The Gypsy Queen

by Samuel Solomon

  “Bastion,” Yana said. She choked up immediately, all her rehearsed statements giving way to her emotions. Bastion embraced her.

  “What is it, Yana?” She tried to right herself.

  “I cannot stay.”

  “What? What do you mean?” Bastion said, confused.

  “I cannot be your queen,” Yana said. Bastion let go, stumbling backwards in disbelief. He searched for words, as he searched the expression on her face.

  “It is not going to work. This is too much. I don’t belong here,” she said. She put her hand over her mouth, as she saw the pain in his eyes. His aura throbbed red and gold. She had to look away.

  “You do belong here,” Bastion insisted. “I want you here.”

  “No one else does,” Yana said. “I have heard enough to know that. If I stay, I will only make you stumble. The best way I can love you is to leave,” she said.

  “That- that is madness!” Bastion protested. “You mean to help me by leaving?”

  “Yes.” Yana could feel his pain in the air between them. “I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I love you.”

  “Ya tebya lublu,” Bastion said in return, causing tears to well up in her eyes.

  “I do love you,” she whimpered. “Love was never our problem.”

  “So, my citizens have lost faith in me, and now, you.” Bastion glowered with hurt and anger in his face.

  “That is not right,” Yana replied. “It’s me, too. I don’t want to be chained to this palace in golden shackles.”

  “There are no shackles here,” Bastion said.

  “You say it yourself- the King is a servant to the people. I would serve you, Bastion. I would be your wife, but... being a queen is a job. An office. I am a gypsy. It looks a lot like being a slave to me- just like the ones we rescued.”

  “You insult me, that I would enslave people, even as you have seen me fight to free them, my whole life?” Bastion was menacing, using the voice he used in the throne room. Yana cast herself to her knees.

  “Forgive me, my King,” Yana sobbed. She did not know what to do. Her instinct to flee was only thwarted by her subjection before him.

  “The difference between the slaves I set free, and the citizens I bring into subjection, is a stark one,” Bastion said. “The difference is, those that subject themselves to me, do so voluntarily. They are not forced.”

  “Are not all the citizens required to submit to your authority?” Yana said, trying to steady herself.

  “Yes, they are. Those that will not are free to leave the kingdom.”

  “Then that is what I must do,” Yana said.

  “Am I not your King?” Bastion said. “Did you not accept me as such?”

  “You will always be my King, Bastion. But I cannot be your queen. I must be free.” Bastion paced the floor, sorting out his thoughts as well as he could. His heart ached with pain and panic. He summoned all his disciplines of leadership, as he struggled.

  “So, if you stay, for my sake, it will bring you misery?” Yana could not reply. It sounded awful, they way he said it.

  “You cannot live under my rule?”

  “There are no rules, in love,” Yana said bitterly.

  “Yes, there are,” Bastion said.

  “No. It is not the gypsy way,” Yana said. “I love you without rules.”

  “Then your love is like a fire. You can build nothing with it. Only burn. Love within rules is like a stone. Something you can build on.”

  “Gypsies do not build,” Yana said.

  “They run,” Bastion finished bitterly. “Just like the wind. Just like you did when Volga captured us in Kaffa.”

  “How dare you!” Yana shouted. “I came back and saved your life!”

  “Only to slay me here in my own chambers.” Yana’s mouth hung open in shock at his words. She hung her head.

  “Sometimes love can be mistaken for a crime,” she said.

  “You love me without rules,” he said. “How cruel.” Bastion regretted the words immediately. He could see that Yana wanted to go. Her things were packed. He did not want to cage her like a slave. He just wanted to love her, build a life with her. But his life was here, and hers was not. It never was. It would be selfish and childish for him to do anything else but let her go. He decided to make it easy on her.

  “You are free to go, Yana,” he said. He said it as a King to a subject. Yana stood up and looked him in the eye. Bastion stepped closer. He could not believe how much he loved his precious gypsy girl. Well, not his anymore. She never was. He could not believe she was leaving. He was falling apart, and the more the pain gripped his heart, the more stoic his face became.

  “I love you, but if you cannot set yourself next to me, then there is nothing else I can do for you, but release you. If this is the best that you can do, then perhaps it is best that you leave, anyway,” he said.

  “Damn you,” Yana said, and slapped his face.

  “I give the orders around here,” Bastion said.

  “Command me to stay,” Yana challenged him.

  “I shall not.”

  “I have to go,” she said, choked up again. “It is over. I’m sorry.”

  Yana was devastated. She had said her piece, and did not want any more hurtful words. She loved Bastion dearly, and she was hurting more deeply than she ever had in her young life. She grabbed up her things, and fled the room.

  Bastion followed briskly, but not in chase. He stepped out of the palace, seeing her run down the street towards the city gates. He went the same direction. He strode with focus, gritting his teeth as he watched her go. He ignored everything around him, walking with determination. He got to the gates, and watched as she left the city of Jedikai, heading for the west meadows. He turned, and pounded his fist on the gatekeeper’s door.

  “Eh? What’s this?” Gumi said, opening the door.

  “King Bastion!” Pook said, coming up behind Gumi.

  “Forgive me Sire,” Gumi said, “We were just shutting down for the night. The night watchmen will be on duty shortly,” he rambled.

  “What can we do for you, your majesty?” Pook asked. The King did not look happy at all.

  “Shut the gates to the city,” Bastion said.

  “Sire? The gates have not been shut at night for years,” Gumi said, confused. King Bastion looked over at Pook.

  “Shut the damned gates,” he said.

  The old gatekeepers shuffled off in a hurry, to carry out the King’s orders.

  _______________________

  The Gypsy Queen- CHAPTER 25- “broken”

  Yana tore through the west meadows, keeping her head down under her hood, so no one would speak to her. She did not want anyone to see her cry. She slung her bag over her shoulder, and made for her wagon. All she could think about was hitching up her horse and getting the hell out of Jedikai- as far as she could go.

  She got to her wagon and flung her bag inside, climbing in after it. She crumpled into a sobbing mess, attracting the attention of her nearby friends. She was hurt, angry, and heartbroken... she could barely think at all, overwhelmed with love and grief for her darling Bastion.

  “Yana?” Emilee poked her head into Yana’s wagon. “Are you all right?”

  Yana said nothing in reply, unable to do anything but cry. She felt so alone, and desired for nothing more than to lay in the curve of Bastion’s body for comfort. The fact that she would never feel his comfort again only brought forth more tears.

  Emilee motioned to Luba, near their fire, and Luba followed her as Emilee climbed into Yana’s wagon. They laid next to her on either side and said nothing, letting Yana’s emotions cry out, lending what comfort they could.

  Some time passed, and Yana had grown silent. Luba spoke first.

  “Healing will come, Yana,” she said. Yana did not believe it. There was no way this pain would leave her heart, and it could never be repaired. She was broken, and would be broken her whole life. She could not be restored.

  “Yana!�
�� a voice called out. It was Lyubov. Yana sat up quickly.

  “Yana!” Lyubov called again. The three of them fumbled all over each other as they tried to get out of the wagon.

  “You are not supposed to be up!” Luba said. Old Lyubov was standing with a big blanket wrapped around her, and coughed feebly in response. Yana ran up and embraced her dear old gypsy friend tightly, and began crying all over again. Lyubov patted her head, and whispered words of comfort in Romany language.

  “What you do?” Lyubov asked gently.

  “I left,” Yana said. “I left the city. I left Bastion.”

  “You sit,” Lyubov said, leading Yana to the campfire.

  “Lyubov, you must go lay down,” Luba said. “You need rest.”

  “Nyet!” Lyubov said. “You sit too.” Luba did as she said.

  “Why leave?” Lyubov asked.

  “I don’t want to be queen,” Yana said. “It is too much.”

  “You accept King, da?”

  “I accepted the man,” Yana said, “but I cannot accept the rest.” Lyubov shook her head.

  “Wrong,” she said. Yana’s surprise at her remark was interrupted by Jaelle, the girl she had saved from the dungeon at Tatu, who had been looking after her things.

  “Drink?” Jaelle offered, extending forth a bottle of rum. Yana took it and drank deeply, and handed it back.

  “Thank you, Jaelle,” Yana said. “I needed that.”

  “You don’t need,” Lyubov said. Yana was irritated that Lyubov was being cross with her.

  “Tell me, Lyubov,” she said, “what would you do?” Lyubov dismissed the question with a wave of her hand.

  “Where your heart?” Lyubov asked simply.

  “My heart?” Yana replied. “I gave it to Bastion.”

  “Where is it?” Lyubov pressed. Yana realized what she was asking.

  “In the center of his crown.” Yana thought of him looking so regal at his Coronation, with her stone set in the center. She hung her head, trying not to cry again.

  “Where your crown?” Lyubov asked patiently.

  “Next to his. But it is not mine,” Yana answered.

  “No?” Lyubov said. “Then why gypsy heart in it?” Yana looked at her, thoughts clicking into place.

  “Why does the crown of the queen hold the heart of a gypsy in its center?” Yana asked, thinking of the Alexandrite.

  “You know why,” Lyubov said. Yana said the words she suspected.

  “Bastion’s mother was a gypsy, wasn’t she?” Yana said.

  Lyubov smiled and nodded.

  “Bastion’s mother was a gypsy?” Emilee chimed in. “The last queen of Jedikai, a gypsy??” Yana shook her head at the realization.

  “Impossible,” Yana said.

  “Nyet. Not impossible,” Lyubov said.

  “You knew her, didn’t you?” Yana was getting at Lyubov’s secret.

  “Da. I knew her,” Lyubov said. “Kesali. Spirit of forest.” Yana opened her mouth to ask questions, but stopped herself. It didn’t matter anymore.

  “What was she like?” Luba asked Yana’s question for her.

  “She was pretty gypsy, like you,” Lyubov said. “Pretty gypsy like Yana.” Yana covered her face with her hands.

  “And she died a slave to the palace,” Yana snapped.

  “Nyet,” Lyubov said. “She died gypsy.”

  “Like hell she did,” Yana said. She reached out and took another hard swig of the rum from Jaelle.

  “Lyubov, you must rest, you are not well,” Luba insisted once more. Lyubov nodded as she coughed, and Luba began to help her up.

  “Yana, your heart in there,” Lyubov said, pointing towards the city.

  “My heart is nowhere,” Yana said. “I am free.”

  “You not free, Yana,” the old woman said.

  “You not free.”

  Yana took another drink of the rum, saying nothing, as Luba escorted the old gypsy back to rest in their wagon. She stared into the fire, remembering the night she had first tracked the black riders. She had felt restless, full of chaos, that night... much like she did now. She poked the fire with a long stick, still drinking. Luba returned, after seeing Lyubov back to bed. She was glad to have Yana back here, like old times, amongst the others of their caravan. Still, it was not the same.

  “I want to leave tomorrow,” Yana said. “We break camp.”

  “No, we do not break camp tomorrow,” Luba said. “Lyubov is too sick to travel. You saw her yourself.”

  “She can travel,” Yana argued.

  “If we travel now, she will die. I am working on a cure for her. She will not go. I will not go,” Luba said.

  “We wait for Lyubov,” Emilee said. Yana looked around in anger. These same people used to listen to her. Now, they were embarrassing her.

  “Will you go by yourself?” Luba asked.

  “No,” Yana said with disgust, “I will not go by myself. But what if Lyubov does not get better?”

  “Then we wait until she is dead.”

  Yana stood up. She wanted to scream, but it was futile. She stared at the fire, still feeling its hypnotic heat. She looked at Luba, feeling the rum swimming in her head.

  Luba looked at her, deeply concerned. The dead, empty look in Yana’s eyes was the look she had seen when she had searched for Yana in her crystal ball. She seemed to be hovering between pain, death, and nothing at all. Luba remembered what she had seen in the ball. That dead, empty look, and a man whose face was that of a wolf. She was very afraid for her friend. The idea that they could break camp, and go back to how everything used to be, was dashed. Everything was different. Yana was different. I wonder, Luba thought, who the man-wolf could be?

  “We wait,” Yana said, her speech drawn out a little. “Wait until I am dead.”

  “You are not dying,” Emilee corrected her. Yana looked at her drunkenly.

  “Yes. I am.”

  Yana got up and began to walk to the north, out into the darkness. Jaelle hurried up behind her, and took the rum away. She set Yana’s black cloak on her shoulders.

  “Come back to the fire, Yana,” Jaelle urged her.

  “I want to be alone,” Yana said, as she walked. Jaelle stopped and stood still, letting Yana wander further away into the night by herself.

  “Black rider,” Yana mused to herself aloud, feeling the cloak in her hands. “I am a black rider. A killer,” Yana said to herself. “A gypsy killer,” she slurred. She stopped and stood, as a wolf cried out over the meadows, from somewhere in the forest. Yana tried to tell what direction it came from. Maybe she could run with those wolves after all.

  “Oi, Yana,” a friendly voice called out.

  Yana turned to her right, in surprise. It was Draiman.

  “Oi, Draiman,” Yana said. “Come to kill me, have you?”

  “Of course not,” Draiman assured her. “What are you doing out here?”

  “It’s over,” Yana said. “You were right. I should have listened to you.”

  Draiman’s face showed surprise. His luck was so good, it was ridiculous. He thought of his deep hatred for Bastion.

  “I am sorry for that,” Draiman said. “At least you escaped, before he made a slave of you.”

  “Escaped,” she said. “Yes. I escaped.”

  “You didn’t belong there anyway,” Draiman said.

  “Nope. I tried to tell him,” Yana agreed.

  “Now you can get back to your old life, back on the road,” Draiman said. Yana dropped to her knees, exhausted, fairly drunk, and full of anguish.

  “Here, I will help you,” Draiman said, coming to take her arm.

  A forlorn wolf howled in the distance.

  Yana barely noticed.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Morning intruded upon Bastion, fully unwelcome. He had paced the floor into the night. Played his drum on the balcony. Whatever he could, as sleep eluded him. At some unknown hour he had dozed off, but it was only a restless sleep that left him cursing the dawn. />
  He wandered down the hall slowly to the galley, wearing some kind of robe. He only bothered because of the damned morning chill. The smell of coffee emanated from the galley, offering a scrap of comfort, as Bastion headed for it.

  The girls all stopped their activity, as the King entered the galley. It was very early, and normally, they would have brought breakfast to the King in his chambers. Mille, the jester, greeted him.

  “Good morning, King Bastion,” she offered. Bastion looked at her blankly. He looked around, and found Della standing nearby.

  “Coffee,” he said, looking at her. Della looked back at Mille, and then went to serve him. All the girls knew what had happened. The gates closing last night was big news, and news such as this did not escape those that worked in the palace. Yana had left. Mille felt bad for Bastion. He did not look well. He had openly displayed a deep love for her, and it was clear that his pain would run even deeper.

  Della hustled over with a steaming hot cup of coffee, and offered it to her King, not daring to look him in the eye. She retreated, as he took a sip, ignoring everything else. He stared into the coffee, and took another sip. The flavor reminded him of Yana, as they had had coffee together on his tower.

  “King Bastion, are you well?” Mille asked. Bastion gave her another blank stare. He liked Mille. Always had. But now, she had Yana’s face. She had danced with Yana. She was Yana’s friend.

  “Are you?” Bastion said with a touch of hostility. “Are you all well?” he bellowed at the girls, as they all stood frozen.

  “We are well, your majesty,” Mille said, trying to remind him to act like a King before his subjects. “Back to work, girls,” Mille said. Bastion was going to override her and scold her, and then lost interest, going back to staring at his coffee. The girls all got back to their work, uncomfortable with Bastion’s erratic presence. Mille came closer.