A Rule of Queens

by Morgan Rice

  “You never answered me!” Dauphine said.

  “I’m sorry,” Alistair said, snapping out of it. “What was the question?”

  Dauphine sighed in exasperation. “Weddings really do make brides air-headed! I’ll ask again: how do I know if he’s genuine?”

  Alistair remembered now. Dauphine had been going on about her new suitor, a famed knight from the lower regions of the Southern Isles, who had been wooing her intensely the entire past moon cycle.

  “Last night, he took me on a boat ride beneath the moonlight,” Dauphine said. “He professes his love for me daily. And now he asks for my hand in marriage.”

  “And why shouldn’t he?” her mother said.

  Dauphine sighed.

  “Why shouldn’t he?” she repeated. “It has hardly been one moon cycle!”

  “Any honorable men would not need more than one moon cycle to know if he loves you,” her mother said.

  Dauphine turned to Alistair.

  “Please,” she implored. “Tell me.”

  Alistair examined her, seeing how in love Dauphine was.

  “Do you feel that he loves you?” Alistair asked.

  Dauphine nodded, her eyes aglow.

  “With my entire heart.”

  “And do you love him back?”

  Dauphine nodded, tears in her eyes.

  “More than I can say.”

  “Well then, you have answered it yourself. You have a great blessing.”

  “But isn’t it all too soon?” she asked. “How do I know if he’s genuine?”

  Alistair thought it over carefully.

  “When the time comes you won’t need to ask the question,” she said. “You will know.”

  “And will you accept his proposal?” her mother asked sharply.

  Dauphine reddened and looked down.

  “I…don’t know yet,” she replied.

  Finally, Dauphine fell silent, lost in her own thoughts, and Alistair looked out at the countryside, enjoying the views of the vineyards and orchards spread out amongst the cliffs, the distant glimmer of the sparkling ocean. She could not get enough of this place. She felt her attendants wrapping the lace on her wrists and arms, fitting her perfectly, and she was getting more and more excited for the big day.

  A sudden cool breeze wisped by, and as Alistair looked out at the horizon, she noticed a darkening of clouds hiding the brilliant sun, a shade passing over all of them, before the sun revealed itself again. Alistair didn’t know why, but in that moment, she felt something dark, a premonition, almost a vision. It had to do with her brother. Thorgrin. She suddenly felt him in a very, very dark place. And the feeling chilled her bones.

  “Alistair?” Dauphine and asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Alistair, still staring out at the horizon, shook her head quickly.

  “It is nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.”

  But Alistair could not stop watching the horizon. She sensed danger. She caught her breath, feeling numb with terror, as she sensed dark things on the horizon, and as she sensed her brother, Thorgrin, entering a land of death.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Loti’s heart swirled with mixed emotions as she labored in the fields with the others, using her long wooden rake to break up rocks and soil, preparing the Empire fields for planting. It was a monotonous and tedious exercise, one she had done nearly every day of her life, hoisting the long wooden rake high, the shackles around her wrists preventing her from using it as a weapon, and scraping the endless waste of the desert. As she brought it down low, the metal cut into her wrists, scarring them, as they had for years. She had learned to ignore the pain.

  But that was not what pained her on this day; as she dragged her rake along the earth, she thought not of her shackles, her scars—but of Darius. She felt awful for having brushed him off the way she had, for not having been more grateful to him for saving her life. An entire moon cycle had passed and finally the shock of it over, she’d had time to process it all. She still could not believe what had happened with the taskmasters, how Darius had saved her from a life of certain hell and slavery and possibly even death. She owed him her life—more than her life. And she had responded with cold indifference.

  Yet at the same time, she had been overwhelmed, unsure how to react. She had never seen anyone use a magic power before, and it stunned her to see Darius use it. Her entire life she had been taught by her parents and elders to view magic as witchery, something to be condemned in the strongest possible terms, the only real taboo in their village. It was magic, she had been told, that had led to doom for her people to begin with. And to see Darius use it—well, she did not know how to react. She had reacted impulsively, in a way her parents would have wanted her to.

  But now, as she brought the wooden rake down again and again, dragging it into the dirt, she felt terrible for what she had done. She wanted to run to Darius, to apologize to him, to be with him, this boy who had overtaken her heart more than she could have imagined. She had always suspected there was something different about him, though she wasn’t sure what it was. He was indeed different from all the others, with his great ability. But even more so, with his big heart. His fearlessness.

  Now she had thrown it all away. All because she was afraid, afraid of the condemnation she would receive from her parents and the elders if she were caught with him, if they discovered his power. She was afraid they would not understand; she was not sure she understood herself.

  She had also been afraid during this last moon cycle that any day the Empire would arrive and round her and Darius up for having killed those men; each day she expected the bodies to be discovered. Yet that day never came. Perhaps they were so deeply buried beneath that avalanche after all that they would never be found. And as he fear was beginning to dissipate, Loti was beginning to realize, even more, that she had nothing to be afraid of, that perhaps she could even be with Darius—it he would have her back. Perhaps it was already too late.

  Loti paused for a moment, took a break as she wiped the back of her brow, looked all about her and saw all the other girls stationed with her on this field, all laboring away. Beside her, she was most happy to see, was her brother, Loc. The taskmasters had added insult to injury by assigning Loc out here in the fields with the girls, and her heart went out to him. Then again, his entire life he had been slighted, all because of his injury, his one leg shorter than the other, and one arm misshaped and shorter than the other. He was even treated as an outcast in his own family, a house full of warriors, where his mother and father looked down upon him as if he did not even exist.

  But Loti loved Loc with all her heart, and she always had. She was determined that her abundance of love for him make up for the lack of love he received from the others. Loti projected a tough image, she knew, and on the outside, she was tough; but on the inside, she had a heart of gold. In fact, she loved Loc more than all of her brothers and all of her family. All of them overlooked what she saw front and center in Loc: a big heart, a wide, gracious smile, and more joy and happiness than anyone she’d ever met, even with his circumstances. Loti aspired to be like him, to be as happy as he, to be as kind and compassionate and easygoing and as quick to forgive as he was. She would do anything for him, and she loved his company, so she didn’t mind that he was on work detail with her.

  “You better keep working, sister,” Loc said to her, turning with a smile, “or they’ll see you.”

  Loc picked up his rake with his one good hand and brought it down. His good arm was a strong arm, the arm of a warrior, like his brothers, making up for the other one; yet still, without good balance, it was hard for him. Loc was twice as slow as the girls, and it was hard for him to pull in a straight line, each pull taking great effort. But he never complained, and always set to his work with a huge smile.

  “It is you who should take a break,” she said, still catching her breath. “They assign you with a cruel task. They do it on purpose.”

  He laughed.


  “I’ve been assigned much worse, my sister,” he said. “That is of no concern to me. It is you I am worried about. Tell me what has been troubling you. I can see it in your face.”

  Without responding, Loti raised her rake and went back to work. They toiled together in a comfortable silence as she pondered how to express what was on her mind. She did not have the quick wit that others had; she needed time to think her thoughts through. Loc respected her, not invading her privacy, giving her time and space. That was one of the things she loved about him. She could tell him anything, but if she wanted her silence, he respected that.

  They were falling into a steady rhythm, each lost in their own thoughts, when suddenly, Loti heard running footsteps. Loti turned and was horror-stricken to see an Empire taskmaster rush forward, raise his whip, and lash Loc across the back.

  Loc cried out in pain, stumbled forward, and fell on his face.

  “You fall behind the women!” the taskmaster boomed. “You are no man!”

  The taskmaster raised his whip and lashed him again.

  And again.

  “Stop it!” Loti screamed, rushing forward, unable to stand it.

  All the girls stopped working and turned and watched. Loti raced forward, not thinking, not realizing the consequences but unable to control herself. Shackles bound her wrists with a three-foot chain between them, and Loti rushed forward and stood between Loc and the taskmaster just as the whip came lashing down.

  Loti took the lash instead, across her shoulder, and she screamed out in pain as she received the blow in place of her brother, who was lying on the ground.

  The taskmaster, enraged, backhanded her, and she felt an incredible burn across her face, as she spun.

  “You interfere,” he said. “I can kill you for that.”

  He kicked her with his large boot and sent her flying face-first on the dirt and rocks.

  Loti quickly spun and looked back to see him walking toward Loc, who still lay on the ground, raising a hand to protect his face.

  The taskmaster approached and lashed him again.

  “No!” Loti cried.

  She jumped to her feet, seeing the cruelty in the taskmaster’s face, knowing that he would lash her brother to death.

  Loti stood there, the taskmaster’s back to her, lashing Loc again and again, Loc covered in blood as he lay there, crying out in pain.

  Loti saw red. She could take it no more.

  Loti rushed forward, leapt high into the air, and landed on the taskmaster’s back. She wrapped her legs around his waist and in the same motion, she lifted her shackles and wrapped the chains around the taskmaster’s neck twice—and squeezed.

  Loti squeezed and squeezed with all her might, locked in a death grip on the iron chains, knowing that if she let go, it would be her brother’s life—and hers. She would not let go; not even the hordes of the world could pull her off of him.

  The man was huge, his neck all muscle, a foot wide, and he leaned back and bucked. Yet still Loti squeezed with all her might. It was like holding onto a flailing bull.

  The taskmaster reached back, gasping, dropping the whip, and tried to grab her, again and again. He clawed at her, scratching her wrists.

  And yet still she held on, squeezing tighter.

  “You disgusting pig of a man,” she cried out. “You know my brother cannot defend himself!”

  “Loti!” yelled one of her friends, another woman, running over from her duties, trying to pull her off of him. “Don’t do this! They will kill you! They can kill us all!”

  But Loti ignored her; nothing would stop her.

  The taskmaster flung her about on his back like a wild, crazy horse, throwing her left and right; Loti felt her strength being tested to its limits—but still she held on.

  He stumbled forward, then suddenly, he went flying backwards, driving her back, down to the ground, and landing on his back on top of her.

  The weight of him landing on top of her nearly crushed her.

  Yet still she squeezed.

  As she squeezed him, Loti thought of every indignity she’d ever suffered, that every woman had suffered here at the hands of these men. She let her rage loose, coursing out of her hands and arms and shoulders, and she squeezed and squeezed, wanting this taskmaster to suffer as she had. It was her chance for vengeance. Her chance to let the Empire know that she was powerful, too.

  Yet still he struggled. He leaned forward and then threw his head back, head-butting her backwards, the back of his skull crushing her cheek—and a horrific pain shot through her head.

  Lot, coursing with adrenaline, still did not let go, squeezing her shaking arms, the pain shooting through her head. She did not know how much longer she could hold on. He was too strong for her, and he just would not die.

  Loti looked up and saw him lifting his head again. His head came flying back and he head-butted her backwards again, bashing her nose.

  This time, the pain was too much, her eyes blinded with the blood of her nose. Involuntarily, she loosened her grip.

  Loti knew she was going to die. She looked up, expecting to see the taskmaster about to kill her.

  But what she saw surprised her: instead, she saw Loc standing over them, scowling for the first time in his life. She saw, in that moment, the warrior in his eyes.

  Loc raised his wooden rake high, and he brought the point straight down into the taskmaster’s belly.

  The taskmaster gasped, leaning forward as Loc brought it down, again and again, cracking his ribs. It was just what Loti needed to regain her grip on the shackles.

  Loti grabbed them, doubled her grip, and she spun around, getting on top of him, pinning him face-first in the dirt.

  She squeezed all her might, her wrists bleeding from the shackles cutting into them. Blood and sweat stung her eyes, and she lost all sense of time and space as she squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.

  It was a long time after he stopped moving that Loti finally realized he was dead.

  She looked down. He lay there, perfectly still, all the world perfectly still, and she realized she had just killed the man.

  And that nothing would ever be the same again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Darius slashed and slashed, the click-clack of his wooden sword piercing the air as he blocked blows alternately from Raj and Desmond, each attacking him from both sides. They were driving him back, and he was working up a sweat as he sparred with them, doing his best to fend off one blow after the next. The sun was setting after a long day of labor, and as they had nearly every day during this last moon cycle, Desmond, Raj and Darius sparred, letting out all their aggression for the Empire, all their frustration with their taskmasters, on swordplay.

  On the sidelines, Dray sat there, watching every slash, snarling at Darius’ attackers every time they landed a blow. Clearly he wanted to pounce, but Darius had finally taught him to sit there and watch patiently. Yet his snarling filled the air, and Darius did not know when he would finally snap and defy his command. He was so loyal to Darius, as Darius was to he, that there was no controlling him.

  Over the last moon cycle, Darius and Raj and Desmond had become close friends, the two older boys determined to make Darius a better fighter. It was working. Darius felt his arms and shoulders grow tired, but not as tired as they had been in days before; and while in the past days too many of their blows slipped past, today he managed to block their blows as they attacked relentlessly.

  Back and forth they went, Darius blocking side to side, spinning around after blocking one high blow and even venturing to fight back, slashing. He felt himself getting stronger, quicker, more confident. He knew that as their friendship deepened, so had his skills in combat.

  Darius was concentrating, finding a weak point in Raj’s strike, about to land his first blow—when suddenly, a girl’s voice cut through the air.

  “Darius!”

  Darius, distracted, turned at the sound, and as he did, he lowered his guard and received a mighty b
low on the ribcage.

  He cried out and scowled at Raj.

  “Unfair!” he said.

  “You let down your guard,” Raj said.

  “I was distracted.”

  “In battle,” Desmond said, “your enemy hopes for distractions.”

  Darius turned, annoyed, and was surprised to see who had been summoning him. To his shock, there was Loti, fast approaching, looking distraught. He was even more surprised to see her eyes were red from crying.

  Darius was baffled; he hadn’t seen her for the entire moon cycle, and he was certain she never wanted to see him again. He didn’t understand why she had sought him out now, or why she was so distraught.

  “I must speak with you,” she said.

  She was so upset her voice broke, and he could see the agony across her face, deepening the mystery.

  Darius turned slowly and looked at Raj and blank.

  They nodded back, understanding.

  “Another day,” Raj said.

  They turned and walked off, and Darius and Loti were left standing alone in the clearing, facing each other.

  Darius walked toward her, and she surprised him by running into his arms, embracing him, and hugging him tight. She cried over his shoulder as she did. He didn’t know what to make of it; the ways of women were endlessly mysterious to him.

  “I’m so sorry,” Loti said, crying, over his shoulder. “So sorry. I am such a fool. I don’t know why I was so mean to you. You saved my life. I never thanked you for it.”

  Darius hugged her back, holding her tight. It felt so good to have her in his arms, and he felt redeemed to hear this, after all they had gone through. All the suffering and anguish and disappointment and confusion he had felt over the last moon cycle began to melt away. She really did love him after all. As much as he loved her.