by EF Joyce
The queen could put forth all the character references she wanted, but that was not enough to erase his threats against the Handmaiden and the Ilahi, or his blasphemy throughout the armed forces. And if Elixa knew her father, he'd have already handpicked every member of the jury, predisposed against Grayna. Unless they uncovered the true traitor with absolute proof, Grayna would be declared guilty and left in the dungeons until after the war's conclusion, forbidden to ever work with the army again. There was only one person she could get this information from, one person who could help her save her Grand General.
II
When the queen drifted to sleep it was with thoughts of orange trees and turquoise waters, green hills and a soft breeze. She opened her eyes to a bright afternoon light on the other side of the world, the scent of fruit in the humid air. The dirt was plush under her heels, her feet sinking into the soft earth, the hem of her lavender gown turning dark.
"A pleasure to meet with you again, Elixa," Alaric said, appearing from the other side of the orange grove. "What a wonder it is to see you outside that dreadful place of death, how lovely you look under the light of the sun." He smiled and she blushed, hating herself for it. Damn his good looks and infernal charms. Confined to paperwork and war and her tower, she had never received the attentions of a man before, especially not one as handsome as Alaric. Did she care for him? Was she getting caught up in her emotions or making logical decisions for the good of her empire? She could not allow herself to be swayed.
"I have come for a singular purpose," she stated, not smiling or responding to his good humor. "Yeraz's greatest military leader, a man named Earl Grayna has been falsely accused and imprisoned for betraying Yeraz's secrets to your empire. His crimes include informing you of the magic students descending on Kinjia and murdering another council member who had been working for my father. I know he is not guilty, but he's been careless with his comments toward certain people and will not be released without absolute proof that he is not the traitor."
"So you've come to me for your rat's identity," Alaric finished, no longer smiling. "If you knew who the guilt truly belonged to, you'd be able to exonerate your general. How very noble of you, but you work under the assumption that I will grant you this information."
"We are supposed to be allies!" She argued. "How can I trust you knowing you have an agent in my council, reporting on my every move? You clearly do not trust me and I will return the favor. Tell me who the traitor is, and I will hide nothing from you."
"I know, we agreed, no more secrets." he said with a smirk. "If you had asked me a few days ago, I just might have told you. But this person has just given me information so valuable that I could not in good conscious throw them to the dogs, as you say. Before you get angry," he added, holding up a hand to stop her interruptions, "I hope you choose to respect me for this decision, which means that I have honor and do not go back on my word or back stab those who have helped me.
"On another note, you will not have to worry about your traitor any longer. I have granted this person and their family asylum in my empire. When the council member flees, you will know their identity. It will be too late of course, to stop them. I will protect this person as I would any of my citizens, but it should be enough proof to free your general." Proof enough? It was nothing and he knew it. She could easily have one of her council members removed and publicly state that they fled. The administrators, the council and the people would not be fooled so easily. The queen needed a traitor, their confession and bloody head on a spike.
"You will not even consider granting me their identity? You say you have honor? Spying on your ally is not honorable. Placing an agent in my council and refusing to make his identity known is not honor," she said, furious. Alaric thought he could manipulate her, tell her only what he wanted her to know? How could their alliance work without trust? Or had it all been a sham from the start?
"Do you know what I've learned in my time away from my father's cruelty?" he asked, his tone conversational and in blatant disregard for her demands and fury. He reached upward with a pale, delicate hand, snatching an orange from a low branch and peeling it slowly. "The things worth possessing are worth nothing when stolen. What good is someone's trust when you own their mind, when they have no choice? Or friendship? Or love? These concepts do not exist under my father's dictatorship. I like you, Queen of Dreams. I like your uncertain allegiance, your anger, your defiance, your trust given. I like not knowing what you're going to do next, not being able to read your mind." He split apart the orange and popped a piece in his mouth.
"This is delicious, you must try it," he said, holding a slice out to her, standing so close she could smell him; wildflowers and sea salt. Elixa opened her mouth and took the orange, perhaps the most wonderful thing she'd ever tasted.
"Your words are nothing more than that," she replied after a moment, though her anger had vanished. "You speak of preferring not to possess me, as if you had a choice, but you don't. I don't know my own name, and neither can you. If you did I'd be your slave already."
"Don't be so sure," he said, inches away from her, his blue eyes deadly serious. "About any of it. You're afraid to trust me because I won't give up my spy, but perhaps you will reconsider once you see what we're up against. I can show you now. Close your eyes."
"What?" She asked, "Show me what? Show me how?"
"Just trust me, Elixa. Please." She felt overwhelmed by his sincerity and his presence, the warmth of his nearness, the scent of him, his eyes on her. Suddenly she wanted to trust him, more than anything. The queen closed her eyes.
His thoughts, his memories entered her mind at disorienting speed, images flashing by so quickly she could not begin to understand them. Elixa saw the inside of a prison cell, deep underground, the darkness pervading and all encompassing. Water dripped from the ceiling, pooling on the cracked stones; mold grew from the walls, illuminated by the light from a single lantern, held by a cold, pale hand. The flickering flame revealed a young man huddled in the corner, his white-blonde hair disheveled, a scraggly beard hanging from his angular cheeks. He looked up with pained blue eyes, dark circles rimming them like deep bruises. A younger Alaric.
This is where my father kept me, Alaric's voice said inside her head. We each had a cell of our own, until he decided on a use for us.
The perspective changed, widening, granting Elixa a view of the man holding the lantern. He was tall and regal with the same angular face, white-blonde hair as Alaric and his many siblings, only his eyes were brown and he was younger, in his twenties perhaps. Made immortal in his youth just like her father. My father, he told her.
You have failed me, Darian said, glaring down at Alaric, curled on the floor of the cell. He was clad in rags and badly beaten, bruises of all colors blossomed across his pale skin and blood caked in his hair, the details coming to life the longer she spent looking. But I will give you one last chance. You are my first born, my heir, and you must prove your worth. I am sending you to the continent. You will test Sebastian and his magic. You will sort out his weaknesses and thin his defenses, preparing the way for the rest of us. Do not fail me.
I understand, father. The memory whirled away, replaced by yet another. A ship bobbing in a frozen sea, a cold, high face and stern brown eyes, a hard handshake with a threat looming in its grip.
Remember son, I named you and I am always with you. When you bask in the sunlight of that land, when you lay with its women, drink its wine, rule its people, do not forget that your chains are everlasting and unbreakable, no matter how far you run.
Chapter 19
I
Rozlyn readjusted her position on Bailey's soft Terzi interview couch for what seemed like the hundredth time. Bright lights shone down blindingly like miniature suns and the princess sweated unflatteringly beneath them. The cameras hovered like irritating insects, waiting to devour everything she said and then regurgitate it to the people for open interpretation. A young man lurking behind one of them s
tarted counting, "Five, four," then finished silently with his fingers; three, two, one.
"So Princess," Bailey started, wearing her best fake bitch smile and tossing a thick lock of golden hair over her shoulder. "So much to ask! Let's start with why you decided to take a jewel-loaded trip to the Old World. What were your motivations?"
"Well Bailey," she responded, her mouth dry. Tell the truth. "I had heard about a...situation...down below," she said, not about to tell Arcadia that the rebels had killed fifty guards, even if it had been in retaliation for more than fifty of their own people's deaths. "And I wanted to do something to help change things. I thought if I gave them something worth credits, they could buy the things they needed."
"What was your first impression of the Old World? I can tell you one thing, all of us regular citizens were positively shocked at the conditions."
"Yes, so was I," Rozlyn admitted. "I couldn't believe how terrible things were down there. Once I arrived, I realized that jewels would never be enough. If we want to see change, we have to make it happen," she said, feeling as if she'd finally found her voice. "We have to be the change. I want to fully vocalize my support to the A-net charities gathering credits for the Old World. The syndicate wants you to believe these people are evil, that they are attacking us, but it's not true. They are hungry and desperate and suffering. And they need our help."
"Wow, that's quite a statement, Princess. Would you truly have us believe that you were ignorant of the very things your own family was covering up?"
Rozlyn opened her mouth to reply when everything went wrong. The cameras died, the lights turned off, and their live broadcast that had been displayed on the Smart Wall in front of them went to fuzz. Bailey's crew had about thirty seconds to shout orders at each other before the fuzz cleared and a dirty young man holding a gun appeared on screen.
He announced that his name was Damien and he was part of the rebellion. Addressing the Arcadians directly, he briefly explained how horrible their lives were down below, followed by a video of her father promising 500 ration points (was that Old World currency?) to anyone who turned in her jewelry. Rozlyn had had no idea her father had done any such thing. After all the criticism he'd given her, he had gone and done right, using her actions for the good she'd intended.
But then the Old Worlder said he'd gone to the warehouse, to personally witness the change of heart in Arcadia's royalty, and something else had happened. The video switched again and Rozlyn's heart swelled with pride as her brother ascended the stage to help people in need, to improve upon what she'd started. But then her heart dropped as he told those poor, starving Old Worlders that their lives would be an example for those who stood against Arcadia.
The prince and his guards then opened fire on them. The screen was filled with death, blood and suffering. Panic and agony. People raced toward the exit, begged for mercy, and died screaming. The Arcadian Guard worked through the crowd in their stiff blue uniforms with terrifying efficiency, not one of them hesitating, even for a second, to murder the innocent in cold blood.
Her hand went over her mouth, bile rose in her throat and tears burned her eyes. Her family members were monsters. They had lied to the people, given them hope only to offer the most brutal of rewards. These were not rebels, they had no weapons, they were no threat to Arcadia. These were mothers and fathers struggling to provide for their children, orphans hoping to give themselves a better life, hopeless people who reached out desperately for something more.
The Smart Wall went dark and suddenly everyone was on her, demanding to know if she'd planned this slaughter with her family, why she'd helped them lie to everyone, why she'd pretended to be a hero when she was a murderer. Rozlyn struggled to escape, shoving through bodies and yanking her arms free from those who'd grabbed her, her vision blurring with hot tears. Megera's clawed fingernails found her and dragged her off of Bailey's set, down the halls and back to her apartments faster than the paparazzi could chase them.
Rozlyn curled into a ball on her Tafani carpet and sobbed into her Favre sweater. Faifax had tried to tell her the truth and she'd shut him out and thought him a liar. The princess had known her family was ambitious and maybe a little ruthless but this? She had never imagined this, not in her worst nightmares.
Megera stayed with her for hours, unwilling to leave the hysterical princess alone in her rooms. She could hear her muffled voice making comm call after call, perhaps trying to find someone to take over babysitting her, but Rozlyn didn't care. She shut the world out. Hours later, who knew how many, her mother strode into her apartments, as if she owned the place, looking ready to rebuke her. "Go away," Rozlyn sobbed at her.
"Sweetie, you need to listen," her mother said, kneeling down beside her, tucking a wispy strand of blonde hair behind her round ear.
"No, I don't!" she yelled, lifting her tear-streaked face. "You murdered hundreds of innocent people! How could you do that? All of you! You're all monsters!" The Queen of Arcadia slapped her daughter across the face as hard as she could. Rozlyn stared up at her, shocked.
"You will listen to me right now!" she yelled. "You have no idea what's going on. The Old World rebels have scorned our help and burned the food we've handed out, at the expense of our own citizens. We've kept this all out of the media, to keep people from panicking. Now this rebellion thinks it can turn our own citizens, our own daughter against us? Don't you understand? They're doing this on purpose, hoping that we tear each other apart from the inside."
"But you killed them..."
"We responded to a threat," her mother clarified, brushing invisible dust from her crisp Arno pencil skirt. "And they have killed way more of our people than we have of theirs. Don't you dare let these rebels blind you from the truth."
"Why didn't you tell me then? About any of this? Why am I always on the outside?" she shouted, furious. Her mother could not tell her what to think or how. She had just watched her own brother shoot down children and nothing would alter her opinion on that.
"Sweetie, you know why. You're just not meant to rule. You can barely handle yourself," she reached out to smooth a strand of Rozlyn's hair, but she smacked her mother's hand away.
"Leave me alone. I don't want to talk to any of you," she snapped.
"Fine," the queen said, standing. "We won't bother you for a while, but you know where to find us when you're ready." She left, the automatic doors swooshing closed behind her. Megera emerged from her hiding place in Rozlyn's bedroom; Rozlyn had completely forgotten about her.
"You can go home, Meg."
"Are you sure?" she asked, concern swirling in her turquoise eyes.
"Yes, I'm fine. Please, I just want to be alone."
"Of course. I'm just a comm message away if you need anything, OK?" Rozlyn nodded and she left. The princess couldn't handle this, any of it. She couldn't think about it for one more second. A bottle of Quintaro Ice later and she was passed out on her blue Robert Thurm sofa.
II
The princess dreamt that she was being chased by photographers, all of them calling her a murderer and screaming at her to explain herself. Then they started singing her favorite song, over and over again. No matter how fast she ran the singing kept repeating until she finally woke up, realizing that she was lying on her ringing communicator.
"Lo?" she answered, her voice thick with sleep.
"I'm so glad you're alright Roz, I've been calling for hours," Faifax replied. Waking up, she sat and rubbed her eyes.
"I'm sorry. You were right," she said immediately. "Can you come over?" She felt overwhelmed with the sudden urge to see him, for him to hold her and tell her everything would be alright.
"I can't," he replied. "Your parents have six guards stationed outside your apartment. I can't get in without the world knowing." Rozlyn sighed. Six guards? To keep the press out or to keep her in? Her family could imprison her if they wanted – what more could she do?
For the next three days, the princess hid in her apartments not even a
ttempting to leave, not wanting to know whether or not the guards would stop her. She ordered food from her room service window and had limited conversations with Faifax on her comm. No one since her mother had barged into her rooms or tried to speak with her. Faifax assured her that the guards were still outside, and Fallon wasn't returning any of her calls or notes.
Even on her worst days, she had never felt more lost than now. Perhaps Arcadia would be better off without her family or her in it. Rozlyn's blood was poison, her birthright blood and death. In the same melodious, consciously precise measured voices her mother and sister used to order Delaci dresses and select their nail polish colors, they had commanded the deaths of hundreds, without conscious. With the same delicate hands and buffed fingernails that her brother used to cut pheasant into too small pieces and straighten the gun he wore that she would have sworn with her life he didn't know how to use, he had murdered crying mothers and children.
And her father – his stern face and cool green eyes, his constant reprimands on her behavior, as if her reputation was the biggest problem on his agenda, he had stood over it all and watched it happen, made it happen. Was she the only one who felt those deaths like a knife in her back, a betrayal and atrocity that sliced her to the bone? How would she go on after this? Walk the halls of Arcadia without feeling the weight of her family's transgressions suffocating her? How would she ever face them again – the brother she'd teased, the sister she argued with, the mother she shopped with, the father she disobeyed. Were they even those people anymore? Had they ever been or were they walking lies, masks of humanity that had finally slipped off for good?
The princess had been hiding for four days when Fallon finally made her appearance, ringing the door chime repeatedly until Rozlyn had rolled out of bed and opened up, noting that the guards were still there, grim faced with guns at their sides.