turns his gaze to the ceiling. I am abruptly aware that I am in a nightgown Oriana lent me, one that is entirely too diaphanous.”

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