"Queen?
But it is preposterous!
"
It didn't seem to matter how many times she said it. The carriage wheels continued to turn and the world continued to go mad. Through the ring of heavy cavalry raising dust beyond the partially drawn curtains of the carriage, Lady Keema Vulgaht caught glimpses of the estate's lavender fields drifting past. She fought a rising wave of panic at the thought of never again seeing them bloom, never having the freedom to race her dappled mare through them, to inhale that sweet fragrance and skim her fingers across their delicate flowers. It was a realization that threatened to strangle her.
"My Lady," her nurse grumbled. "You mustn't stress the collar of your gown by pulling at it. The lace is delicate."
"You'd have me choke to death?"
"A Queen cannot be so dramatic, ch--
my Lady
." It seemed even Gamalia could not adjust quickly enough to Keema's abrupt turn of fortune.
Fortune? Bah!
She did not wish to be Queen. Nurse Gamalia's slip made things even worse. Coming with a grimace that could salt the soil, Keema could no longer convince herself this was all some elaborate ruse.
When her gaze had adjusted to the dim carriage interior, she realized that the High Song, in his elaborately brocaded and embroidered gowns, was eyeing her from his seat across the cabin. He was no doubt wondering if Keema could be counseled. Pondering whether she could grasp what her royal mother had never bothered to teach to a child third in line to the throne. Likely, he'd known the Queen better than Keema.
In an oozing voice, he said, "My Lady,"--at least she would not have to endure being called Highness before a coronation--"please accept my deepest condolences. The Royal House mourns deeply the Queen and your sisters. If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to ask it of
me
."
Keema let her gaze fall to the floor of the carriage. They were all gone. With a snap of the fingers,
gone
. It horrified her to think of her own flesh and blood suffering through fire. Truly. Could there be a more terrifying way to die? If so, Keema could hardly imagine. She wanted desperately to hold on to sadness, to feel empathy. But it was like clutching at mist. The only thing that felt real was the bitterness settling in the pit of her stomach.
It had been a stroke of luck that she was not present in the castle when the fire broke out. She'd begged and pleaded to remain at the Meadow Palace through spring. The capital had become such a dreadful place since the stalemate with Dagg'ar. Within the castle they were calling it a stalemate. It certainly didn't feel that way to Keema outside where Queen Tagyia's forces roved the streets of A'nterfall with utter impunity.
"Perhaps," Keema said suddenly, "there is another way. Could it be that my mother's counselors--advisors like you, Lord Adlgon--would not be better suited to the administration of the realm? I feel I would only get in the way."
"Fear not, My Lady. Your loyal counselors shall guide you every step of the way."
Splendid
, she thought. They would do precisely as she suggested--running the queendom themselves--but nevertheless insist on having her sit the throne, likely, as a figurehead. Then she could never be free. It just wasn't fair. The time of Man was running short as it was. She was not fit to rule! Couldn't they see that? She'd made plans, had every intention of seeing all the great cities of the world before her twenty-first name day. She'd conjured grand expeditions far beyond her mother's golden gaze. Travel, adventure. Tears fell from her eyes. Let the others think what they wished. She was mourning her dreams.
Her nurse patted Keema on the hand. "Sad days call for a gentle hand. You will do well." Comforting words delivered with a grim expression. Keema hid her face in her hands and cried.
***
The Supreme Councillor, Vagyia Migylt, listened to the sniveling fools her elder sister, Queen Tagyia of Dagg'ar, had promoted to two of the most important stations in her realm.
"We are making progress, Highness."
"Not good enough! Tell me of our efforts to find them and round them up." Queen Tagyia's sharp voice filled the Royal War Room. She was a robust woman, handsome if not matronly. And she thrust her gaze about like a spear, leveling it first on her Lord Commander, Hafhert Fayne. "Hmm?"
"Yes, your Grace. No rumor of male fertility goes uninvestigated. All told, we've found roughly twelve of them."
"Twelve?" the Queen said incredulously. Swiveling her head to the man seated at her right. "Of the more than 800 culled from your eyes and ears?"
