I don't know what happened to Calla, but it must have been truly terrible. And I'm not sure if she has a safe space where she feels free to let those tears out.
So...I do the only thing I can imagine doing. It doesn't matter that this person is a queen. It doesn't matter that I've known her for exactly five minutes.
I open my arms, tilt my head to the side. “Um,” I say, my voice soft, “do you want...a hug? Maybe?”
For half a heartbeat, she looks at me, her eyes wide, the tears filling her eyes ready to spill down her cheeks but not yet doing so.
And then she steps forward quickly, stepping into my arms, putting her face down onto my shoulder...
And Queen Calla starts to sob.
Her sobs are muted, the kind of sobs that someone makes when they're trying to be quiet and let no one else hear them. Sadly, I learned how to make those same types of sobs when I was in high school. Between periods, I holed up in the girls' restrooms, crying because I was known as “Holly the homo” to every single one of my classmates. To them, I wasn't, you know, an actual person. My high school years were hell, but at least I had the tiny satisfaction of knowing that someday, I would graduate, and I would be able to leave those terrible hallways forever.
I don't know why Calla's sad right now, but it's heartbreaking to witness, so I just hold her, letting her cry on my already soaked shoulder. Her own shoulders shake quietly, and she smells like flowers, a very nice scent, but I'm too distracted by how upset she is, and by the fact that I have no idea what else to do to comfort her or help her in any way. So I hold her while she cries, and I worry.
“Do you... Um, do you want to talk about it?” I ask Calla then. I'm a little shocked when I realize that that's something my mother always asked me. And I sounded a lot like her when I said it. My mom would always catch me when I came home, would gather me into her arms and want to know what was the matter. And I told her; I didn't keep any secrets from my mother. My mother and brother and Carly were the most supportive people in the universe. Does Calla have that kind of support? I mean, she's the queen; she must.
Right?
“I am... I am so sorry,” Calla sniffs, taking a step back, shaking her head, trying to dry her eyes on the hem of her sodden woolen cloak. I take a tissue out of my unicorn tissue box (They made everything with unicorns on it in the eighties! Really!) and hand her one. She takes it from me, gazing down at the tissue and blinking.
“It's a tissue,” I tell her, trying to figure out a word she might know. “A handkerchief?” I try.
“Thank you,” she says, her nose a little stuffed up. But then she blows it on the tissue. I have never, in all my days, heard anyone blow their nose so daintily.
And then Calla sits down on the edge of my bed and looks up at me, her face exhausted, her eyes dull.
“Please forgive me, Lady Holly,” she says then, quietly, tiredly. “I did not mean to weep on your chemise,” she says, gesturing to my clothes.
“It's all right,” I tell her earnestly, sitting down next to her. I don't know why: maybe it's the exact same reason that I chauffeur injured birds to the wildlife rehabilitation center, or the fact that I'm a sucker for any sad puppy or kitten story. But I feel terribly, terribly sorry for Calla and wish that I could help, in any way, with her pain. And, probably because of that, I really feel a connection with her, have felt one since I first saw her. And I know it's only been a week since I felt that much pain myself, wondering if Virago was alive or dead, wondering if I'd ever see her again, and it's only been a few years since my mother passed away, only a few years to deal with all of the pain I felt when I lost her.
But if there's anything I've learned because of that pain, it's this: no one can help you with your pain or your grief. They can help distract you; they can give you comfort and love and companionship. But they can't take that grief away from you.
The grief remains. Grief is the price of love. And, for my mother, I paid it willingly.
And I would have paid it for Virago, too.
I'm just so, so, so deeply grateful that I didn't have to.
Calla searches my eyes then, carefully folding the used tissue in her lap. “I must admit, Lady Holly—I am mortified that I wept on you like that,” she says, her voice quiet. “It has been...a trying few days,” she says. The way she's looking at me, desperately hoping I'll forget the whole thing...I know what I have to do then.
I take another tissue out of the unicorn tissue box. On second thought, I shake my head, handing the entire box to the queen.
“It's obvious that you're soaked to the bone, and the rain outside was freezing,” I tell her in a soothing tone. “So we really should get you out of those wet clothes. What do you like to wear?”
“Gowns,” says the queen immediately, her head to the side as she watches me with perceptive eyes. The corners of her mouth are turning up now, too. She looks utterly relieved that I've changed the subject. “Dresses,” she says then, as if she's worried I'm not going to know what a gown is.
“I have a lot of dresses, but you're much taller than me,” I say, wrinkling my nose thoughtfully and crossing the room to my closet. I open the doors, peer inside.
Just then, there's a knock on the open door to the bedroom, and I look back, startled, to see Virago standing in the doorway. She's leaning against it gracefully, watching the two of us with hooded eyes, a tense smile on her lips.
“Your Majesty,” says Virago, straightening off the door frame, clearing her throat. But she turns to me. “Beloved, can I speak with you for a moment?” she asks, her head to the side.
“Here,” I tell Calla, gesturing to the closet. “Anything you want to wear is yours. And, um, don't look in that box over there...” I say, wincing and pointing to a large, bright pink box in the corner that has some of our sexual unmentionables in it.
“Surely,” says the queen, standing and examining the unicorn tissue box. “That is interesting. They have unicorns on this world, too?” she asks me quietly, before handing the tissue box back to me.
“Wait—what now?” I squeak, clutching the box, but Virago pulls me smoothly out of the bedroom and shuts the door behind her.
We're standing in the hallway, our bedroom door closed as Virago leans down and presses her forehead to my shoulder, right where Calla wept only a few minutes ago.
“This is very bad, my love,” Virago whispers, groaning a little. “So very, very bad.”
“What's happening?” I whisper to her, my eyes wide as Virago straightens a little, gazing at me with her bright blue eyes narrowed in concern. “Calla just cried on my shoulder... Something terrible must have happened to her, aside from the arrow,” I tell her, all in a hushed breath.
Virago's face is grim. Honestly, she's the most optimistic person I know, and I've never seen her look so unhappy. Or so serious.
“According to my fellow knights,” she murmurs to me, her full mouth downturning at the corners, “Calla has made talk of abdicating her throne. And she just told me as much downstairs.”
I stare at her. “She doesn't want to be queen anymore?”
Virago shrugs, shaking her head, her frown deepening. “Though she said as much...I don't know, not for certain. She is very...very troubled. By what happened...” Virago waves her hand and then closes it in a fist. “It is not my place to say,” she breathes to me, lowering her voice, “but Calla's grief is destroying her. And it could destroy Arktos, too.”
I stare at Virago.
“If Calla abdicates,” says Virago, her face pained, her brow furrowed with worry, “it will send the country into a turmoil it has not seen in five hundred years. Furo wants to take over Arktos, and if there was no ruler, they could do it easily, plunging the country into darkness.” Virago searches my face now. “There is so much that could go wrong with this, but the worst part... The worst part,” Virago whispers, as she holds my gaze, “is that the castle has been infiltrated in Arktos City. I think someone put Calla up to this thinking, te
lling her that she should abdicate. Someone who wants to rule in her stead.”
“Who in the world would do that?” I ask Virago. She works her jaw now, clenching it.
“There is only one woman I can think of who would even dream of such a thing,” she tells me in the lowest growl.
I watch her carefully as she takes a deep breath. And then, she murmurs a single word softly.
“Charaxus.”
A little shiver runs through me. “Charaxus... Well, that...that sounds like a nice name for a...oh, no, not so nice?” I ask her, when she starts to shake her head slowly and determinedly.
“Charaxus,” Virago whispers, spitting out the word again almost like it's a curse—which surprises me. Virago never speaks ill of anyone. Not even the mail guy who was ripping up my packages because he found out I was a Red Sox fan (he's a Yankee guy—how he survives on his Boston route, I will never know). “Charaxus is the vice queen to Queen Calla,” says Virago. “The second in command. If anything were to happen to Calla, she would take over ruling Arktos. But this also means that if Calla abdicated the throne, with no current heir...the throne would then go to Charaxus. Usually, the vice queen is a good choice to rule after the queen. But...but I know Charaxus. We went to the Knight Academy together,” she says, her eyes flashing a dangerous color now. “We were not friends.”
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word. “So what are we going to do?”
“Calla cannot abdicate the throne,” says Virago determinedly, shaking her head for emphasis, “and we must keep her safe from assassins, of which there will probably be more, considering the Hero's Tournament is coming up, and there is a plot for her life. Calla must be kept safe,” she says, searching my eyes. “Holly...”
I watch her carefully, uncertain about what she's going to say next, worrying that she's about to tell me that she has to go back home, back to Agrotera. I understand that she has to; Calla has to be kept safe. But I don't want her to go.
Still, I never could have predicted what she tells me next:
“The knights have asked me to come back with them to Agrotera,” Virago whispers, “just for the Hero's Tournament. Just to make absolutely certain that Calla is kept safe. I was one of the main knights set to guard Calla, so I'm the best woman for the job,” she tells me, still searching my eyes. “I was hoping...” she murmurs, licking her lips, “that you would...well, that you would come with us? For the tournament?”
I stare at Virago for a long moment, unresponsive—because I'm so damn excited. And then...I actually start to jump up and down. I leap up, wrapping my arms around my girlfriend's neck.
I was the kid who tried to go through all the backs of the wardrobes in the furniture stores, trying to find Narnia. I was the girl who read The Knight of the Rose over and over again until my book became threadbare.
It has been my lifelong dream that there were other worlds, magical worlds.
And now my knight girlfriend is asking me to come visit hers.
“Are you serious?” I ask her, squeezing her tightly. “Oh, my God, Virago!”
“Holly,” Virago tells me softly, her eyes shining, “it would be the greatest honor I can imagine to show you my beloved Arktos City.”
She smiles against me then, and slowly, carefully, she places her hands on the walls behind my head as she leans her head down, bending to me. I lift my chin and capture her mouth with a kiss, threading my fingers through her satiny hair, pulling her down to meet me as I draw her into a deep, ecstatic embrace.
At that moment, Calla opens the bedroom door...and there we are, making out in the hallway. Virago straightens immediately, and I glance at Calla, feeling a little self-conscious (I mean, she was just crying on my shoulder, and now I'm having happy makeout times right outside the door? Real nice, Holly)...but she stands a little straighter, lifting her chin regally.
Calla has changed into one of my dresses, a purple satin gown that I got for the fancy work holiday party that we have every year at the country club (no, I promise your tax dollars aren't going to fund lavish librarian holiday parties; one of our fellow librarians belongs to the country club and gets us the place for cheap because she's awesome). No one has noticed yet that this is the dress I wear every year, but it's a timeless kind of dress, and that helps me pull off wearing it over and over. It has a plunging front neckline and is very long on me (I trip on the hem), so it's about tea-length on Calla. She's raked a brush through her hair and has pinned the strands up in looping spirals with bobby pins, and she looks... Well, she looks very regal—and utterly gorgeous, not like she was just crying on my shoulder a few moments ago.
“Have the knights plied you with their question, Virago?” asks Calla formally, glancing at Virago with a soft smile. “Will you stay upon this world, or will you return home one last time for the Hero's Tournament?”
I blink. Wait a second... One last time? Has Virago talked to her knights and her queen about this before?
When Virago came to me, across the worlds...did she do it intending to stay...well...forever?
I file that thought away for a think later, because Virago is nodding to Calla, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and drawing me to her.
“I will come,” she tells the queen solemnly. “And I am bringing my lover with me.”
Calla nods genteelly, but she looks at me with soft, thankful eyes as her smile deepens. “That will be lovely,” she says, and though her words are low and her voice is hoarse, she still looks like she means them.
“The portal will not open again until the morning,” says Virago, glancing at me now as I hold her arm and try not to vibrate in place from excitement. I don't think it's working—I'm pretty sure I am vibrating. “So...we have one night left on Earth,” she says, her head to the side. “And I was thinking... Well, the knights are very curious about this world.”
“As am I,” says the queen, drawing herself up to her full height, her green eyes finally taking on life as they flash. My dress hugs her curves beautifully. She places a hand on her hip and tilts her head. “I would like to explore it, as well,” she says in a tone that brooks no argument.
“Wait, wait. Explore it? Earth?” I ask, biting my lip. I glance at Calla with worry, but then there's a loud crash from downstairs. That crash had the particular cadence of one of my dinner plates breaking into tiny, unrecognizable shards on the floor.
“That one is Alinor's fault!” Kell pipes up happily from down in the living room.
Virago glances at me, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, one brow raised.
Four knights and a queen from another world go out on the town in Boston on a Friday night...
This seems like it'll make for a pretty bad idea...but, also, a really memorable evening.
“Um...” I swallow, wondering if bribing them with pizza and Showtime would keep them in the house, but it probably wouldn't. “Sure, yeah, yeah, we can go out,” I squeak. “But they need clothes,” I tell Virago urgently, shaking my head with wide eyes that I'm hoping convey, Armored ladies in downtown Boston: not a good idea.
“But of course,” Virago says indulgently, squeezing me and pecking my cheek before letting me go. Then she turns in the hallway and lets out a short, piercing whistle over her shoulder. Almost immediately all of the knights are up the stairs and crowded together in the hallway, standing or draping on the banister languidly, as if they've always been here.
Kell winks at me.
In this moment, I worry that this isn't only a bad idea...but a spectacularly bad idea.
“A change of clothing, m'ladies,” says Virago with a smile. “And then, we ride! To our date night!”
The cheers in my hallway are deafening.
Well. It's not the date night I expected...but it's still going to be fun. I think. As I glance around at the happy faces (Calla's face carefully neutral), I feel my spirits lift.
This could prove to be a wonderful night.
But still, there's a slight uneasiness as
I head back into our bedroom, as I open my closet door and start to choose a dress.
Four knights and a queen on the town...what could possibly go wrong?
Chapter Three: Knights on the Town
I feel like I'm in the locker room getting ready for some super-famous sports magazine to photograph a winning lady's soccer team in street clothes.
Admittedly, I don't think they'd pick short, non-muscular women (you know, like me) for the Royal Knights. Royal Knights, I have learned today, are different from the regular knights of Arktos City, because the Royal Knights are, technically, Calla's right-hand ladies. Their main concern, different from the other knights' concerns (like saving the country and protecting cities) is keeping the queen and the queen alone safe (or doing the queen big favors like going into the northern mountains to chase after a beast). So, because they're mostly with the queen all the time, with her for all of her dignitary meetings and throne room hours, it means that they have to be impressive-looking. If a foreign dignitary from a far-off country comes calling, these knights are some of the first sights they see upon entering the palace, and apparently their presence sends a message, loud and clear.
These knights belong to Arktos. So don't mess with Arktos.
Here and now, these women may not be wearing armor...but it doesn't matter if they're wearing armor or not, because they have the bearing of knights, anyway, in or out of metal plating. They're tall, muscled, curvy, gorgeous...and they're dressed in the street clothes that I've gotten for Virago since she started living with me. Which means they're all wearing variations of button-down shirts, blazers, jackets and jeans.
It really does look like a sports photo shoot is about to break out at any second in my living room.
“You know, we might get stopped, anyway,” I mutter, glancing sidelong at Virago with a smile. “People are going to think they're famous for something relating to... I don't know.” My mind stretches as hard as it can to find a sports-related metaphor. “Nets or hockey pucks or something,” I finish.
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