by Mira Zamin
The chandelier caught sunlight in its crystals, scattering it like so many pearls on the floor, on the table, and on the faces of my fellows emirs and emiras. The bright sun belied the Winter season. As we waited for Kershid, who was Arbiter of the Assembly, my cousins floated amongst each other, speaking, gauging.
Trying to seem like I was only interested in tracing the table’s inlay, I furtively observed my peers. Peers. Suddenly, these men and women, who had been so vastly my superiors a mere months ago, had become my equals. In a few months, it was very likely one of them would become my sovereign; a frightening thought if only for Gwydion’s reaction to my failure.
There was Fyodor of Murban, a soft-eyed man with a full dark beard; my mother’s second cousin. He was chatting genially with the golden-haired belle Lyra, Nehajan’s emira, who had seen forty-five summers, although I would have otherwise sworn she was no older than me. My grandfather’s heir, she was my father’s older sister. I knew her only formally, but had always found her kind. Lyra gave me a small smile. I swept her a low curtsy.
“How are you doing, my dear?” she asked. As she came closer, I could see the fine creases around her eyes and lines of laughter around her mouth.
I sighed. “As well as can be expected. And you?”
She laughed weakly. “I miss receiving your father’s weekly letters. It is strange to start my week without them.” She stroked my cheek. “You look so like our mother—and you have your father’s eyes. Oh, you are too young to be thrust into all this. It’s a dangerous world, my love, but if you need counsel, consider me a poor substitute for your father.”
A few spans away, the softly wrinkled Emira of Bahart, Corrine, Kaladus of Chandon and the Emir of Ariya, Idrees stood in a tight knot. Quenela and Hadil had their heads stooped together, avoiding my gaze. I longed to run up, flapping my arms, and scatter them like the vultures they were. The Emir of Tirahm, Liem, had not arrived yet; he would be coming with his younger brother.
Alone stood an envoy for Emir Luix of Aawset, one Lord Ferdas. My breath hitched in my throat. For a moment, it was as if it were once more the night of the birthday ball, Auralia before him again, and…He spied my unlatched mouth and approached me with a grin. “Why, Selene, how long has it been?”
When I finally managed control over my mouth, I croaked, “Two years.”
“Amazing. Two years!” he replied as though he had never heard of such a thing. “Where did you run off to, eh? I heard tell of Viziéra…?”
Much as Auralia’s features had done, his had sharpened and grown finer and all the more handsome. His nose was a touch too large, creating an imperfection in what might have been a perfect face. That and the fact that he barely managed to be taller than me, barred him from being as handsome as Liem or even Gwydion.
What sort of rumors had he heard? Something else, no doubt, extolling Gwydion’s romantic heroism. “You heard rightly. I lived in Clemen, working as a governess. And what of you? You look well and grown, Ferdas!”
“Thank you, and you are radiant! City life has suited you.” He smiled with such guilelessness that a sudden wave of nostalgia, a foggy fondness, crept through me. He paused seriously. “Tell me, how is your family?”
I stiffened. “As well as can be expected.”
“And Auralia?” he said, concerned. “Surely you miss her the most. How goes the search for her love?”
I had been in Aquia for so long and yet made no real headway in breaking the enchantment. I realized by now that Gwydion would not commence any sort of comprehensive search in Auralia’s name. Should the curse be lifted, he would lose all power in Aquia. No, I could not wait to find the man who would break the curse. For my family, everything hinged on me winning the crown. “It is early days yet,” I said shortly. “Seasons willing, I will see this resolved.” My tone brooked no further conversation.
He looked as if he were about to say something, but then seeing my resolution, stopped himself. “Seasons willing,” he echoed.
As clouds darkened the high windows, Kershid and Liem entered. Quickly, we found our seats again, each ruler as eager as the next to begin the arduous task of sovereign selection.
At the head of the table, Kershid rapped a gavel and intoned, “Emirs and Emiras, I call to order the 114th Assembly of Ghalain, in the twenty-fourth year of the reign of the Queen Erina of Ghalain in the Season of Winter the Assembly of the Emirdoms. Our work here is to select a ruler for Ghalain who will do the best for our land, defend us against her enemies and keep us strong and united. I, Kershid Abedin Raelf of Tirahm, swear to uphold these tenets.”
Up and down the table, we all swore. My breath caught. It was truly beginning.
“Each of you who rule an emirdom has a vote and may press yourself or anyone else as a candidate,” Kershid said. “Whichever candidate gains a majority will be our new monarch.
“The initial question to discuss is not who we want for a ruler but what,” he continued. “No doubt each of you feel that you would make the best ruler but let us distance ourselves from the situation and answer, in an unbiased fashion, what would be best for our country.”
Lyra responded first but only after silence had echoed through the room. She rose, revealing a fine gown of redcurrant velvet, lined with gold ribbon and pearls. “We need a ruler just and wise. But any bard can you tell these things. Times are shifting; our land is no longer what it had been under our grandfathers. The power of trade has exploded, merchants have prospered as have farmers. We need a ruler who is forward-thinking. One who can deal with both merchants and peasants as people not servants. One who can defend the rights of all people, but can also balance the prerogative of the monarchy as the world changes. And this, I believe, narrows our field greatly.”
Leaning forward, Liem asked, “Why do you say that? The latter part.”
Lyra’s mouth opened, but I interrupted gently, “May I Aunt Lyra?”
As she nodded her acquiescence, I turned to Liem although I addressed the whole assembly. This was the first time I was speaking to Emirs and Emiras in a formal capacity since the diplomatic debacle that had been my meeting with Hadil and Quenela. My mouth was dry, but I was able to gather myself sufficiently to recall what I had read in my mountain of books and piece it together with my personal experience.
“As Aunt Lyra says, of late, the Merchant Class has begun growing in wealth, power, and numbers. Some would seek to halt them, but in truth, they are some of the strongest forces of success for our land. I have seen that for myself. Many peasants still toil the land, but more and more are drawn to the cities by the promise of mercantile success—and their wealth adds to the coffers of Ghalain. We cannot have a ruler who is so ingrained in the old ways that they fail to grasp the importance of the most powerful allies we have within our borders. Rather, we need a ruler who can foster a close relationship with the bourgeois and nobility.”
“What of experience? Should that not be counted amongst the most pivotal requirements for a ruler?” asked Idrees of Ariya. A swarthy man, he leaned forward on the table, his wiry arms covered with a fine silver brocade coat.
I found myself responding, “While some modicum of experience is integral, less experience should not necessarily bar an individual from the throne granted that the King or Queen be clever and have, in earlier days, a few trusted advisors.” I suddenly felt that I were speaking too much but I suppressed the desire to sit back and bite my lip and look altogether like a chastened schoolgirl. I kept my back straight and my face serenely interested.
“Less experience would be the downfall of Ghalain, lass!” exclaimed stringy-haired Kaladus. His watery blue eyes watched me with dislike.
“What if the advisors gain undue influence?” Corrine said.
It was hard to keep the chastened expression from my face. These men and women had been my elders and superiors for so long. Who was I to think that I had an opinion of any merit? But questions had been posed and Auralia’s sleeping face swam before my vision. I had to. Under t
he table, I wrapped my fingers tightly around each other to cease their trembling.
“My suggestion that little experience need not be a complete block stems from the point Emira Lyra raised. We need a ruler who looks forward, not one who is so entrenched in the past. Although,” I allowed fairly, “I do not doubt that some of our older and wiser heads can be just as or even more modern in their outlook than younger rulers. And, as for undue influence, we need a ruler who is strong-minded enough not to let themselves be hoodwinked, but one who is willing to listen to good advice.”
Corrine and Idrees nodded sagely, no doubt imagining themselves in the place of those who would impart this good advice; that is, if they could not be king or queen.
Kershid murmured loudly, “And I suppose you imagine yourself the one most well-equipped to bear this burden?”
My eyes cut to his sharply. “You asked for what we believe a successful ruler needs. This is what I believe one needs. But thank you for thinking that I possess these qualities.” I smiled, trying to seem sincere.
“I would support Emira-Regent Selene for the throne,” said Ferdas unexpectedly and stoutly.
A gently prodding, embarrassed heat climbed in me at Ferdas’s support.
In a most pugnacious manner, Kaladus hollered, “No doubt you would support her as far as your bed! No chit will rule us, and if this is the will of the Assembly, then Chandon will oppose.”
Leaping to my feet, I was poised to reprimand Kaladus when Kershid slowly rose and in his sonorous voice announced, “That is quite enough Emir Kaladus. Emira-Regent Selene is a married woman and Lord Ferdas an envoy for your equal. Your insults are unbecoming of your rank and breeding and of the work of this Assembly. You are suspended from this Assembly, until Emira Selene sees fit for you to return. For the first time in years, we are attempting this process peacefully and no disruption will be brooked.”
This was a slight exaggeration on Kershid’s part. At the end of each reign, an attempt was made to call the Assembly, but it usually crumbled into conflict and feuds before it could even begin. Nonetheless, this was the first time in two-hundred and forty years that all ten Emirati rulers had managed to converge upon Nyneveh and sit an Assembly meeting together.
“Do any of you oppose me?” He glared.
The emirs and emiras looked on in shock. Evidently, Kershid was taking a very strong stance on decorum.
Kaladus glared at me, and while he made no protest, his rigid back and shoulders spoke tomes of his disgruntlement. The sudden erectness of his posture, so martial in bearing, reminded me that Chandon was a great military power—and its ruler was not a man to be treated lightly. I almost wished Kershid had not reprimanded Kaladus for my sake, humiliating him before all. I feared that I may have just made an implacable enemy. And at the first Assembly meeting! That did not bode well.
Once Kaladus had exited, we continued in our previous vein. We debated the benefits of married monarch, a free monarch, a King, a Queen, young, old, nearly every topic beneath the moon. In the middle of a heated argument about whether the monarch should be from the Eastern or Western coast, the noontide bells began to sound cheerily, signaling lunch and the end of the day’s debates. I sighed audibly with relief and Ferdas winked conspiratorially. However scintillating the discussions and however intelligent the partakers, at some point I was reminded of the tedium of schoolroom life.
Perhaps I am not the best one to rule Aquia after all… I took a deep breath and expelled it, forcing such thoughts out of the way as well. My insecurities were perhaps the pettiest part of the equation.