by Kim Stokely
“And please forgive me. I know I haven’t done things right since you brought me here. I promise to try harder. I’m not sure how you work. How you can help me. Whatever you can do, to make me a better person . . . to help me be a better queen. I’d really appreciate it.”
A bright golden glow appears in the corner of the room. It elongates, until it takes the shape of a human. The Messenger comes to the side of my bed and touches my arm. The energy from the Elderstone seeps from my ring, into the Messenger. My eyelids become impossibly heavy. It is too hard to keep them open, no matter how hard I try.
I wait for the inevitable memory of my mom’s death to appear. Instead, there is nothing. Then, without warning, her smell fills the air. A combination of her perfume, shampoo and, of all things, coffee. I want to open my eyes to see her, but know she isn’t really there. Instead, her voice fills my head.
Oh do not weep, my child, my love
For there is hope from one above
It’s the lullaby she used to sing to me. Its haunting melody fills me with peace.
There is a place of no more fears
Where there is joy and no more tears
I want to stay in this nebulous nowhere space with her forever. To smell her. Hear her voice. To know that somehow Quinn is right, she is not here, but she still exists. As much as I want to, I can’t fight my exhaustion. For the first time in many days, I drift off into a perfect, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A Sign
I sleep until a steady thudding wakes me.
A giant yawn escapes as I realize someone’s knocking on my door. “Come on in.”
“Your Majesty!” Tamra flies inside, carrying a dark brown dress over her arms. “Thank Ruahk, you’re still alive. I was beginning to think you’d died in the night.”
I start to stretch my arms over my head, but forgot about the frying pan. It weighs my hand to the bed. Tamra drapes the gown across the chair by the fireplace then hurries over to untie me.
“It is not glowing anymore. Does that mean you slept well?”
“Like a baby.” I don’t want to talk to anyone yet about the Messenger and his help with the Elderstone last night. Geran and Devnet would demand details. All I want to remember is the feeling of peace. “How much time before the funeral?”
“It is only a few hours before sunset.” She picks at the knot in the ribbon. “I thought it best to let you sleep. I fear you do not have much time to prepare.”
I struggle to sit up in bed as she utters a satisfied squeak of victory. With the knot undone, she unwraps the ribbon from the pan then runs to the other room. I force myself to swing my legs out of the bed.
Water sloshes over the side of the basin she carries in. “Let’s get you washed, dressed, and your hair done. There isn’t a minute to spare.”
At sunset, royal guards carry my mother’s body out of the throne room. Quinn and I follow behind. I bite the inside of my cheek. If I start crying now, I may never stop. A solemn drum beat pounds from somewhere outside the palace and reverberates through my heart. Guards swing open the doorway leading to the courtyard. The members of the Joint Council stand around a mound of logs. I reach out and grab Quinn’s arm. I can’t do this.
He gives my fingers a sharp squeeze before dropping my hand.
I force myself to walk up to the pyre. My mother is laid on top of it. The guards step back. One lights a torch and approaches me. Holds out the flame. The Elders. The Commoners. The guards. All stare at me. Waiting.
Please don’t make me do this.
Quinn’s voice slips into my panicked brain. You must.
My arm weighs at least a thousand pounds as I strain to lift it and take the torch. My throat shuts so I can’t breathe, but at least it keeps me from screaming as I set the bier alight. The flames flare up into the graying sky. Whatever peace the Messenger brought the night before vanishes with the plume of black smoke rising from the pyre. I can’t help thinking of how that cloud carries pieces of my mother away on the air. My eyes begin to itch. My stomach rolls when the smell of burning flesh reaches my nose.
My ring sparks. I fight to keep my emotions in check, but every crackling flame sends shivers down my spine. I know custom dictates the queen stay in the courtyard, but I’d already begged to alter the rules. When I can’t take it anymore, I slip away. The members of the Elder and Commoner Councils draw closer to encircle the pyre when I leave. My family follows as I make my way to the balcony where I will be forced to watch Kennis burn from a distance. Beyond the walls, the citizens of Uz and surrounding towns crowd as close as they can to get a glimpse—of what? The bright glow of the fire? Or are they trying to see me?
Geran and Quinn stand to my left, Kyran and Maris to my right. My head pounds with the tension of trying not to let loose the power and anger and grief again surging throughout my body. The Elderstone on my ring pulses a deep indigo color. I want to use its energy to destroy everything around me. If only I could release my grief somehow, maybe then I wouldn’t be in constant anguish.
A chant rises from the Elders, a kind of melancholy song. I think it’s in Latin, but I don’t listen close enough to translate the words. The flames of the bonfire roar and crackle. I stay until the sun sets, a glorious display of purple, pink and orange. I think Ruahk must have designed it especially for my mother. Or maybe it’s for me, as a reminder of the sunsets she and I watched over the ocean at Hammonasset.
When the sun finally slips below the horizon, I turn and make my way back into the palace. I pause inside the doorway, unsure of what’s expected now.
Kyran and my family follow. Maris takes my face in her hands. “You should try and get some rest. I know you have not slept.”
“I did okay last night.” I don’t want to tell them about the Messenger who comforted me, afraid if I do, he might not come again.
“Is there something you could give her,” Geran asks, “to calm her?”
Maris shakes her head. “Nothing that would not alter her consciousness, which we can ill afford to do.”
Her eyes shift away guiltily, as if she’s revealed something she shouldn’t. I glance over to Geran and Devnet, and they too, look away. I turn to Kyran. He’s molded his features into a mask of neutrality. It’s reminiscent of how he used to look at me before he admitted he loved me. The Elderstone in my ring crackles with a burst of electricity.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Kyran’s face remains stoic but his gaze shifts to my father.
Geran steps back as the stone pulses again. “You have to control your emotions, Alystrine. Please.”
“Tell me how!” I shout. “I can’t help the way I feel.” A golf ball-sized spark flies from my hand. Fortunately, it misses the people around me and to flash harmlessly against the stone. I force myself to take several deep breaths, trying to quiet my anger. “Would somebody please tell me whatever it is you’re keeping from me?”
Devnet steps forward. “The Assembly wants a meeting. They have called for a special vote.”
“What for?”
“They want to amend the law.”
My head throbs. I wish he’d just get on with telling me whatever bad news he has. “What law?”
This time, my father answers. “The law that forbids women from going to war.”
My stomach does a somersault even as a laugh escapes my throat. “I guess the Elders were impressed with what they saw.”
“They believe if you were to carry the Chrysaline into battle, you would be unstoppable.”
“Their own personal nuclear weapon,” I mumble. “Are they still in the palace?”
Geran nods. “They’re gathering in the Assembly Room.”
“Let’s get it over with.” I stride down the hallway.
Kyran comes to my side. “Do you think it’s wise to see them now?”
“I can keep it together.” I clench my hand into a fist. My ring glows bright, but doesn’t spark again. I pray silently
for help. If the Elderstone holds the power of the Messengers, only they, or Ruahk, can give me the strength to subdue it.
I pause as I turn the corner to watch the Elders and Commoners streaming into the Assembly Hall. Their talk is animated. Even though I can’t hear the words, it’s obvious they’re excited. Happy even. Help me, help me, help me I chant as anger again churns in my stomach. They’ve all just come from my mother’s funeral and yet they can’t wait to talk of how I can be used to win their war. I flinch when someone puts a hand on my shoulder but soften when I turn to see it’s Kyran.
“You do not have to do this now. Geran and the others can talk to them. You still need time to grieve.”
“Just stay by me. You’re a calming influence.”
He seems surprised by my words. A fleeting smile crosses his lips. “As you wish.”
He’s reminded me of one of my favorite movies, although he couldn’t look more different than Wesley in Princess Bride. The little shot of familiarity further calms my anxiety.
“He is not a member of the Assembly,” Geran reminds me.
I glare at him. “Technically, I don’t think you are, either.”
He blinks a few times, as if unable to think of an argument to counter mine.
“We’ve just come from my mother’s funeral.” I lift up my hand, the Elderstone glows brightly, but isn’t sizzling with electricity. Yet. “If you don’t want me to lose control of my emotions and possibly light the entire Assembly Hall on fire, you’ll let Kyran in. I’ll be glad to explain his presence to the others if anyone makes a big deal out his being there.”
My entrance surprises those gathered. The Elders and Commoners of the Assembly hurry to bow. Kyran and I walk to the head of the table. He pulls out my chair as I sit, then stands behind me. He doesn’t Mind Speak to me, but I sense he is working some kind of magic because I feel more at peace than I probably should. Especially when I notice the chairs left vacant around the table. Lord Rafer’s chair is empty. My grandmother’s friend Nitza sits in Oded’s place. It prompts me to ask, “What has been done with the traitors?”
Nitza stands. Her long black hair is streaked with gray. Her eyes are the same as Noam’s, dark and haunted. “They are prisoners in the cells below, Your Majesty.”
“Will we have time for a trial before the war begins?”
Her head tilts, ever so slightly, to one side. “There is no need for a trial. There were many Elders who were witnesses to their crimes.”
“So . . . you jailed them. Now what?”
The wrinkles in her forehead deepen, evidence of her confusion at my question. Naill, the grizzled, gray commoner comes to her aide. “Since the traitors were Elders, there won’t be a trial. Their punishment has already been decided.”
Now it’s my turn to be confused. “What do you mean, there won’t be a trial? I had to stand in front of the Council and admit everything I’d done. I had to wait for their decision whether they were going to let me keep the crown.” I rise. My ring starts sizzling. I put my hand behind my back. “Why won’t the men who killed my mother have to at least face the Elder Council?”
“Because they committed their crimes in front of us.” Maris rises to her feet. My grandmother’s voice is even. Calm. But the steel behind her eyes warns me to keep myself under control. “The Elder Council has already condemned them to life in prison.”
My mind replays the events of that horrific day and one fact keeps jumping out at me. “You’re telling me that I could have been sentenced to death for going to warn Tegan . . . but Javan and Oded, who have betrayed me, tried to assassinate me, and then killed my mother, they get to live long lives?”
“In prison, yes,” Maris answers.
Kyran must be working his calming mojo because even though the injustice of their laws are enough to make me want to scream, I find myself sinking back down into my seat. “Tell me, Naill, if a Commoner tried to kill me, what would the punishment be?”
His frown answers before he does. “Death by hanging.”
I take a moment to process this information. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Did the Mystics really attack the Wesfall? Has the war really begun?”
“There was no battle.” Geran glowers. “But Lord Rafer and . . . the boy . . . surrendered their troops to the Mystics.”
I’m surprised at my reaction, or lack of one, to this revelation. “How many men did we lose?”
Naill steps away from the table, scratching his scraggly white beard. “Tegan had only a small army. About a hundred men. Lord Rafer’s was more substantial. A thousand or so.”
“Are we sure they all went over to the Mystics?”
“We can only assume so, since to defy their Lord is against Commoner law.”
“I would think serving Lord Braedon would be against Commoner law as well.” My right hand, the one without the ring, rests on the arm of my chair. My fingers drum the wood. “Perhaps we can send out a message of amnesty for any man who wants to return to our side and not fight with the Mystics.”
Geran’s eyes narrow as he contemplates my suggestion. Naill nods beside him. The Assembly grows silent around us. I reach out to Kyran’s mind, Did I say something wrong?
On the contrary. You are thinking like a leader.
His approval gives me even more courage. “I want Simon to draft a message for those men under Tegan and Rafer’s command. Let them know they will be welcomed back to our side without fear of reprisal.” I pause as another thought occurs to me. “But let them also know, when this war is over and we have won, should any of them be found serving the Mystics, they will be prosecuted as traitors and condemned to . . . whatever your laws say.”
It is Naill who speaks their fate. “Death.”
The knots in my stomach tighten, but I stand firm. “Then make sure the proclamation says that. We will offer this opportunity once. Before the fighting begins. After that, there will be no mercy. You are either on the side of Ruahk, or you are on the side of the Mystics. There is no other choice.”
I take a moment to survey those still gathered. “I want the same proclamation made to those in the Elder Land. If Javan and Oded have any other followers, I want them to have the chance to come back to our side.”
An uneasy vibration stirs throughout the Council members. Geran steps forward. “Alystrine. Perhaps we should discuss this after—”
“No.” My mind is clear. My voice is firm. “The land of Ayden has been divided long enough. One law for Elders. One for Mystics. Another for Commoners.” I remember the lessons of Ginessa’s Pool. “The Commoners and Elders must be united. Their fates are intertwined. The Elders may still have certain abilities that the Commoners do not possess, but the Commoners have something the Elders have lost.”
Geran’s mouth hardens into a tight line. “We have lost nothing.”
Careful, Kyran whispers to my mind.
I got this. “Humility. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be totally dependent on Ruahk because you have nowhere else to place your faith.” Again I look around me. Some of the Elders seem to be receptive to this thought. Others, like Geran, are stiff with resistance. “In my short time here in Ayden, it is the one lesson Ruahk has given me over and over and over again. I can do nothing without his power. When I try to do things my own way . . . .” I glance back at Kyran. “When I try to do things my way, I fail.”
Before Geran or anyone else can argue with me, I pull the queen card. “Call Simon to write up the proclamation tonight. Let it be sent out to the Common and Elder Lands.”
My father is seething. His mouth pinched. His jaw clenched. He takes a breath through his nose. “And what of the traitors in prison now? Will you grant them clemency?”
“They’re murderers. They deserve to be punished for killing my mother.”
Nitza glances between us. “But what of the girls, Your Majesty?”
“Girls?”
“Hanna, your lady-in-waiting, is presently in the dungeon. Accused of being an ac
complice with her grandfather.”
Naill nods. “As is the Lady Moira.”
My stomach clenches again. With the funeral and everything else, I hadn’t given my ladies-in-waiting much thought. I’ve kept them out of my room, not wanting anyone’s company but my own. It hurts to think they may be involved with the plots to ruin me. “I want to set up a special committee to oversee these cases, and any others that arise over the course of the war. There are to be three members on it, one from each of the races, so that all will get the benefit of the doubt. Innocent until proven guilty.”
The Council mutters, I can’t tell if it’s in approval or disapproval. “I want the Elder, Noam, brought here to serve as judge for the Elders. The healer Malina, or her husband Greer, will serve for the Mystics.” I don’t know any Commoners besides Tegan and his family, so I ask Naill to recommend someone. “Once the committee is here, we can establish guidelines as to how they’ll operate.”
I’m satisfied with how things have gone so far. It’s certainly better than letting all my grief and anger fester. At least now, there’s a game plan going forward. I place my hands on the arms of my chair and start to stand.
“There is the other matter we need to discuss.” Nitza’s words stop me. “We of the Elder Council have seen the manifestation of your powers. The Common Council has not. Before you leave, would you grant us a demonstration?”
I sense the Assembly’s anticipation. They all lean forward as I lay my left hand on the table. A collective ahhh circles the room as the tiny Elderstone pulsates. “This room isn’t very big, and I’m not able to control it very well.”
Naill’s eyes fairly glow with excitement as his gaze fixes on my ring. “Perhaps the throne room? Or out on the balcony would be safer?”
Praying silently that I don’t accidently kill anyone, I make my way out to the hallway. Pausing, I try to discern where and what I should do for this little performance.
