The Queen of Ieflaria

by Effie Calvin

  Each god, no matter how minor, had a place in Asterium where they brought their beloved followers after their deaths. The sole exception to this was Eran, God of Dreams, who brought the living into Ivoria on an almost nightly basis.

  Esofi knew that her own deceased family members were almost certainly with Talcia. She wondered where Albion was. Solarium, most likely, surrounded by some of the bravest and wisest regents that Inthya had ever known, where they would discuss and debate into eternity.

  The thought made her heart ache.

  Esofi was weary from the journey, and the sheets had been warmed by heated stones placed by thoughtful servants. She fell asleep quickly, and if she was invited into Ivoria that night, she did not remember it when she awoke.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Esofi opened her eyes and gave a little start at the sight of the unfamiliar stone ceiling above her head. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Ieflaria. Birsgen. The castle. Queen Saski would be summoning her that day.

  At the thought, Esofi sat bolt upright and leapt from bed. Hurrying over to the nearest wardrobe, Esofi was greeted by the sight of a host of barely familiar dresses. She had forgotten just how many she’d commissioned and packed away before leaving home, with the strict orders that they be left untouched for the entire journey.

  Unfortunately, none were suitable for mourning. Esofi knew that she was not expected to partake in the mourning period, being a foreigner, but felt that a too-grandiose display would seem insensitive, especially since Albion had been her betrothed.

  The day before, all of the Ieflarian ladies had been dressed in simple but elegant gowns with skirts that fell naturally from the underbust. It was a stark contrast to the voluminous and many-layered dresses that were popular in Rhodia. Perhaps she could have some Ieflarian dresses made up for her.

  Esofi sorted through the dresses, trying to pick the most subdued one. It was not long before there was a knock at her door.

  “Enter,” called Esofi, and Lexandrie and Mireille hurried in. They were in their long, lacy nightdresses.

  “We thought we heard you up,” explained Mireille. “Why did you not call us?”

  “I only just woke.” Esofi did not turn away from her wardrobe. “Is Lisette gone?”

  “Of course,” said Lexandrie, a bit of annoyance in her tone. “There’s work to be done, so naturally she’s missing.”

  “That is to be expected,” murmured Esofi. “Her assignment here is different than ours, after all.”

  “Still—” Lexandrie seemed to be trying not to let her annoyance show now that the princess had made her position clear. “She could at least try to act like a proper waiting lady.”

  Esofi selected a gown of palest pink decorated with buttercream ruffles and little silk rosebuds. Her ladies helped her dress, lacing her into her corsets and lifting layer after layer of fabric over Esofi’s head until finally the dress looked suitable.

  While Mireille pressed Esofi’s blonde hair into curls with a hot iron, Lexandrie set to the task of applying the princess’s powder and rouge. Once that was finished, they pinned silk flowers in her hair and stood back to admire their handiwork.

  “It’s not too much, is it?” worried Esofi as Mireille retrieved a porcelain hand mirror.

  “Too much?” Lexandrie had a touch of incredulity in her voice. “You’re meeting with the queen. There is no such thing as too much!” She cast a wistful look back at Esofi’s closet, her gaze settling on an elaborate crimson-and-gold gown. Esofi chose to ignore this.

  Lexandrie and Mireille left to prepare themselves for the day, and Esofi found her embroidery bag inside her bedside table after a few minutes of searching. She wished she could have overseen the servants as they unpacked. It would probably take a great deal of effort to arrange everything the way that she liked it.

  Esofi went into the parlor and was surprised by multiple baskets and packages waiting for her on the table. Pinned to the largest basket was a hastily scrawled note from Lisette.

  Princess,

  The packages are all safe to handle. I know you would have liked to open them yourself, but it was better this way. I didn’t detect anything amiss, but I wouldn’t be displeased if you threw it all out anyway, especially the food.

  Lisette

  Esofi reached for the nearest basket and pulled out the card, which named an Ieflarian noble that she had never heard of as the benefactor. The other gifts were much the same, each bearing a card with an unfamiliar name and title. Not all were nobles, though. A canvas painting of the royal chase had been sent from the court painter, and the parcel from the Lacemaker’s Guild contained a pair of gloves, dyed lavender. There was also a bottle of wine from the Vesoldan Ambassador.

  Esofi decided it would be more fun to explore the gifts if her ladies were there with her. She went over to open the window and let the cool morning sunlight in, and then sat herself on the sofa. During the journey, they had spent endless hours embroidering in the carriage while practicing their Ieflarian conversation. So great was the association in Esofi’s mind that she found herself murmuring verb conjugations as she took a pair of silver scissors from her bag and carefully cut out the awkward, crooked stitching from the corner of the tablecloth that had been Lisette’s responsibility.

  Esofi had been betrothed to Albion at the age of three, and so much of her education had focused on the fact that she would someday become the queen of Ieflaria. Along with the ordinary tutor who had educated her entire family, Queen Gaelle had also hired an Ieflarian tutor especially for Esofi. He had taught her the nation’s history and language, and Esofi was confident that she knew as much about Ieflarian history and economics as she did about Rhodia’s, or at least as much as could be put into books.

  Still, none of the reading she had done had prepared her for the beautiful sweeping farmlands that made up the majority of the Ieflarian countryside. She would never forget the first time she had laid eyes upon the land that stretched as far as the eye could see, hills beyond hills and fields beyond fields. In that moment, she could have believed that it all went on forever.

  It was still early spring, and from her carriage window she had been able to watch the farmers at work, tilling the ebony soil in strict, even rows. The ones who were blessed by Eyvindr, God of the Harvest, had performed the rituals that would sink green magic into the earth and ensure a good harvest. Meanwhile, shepherds and milkmaids drove their animals to grassy green fields, stopping at shrines to Cyne to mutter prayers or leave small offerings or simply run their hands across the stones.

  In Ieflaria, and indeed on the entire continent of Ioshora, Cyne was the Eleventh. The Eleventh was the god that served as a tiebreaker to the Ten, the most powerful gods in Asterium. The Ten were the same all the world over (or at least, all the parts of the world Esofi had read about), but the Eleventh differed across regions.

  Back home in Rhodia, the Eleventh had been Nara, Goddess of the Sky. But here, with farmlands taking up so much of the geography, she could understand how Cyne, the God of Animals and son of Eyvindr, had become more powerful.

  Overlooking the farms were always a few soldiers or, if the town was particularly fortunate, paladins from the Order of the Sun. Their attention would be not on the land but the skies above, ready to sound the alarm at the first sound of heavy wingbeats. Their presence was a grim reminder of the constant danger that hovered overhead.

  Esofi’s understanding of the dragon situation was thus: At the height of its power, nearly a millennium ago, the Xytan Empire had driven every last dragon from the continent. The dragons had retreated to a small cluster of unclaimed islands that lay between the northeastern coast of modern-day Ieflaria and the southeastern coast of Veravin. From that day forward, they only occasionally troubled the lands of Men.

  But centuries passed, and the Xytan Empire began to crumble. One by one, its outermost territories rallied their own armies and declared independence. Ieflaria’s own independence was a relatively bloodless transition,
as most of the Xytan soldiers were well aware they were outmatched and chose to retreat home.

  Under the new regime, the dragon attacks remained infrequent enough to be regarded nearer to legends than threats. Things had only started to change in the last few decades, when the strikes had grown in frequency.

  Esofi had not realized anything was truly amiss until one day, about five years past, when Albion wrote to her that the dragons were no longer coming to Ieflaria simply to steal cattle. They had started burning towns and attacking soldiers all along the coastline. Esofi wrote back that she was sure the Ieflarian military could handle the problem, and suggested a hope that the attacks would die down once the dragons learned that venturing into Ieflaria would end badly.

  But it seemed that things had only become worse in the interim years.

  Esofi had met refugees during her journey to the capital. They were mostly from small coastal holdings, fishing towns that had been destroyed in a matter of moments. The refugees had traveled inland, seeking the protection of their lords. But these Ieflarians were unaccustomed to farm life and frequently expressed their desire to return to the seaside as soon as possible. Unfortunately for them, the nobility was refusing to rebuild until the danger had been dealt with.

  Esofi could see both sides of the issue. There was no sense in expending the resources to rebuild a town only to see it destroyed again. But crowding refugees into small farming communities or minor southern cities was not a viable long-term solution either.

  Despite their misfortunes, it did not seem that the Ieflarian people were using the death of the crown prince or the threat of dragon attacks as an excuse to forsake their work. They had been working in the fields or caring for their animals as Esofi’s carriage passed by along her journey. Sometimes, they had raised their heads, their mild curiosity turning to fevered excitement when they caught a glimpse of blonde curls instead of ebony braids.

  Esofi had been afraid that the people of Ieflaria would have no interest in her, the foreign bride rendered useless by the loss of her groom. But they still turned out to line the streets whenever she passed through, even in the smallest farming communities. Children had given her messy bouquets of wildflowers and called her Solviga, the Ieflarian name that sounded closest to her own. Old grandparents had clasped her hands (something shockingly disrespectful in Rhodia, but apparently as common as rain in Ieflaria) and prayed with her.

  “She’s so beautiful. They’ll find someone to marry her in no time,” the Ieflarians had proclaimed to one another when they knew Esofi was in earshot. “No need for her to turn around and go back home—that would be a tragedy, would it not?”

  Their motives had been transparent but no less heartwarming.

  The outer door opened, returning Esofi to the present. She set down her embroidery as Lisette slipped inside like a cat or perhaps the shadow of a cat. When she saw Esofi sitting there, she froze momentarily.

  “Lady Lisette,” greeted Esofi in a neutral tone. “I trust you are well.”

  Lisette said nothing. She never seemed to know exactly how to reply to pleasantries.

  “Have you anything to report?” asked Esofi.

  “Only gossip and speculation,” said Lisette in that dry voice of hers. She crossed her arms. “But if you are truly able to handle the dragons, I think they will have little reason to complain.”

  “You know perfectly well that I can,” said Esofi, focusing on her embroidery. “What else have they been saying?”

  “There is also the question of heirs,” said Lisette. “The Ieflarians worry that neither of you will be able to hold a Change long enough to produce one.”

  “Mm,” said Esofi. “Well, we shall handle that situation when it arises. And what do they say of the Crown Princess Adale?”

  “It would seem Her Highness is ill-suited to be her parents’ heir or anyone’s betrothed.” Lisette’s eyes narrowed. “She spends her days hunting, riding, or drinking, disrespects the gods, and takes no interest in state matters.”

  Esofi pressed her lips together.

  “But,” added Lisette with a touch of reluctance in her voice, “it seems the castle staff is genuinely fond of her. Several servants tried to convince me that she is of good character.”

  “Has she said anything of me?” asked Esofi.

  “A servant was sent to her with the news yesterday,” explained Lisette. “But he says she may have been too drunk to understand the message.”

  Esofi found herself wondering which purse her prayer beads were in. “Very well. Thank you for your service.”

  Lisette disappeared into the ladies’ suite, and Esofi went on embroidering, admiring the way her hands did not tremble.

  Next to arrive was Captain Henris. He was dressed in his familiar formal battlemage attire, and Esofi called for Mireille and Lexandrie to attend her for the meeting.

  “The Ieflarian military is requesting we station our battlemages at every port, city, and town,” he reported. “And they are eager to ship them out as quickly as possible.”

  Beside her, Lexandrie clicked her teeth together in agitation, and Esofi knew why. Ieflaria was a large country, and the plan struck her as overly ambitious. “We haven’t enough mages for that. They would be spread too thinly.”

  “I fear the same,” said Captain Henris. “The Ieflarians are overly excited at the prospect of easier victories against the dragons. I have explained to them that sending only one mage will do little good in most circumstances, but I feel they do not believe me. These Ieflarians are so unfamiliar with Talcia’s magic, they earnestly believe a single ordinary battlemage can take down a dragon.”

  “If we order only a single battlemage to defend an entire holding, we are sentencing them to death the moment a dragon arrives,” said Esofi. “I will not throw away their lives like that. But I will speak to Her Majesty today, and perhaps I can persuade her.”

  Captain Henris nodded. “I trust that you can. And will you tell her your plans for the university?”

  “Yes,” said Esofi. “And more of those battlemages will be needed here to teach what I cannot. Their Majesties’ generals will not like it, but hopefully, they will come to see that a slower solution will protect us for generations to come.”

  “I believe in your tongue, Princess,” said Henris, managing to coax a smile from Esofi. “Are you well otherwise?”

  “Of course,” said Esofi. “Our rooms are adequate, and we’ve come upon no great trouble so far. I look forward to meeting the crown princess today.”

  “Ah,” said Henris. “Hm. Yes.”

  Esofi had a feeling that he’d heard the same stories that Lisette had, but merely smiled pleasantly. “If that is all, Captain?”

  Henris bowed and showed himself out. Esofi allowed herself a little sigh and settled back onto the couch.

  “Mireille, I would like to check the Ieflarian peerage again,” she said. Mireille was up like an arrow loosed from a bow and returned quickly with a parchment folio. Esofi accepted it and flipped open to the page of the royal family tree.

  She felt a soft little pang when her gaze fell upon Albion’s name, but quickly forced her attentions elsewhere. There, beside him, was the name Adalheidis Verheicht.

  She also knew that the crown passed through Dietrich’s side of the family, and checked his siblings. He had a younger brother, Prince Radulfr, who was married to a Duchess Theudelinda and therefore not a marriageable candidate. They had two children, who were—Esofi did some quick counting—third and fourth in line for the throne, assuming nobody else had died in the last few months. She supposed that she ought to set her sights on them, if the crown princess turned out to be serious about abandoning her responsibilities.

  But Esofi knew little of romance except what she had heard in stories and seen firsthand at Rho Dianae. She had been grateful for her arrangement with Albion, because it meant that she wouldn’t have to play those confusing games that everyone at court was so fond of. She had never understood peopl
e who bemoaned marriage contracts that they’d had no say in. To Esofi’s practical mind, marriage contracts represented certainty and security.

  What chance did she have without one? Esofi knew she couldn’t compete with the tall and elegant nobles of the Ieflarian court who would all have their attention on the throne now that Albion was gone. The thought filled her with dread. Esofi knew how to run a household, how to plan a defense, how to secure an alliance. But she did not know how to beguile. No, she would need a contract to be drawn up and signed immediately.

  A servant arrived to escort them to breakfast. Esofi was still becoming accustomed to the large and heavy breakfasts that the Ieflarians preferred, and felt a little queasy when she sat down at the table and saw the rich meats and strangely prepared eggs that had been spread out across it. Back home in Rhodia, people ate little in the morning beyond a light piece of fruit or a small pastry.

  Breakfast passed without incident, and eventually, Their Majesties dismissed everyone. With nothing else to do but await the queen’s summons, Esofi returned to her rooms and decided to see if she could try to rearrange her things more to her taste.

  She found her marble statuette of Talcia tucked away in one of the drawers, wrapped in the blue square of velvet that served as Esofi’s altar cloth. Esofi immediately set both out on a table by the window. Her prayer beads and books quickly joined the display.

  Talcia, Fifth of the Ten, was the Goddess of Magic. But she seemed to be less popular in Ieflaria than she was in Rhodia. Esofi had seen no shrines or temples to her since they’d come into the country. Perhaps that was why Ieflaria was so lacking in battlemages. Their blessing came from her, after all.

  Talcia was also the wife of Iolar, the God of Law and Civilization to whom all regents looked for guidance. Together, they represented the duality of the known and unknown, fine ideals versus unpredictable reality.