Red Queen

by Jolie Jaquinta

  Chapter 13

  Throne of the Sea

  Shafts of sunlight speared downwards from the distant surface, illuminating the Throne of the Sea in a bluish light. Sunfish swam in a halo around the periphery as courtiers of all shapes and sizes sat or swam before the throne. Merfolk blared a salutation on their conch horns as Atlantica sat and surveyed the court.

  An officious Cecaelia rapped the floor of the platform sternly and called the court to order. After a few more raps and some stern looks, there was silence. She bowed deeply to Atlantica who bid her to continue with a wave. “Order! Order all! Pay heed to the surge of the Ocean: Atlantica. His court is now in session.” She paused, giving everyone a final warning glare. “The first order of business is the Crown Pearl Sprint!” She graciously allowed some modest acclimation before bringing her staff up for silence. “In the first high tide after the vernal equinox it is our Lord's pleasure to take a pearl from his crown, and toss it into the depths. Those who have the mettle are invited to swim after it, and return it to the throne. Is there one who has done this?”

  “I have”, intoned Balanoptera from the back. He strutted forward, grinning broadly, holding the pearl before him. The crowd cheered, and several of the youth slapped him on the back and congratulated him as he moved through them.

  He was brought up short by the staff of the Cecaelia who stared at him, nonplussed. She looked over to Atlantica who beckoned him forward. “You have leave to approach the throne”, she said, formally, raising her staff.

  Balanoptera swaggered forward, and bowed deeply before his father. “You have done well, my son”, he said, placing his hand on Balanoptera's head. “It brings me joy that you have excelled above your peers in this feat.” He lifted his hand.

  Balanoptera stood, and proffered the pearl. Atlantica took it, and fixed it back into his crown. “Sit now”, he said, “at my right hand side. And share this court with me.” Balanoptera bowed deeply again, and took the proffered chair. He gave a knowing grin to his compatriots and the audience cheered again.

  When everyone had settled Atlantica leaned forward to the Cecaelia, “Please summon Winter.”

  The Herald returned to the center of the platform. “Lord Atlantica summons before his court...” she paused, concentrating, took a deep breath, and said “Wintersbreath Longshadow Vé Devon Willowsong Lyndrixlyn Elfinborn.”

  The crowd showed a mixed reaction. Some giggled at the Herald's difficulties. Others looked disapproving. Most were indifferent. Winter stepped onto the platform, having added a purple velvet cloak over his loincloth. Magic tingled from its surface, keeping it plush and buoyant in the water. It swept behind him as he strode steadily across, nodding politely to the Cecaelia who did not deign to notice. He stopped and fell to one knee before Atlantica in one smooth motion, the cloak cascading around him.

  “Foster child”, said Atlantica. “I am told you were second to cross the finish line today.” Winter nodded. “It was ambitious for you to race against the water children. However I think it is clear to all that your ambition was well founded given how well you did.” There was polite applause. “Let there be no question as to your participation in the future.” He glanced warningly at the audience. “It may not be your fate to be a leader, but every leader needs good followers. Please join our court at the right hand, of my right hand!” He smiled at his own joke.

  A chair was brought and put to the right hand side of Balanoptera. Winter bowed deeply once more to Atlantica, nodded to Balanoptera as he passed, and stoically took his seat. “In any event, the next matter before us concerns you.” Atlantica nodded to the Herald once more.

  The Cecaelia concentrated once more. “The court of Lord Atlantica summons before it”, she drew breath, “Devonshire Beth Zephyr Lyndrixlyn Nightwhisper Trillium Intermundia.” There was a murmur throughout the crowd, not all pleasant. “Mage of the Ninth Army of Romitu”, continued the Herald. “Magister General of the Scioni Academy of Magic, Bearer of the Rose of Courage, Holder of the Order of the Valiant, and Member of House Scioni.”

  A figure strode in from the edge. As she moved the light seemed to follow her. She had red hair with highlights of flame, worn in ringlets that swayed around her, unimpeded by the water. Her crimson silk garments similarly behaved as if in air. She wore a silver cuirass etched in highlights of gold displaying a complicated coat of arms entwined with magical symbols. A short skirt of embossed leather tassets, similarly gilt, was held up by a belt from which hung a short sword on one side, and a wand on the other. Dark red leggings covered her from her thighs to the top of boots made of thick hide. She continued to the center of the platform where she stopped, nodding her head politely to Atlantica, but not going down on a knee.

  “Welcome to my court”, said Atlantica, in all seriousness.

  “I am honored at your pleasure” she replied, in a lilting voice.

  “Gag me on chum”, muttered Balanoptera to Winter. Atlantica and Devonshire continued exchanging pleasantries. “Is there anyone in creation who can talk so much and say so little than an Elf?”

  “Better than putting your fin in your mouth”, said Winter.

  Balanoptera glared at him sidelong. “God. Is she putting the moves on Dad? After killing his daughter? She's got some nerve.”

  “It's called being polite. You may not be familiar with it”, said Winter, looking past him, intent on the discussion.

  “I don't know”, said Balanoptera. “They say she'll spread her legs for any creature with a trace of the divine in him.” He looked over at Winter to see if he was taking the bait. “What do you fancy my chances are with her? Hmm? How could a slut like that resist a catch like me? I'd say she spends most of her time between these visitations fantasizing about me.”

  “Go for it”, said Winter distractedly, to Balanoptera's surprise. “She likes them big and stupid. Better yet, lets double date. While you're tapping her I'll squeeze Actiniaria. She's been giving me come hither looks over your shoulder for months now. I'll give her the release you aren't up to.”

  Balanoptera drew breath to hiss something particularly nasty when the quiet of the court and Winter's innocent stare past him made him realize he had just missed a question directed at him from his father.

  Winter, his face neutrally attentive, met his mother's eyes. He was way behind his Elfish language studies, and even further behind in his Elfish Body Language. But by the cant of her eyebrow he rather suspected she was sending him a stern warning that she knew exactly what he was up to and there would be a long discussion later.

  Balanoptera floundered his way through recovering his poise. Winter broke eye contact with his mother in a way he hoped conveyed contriteness. He looked out over the court. Most despised him. Either because he was the blood price for his mother's killing of Sel de Mar, or because they sought the favor of Balanoptera. The remainder were decidedly neutral towards him. Not wishing to offend someone technically close to the throne, but also not wanting to be seen close to someone almost certain to be out of favor at any time. He intentionally did not look at Cindaria, the only person who was actually nice to him. He was pretty sure she had a crush on the exotic boy from the surface, having listened to too many fantasies. He didn't deny his own feelings for her, but he suspected them as a desperate cry in his lonely state. Even so, the kindest thing he could do was to ignore her. Anyone showing any favor for him became the butt of Balanoptera crude ambitions and he would not wish that on anyone.

  The court continued on, as expected. It was his twelfth birthday, shortly, and he was allowed to spend two weeks with his mother under pain of oath that she would return him here for the rest of his fostering. It was an awful compromise, but he understood what it represented.

  In Scioni's attack on Gartica he had laid siege to their capital, Panam. However, it bordered the Great Lake, and resupply was not hard. Other than a few fishing vessels, Scioni had nothing to close its water gate. The last military fleet to set sail was several hundred years ago
in a disastrous attempt to invade the Elfish homelands. Since then Romitu had kept to their existing provinces, which were all connected by land routes.

  The New Magic was pretty new at the time, and they didn't have the mages to deploy it in wholesale combat. However they had simple restorative spells, and someone came up with the idea of locating that sunken fleet, bringing it back to sea worthiness, and transporting it through a tactical gate to the Great Lake.

  When they found it they also discovered it was infested with the ghosts of the sailors who died when it sank. It was also presided over by Sel de Mar, eldest child of Atlantica, who claimed it a holy site. A memorial to the great triumph of Ocean over the folly of Man. Never mind that it was bad planning and Elfin weather magic that doomed the fleet.

  A fight ensued and, having already honed the New Magic for personal combat, Scioni's expedition was victorious and Sel de Mar was dead, slain by the magic of Devonshire, the chief Mage of the force. They had their fleet, and a hasty exit was prepared. They did not give much thought to the defenders and their threats.

  That is until Atlantica, discovering the death of his oldest child, cried out in grief and rage which manifested itself as a huge wave, thundering outward in an ever increasing circle from the battle site. Although at the outskirts of what had once been the Romitu Empire, there were still many populous cities along the coast. Not only was it hoped these would be future subjects of Scioni's ambitions, the pure humanitarian calamity would be disastrous.

  More mages were called in and a hasty attempt was made to persuade people onto higher ground, or to erect emergency sea walls. But even if they saved the major cities, there were dozens upon dozens of small villages at risk. A hasty party was sent forth to parlay with Atlantica and Devonshire herself took full responsibility, offering her own life in repentance for her actions. Atlantica accepted her penance, but instead demanded her son in foster ship. Both to punish her for the death of his daughter, but also as a guarantee against future aggression.

  And that, reflected Winter, is how he ended up here. His mother was a patriot. She served her cause as best she could. His misery purchased the life of thousands of others. It didn't make it any better. But it did make it bearable.

  The formalities of the contract were winding down, and Winter rose, when bidden, and moved to his mother's side. They made their exit together and, shortly thereafter, her magic carried them both far away.