The Girl Who Chose

by Violet Grace

  ‘Fly with me?’ I whisper.

  ‘It’s fully light out there now,’ he counters.

  ‘So?’

  ‘Chess —’

  I don’t wait for his reply because I know it will be sensible and rational and well-reasoned. Tom and I are the worst-kept secret in the three realms. Even so, watching the Queen fly with her almost-boyfriend is not great for my already shaky credibility, so up until now we’ve only flown together under the cover of darkness. But I don’t want to be sensible right now. I’m over keeping up appearances.

  Stepping back, my wings flare and I float upwards, hovering just below the ceiling. Below me, Tom crosses his arms defiantly but I see the sparkle of temptation in his eyes.

  ‘You’re doing a terrible job of pretending you don’t want to come with me,’ I tease.

  I catch the briefest flash of a dimple, but then it’s gone.

  ‘No problem was ever solved by pretending it didn’t exist,’ Tom says, staying put. But I’m pretty sure his defences are weakening. Ever since we were children, flying together has been our way to escape what is, and pretend, just for a few sweet moments, that we live in what could be.

  ‘Are you trying to kill the mood, or does it just come naturally?’ I say, waiting for him to follow me. But my efforts fall flat. Trouble brews behind his eyes.

  ‘What’s it going to take for you to trust me enough to talk to me?’

  I lower my eyes. ‘We talk all the time.’

  ‘No, Chess, we don’t. We fill in for the things we should be saying.’

  I bite down on the inside of my cheek as he sits back down on my bed.

  ‘You’ve been through so much, Chess. You’ve lost and won and lost again. And you’ve never said a word about it. Your silence is eating you up. Day by day I’m watching you slip away – not just from me and everyone else, but from yourself. From the person you’re meant to be. And it’s killing me.’

  The air is suddenly thin, cold, rough.

  ‘Come down,’ Tom says gently.

  For the first time, I hear sorrow tinge his words and I don’t know what to do with it. Even when Gladys died, he was resolute, certain that everything was as it should be. I float down to the floor but can’t look him in the eyes.

  There’s a prolonged silence. Tom’s giving me a chance to speak but I can’t think of a single thing to say.

  He glances down at his watch, but I suspect he doesn’t even register the time. ‘I need to get to work.’

  He brushes a light kiss against my forehead and turns to the door. Unlike every kiss before it, it leaves me chilled.

  I stand alone in my cavernous room, listening to the echo of the closing door reverberating through the palace. The quiet that follows rings in my ears, punctuated by the beating of my heart. Dark clouds of emptiness creep around me.

  I need to think. Actually, I need to not think.

  I decide to do what I always do when I can’t bear to be alone. I visit my mother. The mother I thought was long dead – before I knew of the Fae, of the world beyond my own. Before I remembered Tom.

  I climb out my window, making sure there are no guards patrolling nearby, and walk quickly to the butterfly house. The sun’s rays filter through the cool morning air. Undetected, I dodge a pack of Protectorate guards doing their routine palace patrol. I don’t exactly know why I’m hiding from them. It’s my castle, after all. I guess I just want to keep some things in my life private.

  I slip inside the glass walls of the butterfly house. A fresh wave of anger ripples through me as I think about how almost everyone conspired to keep my mother’s real fate and the location of her body from me. The Order – even Gladys – were content for me to think she died during the rebel attack when I was three.

  They all think Damius was the one who revealed the secret about my mother’s stolen life force. But it was Tom who told me the truth and showed me the crypt where her body lies, suspended between life and death.

  Huge fireflies dance around flowerbeds and the space explodes into colour as abruptly woken butterflies take flight. I step carefully along the stone path, making sure not to crush any of the butterflies that have resettled on the moss and stones. My skin prickles against the humid air, so different from the coolness of the morning.

  I walk past the burbling stream and, with one more glance back to make sure I’m alone, make my way across to the mossy rockery to the concealed sandstone entrance. I duck into the tiny alcove and hurry down the steps into the crypt.

  My mother lies enclosed in her glass tomb, perfectly serene, as if she just nodded off. I know every curve on her face, every hair on her head, every fold in her gown. The thought of Damius feeding off her life force sickens me. I just hope she isn’t in pain from whatever control he exerts over her.

  Sometimes I talk to her about the Order and my court, hoping that somehow she can hear my voice, knowing she probably can’t. Hoping that saying things aloud will bring some sort of clarity.

  It rarely does.

  Mostly, though, I sit in silence, waiting, praying that for some inexplicable reason, this will be the day my mother’s life force finds its way back to her body and she wakes. Sometimes I think I see her mouth twitch ever so slightly, the ghost of a smile. But I know I’m imagining it.

  The minutes pass, both of us still, as the sunlight peeks through the glass-bottomed pond above, bouncing shadows against the wall from the water and lily pads.

  Reluctantly, I stand to leave. ‘Goodbye, Mother. I’ll be back soon.’

  As I turn towards the door, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I whip my head back even though I’m sure it’s just my imagination again. Except, this time, my mother stirs, and then her chest heaves, her back arching, convulsing as she gasps for air like she’s drowning. Her usually serene face is scrunched in pain.

  ‘Mother!’ I cry out.

  I fumble with the latch to the glass case and lift the lid. Her eyes shoot wide open, dark and empty like voids. She turns her head, looking directly at me, panic and urgency etched into her face.

  ‘Grigio,’ she rasps. ‘Go to Grigio.’

  ‘Grigio? What’s Grigio?’ I say desperately.

  ‘Francesca. Only you … you can save me,’ she manages, then her eyes slide back in her head and she’s gone.

  ‘No, no! Mother, wait!’ My sobbing screams bounce around the chamber. ‘What is Grigio? Come back, please.’

  But it’s as if she had never moved.

  I wrap my hands around her, cradling her body in my arms, waiting for her to speak again. But the only movement is the slight rising and falling of her chest. I sit, holding her in my arms, hot tears dripping onto her face.

  What just happened? Has she been here this whole time, listening to me speak but unable to respond? Or did she just manage to break free temporarily from whatever dark Art Damius used to imprison her life force, to give me this message? I’ve been in Iridesca a year and there is still so much that I don’t understand. Gladys would know, but Gladys is gone.

  I lay my mother gently back into place, kiss her cheek and replace the lid that entombs her. I look at her through the glass; she’s as still as she was before.

  ‘I will help, Mother,’ I promise. ‘I will go to Grigio.’

  As soon as I work out what it is.

  My heart is still thundering in my chest as I leave the crypt and rush back through the butterfly house and the palace gardens. My eyes feel tight from the tears drying in the crisp air and my head is aching.

  I climb through my window just as the door squeaks open to reveal my maids, Brina and Callie, in their impractically long white uniforms. I pretend to be casually sitting on the window seat, although I’m pretty sure they know something is up.

  Callie comes over to me and opens the curtains. Outside, oversized marigolds stretch their necks towards the sun and bumblebees the size of robins hum as they gather their breakfast.

  ‘The Chancellor has updated your schedule for the res
t of the day, Your Majesty,’ Brina says. ‘You are to meet him immediately in your sitting room – or, as you see fit,’ she adds, looking at the floor.

  ‘Good,’ I say, thinking that I will quiz him about Grigio. ‘But why the urgency?’

  ‘The Chancellor did not elaborate, Your Majesty,’ Brina says.

  ‘Of course not,’ I mutter under my breath. ‘Is he still cross with me?’

  ‘I could not say, Your Majesty,’ she answers primly.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

  Callie smirks as she conjures me a cup of coffee.

  Only you can save me. My mother looked so desperate, like time was running out for her.

  But why? What on earth can I do that the Order hasn’t already tried?

  I feel so out of my depth.

  ‘If Tom’s free, I’d like to speak with him after my meeting with the Chancellor,’ I say to Callie. Tom’s knowledge of Fae anatomy might help explain how my mother was able to speak to me. Or, at the very least, he might know where Grigio is. I might also be able to work out where I stand with him after the awkwardness between us earlier.

  I walk through the gilded halls of my apartment. Not a corner or cornice has been left untroubled by gold leaf and there’s enough baby-coloured soft furnishings to make a girl spontaneously ovulate. Powder-pink antique roses bloom in crystal vases on every spare surface, filling the space with a scent so sweet and strong I can taste it. Above, rows of chandeliers twinkle like silvery kisses.

  Palace staff sweep out of my path and stand to attention when they see me. They bow as I pass, and then, after a beat, continue on. I smile in acknowledgement and exchange a few hellos. And not just because the Chancellor has ‘counselled’ me that it’s unbecoming of a queen to engage with staff in such a familiar manner.

  The Chancellor has invited himself in to my sitting room and made himself comfortable at my table, speaking to someone I don’t recognise. He stops mid-conversation, sour-faced, before recovering to beam at me.

  ‘You are a vision, Your Majesty,’ he says, standing, flicking out the tails of his moss-green velvet coat and bowing deeply.

  Perhaps I’ve been forgiven for going off-script this morning after all.

  Thin, disapproving lips pucker on the face of the woman next to him. Her wolf-grey eyes follow my sweaty palms as I wipe them down the sides of my dress. Her hair is a severe, plaited grey beehive, and the paisley print of her gown would be great for curtains. She doesn’t rise to bow. And I don’t blame her. At her age, I figure she’s well and truly earned the right to rest.

  ‘Permit me to introduce Madeline, our new Luminaress,’ the Chancellor says.

  I reach out to the table to steady myself. I shouldn’t be so shocked. It’s been over a year since Gladys died; of course they were going to appoint a new Luminaress eventually. But trying to replace Gladys seems disrespectful.

  ‘You are not pleased to see me, girl,’ the old woman croaks in a rough and rusted voice. ‘You would do well to at least try to disguise your human sentiment—’

  ‘Have we met?’ I interrupt. There’s something familiar about her. I wonder if she was one of the many people I was introduced to when I first arrived and I’ve forgotten. Or maybe she reminds me a little bit of Gladys.

  ‘We have not,’ she says crisply. ‘The Order has appointed me Luminaress so I may continue your preparation.’

  ‘And what exactly am I being prepared for?’

  ‘Serenissima, Your Majesty,’ the Chancellor says.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘To humans, this territory is known as Venice.’ He says it like the host of a game show announcing a dream holiday. His eyes sparkle as his chubby fingers fiddle with the jewelled pin on his cravat. ‘A delegation to Serenissima is planned and, as Queen, it is only right that you lead it.’

  I raise my eyebrows. ‘What’s in Ven – I mean, Serenissima? Shouldn’t we be concentrating our efforts on rebuilding here in Albion?’

  ‘Indeed we should, Your Majesty. I was making the very same observation to our dear Luminaress just before you graced us with your presence.’

  That seems unlikely, I think to myself. I look to the Luminaress for any sign of confirmation, but she’s too busy scrutinising me – and clearly finding me lacking – that I’m not sure she’s listening to a word he’s saying.

  ‘And rebuild we shall,’ the Chancellor goes on. ‘Why, you might say that the visit to Serenissima is crucial to these very plans.’

  I notice the self-satisfied glint in his eyes, as if the thought had just occurred to him. ‘There we will meet with a very dear and powerful family to discuss a mutually beneficial alliance. We live, after all, in precarious times. And we have much need of friends with resources.’

  I look to the Luminaress to see what she makes of all of this. She’s stony-faced.

  ‘And you think this alliance will help the people out there, beyond the palace?’ I say.

  Irritation flashes across the Chancellor’s face, before it relaxes into his usual patronising grin.

  ‘Indisputably, Your Majesty, indisputably. We can hardly rebuild from a position of weakness. We need to strengthen ourselves. Fortify against future attack.’

  I smell a rat. I’ve seen no evidence that rebuilding is a priority for anyone in the Order. Not to mention that I’m barely trusted to choose my own wardrobe, yet they now want me to negotiate alliances?

  ‘And you want me to lead this delegation?’

  ‘Why, yes,’ the Chancellor beams. ‘You have learned much this past year and it is time for you to take your rightful place in the official business of House Raven.’

  I’m about to tell him I’m not interested. There is no way I’m going to leave my mother, especially not now that she’s asked me for help. But before I can get the words out, he says, ‘Of course, I will be there to offer my counsel with House Grigio.’

  My pulse quickens. So Grigio is a family – a House, not a place. My mother must have some awareness of events beyond her crypt. The Luminaress now has my full attention as she slides a jewelled hairpin from her up-do. With a swish of her bony fingers, an embossed leather document case appears on the table.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ she says, motioning to the chair. I’m so busy thinking about my mother that I sit without question. My mother’s words are starting to feel like some sort of prophecy.

  The Chancellor conjures a cup of tea for me, using his walking stick as a wand. I could have done with another coffee instead but I don’t say it.

  ‘Let us commence, we have our work cut out for us.’ The Luminaress says ‘work’ as if I’m a guttersnipe she’s been tasked with transforming into a lady. She pulls a piece of parchment from the folder and hands it to me.

  I open it to find a watercolour family portrait. When the portrait is fully unfurled, the paint from the parchment floats off the page, particles of pigment rising up like a tiny swarm, eventually recombining and recomposing the same picture, but as a vivid hologram. The Chancellor and the Luminaress don’t react. I, on the other hand, sit in childlike wonder.

  The image shows a man and a woman, both middle-aged, and a preppy guy who looks about twenty. I’m guessing he’s their son. It looks like no one has ever said no to him in his entire life. They stand in front of a stone castle, dressed in royal finery of white and gold and beaming gracious smiles. Behind them is a closed oak portcullis with iron plates set within a curved archway. The foreboding spikes of the portcullis aside, they look like a happy, mega-rich family showing off their life for a posh lifestyle magazine.

  ‘Queen Eleonora and Prince Salvatore of House Grigio,’ says the Luminaress. ‘And the sole heir to the throne of Serenissima, Crown Prince Victor.’

  I wonder what’s so special about this family, what their connection is to my mother and how they could possibly help to free her from Damius’s powerful magic, which seems to confound everyone in my own court.

  I decide to keep my questioning vague. ‘Why have I nev
er heard of House Grigio before?’

  ‘They did send you a letter of congratulations after your coronation, Your Majesty,’ the Chancellor tuts.

  Them and two hundred other Fae royalty and VIPs from all over the world.

  ‘Queen Eleonora is gravely ill,’ the Chancellor pushes on matter-of-factly. ‘Crown Prince Victor will be King before the last leaf of autumn has fallen. An opportunity for a fresh start and the renewal of an alliance with House Grigio.’

  He says it like the death of a queen is a takeover opportunity too good to pass up.

  ‘And what does House Grigio want from an alliance with us?’

  ‘What everyone wants,’ the Chancellor says. ‘More.’

  The Luminaress conjures scones with jam and cream as she continues to brief me about all the players in House Grigio. I do my best to commit every name and detail to memory, but soon lose track of pretty much everyone and everything. What I don’t learn from all the talk of marriages, births and property is how any of it relates to my mother. I’m about to mention what happened in the butterfly house this morning and ask straight out if House Grigio holds anything that could help my mother, but have second thoughts. My mother said that only I can save her. Perhaps she needed me to keep it secret, warning me not to trust people in my court.

  This leaves me with no choice but to go to Serenissima to explore the Grigio connection myself. It’s also my opportunity to prove to the Order – and to myself – that Gladys was right about me. I am more than a smiling magician; I will be the Queen that Gladys saw in me.

  ‘Serenissima is the one place on earth where all three realms converge into a single plane,’ says the Luminaress.

  I sip my tea, nodding along in what I hope is a good performance of sagely understanding exactly what she’s talking about.

  ‘The human realm of Volgaris intersects the Fae realm of Iridesca in the city of Serenissima,’ she clarifies. ‘I believe that in your human realm, Venice is known as an enchanted city.’ She says ‘your human realm’ as if the words leave a sour taste in her mouth.