Page 5

Laurel

Those who channel the aether through water are considered a lower order of magic users, though this prejudice is unfair to the many practical applications of water channeling. Trade between the four kingdoms would stagnate without their ability to hasten travel by ship or calm raging seas. The strongest of this order can even heal injuries with only the smallest amount of liquid.

The Unabridged History of Magical Orders, Volume I

We make the journey to Delsar for the Forum of Royals in four days—one to travel by horseback from Arberly to the port town of Echosa, and three to travel by sea to the arid and mountainous kingdom of Delsar. The trip would normally take closer to eight days to complete, but with six water channelers, our ship was propelled through the water quickly.

The night we spent at my favorite tavern in Echosa, The Emerald Shell, highlighted for me how much the rebellion has impacted the rural regions of my kingdom. When I’d entered the tavern common room, very few citizens had stood to bow to me—most had instead looked on with skepticism and even loathing. Not that I require my people to fall on their knees in front of me. In fact, I’d prefer they don’t. But this was a reminder that I need to deal with the rebels soon.

Yalla, the shining white capital city of Delsar, gleams as we approach the port. Nemesia sidles up beside me, tension rolling off her body in waves so thick I can sense each time she clenches and unclenches her jaw. Words of comfort won’t help, so I simply point out landmarks I remember from previous visits to help ease her nerves. The white stucco buildings, distinguished by their harsh lines and angular features, are so different from the architecture of Thayaria, where we build into and around the environment. All of Delsar is a desert, and the red cliffs and soil make the city and its white skyline stand out brightly. By the time we dock in the massive port, the smell of fish and brine thick in the air, Nemesia has relaxed and is back to ordering the guards and speaking in hushed murmurs with Admon.

As we disembark from the ship, dock workers all stop and stare. “ The Witch Queen ,” they whisper as I pass, pointing to me with fear in their gaze. “ Stay back.” “Don’t let her look directly in your eyes.” “Hide the children .” I’ve heard them all, and after three hundred years of whispers, I can ignore the barbs, even if they still sting in a place I keep buried beneath my icy exterior.

A tall, bronze woman clad in strips of flowing gossamer fabric in varying shades of pink awaits us. Her eyes are mahogany, with midnight black curly hair framing her face and stopping just above her shoulders. She’s beautiful and severe, the epitome of the fierce warrior the Delsar people are known for. As I approach, she bows respectfully, though her muscles are clenched tightly.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” she says with forced confidence, “my name is Diaskia. I’m your guide during your stay on Delsar and will do my best to assist you with any requests you may have. Servants are unloading your belongings and will bring them to your rooms in the palace. Your advisors have each been provided with rooms close to yours, and your guards will have sleeping quarters on the same floor. I’ll escort you to the palace.”

“Thank you, Diaskia,” I say, and she stiffens, eyes unable to hide her fear of me. Nemesia takes over the coordination with her. Whether to protect Diaskia or to protect me, I’m unsure.

Diaskia turns to a large cart, carved with colorful depictions of the Delsar landscape and topped by a delicate silk sail. She gestures for us to sit with stiff movements, her fear still written clearly in her body language. When we’re all settled, she raises her hands and channels aether through the air to create a wind that fills the sails and slowly moves the cart along the dusty streets toward the palace. As we travel, she points out architecture or notable buildings. Nemesia’s eyes widen at the training yard and officer’s quarters for the all-female army Delsar is known for. Despite swearing off fighting and military leadership, Nemesia’s a warrior at heart.

When we reach the bleached white palace, massive and embellished with gold and silver accents that top its many towers and spires, Diaskia escorts us through a wing on the western side. Inside, it’s bright and airy, sparsely decorated except for the detailing carved directly on the stone. Battles are depicted alongside festivals and even births, marking a tapestry of Delsarian life. Servants pass us, their eyes widening in shock and then fear when they see me. Some bow before moving away, while others simply keep their head down and walk as quickly away from me as they can.

We reach a massive marble staircase, white but glittering when sunlight from the skylights above hit it. On the fifth floor, we turn left, walking toward a set of double doors inlaid with gold and silver. Diaskia opens them, walking through with my party of advisors and guards following closely behind.

“You should recognize these rooms, Your Majesty,” Diaskia says. “You were given them the last time the Forum of Royals was held in Delsar.”

“I’m sure they’ll be as comfortable this time as they were before,” I say with a smile, hoping to put the warrior at ease. But a few smiles and kind gestures won’t undo centuries of propaganda about the Witch Queen and her dark magic, especially because of my own decision to lean into the persona when it serves me. Diaskia tenses, her desire to leave apparent in the tight posture and darting eyes.

“If your guards and advisors will follow me, I’ll escort them to their rooms and sleeping quarters,” Diaskia says in clipped tones.

My entourage follows her out, leaving me alone for the first time in days, and I can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes me. Weary from travel and little sleep, I make quick work of cleaning myself and return to the bedroom. Pouring myself a glass of Delsarian wine, I curl up on the bed. Despite my nerves for the next day, the wine and exhaustion lull me into a light doze.

The sleep doesn’t last. The usual nightmares I face in the lead up to seeing King Mazus again wake me before the sun rises. Those haunting green eyes replay in my mind, making me shiver. Even three hundred years later, I still viscerally remember the utter feeling of desperation, fear, and lack of agency as Mazus’s guards pinned me down while he ordered me to slit my own wrists. Still remember the panic of not being in control of my own magic—of knowing that there was no one coming to save me. I take a few deep breaths, taking time to remember that I saved myself , saved my entire kingdom, all alone. I let that thought bolster me like it always does and whisper affirmations that have become routine.

You are the last defense against Mazus. No one is coming to save you. You must save yourself.

Once the fear and panic pass, I use the extra time to take detailed care of my appearance, braiding my hair into a complex weave that circles the top of my head and doing my makeup with expert precision. The deep emerald dress I select looks almost black until the light hits it just right. It brings out the color of my eyes and pays homage to the verdant landscape of my kingdom. Embroidered with thayar flowers, the flowing layers are designed to keep me cool in the warm climate of Delsar.

I inspect my appearance in the mirror, my bright green eyes staring back at me. Ivory skin stands out starkly against the dark dress and makeup, and I adjust a few auburn coils of hair before delicately placing the crown of gilded laurel and thayar flowers atop the intricate coif.

I can’t keep my mind from wandering to one of my earliest memories. Seated in front of my mother at her own vanity, she had delicately combed the knots out of my hair before braiding it away from my face. Then she placed a real laurel wreath atop my head.

“My sweet Laurel,” she said as she adjusted the wreath. “You’re named after the Thayarian crown. It’s made of gilded laurel as an homage to the foliage that grows so abundantly here. I wanted to give you a name that was worthy of the beautiful and magical life I knew you would live.” Her soft fingers brushed against my cheeks, and she smelled like lavender and sea salt as she leaned down to kiss the top of my head.

The fresh laurel wreath, a Thayarian symbol of spring and the innocence of childhood, felt so light that day. I had worn it proudly, head floating in the clouds with dreams of one day wearing the real thing as I skipped around the palace, showing off my wreath to anyone who passed me by. Now, the crown is yet another reminder of the loss of parents who should have lived another thousand years, a constant sign that I haven’t lived up to their legacy.

Taking several deep breaths, I look at myself in the mirror until I see a queen staring back, fearless and ready to play the role of the terrifying and mad Witch Queen. A role that has kept my people safe from interest in the shrouded, misty kingdom these last centuries.

A knock at the door pulls me out of my deep focus. Nemesia and Admon enter, both dressed in emerald green pant suits that compliment my dress. We make an imposing triad clad in dark clothing and stacked with weapons. Diaskia appears at the door, shoulders tense, and we follow her into the western wing of the palace, the four guards following closely behind.

The hallway is lined with open alcoves overlooking the sea, the blue sparkling against the white framing arches. The chambers the Forum will be held in are on the first level, and soon we enter a large room with a massive circular table in the middle. There are four equally impressive chairs spaced evenly around the table, with smaller chairs on either side for the advisors.

“It appears you’re the first to arrive,” Diaskia says, and she gestures to the closest set of chairs. “You may take a seat when you’re ready. Your guards are to stand against the wall or in the hallway beyond.” With that, Diaskia leaves us.

Nemesia immediately takes charge, ordering two guards to stay in the room and the other two to remain outside and on alert. Admon looks my way and gives me an encouraging smile, his blue eyes twinkling.

“Here we go, Your Majesty,” he jests, and I return the smile, though I imagine it doesn’t reach my eyes. The wounds of the war have scabbed over, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy being forced to make nice with the male who invaded my kingdom and the leaders who did nothing to stop him. Admon’s eyes suddenly harden, and I know who’s entered behind my back. I steel myself, turning cold eyes upon Mazus Vicant.

He hasn’t aged a day since the Battle of Moormyr, that perfectly crafted appearance still as flawless as ever. None but his closest circle know his true age. He was born centuries before even my parents, potentially even before Admon. And yet—he looks as if he could be just out of his adolescence. Yet another mystery of the Golden King.

“Laurel, it is always such a rare pleasure to see you,” he says with a plastered-on smile. I tense for an instant before recovering, noticing his use of my given name and not my title.

Not allowing him to get under my skin, I respond smoothly and cooly. “I wish I could say the same, Mazus .” Now he stills, clearly irked by my own lack of formality and groveling. One of his advisors, an ancient graying male who looks as old as the Four Kingdoms, glances between us, then quickly looks to Admon, before returning his gaze to his King.

“How is Thayaria?” Mazus asks with fake interest. “Still shrouded in mist? Are you ever going to let anyone in or do you intend to isolate yourself for the rest of your long life?”

I bare my teeth in a contemptuous smile. “Why don’t you try to cross the barrier and find out?”

Mazus eyes me coldly, tension roiling in the air between us. Before it can snap, the Queen of Delsar enters, chortling at the scene before her and cutting through the strain instantly. Lobelia Bantsum’s tall frame matches those of the Delsarian warrior women. Her hair is fully gray, though the rest of her bronze body remains strong and toned, the muscles of her arms and abdomen on display in the turquoise cropped, sleeveless top she wears with matching flowing pants. “It’s only been five minutes, and the Witch Queen and Golden King are already at odds. What a surprise,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.

I’ve never known what to think of the Delsarian Queen. She always has an air of knowing more than everyone else in the room, and she probably does, considering she too is over one thousand years old. Age is a closely guarded secret amongst fae. It’s difficult to know which leaders knew one another as adolescents, and Mazus and Lobelia are no different. It’s well known that she loathes the Velmaran King, and the two are always renegotiating trade agreements between their nations, each attempting to get the upper hand on the other. She did not come to Thayaria’s aid during the war, but neither did she aid Velmara.

From my perspective, she’s as culpable as the rest of them. The centuries-long alliance Thayaria once had with Delsar ended the day she decided not to get involved when Mazus invaded my kingdom unprovoked.

I settle into the role she and everyone else expects of me, adding sarcastically, “Your Majesty, you know I can’t resist ruffling Mazus’s feathers a little. Since I can’t practice my dark magic here, I must resort to cheap insults and petty gestures.” Lobelia grins, that knowing look in her eyes once again.

“Ah yes, the dark magic of the Witch Queen, seen by Mazus himself and proclaimed by his messengers across the Four Kingdoms. Too powerful to be left unchecked, he claimed. The reason for his so-called war. How do your witchly pursuits go, Queen Laurel?”

“A witch never reveals her secrets,” I add cheekily before taking my seat, ignoring Mazus’s cold gaze.

Mazus stalks to his chair, taking the one across from me and staring me down with a smug look, and I resist the urge to unleash my actual power on him. I will the room to shake for just a moment to taunt him, and he sends a quick burst of air at my face in response. My eyes narrow and I bare my teeth.

Before things can escalate more with Mazus, the Reshnar leader enters, and all eyes quickly turn to him. Clem Carther is the first human to attend a Forum of Royals. He was elected to the highest leadership position by the Reshnar people three years ago. Mazus glares at him with unguarded contempt, while Lobelia looks at him like she wants to devour him, though in what way I’m unsure. He bows to each of us, before saying, “Your Majesties, it’s my honor to be here for this historical Forum of Leaders. ” My eyebrow quirks up.

Clem walks to the open chair to my left and sits, his two advisors—one human, one fae—sitting beside him. All three of them give me a wide berth. The Reshnar human pulls out several rolls of parchment, quills, and even a few books. He’s short and wide, his belly bulging out from his waist-length tunic. The loose trousers and riding boots he wears look like they were purchased just today, the sheen of the boots so bright I can see Admon’s reflection in them. His brown hair is kept short, and he looks to be in his late fifties. While he appears at first glance to be laid back, his brown eyes are sharp and focused. He looks at the three royals around him, then says, “Well, shall we begin? I for one have an unending list of topics to discuss.”

I groan internally. The next three days are going to be dreadfully dull.

“Queen Laurel, if you want to continue receiving grain from Delsar with such low taxes, I’m sorry to say you’re going to need to offer us more shipments of the thayar flower,” Queen Lobelia tells me, the irreverent and mischievous persona from before replaced with a no-nonsense negotiator.

We’ve been discussing Thayaria’s grain imports for the last hour, one of the few high-stakes topics of this meeting. Because of Thayaria’s isolation, we rely on trade and barter agreements to ensure we get the food we need. Despite our lush environment, cultivated agriculture is very difficult to maintain—the wild plants take over almost any plot of land unless there is careful tending. Thankfully every other nation requires thayar in some capacity, giving us the upper hand in negotiations.

“The amount of thayar you’ve requested, and with zero taxes, I’ll add, is a non-starter. Give me another number, or I’ll turn my attention to President Carther and secure my grain from Reshnar, despite our centuries-long agreement,” I respond coolly. President Carther looks like he wants to disappear rather than negotiate with me.

Lobelia hisses. “You know as well as I that Reshnar has little use for thayar flower, since over eighty percent of its population is human. You won’t get favorable grain prices there. Your only other option is Velmara.” Her eyes dart to Mazus, who looks at me with contempt and glee.

“And you know that with my control over the entire supply of thayar flower, I have a lot more power in this negotiation than you want to admit. Give me. Another. Number.” I use my aether-voice, reminding every single leader at this table that I’m more powerful than them all combined. Both Mazus and Lobelia wince. If I wanted to, I could force them to their knees. When crowned, every fae monarch receives the ability to speak with aether in their voice, granting them control over those less powerful than them. It’s a convenient way to measure the magic of those in power.

“I would be happy to provide Thayaria with the grain you seek,” Mazus sneers. “Velmara relies on thayar for most of our kingdom’s trade, as you know. Any increase in our imports would be met with favorable trade terms.” His eyes sparkle. He knows I need the grain, but also knows I refuse to trade with Velmara. Out of necessity, we sell them thayar at an inflated price and use the funds to purchase what we need from one of the other two kingdoms. Unfortunately, the prices barely make a dent in their deep coffers.

“That won’t be necessary,” I respond icily before turning my attention back to Lobelia.

Despite my calm exterior, I was worried this would happen. Thayaria’s supplies of thayar are decreasing dramatically. If we don’t find a solution soon, we won’t be able to keep up with our existing commitments to the other three kingdoms, much less any changes to those terms. Not only will our revenue decrease to almost nonexistent, prohibiting us from purchasing what we need to survive in isolation, the other kingdoms will surely uncover what’s going on and become more fervent in their own research to get past the barrier.

“Fine,” Lobelia says. “You can receive a fifteen percent increase in grain, and in return you’ll provide equal amounts of thayar. If you want twenty percent more, we’d be happy to do that deal as well.”

I suspect this is the agreement she wanted all along, and by presenting it this way, she appears fair and reasonable. An even trade. But thayar is worth much more than grain, and she knows it. Fifteen percent more grain is equal to less than five percent more thayar. Even if it was fair, Thayaria doesn’t currently have enough thayar production to increase Delsar’s share so dramatically.

“Now, far be it from me to step in where I’m not wanted,” Mazus begins, and I struggle to keep from rolling my eyes, “but that does seem like a fair agreement. Thayar grows abundantly on Thayaria, surely your people can shoulder such a small change to their thayar access.” His eyes twinkle knowingly, and my stomach drops. He knows about the declining blooms.

“I don’t remember asking for your input,” Lobelia hisses. He only raises his hands as if he’s simply trying to help.

“Fifteen percent increase in grain for a seven percent increase in thayar. Same taxes as the last agreement. That’s my final offer, and you know it’s more generous than I could be,” I tell Lobelia. Nemesia tenses beside me, aware that Thayaria won’t be able to honor even these terms if we don’t find a way to stop the declining blooms.

“You have a deal, Queen Laurel,” Lobelia says with a smirk. “And I believe that was the last topic for this year’s Forum. We can—”

Mazus clears his throat, interrupting Lobelia. “There is one other final matter that I’d like for us to discuss before adjourning.” My blood turns to ice, dread clenching in my gut as I quickly exchange glances with Nemesia and Admon.

“Well, spit it out, Mazus,” Lobelia says dryly, clearly as ready to be done as I am.

He smirks at her, then looks directly at me. “I’d like to propose that Thayaria and Velmara exchange emissaries.”

The room breaks out in hushed murmurs, even the highly trained Delsar advisors and guards are unable to keep from voicing their shock. Mazus’s own advisors look at him with their brows furrowed. They clearly didn’t know about their King’s plans.

I raise my hand to quiet the room. “Emissaries?” I ask. “You want to send ambassadors to Thayaria?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he replies, using my title now that he wants something. “Ambassadors. For too long our kingdoms have been isolated from one another, and I know I’m partially to blame for that. After three hundred years, I grow weary of the tension. I want us to take steps, albeit very small ones, to repair our two kingdoms’ relationship.”

“ Partially to blame?” I ask, incredulous. “ You attacked my kingdom—”

Admon cuts me off. “Your Majesty,” he says, voice careful, “I believe we should hear him out.” I look at Admon, my eyes blazing. He drops his voice, whispering so I barely hear him. “There may be much information to gain by testing his reasoning for this proposal. It’s strategic for him to have brought this to the Forum, in front of the other leaders, instead of sending a letter to you or even having his advisors bring it up with Nemesia and I first to gauge your reception. Something is afoot. I suggest we hold our tongues and discover what it is.”

My cheeks heat. Even after three hundred years, Admon’s wise counsel still feels like the reproach of a parent. I nod, then turn back to Mazus, who’s grinning so wide I grow nauseous at the sight.

Mazus continues. “As I was saying, I would like to repair our kingdoms’ relationship, and I’m prepared to send my only child, Hawthorne Vicant, the Shining Prince of Velmara, as my emissary.”

My eyes narrow in suspicion. Mazus can’t believe I’d be foolish enough to allow his son to come to Thayaria as a spy for him. But I only say, “And why would you send the Crown Prince of Velmara to a country where you cannot reach him once he steps foot on my soil, where he will have no allies or friends to call on should he find trouble?”

His eyes drop in mock resignation. “I confess I have a secondary motive for sending my son. Thorne, as he’s called by those who love him, needs to take more interest in the ruling of his country. For too long I’ve allowed him to shirk his responsibilities, wasting away his life in brothels and taverns. I will not live forever, and I wish to leave my kingdom in capable hands when that fateful day comes. I feel he needs a new environment to be able to flourish.”

I don’t believe a single word out of his mouth. I doubt anyone in this room does. Instead of voicing this, I simply ask, coldly, “Why now?”

“It’s weighed heavily on me for many years, Your Majesty. I fear I have no answer for you other than I’ve finally determined to take action. The weight of my past is too much to bear any longer.” Clem looks like he’s eating this up, his eyes glimmering with hope and his mouth ticked up in a soft smile. He believes the Golden King to be a shining beacon of light. All of the people of Reshnar do, their alliance with Velmara as solid as ever.

Before I can respond, Nemesia surprises me by saying, “What else are you prepared to give us should we agree?”

My eyes cut to hers, exasperated that she’s entertaining this nonsense. But I don’t undermine her, not here. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way too many times. I return my gaze to Mazus.

“What is it that you require to bribe you into diplomatic relations?” he sneers.

The audacity. A wind whips around the room, my power seeping out in my fury. Queen Lobelia is feral with delight, and Clem looks like he wants to crawl under the table, his features pulled into a grimace. Nemesia puts her hand gently on my arm, lowering me back to my seat. I hadn’t even realized I’d stood.

“To even consider this, we would need more favorable thayar prices and access to Velmara’s archives for the emissary we send. We will adjourn to another room to discuss while you think over what you’re prepared to offer,” Nemesia says, her voice strong and clear.

“Your bribe , as you say, better be worth my time,” I hiss, turning on my heel and slamming a wind into Mazus’s advisors that knocks them over.