Queen Song (Red Queen Novella) by Victoria Aveyard Page A

court she refused to visit, and an already opened box of sweets her father didn’t want her to eat. They would be gone by dinnertime.
    Coriane did as instructed and opened the book to find it empty. Its cream pages were blank. She wrinkled her nose, not bothering to put on the show of a grateful sister. Julian required no such lies, and would see through them anyway. What’s more, there was no one here to scold her for such behavior. Mother is dead, Father gone, and Cousin Jessamine is blessfully still asleep. Only Julian, Coriane, and Sara sat alone in the garden parlor, three beads rattling around the dusty jar of the Jacos estate. It was a yawning room that matched the ever-present, hollow ache in Coriane’s chest. Arched windows overlooked a tangled grove of once-orderly roses that had not seen the hands of a greenwarden in a decade. The floor needed a good sweeping and the gold draperies were gray with dust, and most likely spiderwebs as well. Even the painting over the soot-stained marble fireplace was missing its gilt frame, soldoff long ago. The man who stared out from the naked canvas was Coriane and Julian’s own grandfather, Janus Jacos, who would certainly despair of his family’s state. Poor nobles, trading on an old name and traditions, making do with little and less every year.
    Julian laughed, making the usual sound. Fond exasperation, Coriane knew. It was the best way to describe his attitude toward his younger sister. Two years his junior, and always quick to remind her of his superior age and intellect. Gently, of course. As if that made any difference.
    “It’s for you to write in,” he pressed on, sliding long, thin fingers over the pages. “Your thoughts, what you do with your days.”
    “I know what a diary is,” she replied, snapping the book shut. He didn’t mind, not bothering to be offended. Julian knew her better than anyone. Even when I get the words wrong. “And my days don’t warrant much of a record.”
    “Nonsense, you’re quite interesting when you try.”
    Coriane grinned. “Julian, your jokes are improving. Have you finally found a book to teach you humor?” Her eyes flickered to Sara. “Or someone?”
    While Julian flushed, his cheeks bluing with silverblood, Sara took it in stride. “I’m a healer, not a miracle worker,” she said, her voice a melody.
    Their joined laughter echoed, filling the emptiness of the estate house for one kind moment. In the corner, the old clock chimed, tolling the hour of Coriane’s doom. Namely, Cousin Jessamine, who would arrive at any moment.
    Julian was quick to stand, stretching a lanky form transitioning into manhood. He still had growing to do, both up and out. Coriane, on the other hand, had been the same height for years and showed no sign of changing. She was ordinary in everything, from almost colorless blueeyes to limp chestnut hair that stubbornly refused to grow much farther than her shoulders.
    “You didn’t want these, did you?” he said as he reached across his sister. He snatched a few sugar-glassed candies from the box, earning a swat in reply. Etiquette be damned. Those are mine. “Careful,” he warned, “I’ll tell Jessamine.”
    “No need,” came their elderly cousin’s reedy whistle of a voice, echoing from the columned entrance to the parlor. With a hiss of annoyance, Coriane shut her eyes, trying to will Jessamine Jacos out of existence. No use in that, of course. I’m not a whisper. Just a singer. And though she could have tried to use her meager abilities on Jessamine, it would only end poorly. Old as Jessamine was, her voice and ability were still whip-sharp, far quicker than her own. I’ll end up scrubbing floors with a smile if I try her.
    Coriane pasted on a polite expression and turned to find her cousin leaning upon a bejeweled cane, one of the last beautiful things in their house. Of course, it belonged to the foulest. Jessamine had long ago stopped frequenting Silver skin healers, to “age