by Garon Whited
I don’t know. I’m becoming more and more comfortable with ignorance when it comes to questions I shouldn’t even ask myself.
“My morning? Good question,” I admitted, and thought about it. “I’m not sure. I lectured a Prince, interfered with a council meeting, threatened every minister you have—with the exception of Felkar—rearranged the protocol for future meetings, made demands, reinforced your authority and expanded it, nearly got smacked by Tyma, discovered I gave magical instruments free will, acknowledged a life-debt, and, I hope, am about to round it all off with a pleasant lunch. How was your morning?”
“I had a discussion with a coldly calculating creature with a profound insight into politics—the elf you call ‘Bob.’ I despise elves and I think he knows it.”
“Probably.”
“If he’s obeying your command to advise me well and truly, then he gives good advice. He’s clever.”
“Or it might be millennia of experience.”
“Afterward, I went to the Council Chamber to observe the process of government. I had considerably more effect on the course of the kingdom than is usual. A surprising, almost shocking amount of work was getting done. It was almost as though the ministers were in a hurry to be done so they could sit down.”
“That’s why I had the chairs removed,” I agreed. “Meeting go faster when people aren’t all comfy-cozy. No food, no drinks, no chairs—and a whole lot more focus.”
“May I ask why there were wrecked chairs in the Council Chamber?”
“Of course. I didn’t forbid messengers in there. Someone was bound to send for a chair once I was gone.”
“And…?”
“And I ordered some red sashes to keep watch. They had instructions to smash any chair as soon as it was placed for someone, then announce something like, ‘His Majesty shall be informed of your attempt to circumvent his implied wishes,’ or some such.” I chewed for a moment, swallowed, and added, “By the way, how many dead chairs were there?”
“Three, but I believe they were all brought in at the same time.”
“Get names,” I suggested. “Those ministers are either lazy or stupid.”
“Oh, I know who they are,” she said, darkly. I had a momentary flashback to the warrior-queen wanting to ride into a battle. Lissette might be a mommy, but the girl who worked so hard to become a warrior was still in there. This pleased me in ways I can’t define.
I wish things had worked out differently. I could love Lissette with very little prompting. How she feels, though, after nine years of dealing with the face of my evil twin…
“Good, good.” I devoted effort to shoveling food into my maw while also trying to enjoy it. The drawback to my daytime metabolism is the ability to consume huge quantities without the chance to take any pleasure in the experience. If I ate slowly, relishing the flavors—suitably muted by a spell—I would eat without pause, all day long, from sunup to sundown. If I want to get anything done, I have to insufflate instead of eat. I don’t have to eat, but I do get hungry.
Are there “food pills” I can take? I’ll have to ask Mary and Diogenes.
“I’ve also had a conversation with Seldar about your ministers and mine,” she continued. “He’s agreed to stand aside for Felkar and be his deputy on the Council. When Felkar retires, Seldar will assume his duties. If you approve, of course.”
“If you approve, I approve. If anyone has anything else along those lines, tell them this: I agree with you unreservedly.”
“That’s a sweeping statement.”
“I meant it to be. Declare war on a baron or another country, order mass executions of the Church of Light or donate a parcel of land for all their worshipers to emigrate. You’re the Queen. If you say it, they better assume I said it—they won’t enjoy me saying it personally. End of story.”
Lissette and I ate in silence for a bit, broken only by the urgent grunting from the baby-chair and the occasional squeal or giggle. Lissette seemed most thoughtful. The baby seemed gleefully determined to wear squashed peas.
“Father, Your Majesty?”
“Liam, we’re in private and you’re trying to be polite. That combination means you can be a less formal.”
“What shall I call you?”
“Whatever you like, so long as it’s not rude.”
“Father?”
“That’ll do.”
“May I ask a question?”
“You may.”
“What did you mean?”
“About what?”
“Serving.”
“Refresh my memory.”
“You said a ruler serves the people.”
“Yes.”
“But a ruler orders them. If I’m the ruler, I order people around. They do what I tell them. They serve me. I don’t serve them.” He sounded puzzled, as though he actually wanted an answer. Well, maybe the concept was a little beyond his age bracket.
“This is going to be hard to grasp,” I told him, “mainly because the Demon King was a terrible example. In an ideal world, the king is merely the person stuck with the job of making sure the kingdom runs smoothly. Give me a minute and maybe I can come up with a metaphor.”
“A what?”
“Let me think about it for a minute.” I wolfed down lunch and thought. Lissette looked at me from time to time with an expression I couldn’t read. I think she was amused, at least a little. Small boy stumps King sort of thing.
“All right,” I said, having finished what I had available. “Let’s try this another way. Do you like horses?”
“Yes,” he said, and added proudly, “I’m a very good rider.”
“Good. Have you ever seen a team of horses hauling something?”
“Yes.”
“This might work, then. If you see a man driving a wagon and it’s got four horses hauling it, the guy doing the driving is in charge, right?”
“Right.”
“And the horses are doing what they’re told, because that’s what they’re supposed to do, right?”
“Right.”
“And if the driver is a lousy driver, not choosing good paths, or putting too much of a load on the wagon, or if he beats and starves his horses—you did say you like horses, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I do. I have one named Saelan.”
“So, if you saw a wagon-driver beating his starving horses to force them to pull a too-heavy load down a rotten path, how would that make you feel?”
“I’d have him whipped with his own whip,” Liam stated, positively.
The matter-of-fact way Liam said it made me wonder if he already had. Either way, it was a chilling comment on the savagery of children. Possibly even a comment on the influence of awful fathers and royal privilege. I pressed on with my lesson, though.
“But he’s the one driving the wagon. The horses work for him, don’t they?”
“Yes, but they’re the ones doing the work!” Liam protested. “They… they do as they’re told.”
“What about our driver, then? Why whip him?”
“Because he’s a bad driver! He’s supposed to take care of his horses!”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t understand. What’s this got to do with being a king?”
“The wagon is the kingdom. The horses are the people. The king is the driver. If you want to accomplish something, you load up the wagon—you give orders to the kingdom. If it’s too much of a load, you may break the wagon or work your horses to death. You have to organize their work so they earn enough to feed themselves and maintain the wagon. They do the work, but you have to take care of them—you serve them just as much as they serve you, or you’re the bad driver. A bad king.”
A servant put another platter down on the table. I thanked him and spooned more onto my plate while Liam looked inquisitively at his mother.
“Are you finished?” Lissette asked. I looked up. She was addressing Liam. Liam nodded. I gently tapped him in the shin with my foot, under the table. He looked
startled and turned to me. I expressed with my eyebrows that he should try answering his mother again.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Then you may go.”
Liam got up, bowed to us, and walked from the room. I saw a pair of courtly types through the open door, waiting for him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to be King?” Lissette asked, once the doors closed.
“Positive. Too many people want to drain my blood because of what I am. Hostile religions—one, anyway—wants me evaporated in glowing agony. Angry magi from other worlds want to subdivide me into screaming pieces. And I have all the political savvy of a brain-damaged groundhog.”
“You dumped another bucket of wisdom over my—our—son, and you claim to have no political savvy?”
“That’s different.”
“Is it? I wonder.”
“It’s a general principle. It’s not the details of running a government. I couldn’t tell you what the Baron Blowhard wants, why, or what to do about it. All I know about the job is it requires doing the best you can for everyone, and I have no idea how to go about it. You want to make a city vanish in thunder and fire? Fine. I can do that. But which city, when, and best of all why is beyond me. For the good of the kingdom, sure, but why is that what’s best for the kingdom? That’s why I need to stay out of political office.”
“But you want me to try to do it?” she added.
“If you will,” I admitted. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore. “It’s an awful job with long hours, unpleasant pressure, and enormous responsibility, but the pay is good and the benefits package is second to none. I believe you can do it, if you will.”
“And if I won’t?”
“I’ll give you a huge pile of money, take you anywhere in the world you want to go, and see if I can put the crown on Seldar’s head.”
Lissette blinked at me.
“Are you… no, you’re never serious, not intentionally. Do you mean what you just said?”
“Seldar should be here at some point. I asked him to bring the new crown. You can ask him. If he agrees to do it, you’re off the hook.”
I went back to picking at my food. My appetite still wasn’t behaving, but I ate anyway. Habit.
Lissette pretended to eat, too. Political problems ruin meals. Let it be known as Eric’s Law of Lunch henceforth. Lissette also sent someone to find Seldar and hurry him up. I thought it a very good idea, because lunch was turning awkward.
Seldar joined us shortly thereafter, accompanied by Torvil and Kammen. He placed the box on the table without a word. I lifted out the crown and put it on top of the box.
“What do you think?”
“It’s gorgeous. Elf-work?”
“The material, yes. I had it made. The enchantments I did personally.”
“Enchantments?” she asked, suddenly wary.
“Yes. After the trouble Thomen caused, I thought it a good idea to enchant the crown with something to ward against mental influences. Whoever wears this fancy hat is as close to immune to mind control as I can manage.”
“You have my interest,” Lissette admitted, laying down her fork and staring at the fancy hat in question. “How long does it work?”
“Indefinitely. It’s an enchantment. Oh, wait—no, it only works while you wear it.”
“A pity.”
“We can get other things for when the crown is inconvenient.”
“I already commissioned some, but I’m hesitant about trusting them.”
“I can imagine. But the crown does other things, too.”
“Oh?”
“It’ll defend your brain from people throwing spells at it, yes, but the first time you put it on it sort of looks at your mind so it can recognize it later. If someone messes with your head while you’re not wearing the crown, the next time you put the crown on, it’ll alert people that you’ve been manipulated. That way they can help you recover and hunt down the culprit.”
“I see.”
“The other thing it can do—it’s optional; you don’t have to use it—is it can record things you do while wearing it. If you’re considering a course of action as the ruler of the kingdom, you can have your deliberations and considerations recorded in the crown. When you pass it on to whoever gets it next, those recorded experiences are there for him or her to draw on. The new king or queen can then draw on your experience and wisdom to help them make good decisions. And their heirs will have the benefit of the experience of everyone who preceded them. The rulers of Karvalen get wiser every time a new one is crowned.”
Lissette looked at me with an expression crossed between frustration, amusement, and disbelief.
“Explain to me again why you’re abdicating.”
“What do you mean? I explained why.”
“And yet you keep doing things like this,” she gestured at the crown.
“It’s just a gadget. Gadgets I can do.”
“Why did you make roads?” she asked, taking me by surprise.
“Huh?”
“Roads. Stone roads. Straight line roads, everywhere. Why?”
“I thought I already told you. Because I hated those muddy tracks Rethven used to have for roads. Besides, roads are the foundations of commerce and communications—kingdom-wide unity. See, people think distance is a function of miles. It’s not. It’s a function of time. It used to be weeks, maybe months if the weather was bad, from one border of Rethven to another. Now it can be done in a few days by a determined rider, if there are fresh horses stationed along the way. The kingdom—counting the far side of the Eastrange—has more miles in it, but the travel takes less time, so the kingdom is actually smaller. It’s easier to travel, easier to communicate, easier to ship goods from a place of plenty to a place of need, all that stuff. Now, the mountain is what actually—”
“Stop talking,” Lissette said, making a mouth-closing gesture with one hand. I shut up. “You prattle on when someone asks a simple question.”
“Guilty.”
“I know. But you are demonstrating—again! —that you should be King.”
“And I tell you I’m not fit for the job. Advisor, yes. Minister in charge of weird magic, maybe. Secret weapon, sure. But negotiating with nobles and ruling the world? No, thank you.”
“Yet, you have no problem asking me to do it.”
“You’re better at it.”
“Seldar?” Lissette asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Would you take the throne and crown if I were to give it to you?”
“I am a priest of the Lord of Justice, Your Majesty. It is my understanding the King does not wish to place such power in any individual who may be directly pressured by divine influence.”
“That lets out Tianna, too. And Beltar?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Who would you put on the throne, Seldar?” she asked.
Seldar glanced at me and said nothing.
“Aside from him,” Lissette added. “He’s a god, or worshiped as one, I hear.”
“Your Majesty, if it were given to me to name his successor, I can think of no one better suited to the position than yourself. There are, of course, certain obstacles to this state of affairs, but I feel as he does: You possess the necessary capabilities to rule wisely and well.”
“And if I put my foot down and demand he help me? What do you think he’ll do?”
“I’m sitting right here,” I pointed out.
“I’m asking Seldar,” she snapped. I shut up.
“Your Majesty, if you demand it… I cannot say for certain, but I feel a demand will be met with considerable… ah… he does not respond well to demands. However, if your insistence takes the form of asking for his help, I believe he will move mountains, boil seas, and bring down stars from the heavens for you.”
Lissette stood up. I stood up with her. She gestured and Seldar brought her the crown. She held it in her hands, walking around the solarium, looking at it in the light. The little p
erson made grunting noises and kicked a bit; I spooned something gooey into it. Some went down the front, some down the throat. Win a little, lose a little.
“You know the nobles, almost every single one of them, is going to fight you on this,” Lissette said, finally. “No—they will fight us on this. I’m a woman, and they will not take orders from a woman. You saw the council. You saw how many of them walked out? Now imagine it with men who have proud family histories, who were once princes of their own domains. Men who are already insulted by being conquered by the armies of some monster in human form, ruled over by a Thing from the Outer Darkness. In their minds and hearts, they will hate me even more than they hate you.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I can think of a couple who don’t hate me.”
“As can I. And the rest?”
I didn’t have an answer to that.
Seldar cleared his throat. We both turned.
“If Your Majesties will permit me an observation?” I waved him on. “It occurs to me there may be a way to turn their hatred into an advantage. Assuming, of course, Her Majesty will consent to take the crown?”
“Assume it,” Lissette instructed.
“If the Grand Council of Nobles can be suitably insulted, I believe the members of that body will be more than willing to accept Lissette as the ruling, reigning Queen of Karvalen.”
“I don’t believe it,” Lissette stated. “It’s impossible.”
“Don’t be so quick to sell Seldar short,” I advised. “Let’s hear it, Seldar.”
“You will not like it,” he warned.
“Oh?”
“It involves the use of the Demon King’s public persona and his personal killers—those who remain, I should say.”
“You’re right. I don’t like it. But tell me anyhow.”
So he told us. It was brilliant and ruthless and every bit a Demon King’s solution. It was positively Machiavellian, bordering closely on diabolical.
I hated it and couldn’t find one logical reason not to do it. I’ve done a lot of things I don’t like for this place. This—if you’ll pardon the expression—would simply be the crowning example.