by Beth Alvarez
Vahn's face fell. “But that means—”
“We're poor, Vahnil.” The words left her mouth dry. “We haven't the money to feed the island for another season.”
His expression grew grim and he nodded slowly as he put the apple back on the tray. The movement was so laden with guilt that she almost laughed. “We'll figure something out,” he said.
“I hope so,” she murmured.
He nudged the apple with a fingertip to send it rolling across the tray. “You eat, then. You have a big meeting right after breakfast. You'll need your energy.”
She took the apple, though she didn't eat it. Instead, she shifted it between her hands and then returned it to the table. “And you?”
“Me?” He laughed. “I don't have to deal with my father.” He slid back to the cradle to press a kiss to the sleeping baby's brow. Then he flashed Firal a teasing grin and slung his cape around his shoulders on his way out of the room.
Firal snorted a laugh and shook her head. She finished her coffee and nibbled a pastry, then went to rouse Lumia. When the baby was fed, clean, and dressed, Firal cradled the girl close and took a deep breath before she strode into the hall. She drew herself up to look every bit the part of queen as she made her way to her office.
A pair of chairs sat ready before her desk, a tea tray on the desk's corner with three cups upside down on their saucers. Medreal barely glanced up when Firal entered, though she offered a bob of respect before she lowered her eyes to the papers she was sorting.
“Thank you for seeing to the office, Medreal.” Firal nudged the door closed, kissing the top of Lumia's head on her way to her chair.
“Only my job, my queen.” The stewardess pulled back the large chair behind the desk and dropped a stack of papers in front of Firal the moment she sat. She slid another stack into a ledger.
The top paper was a report on food stores in the palace. Firal flinched and made herself look away. She studied her advisor's face instead. The old woman remained intent on her work.
Firal pursed her lips. “It isn't what you think, Medreal.”
Medreal glanced up, clearly surprised, though she kept her face neutral and busied herself with the tea tray. She filled one cup. “It's not my place to think anything, my queen.”
“But you're a smart woman. You do think, don't you.”
The stewardess paused, drumming her fingertips on the teapot. Eventually, she set it down. “Yes, my queen.”
Firal leaned back in her chair, shifting Lumia in her lap. “And what do you think?”
Medreal shifted on her feet, her fingers twitching as if she longed to pick up the teapot again. With her hands empty, her emotions had nowhere to hide. She sighed and settled for adding honey to the cup before she placed it in front of Firal. “That it isn't my business. It's been a year, but only you know if it's time for you to move on, my queen.”
It wasn't much of an answer, but Firal hadn't expected anything else. There were times she thought the silver-haired woman was too polite to say an ill word about anyone—most certainly not about the queen she served—but that tact was not why she kept the stewardess around. “May I ask your advice?”
“Of course, Majesty.”
“What would you do, in my position?” Firal lifted the teacup and twisted in her chair so she didn't hold it above the baby. She blew on it and took a sip. It was not as sweet as she'd grown used to, but that was one of many sacrifices she'd learned to make in the face of hunger.
Medreal frowned thoughtfully, wiping her hands on her apron. She stayed quiet for a long time, though her lips twitched with words unspoken. Eventually, she shook her head. “I don't know that I can advise you on that, my lady. Vahnil is a good man, but only you know your heart. I cannot tell you which way it pulls.”
As noncommittal as ever. Firal smiled sadly and put her teacup aside. She cradled Lumia close against her stomach, listening to the girl's happy burbles for a while. The sound stirred delight and heartache in her at the same time. Those feelings constantly warred within her. The baby looked so much like her that no one thought anything unusual, but she saw things others didn't—things beyond the unusual color of the girl's eyes. A twist to the baby's mouth when she cooed, the way her face crumpled when she became frustrated. Little glimpses of her father that always put a lump in Firal's throat. She swallowed against it now, breathing deeply to keep her feelings in check. Her voice quavered when she spoke again. “Do you think I was hasty to marry him?”
“Which 'him' do you mean? That might change the answer considerably.” The old woman didn't bat an eye. Her unapologetically sarcastic response brought a rueful smile to Firal's lips.
“Ran.”
A shadow of sadness darkened Medreal's eyes and for a moment, Firal regretted the question. Medreal had raised him; she'd been the mother he'd never had. But the shadow was fleeting and the stewardess tried to smile. Instead, her face filled with regret—though for what, Firal didn't know. “I think you were like the rest of us. Swept up in all his fire, then lost in the wake of his storm.”
Firal's eyes fell to the floor. Medreal was always polite, but the truth still hurt. More than once, Firal had looked back at the chain of events that catapulted her into the palace and wondered at the way it all swirled together. Like a hurricane, drawing in and destroying everything in its path. She'd never seen it coming, too close to the calm center. Too close to him, the eye of the storm.
“But you were young,” Medreal continued, her words gentle. “Just coming into womanhood, just finding yourself. You didn't know any better, and he was so easy to love. He was full of passion, ambition. Full of determination to shape the world into what he wanted. It's only natural to be drawn to that sort of strength at such a tender time.”
“You speak of him as if he's died,” Firal said, blinking against the prick of tears.
“I speak of him as if he's gone.” Sorrow traced lines in the old woman's face and she turned away. “Sometimes the difference isn't all that great.”
Silence fell between them. It was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Medreal lowered her voice as she crossed the room to answer it. “Our paths are never straightforward. They wind like a serpent's trail in the sand. Your marriage to Vahnil is a necessity, my queen. Best for both the kingdom and the safety of your family. You shouldn't punish yourself for that decision, and you shouldn't rob yourselves of whatever joy your life together might offer. But that's only my opinion, my queen. Only you know what you must do to be happy.”
Firal's chest tightened, but she had no time to reflect on her advisor's words or the grief that constricted her heart. Another knock sounded, more insistent. She straightened in her chair as the stewardess opened the door. Ennil stepped past Medreal with little more than a nod of acknowledgment.
“Majesty,” he greeted. He dipped into a formal bow, his eyes falling to the baby in her lap. “And the little princess. Good morning.”
Firal forced a smile. “Good morning. Lulu won't be staying for our meeting, I'm afraid. She'll be going with Medreal as soon as Master Anaide arrives.”
“Only Master Anaide this morning?” Ennil seated himself without direction, adjusted his fine gold-trimmed coat, and scooted his chair closer to the desk. He watched Medreal fill a teacup for him and waved a hand in dismissal when she offered honey and cream to go with it.
“Master Anaide is bad enough,” Firal grumbled. “I don't think I could stomach more than one Master at a time.”
Ennil chuckled as he transferred the teacup and saucer to his lap. “I've dealt with them before. Mages were on your father's council, as well. I can't imagine they're any worse now than they were then. This would be easier if we'd had more time to discuss your plans, but we'll make do.”
His mood was altogether more pleasant than when she'd met with him before, and she found herself relaxing as he spoke. But this was different. Vahn had been present for their previous meetings, and though her husband remained tight-lipped
about his relationship with his father, it wasn't hard to tell they mixed as well as oil and water. “Thank you, Lord Tanrys.”
“Ennil will do when we're in private, my dear. We are family, after all.”
She arched a brow, but a knock kept her from replying.
The Master mage ignored the stewardess who opened the door and paused just inside the office, as if startled to find someone else with the queen. Anaide stood taller, straighter, and clasped her hands together before her stomach. “Did you forget we were to have a meeting this morning, my lady?”
“Of course not,” Ennil said before Firal could speak. “The commissioned fishing ships are complete and need inspection, and King Vahnil is off to meet with the Underling faction on the edge of the city, so the rest of the council is unfortunately too busy to join us. It seems it will be just the three of us this morning.”
Anaide's face twisted with displeasure. “I don't recall there being any open seats for councilors.”
He gave her a smile that seemed too broad to be genuine. “I don't recall the queen needing a mage's permission to add members to her council.”
The Master mage glared at him.
“Lord Tanrys served my father unerringly for years. He has been most gracious to give up retirement to take a place on my council.” Firal stood to pass Lumia into Medreal's waiting arms, kissing the girl's brow before the stewardess left. Then she motioned to the second chair in front of her desk and gave Anaide an expectant look. “As you were not a part of my father's council, Anaide, you may not realize how exceptional Lord Tanrys is at managing city affairs. With the need to integrate the Underlings into the city, his assistance will be a necessity.”
Ennil smirked, leaned back in his chair and lifted a booted foot to rest his ankle on his knee. “And we are meeting about the state of affairs in Ilmenhith, aren't we?”
Anaide looked between the two of them, her too-blue eyes narrowing as she sank into her seat. “Yes, we are.”
“Good.” Firal settled behind her desk again, propping her elbows against its edge and lacing her fingers together. “Help yourselves to tea, both of you. Medreal won't be attending us today.” Tea was one thing of which the palace still had plenty, at least. It was easy to come by in a city that was desperate to trade luxuries for food.
“I suppose the first thing in order is to determine when and where the Gate to the mainland will be opened.” Ennil rubbed his chin thoughtfully, balancing his teacup on his thigh with his other hand. “People are desperate. We can't trust them to behave rationally when the supplies begin to come through. We'll need to plan for it to happen in a secure location. Perhaps even on palace grounds.”
Anaide's brows knit together. She retained her composure too well to appear confused, but the subtle shift in her expression and the fact she said nothing gave her away.
Firal lifted her chin. It delighted her to see the woman caught by surprise, though she supposed she ought to feel guilty over such petty pleasures. The mage had upset her often enough in their lessons, though, and seemed to delight in that. Perhaps it was only fair. “What's the matter, Master Anaide? Nondar did pass directions on to the rest of the Masters, didn't he? I'd think he'd have plenty of time to devote to planning while he's trapped in bed. How is he recovering?”
“R-recovering, my lady?” Anaide stammered. It was the first time for that, as well. Firal struggled to contain her smile.
“I understand he's taken a fall, hasn't he?” Ennil lifted his tea as if to take a sip and let his cup hover before his lips. “Very dangerous for a man his age.”
“Oh, yes.” The Master mage leaped at the slight falsehood to recover, almost to Firal's dismay. “He is as well as can be expected, but the road to recovery for the elderly is often long and troublesome. Edagan and I will be acting as Archmage in the interim, as he mends.”
Firal smiled sweetly over the rim of her cup and noted the look of discomfort on the mage's face. No one intended to serve her, and Anaide still hadn't poured tea for herself. Firal couldn't help but wonder how long her pride would hold out. She put her teacup back on its saucer with a noisy clink. “Then you'll know all about the avenues of trade we intend to open.”
Anaide's mouth tightened, but this time, it wasn't with uncertainty. Her eyes flashed with disapproval. “And just what, exactly, do you intend to trade?” Her air of haughtiness returned as quickly as it had disappeared. “You don't even have the means to entice Relythes to reopen trade routes over that wall he's erected along the border. What makes you think you can convince anyone else to trade with a destitute nation?”
A wall along the border? Firal barely kept her mouth from falling open. She'd heard of no such thing, not even from Nondar. The idea that the Archmage she'd chosen was still hiding things from her made her blood boil.
“Trade and economy are none of your concern.” Ennil's tone was as biting as it was commanding. “Your job is only to see that we have mages on hand to open a Gate to the mainland and sustain it while goods are transported through. Can you do that or not?”
Whatever vulnerability their conversation had first exposed, there was nothing but steel resolve and cold scorn in the Master mage's eyes now. Anaide barked a laugh and waved her hand in dismissal. “Direct trade with the mainland cannot be done.”
“And why not?” Firal asked, annoyed.
The white-haired woman sneered. “You're a mage, aren't you? Have you never tried to open a Gate, girl?”
Firal glared back. “Opening a Gate on my own would be suicide.”
“And opening a Gate somewhere we haven't been is impossible.”
“Don't be ridiculous.” Ennil glanced between the two of them. “Gates to the mainland have been opened before. Am I really to believe it can't be done now?”
“Believe it,” Anaide huffed and crossed her arms. “In all of Kirban Temple, there were only two mages familiar enough with the Grand College to open a Gate to it. One was our previous Archmage, and the other was the one who led the opening of the Gate for her banishment.”
Firal's shoulders sagged and she squeezed her eyes closed. “Nondar.”
The Master mage smirked. “Precisely.”
Ennil's eyes narrowed. He drained the last of his tea and set his cup aside. “So trade waits for his recovery?”
“Trade may not happen at all,” Anaide said, her words mirroring Firal's fears. “Even if Nondar does recover from the incident, there's no reason to think any mainland nations would want anything to do with us. Elenhiise is minuscule, a dot on the map. When we had wealth, supplies, we mattered. Not now.” She shook her head, her expression stormy. “This matter should have been discussed with all the Masters responsible for leading the temple.”
“The queen doesn't owe you a discussion of anything,” Ennil snapped. “She's given an order and it will be followed.”
“The queen sits on her throne because the mages put her there,” Anaide replied, ice and venom in her tone.
Ennil gave her such a withering stare that Firal was amazed the woman didn't wilt in her chair. “The queen sits on her throne because it belonged to her father. That the mages brought her heritage to public attention is the only thing to your credit.”
A small smile played on the mage's lips. “The temple's word is all there is to say she belongs there. What makes you think removal wouldn't be as easy?”
A chill rolled down Firal's spine. The threat was clear, but it was the implication behind it that put ice in her stomach. Who had told Kifel that she was his daughter? That the information had come from the mages was all she knew. In the frenzy of war and her desperation to stop it, she'd never given it a second thought. What if the temple's word was all the claim she had to the throne? “Enough,” she barked. Both Ennil and Anaide turned toward her, surprised.
“This will be discussed no further,” Firal said. “Anaide, you will return to the temple and poll your mages. There is always a possibility we have another mage from off-island who can lead t
he opening of a Gate.”
“But Majesty—”
Firal raised a hand. “End of discussion.” Nerves dried her mouth, but she refused to let the mage see her squirm. “There are other things that demand my attention and I will not waste another minute with this. Both of you are dismissed.”
Anaide's lips puckered as if to restrain a frown. She rose from her chair with a jerk, bowed stiffly, and spun on her heel. Firal watched until the white-robed woman made it through the door.
The moment she was gone, Firal seized her teacup and swallowed the last of the tepid drink.
Slowly, Ennil stood. “Firmly said, Majesty. I applaud that you held your ground.” He gave a formal half-bow, the look in his eyes a combination of respect and concern. “Are you well?”
Firal glanced away. “As well as I can be. Thank you for your support, Lord Tanrys. There are things I must review now, but if there is any change in this situation, you will be notified at once.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” He touched a hand to his heart and bowed again. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves on his way out.
The door clicked closed behind him and Firal sagged against her desk, burying her face in her hands. She trembled now that she was alone, shaken to the core by Anaide's threat to remove her from power. It wasn't just fear that shook her. It would have been easier if it was. Instead, the fear of being deposed as queen mingled with guilt. She wanted to be deposed.
She'd never wanted to be queen. She'd never wanted more than the opportunity to be a mage and a teacher. But when the Masters brought her news of Kifel's death, she'd gotten her first glimpse of their intent to see her crowned. They'd thought her tears were grief over the loss of her father. Instead, she'd cried for loss of her freedom. She'd closed herself in her chambers to try to think of a way to escape, and she had come up with nothing.
