“What’s my position?” Edam asks.
“I apologize,” I say. “I forgot that I hadn’t already announced your formal positions. Larena, can you take these down?”
She pulls a pen from her pocket and nods.
“Balthasar will be my Warlord, Edam will be my Chief Security Officer, and Larena will remain Chamberlain. Inara will be my Steward, and also my interim Political Advisor.” I was hoping to name Alora to that, if she agreed to move back to Ni’ihau. Now I’m not sure who to ask. “Lark will be my Chef, and Maxmillian my Operations Manager. Franco will be Head of Governance, and Marselle will be my Chief Intelligence Officer, but her official title will be Chief Technology Officer. And I already mentioned that Noah will be my Human Liaison.”
“A bold and diverse cast for your Council,” Inara says, “and an interesting mix of Mother’s advisors and your own. Now that you’ve explained, would you care to enlighten us on your other plans?”
“This is a working list, but to start, I’ll be providing humans with the same complement of rights as evians.”
Franco leaps from his seat. “The vast majority of humans don’t even know about us. Are you proposing we change that?”
“I haven’t decided yet, but we will set up a rigorous list of protections for humans. They aren’t disposable, and it’s wrong to treat them that way. Our purpose has always been to preserve the world and its resources, but we lost sight of the obligation we have to all our subjects, especially humans.”
Complete silence.
“Most of you haven’t spent much time around them,” I say, “which is a shame.”
“I’ve spent more than enough,” Franco says. “They’re untrustworthy, greedy, self-aggrandizing without support, violent, and duplicitous.”
“I’m sorry, are you describing evians? Or humans?” I raise my eyebrows. “We are human, you know. And they are evian. We descended from the exact same place.”
Inara’s eyes widen. “Are you saying we’re equal?”
“That is exactly what I’m saying.”
“You’re wrong,” Balthasar says. “Respectfully, this is an untenable position to advocate. You’re only seventeen, and while you’re bright and show a lot of promise, you have less experience with humans than any of the rest of us. Watching their entertainment has not given you a realistic view of how they will behave or who they are at their core.”
I slam my hands down on the table. “I welcome intercourse, but I will not be patronized. I will not have you tell me my core beliefs are wrong. Argue implementation, argue timing. Do not tell me that humans are dogs. Do not compare them to cannon fodder or pawns on a chess board. Our great grandparents are all the same. It’s not their fault if they’ve suffered some genetic deletions, and it doesn’t mean they have no value!”
I realize I’m shouting and moderate my voice. “I do welcome your input. But I will not budge on this point. Noah is here so that you can interact with a human and see that they are just like us.”
Balthasar, Inara, Franco and Maxmillian look at Noah as though I’ve deposited a bag of refuse at the table.
“Lest you think the human rubric is the only major change, let me tell you that evian society is corrupted in other ways, and I intend to course correct on all fronts. To that end, there will be no more sales of royal sons, period, full stop.”
Edam maintains a completely blank expression, but his eyes sparkle with joy.
Inara clears her throat. “We can certainly enforce that for our family. Mother wasn’t obligated to sell her children, or to buy others. She chose to participate, but her reasons remain. When you give birth to a female heir, how exactly will she choose a Consort?”
“My heir, should I be lucky enough to have one, will marry whomever she chooses, just as I intend to, without regard for what family trained them.”
“What if she falls for a human?” Inara asks.
“Oh.” I scan the table slowly, meeting each Council member’s eyes. “Like my sister Alora?” I try to moderate my voice, but it doesn’t work. “I understand and respect the purpose of the requirement that an empress be the youngest daughter, to provide as much consistency in leadership as possible. I understand the value in preserving the bloodline. My Heir will be required to marry someone suitable, someone close to seventh or eight generation. But should she choose to abdicate and marry a human, I’ll throw her the most beautiful wedding you’ve ever seen. Because becoming the ruler of a vast expanse of subjects should be chosen, not forced.”
“And half-humans?” Lark asks.
“They will be welcome in my service, and welcome in this family. Always.”
“What about one quarter evian?” Maxmillian asks. “What about one-eighth?” He grunts. “You’ll degrade the line with this nonsense. Alamecha will be corrupted within a century.”
“Exactly what he said,” Franco says. “These changes will spell the doom of Alamecha as we know it.”
I can’t quite help my grin. “Funny you should mention that, but here’s where you went wrong. You’re saying that as though it’s a bad thing.” I gesture around the entire room. “Alamecha is rotting with selfishness, greed, and manipulation. So if I doom the Alamecha we know, that’s fine with me. The world we create will be so much more, and we will figure things out as we go.”
“You won’t announce anything today, right?” Inara asks.
“I won’t, not until after the inauguration.”
Cue the chorus of relieved sighs, since everyone here plans to try and talk me out of these changes before I make them official.
I hold up my hand. “I welcome your feedback in the confines of this room. In fact, I demand that you share with me what’s on your mind. Absolute honesty is what I want from my Council. But when we’re in public, you will not question me. Speaking against any of these changes will be grounds for immediate removal. And if you don’t stop, I’ll consider it treason. Is that clear?”
Mouths click shut and heads bob all around me.
“Will you be naming a Consort?” Larena asks. “Because I’ll need to prepare the Consort’s chambers.”
I shake my head. “No Consort, not yet.”
“With Judica gone,” Inara says, “your heir is Melina.”
Shoot. I hadn’t considered that.
“She’s not . . . strictly reliable.” Inara shifts in her chair. “It would be wise to name a Consort soon.”
“Duly noted,” I say.
“What do we plan to do about Judica?” Franco asks.
I let her go after failing to kill her, and then she disappeared. I have no idea whether she fled, or was taken, whether she’s alive, or dead. I don’t know whether to send out search parties, or prepare for attack.
“I ask for honesty, and I’ll give it in return,” I say. “I probably made a mistake in sparing her life, and I certainly made a mistake in not detaining her in a holding cell. But what’s done is done. I’ll be spending quite a lot of time with Edam to discuss our next steps, and Balthasar to discuss our military assets in anticipation of a retaliation by my sister.”
“You admit that you’ve opened us up to war with that rash, ill-conceived decision?” Franco asks. “And yet, you have no intention of altering course from other, far worse, decisions?”
Edam scowls, clearly ready to jump in and protect me. But I don’t need his protection from my own Council.
“We’ve been at risk for war from the moment my mom was murdered. Didn’t you see the other families licking their chops, salivating over Alamecha like a wolf circling an injured gazelle?”
Franco drops his gaze.
“I’m only seventeen, and I’m not perfect. None of us are. I’m going to do my very best, and you’ll tell me when you think I’m making the wrong call. Then I’ll decide, and we will all live with it.”
“Since you aren’t naming a Consort,” Marselle says softly, “you should prepare yourself for the other families to be unbelievably annoying, thrusting their eligi
ble sons at you until you name one.”
“Yes, the ambassadors at court are about to get much younger and better looking,” Inara says. “Thanks for that, at least.”
I lift one eyebrow. “Hardly. They’ve sold all their sons.”
Inara tuts. “Not quite. The empresses sell their sons, mostly, but many of their siblings haven’t. So there will be quite a few sons of other royal members of the family who would be excellent matches. If you haven’t made your choice yet, be prepared for the parade of man-meat.”
I hope she’s exaggerating.
“I think we’ve covered enough ground for today. You should all begin sussing out what needs to be done in your particular sections, and tomorrow morning, we’ll meet again to prepare for the inauguration. Seven a.m. sharp.”
When I stand up, Duchess hops to her feet too. Edam follows us out the door, the two guards at the door following us at a distance of ten feet. “You handled that exceptionally well.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely,” he says. “You didn’t get rattled, and you’ve begun establishing a level of trust. Excellent initial foray.”
“That’s good to hear, because I have no idea what I’m doing, and now I’m panicked that my changes will crumple Alamecha like a house of cards.” I reach the door to Mom’s room and freeze in front of it.
“You’re brilliant, and brave, and merciful,” he says, “and you’ll figure out how to make these things work without breaking what your mother created. I know you will.”
I swallow. “I hope your faith is not misplaced.”
“It’s not.” Edam reaches for my hand and then drops his back at his side. “Are you going inside?”
“Mhmm.”
“Okay.” Edam leans against the door. “Well, if we’re hanging outside for a bit, may as well take care of some housekeeping.”
I meet his eye. “About what?”
“If Frederick is head of your guard, but I’m in charge of security for the island, am I able to add guards to your detail?”
I roll my eyes. “Freddy will do fine.”
Edam’s eyes burn into mine. “Fine isn’t good enough.”
“You two are cut from the same fabric.” I glance at the guards behind us and lower my voice. “He wants to beef up the guard and double the number on duty at all times. He’s been analyzing the lists of guards to make sure the two on duty dislike one another heartily. He thinks it will increase their motivation and vigilance.”
Edam bobs his head. “I agree. I’m happy to coordinate with him and pass off some of the better men on my force to help with that.”
“Oh come on. I don’t need two of you.”
“Clearly you feel safe, standing in the hallway, too nervous to go inside your mother’s room.”
I close my eyes and see her body on the floor, blood streaming from her nose and mouth to form a puddle around her. And then a barrage of memories flood my brain from the other side of this door. Choosing clothing, eating snacks on her bed while we watch human television programs. Training together in our private courtyard.
“I’m sorry I said anything,” Edam says.
“It’s not about feeling safe from outside threats,” I whisper. “I miss her so much that going into her room hurts.”
“Take your time,” Edam says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You have work to do,” I say.
“You’re higher priority than all of that.” He takes my hand in his and we stand together, in front of Mom’s door for several minutes.
Finally, I’m calm enough to push the door open and walk through. The door to her records sanctum in the corner looms larger than I remember. It’s larger than her closet, and the stainless steel door beckons me. I have what I need to enter, but I’ve been putting it off.
“Thank you Edam. I needed the support.”
“Anytime, anywhere, against anyone,” he says.
“But I have to do this alone.” I walk across the room to the huge door.
“I’ll be out here, making sure you aren’t bothered.”
“Thanks.” I press my hand on the bio scanner and a panel emerges from the wall. I press Mom’s staridium ring into it. Then I key in Mom’s code. Divinity.
The locks tumble and then come to rest. I twist the huge four pronged wheel and open the door. I glance back at Edam, and he smiles at me. “You’ve got this.”
More than seeing mother dead, or fighting and defeating my sister, or finding Mom’s ring, walking into the records room feels so final. Mom will never come back. She will never train or teach or tutor me again. I blink as I enter the room. I’m prepared for it to be dark, windowless and lead lined. Mom told me about some of the precautions, but the lights that run up either side of the space are bright, harsh almost. Thousands and thousands of volumes of books and journals line the walls from the wood floors to the top of the ten foot ceiling.
I would have put this task off for weeks and weeks, but we have no real leads for Mom’s killer. Zero. Which means my best hope for a clue is right here, in Mom’s own records and letters and notes. With her funeral tomorrow, followed by my inauguration, I’ve got an excellent opportunity to confront many of those who were here for her birthday party. I need to know where to apply pressure.
I sit in her leather wing chair and open the journal sitting on the center of her desk. She records a surprisingly high level of detail about each day, but I spend a particular amount of time on her feelings, her plans, and her hopes. I stop reading periodically to close my eyes and imagine her face. My memories, combined with her notes, bring her to life in a way she hasn’t been for me since she passed away. Then one passage catches my attention.
I suspect that I’m being poisoned.
I drop the book like it burned me. She knew. Of course she knew. But, why didn’t she do anything about it? I force myself to pick it up again.
I can’t be sure, of course. Job has run his standard blood panel on me recently and found nothing, but I feel. . . suboptimal. My appetite is declining along with my energy level. I’ve spent quite some time reading mother’s, grandmother’s and great-grandother’s accounts of their last few years. Most of my symptoms are also symptoms of age, but I’m not yet nine-hundred. If I’m already aging, that doesn’t spell good things for Alamecha’s bloodline.
The next day is dated ten days prior to her death.
I’m not being poisoned after all. My fatigue, my appetite shifts and my body aches have an explanation. A happy one, in fact. Against all odds, something strange and wonderful has happened.
I’m pregnant.
I want to tell the father, but I don’t know how he’ll take it, and then I’ll have to explain so many other things. I might be better off letting him assume it isn’t his. I can’t even quite bring myself to write his name. I’ll examine my reticence about this later. But for now, I’m more optimistic than I’ve been for a long time.
It sounds terrible, but I’m most excited about this baby for the hope that it might heal things between Judica and Chancery. Their anger and inability to get along pains me deeper than any other wound of my long life. I would give almost anything to repair their relationship. A new Heir would free them both and clean up the fallout from my refusal to spare Chancery.
If it’s a girl, I’m going to name her Sotiris, because she will be their salvation.
The next twenty pages have been torn out. I search for loose pages all over her desk and in drawers with no luck. Why would she tear out the rest? It had to be mother who did it, since she’s the only one who had access to this room.
I don’t find the missing sheets, but I stop in front of a framed papyrus scroll. The prophecy.
In time of great peril, when the lives of women and men shall fail, the Eldest shall survive certain death to unite the families. She comes in a time of blood and horror, in a world overrun with plague and warfare. She shall command the stone of the mountain, be it small or large. Its power shall destroy the va
st hosts arrayed against it. With the might and power of God, the Eldest shall destroy all in her path and unite my children as one. Only through her blood can the stone be restored to the mountain. Together, with the strength of her strongest supporter, she shall open the Garden of Eden, that the miracle of God shall go unto all the Earth to save my children from utter destruction.
Utter destruction. I close my eyes. I want nothing to do with this. Why couldn’t Judica have been born before me? I don’t want to be the Eldest, and I definitely don’t want to destroy anything in my path. But I fear I’ve already fulfilled the first prong. Or at least, everyone seemed to think that fighting Judica would lead to my certain death, and yet, here I am. Maybe the destruction was simply the bomb I stopped from hitting China. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Somehow, I doubt it.
Or maybe this entire thing was some whacked out delusion that people fixated on wrongly. That would be nice. Perhaps my rule will be uneventful and peaceful. Of course, if it’s not true, then my drastic, sweeping social and political changes might all fail. They might be a tremendous mistake, if I’m not the Eldest like Mom thought.
How old is this prophecy, exactly? Without thinking about it, I take the frame off the wall and carry it over to the desk.
Before I can set it down to look at it closer, something flutters to the ground from the back. A white envelope.
I lean down to pick it up, but my hand stops, hovering over the words scrawled across the front in my mom’s hand.
Chancery Divinity Alamecha
If you liked that sample, grab Disillusioned today!
Acknowledgments
When you’re an indie author, you kind of do everything. Write, edit, marketing, covers, branding, etc etc etc. It’s overwhelming, and sometimes I wish I was traditional to have the support it provides.
But over the past year, I have truly developed a network of support, without which, my books would not be what they are.
First and foremost, my husband is AMAZING. He cheers, mourns, grumbles and shoves me forward in turn, whatever I need. He has the patience of a saint, and every time I wonder whether I’m a fraud, he reassures me I’m not.
unForgiven (The Birthright Series Book 2) Page 21
