Reign the Earth

by A. C. Gaughen

  “Hm. The labor will not interfere with raising families,” he insisted.

  “The children are meant to be at the Erudium anyway.”

  “But if a woman is with child, she will not work,” he said.

  It seemed a small concession. “Of course not.”

  He drew a slow breath. “Very well, wife.”

  He walked inside, but I stayed on the balcony longer, looking out over the wild sea. I felt numb from the horror I had discovered, but I knew this was progress—this was something my mother would be proud of.

  But now I knew the terrible price of the crown on my head, and I couldn’t forget that. And if I did, I feared it would mean sacrificing my humanity.

  Salvation

  Calix didn’t wear his uniform and declined a carriage as we walked out of the Three Castles. Both our guards and Adria flanked behind us—some of the men obvious, in uniform and formation—and others not, hidden and watching. The morning was gray and cool, the clouds overhead making shapes in the air that my people believed could watch our actions. Calix held my hand in his as we walked down the causeway, and for a moment, I imagined what we looked like—a young couple, hand in hand. Simple.

  But nothing was simple. He had selected my dress for the morning; he had orchestrated the whole event to be another display, another showing. He had selected how many guards were attending to us and where they would be, and it was easy for him. Immense calculations he did without thinking.

  We walked down the causeway, easily strolling the short distance to the grain mill. The few people in the streets followed us, watching, like we were a spectacle, a dog that had learned to walk on its hind legs. Calix tugged my hand, bringing me into the guarded entrance of the grain mill. The men standing watch sprang to attention, opening gates without a word from my husband.

  Even before we entered the building, I felt the threads trembling just beyond my fingers, vibrating in time with the rumbling beneath my feet.

  Stone, I realized. They must be using stone to grind the grain, and the force of it called to me.

  My palm grew sweaty in Calix’s, but I didn’t pull away. I drew a slow breath, asking my power not to react. I remembered Kata’s warnings about having less control if I didn’t practice it, but I couldn’t do anything with my power here. Not with Calix—with everyone—watching.

  When we entered, the low rumble stopped. There were fewer than ten men working at large stone stations in a room that had space for more than a hundred. The men stared at us, and there was noise and movement as someone rushed from a room above, skittering down a stone staircase on the far wall.

  “My king! My queen!” he bleated as he came close. He was a round, balding man with bright red in his cheeks. He bowed, and then bowed again, and again.

  “Stop,” Calix said, holding up a hand. The man straightened a little and backed away. “Come with me. All of you,” Calix ordered, waving his hand once to the others in the room. They looked at one another—wondering, worried—but Calix moved on, my hand still trapped in his. He went through a door and down a long stone hallway where light flooded in at the end. As we grew closer to the light, I could see the ragged lines of people waiting in the back.

  We appeared, and again, everything froze. A moment later, the people who had waited so long for their grain fell back, afraid, desperate to get out of the reach or the sight of the king. The three people who were parceling out small bags of grain looked bewildered, and then they tumbled out of their chairs to bow before my husband and me. The people in lines took to this too, and everyone dropped to their knees.

  “No,” Calix shouted, rushing down the steps to an old woman who couldn’t bend enough to kneel. He touched her shoulder and called a guard over to help her as he came back up the steps. “You do not need to humble yourselves further. The Three-Faced God has seen your humility, your dedication, and your fears. On this day, the Three-Faced God has seen fit to save you.”

  Was that it? It seemed another game of power—servants refusing to bow to him diminished his power, but here, with his pageant graciousness, the refusal to let an old woman bow made him seem greater than he was.

  The woman was weak and frail, and the guard knelt on one knee so she could sit on the other, and she wavered against him. I went down the stairs to her, looking at Calix. “My king,” I called softly. Calix looked at me. “This woman needs food and water. Desperately.”

  Something like pleasure flashed across his face, but he turned to the overseer. “Food,” he ordered. “And water. All you have and can procure. Now.”

  The overseer ran, and Calix nodded at a guard, who trotted after him.

  “You will be well,” Calix told her, and she nodded against the guard’s chest.

  “The Three-Faced God knows you wish nothing more than to serve your families, your country, your God,” Calix said. “But how can you do that without food for your children? Is not nourishment one of the greatest things a woman is called to give?”

  There were murmurs and nodding.

  “We are a strong people. A prideful people, and to beg for grain—it breaks us,” Calix said, pressing his hand over his heart like he knew anything of hunger. “The Three-Faced God has called for women to work—here, if you’re willing—to feed their families, to provide grain and food for their countrymen. I ask not for your humiliation but for your work. Who of you is willing to work, for your pride and for your families?”

  The women and children were silent, stunned and frightened. The guard came back with water, offering it to the old woman as I looked out, my breath caught in my chest. Calix’s face folded into a deep glower as no one moved.

  “I am, my king,” I called, stepping forward.

  Calix raised an eyebrow, but his face lightened. “My queen—you want for nothing. Surely you do not need to be pounding grain,” he said, but it wasn’t reproachful—he was still using his loud voice, his voice that spoke of pageantry and stagecraft.

  “I want for my people,” I told him, my voice quiet. “I want to serve the Three-Faced God.”

  “I will,” said another voice. “If—if it pleases my king and my God.” I turned around, and another woman raised her hand. Some spoke, some nodded. More women agreed.

  Calix held out his hand to me, beckoning me, and I walked up the stairs to him. He caught my hand and drew me close, bringing my knuckles up to his mouth to kiss. “My love, I will leave these people in your capable hands. The Three-Faced God is most pleased with your care.”

  I nodded, and Calix released my hand to stare at me for a moment, almost as if he cared for me in the way he claimed. And then his hands slid around my waist and he tugged me closer, kissing me. My body was stiff, unyielding, not expecting such a display and unable to adapt before he let go of me. People were clapping behind us as he pulled me to his side, waving and smiling at them.

  And then he let me go, and he made his way through the mill, and several guards followed him. I took a breath and turned to the overseer. “Very well,” I said. “Show us how to grind grain.”

  The stations were all large, flat circular stones that were in stacks of two and as wide across as my outstretched arms. They had a basket beneath and a hole in the top stone, and the overseer and the more practiced men showed us how to pour grain in the hole in the top and then turn the top stone with a handle. The grain was ground between the two stones, and came out the edges into the basket. The stones rumbled as they turned, and soon the floor was trembling, shuddering with the effort, in a way that felt almost joyous.

  The overseer also showed us curved stones with a shaped rock where women could make the flour even more fine, something he had ceased to do when there weren’t enough men.

  Quickly the women organized themselves, some porting grain and moving baskets, some turning stones, some packing it up when it was finished. Zeph and Adria both helped, the former far too delighted with the idea of pounding grain by hand, and the latter thoroughly distraught with the idea of her hand
s potentially revealing that she had done physical labor.

  I took my place at the second stage of grinding, my hands eager to touch the stone. I closed my eyes as I learned the motion of it, and running one stone over another felt like plucking the strings of an instrument. I felt the different hums deep in my bones, and when no one could hear me over the unyielding noise of grinding, I hummed back.

  But it wasn’t just the imaginary strings of a nonexistent instrument. There were strings there, tightly packed in the stone, vibrating with noise and life at my touch. My power was alive and strong, rushing around me as all the stones scraped against one another.

  The stone I was holding grew warm under my fingers, pushing against my hand, and I could feel the slight unevenness of it, the places where the curve of the stone didn’t meet the curve of the bowl in perfect alignment, and it felt like a snag, a grating that was scratching inside my ears. Glancing around, I focused on the stone, revising the shape of it like a blacksmith would sharpen a blade, pressing it to sit perfectly in the bowl.

  I moved the stone around the new curve, and it seemed like music, like playing my fingers across the threads had created a low, thrilling tune that resonated deep in my bones and shivered up my spine with delight.

  With each sweep and turn of the stone, the pleasure of it washed over me again—this was a stunning gift, to be able to take the rough and uneven and perfect it, to improve what nature had given us. In my hands, every motion felt like hope.

  “My queen?”

  I dropped the rock with a gasp. One of the women was there, nervous to ask me a question about distributing the grain, and I stepped away from the stone to help her, the warmth of it still making my fingers tingle.

  Fool. What was I thinking, using my power like that? It was hidden and small, but even the smallest suggestion of magic would get me killed with sure and swift finality. Even though Calix had left us to our task, how many minutes would the greedy overseer wait to turn me in if he suspected my power? How quickly would the Saepia guard betray their newborn loyalty to me?

  Shivering, I took up the cart full of bags of flour and wheeled it down the long hallway. There were still many more people there than could work in the mill, and I helped the men in the back hand it out as quickly as we could, far enough from the moving pieces of stone that the trembling power inside me was more like a murmur than a roar. Just before we ran out, Zeph came with his giant arms full of more bags.

  By the time the overseer rang a bell to signal the day was done, the sky was blushing dark. The line had been cut in half, and it seemed a small thing, but with a few days’ work, there would be no line.

  Adria came to join me outside, looking at her hands, worrying a bit of skin between her finger and thumb. “I think I’m getting a blister,” she said.

  “You’ll know if you get a blister,” I told her with a deep sigh. “We should start walking. Zeph?”

  “Here, my queen,” he said, emerging from the mill with a mighty stretch that caused mysterious parts of his anatomy to crack and pop. He gave a monstrous yawn that sounded like some kind of animal call and then smiled. “I like milling.”

  “Of course you like milling—it isn’t difficult for you,” Adria whined.

  His shoulders lifted. “If I’m being honest, not much is difficult for me.”

  “Hiding is probably difficult for you,” I told him with a smile.

  “And you probably sink like a stone in the water,” Adria said, crossing her arms.

  “I’m an excellent swimmer,” he said defensively.

  “You must have been hit by a tree branch or two riding on a horse,” I said. “You’re so very tall.”

  His brows knit together. “Occasionally.”

  “What do you do when you have a wound?” Adria asked, a hint of a smile on her face. “There’s no way you could hold a needle with your giant, calloused hands.”

  “I rub some dirt in it and move on with my life,” he grunted. “I don’t like this conversation anymore.”

  Adria snorted. “You started it.”

  Calix and I arrived separately to dinner, but neither Danae nor Galen appeared for the meal. Calix took my hand as soon as I sat, kissing it, smiling at me. “How was your day of labor, my love?” he asked.

  I smiled back, though it didn’t feel as real as I wished. “Difficult,” I said. “There was much work to be done, but they all took to it. We fed everyone who needed food.”

  “Fantastic,” he said. “Quite an endearing display.”

  I nodded. “Your people love you, Calix,” I told him.

  His smile grew thin. “And yet this Resistance continues. They rebel. They don’t trust my rule.”

  “No,” I assured him. “It’s just difficult to look past a hungry belly.”

  His thumb pushed over my fingers. “Hmm,” he said, looking forward. “This worked well, but the more ideas you have, the more I will think you are displeased with my reign.”

  And there it was, the reproach I had been waiting for since the day began. I walked along the edge of a knife with him, balancing between being a queen and a traitor.

  I squeezed his hand. “Never, my king.”

  But no matter what he said, my actions at the mill were real. I was helping, and changing things for the fate of our people. This was the road to peace, without bloodshed or death. And his words could not chase that from my heart.

  That night, I woke with a gasp to darkness. “Enter,” Calix called, and I twisted, realizing it was still night, and there must be someone at the door.

  A jarring flare of light burst into the room as a guard entered our chamber with a torch in hand. I scrambled to cover myself, and Calix snarled, “Turn away!” to the offending guard.

  The man spun before he could even take a full breath, and Calix moved from the bed, finding my coat and handing it to me. I slid into it, clutching it closed. “What is going on?” I asked him.

  “Report,” Calix snapped, scowling as he found his own clothing.

  “The quaesitori sent urgent word for you, my king,” the guard said.

  “Bring it to me,” he said, and the guard came closer, holding out a folded page.

  Calix took it, opening it and reading the contents while the guard stood there.

  “Guards!” Calix shouted. Theron appeared in the doorway, bowing, awaiting orders. “Make ready to leave within the hour. Notify my council as well.” Calix glanced at me, and then at the guard with the torch. “And gouge out his eyes.”

  “My—my king!” he pleaded. I looked to Calix, confused. Surely—Calix couldn’t mean—

  “Be grateful I don’t demand your life for defiling the queen,” Calix said. “You are dismissed.”

  The guard ran out of the room, and Theron grimly watched him go before leaving as well, closing the door.

  “Calix,” I begged, getting out of bed. “Calix, please, you cannot take that man’s eyes. I am not defiled. He didn’t harm me in any way.”

  My coat had parted, and he stopped and stared at me, and the narrow piece of flesh exposed by the gap. He shook his head slowly. “No man could see you in such a state and not covet you, my love. It was a mistake not to kill him—but you make me lenient.”

  “But you called him into the room!”

  Calix’s eyes narrowed. “And did I also tell him to stare upon your naked body? No. You would have him stare at you? Wasn’t it you who said that a desert man would never let another covet his wife?” He stepped closer to me, sliding his hands under the coat. “You cannot question me like this, Shalia. I am your king. And though I am pleased you waited until we were alone to do it, it needs to stop. Do you understand me?”

  I shivered, casting my eyes down from his hard gaze. “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “South,” he said, drawing away from me and pulling his clothing on. “My quaesitori believe they have a breakthrough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They think they can re-create the elixir
,” he told me. “I must go see the results immediately.”

  My heart jumped. “I will come with you.”

  “No,” he said sternly.

  “Calix,” I insisted. “You have trusted me with this from the beginning. Why would you not do so now?”

  “It is gruesome work,” he told me, his eyes narrowing.

  I came closer to him. “My place is by your side,” I said.

  His hands caught me, pulling me to him. “What of the mills?” he asked.

  “The mills will run in my absence. I will have Adria see it done.”

  His mouth was hard, but he nodded. “Very well.”

  In less than an hour and well before the light of day, we were led through the halls of the castle, coming out into the cool dark of the courtyard.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Calix grunted.

  I peered around him to see Kairos on the walkway, turning to smile at us. “Good morning.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  He shrugged. “Seemed like an excellent time for a walk. Where are you two off to?”

  “The south,” I said, and Calix squeezed my hand hard.

  “It’s business of state,” Calix snapped. “You can either remain here or return to the desert, but you cannot accompany us.”

  Kairos grinned. “Surely if it’s safe enough for my sister, it’s safe enough for me.”

  “Kairos,” I said, stepping in front of my husband and meeting Kairos’s eyes. “The king said you cannot come.”

  His eyes searched my face. “Very well,” he said. “Watch the skies, little sister.”

  He kissed my cheek, sliding past me. I watched him go before Calix hurried me along, and it took several long minutes to realize that Osmost was not on his shoulder.

  “Did you tell him we were leaving?” Calix demanded.

  “No,” I said, turning to my husband.

  “Your brother is outlasting his welcome,” he told me gruffly. He brought me to the carriage that was waiting for us and offered his hand to help me inside.

  I sat on one cushioned bench, and a moment later he sat beside me in the darkness, his arm sliding around my tense shoulders. I sat forward, and his arm fell away from me.