Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Tuscany
Aged-ten
Vows of a queen:
For The Cradle, I will take no man, bear no children, and seal my Meaningful Purpose with the ultimate gift—my vessel for life.
I bounce alongside Rome, brushing chocolate from my lip as my half-eaten truffle waves in my hand. My feet won’t stop moving, my knees jittering as sugar courses through my veins.
I feel like a hummingbird!
Today, I was proclaimed Queen of The Cradle, and all night I've been showered with gifts from the citizens: a sparkly ring, a hundred pretty bouquets I accepted all personally. Hugging everyone.
I couldn't be happier.
Peering up at my brother, Rome, I laugh at his serious face.
Just as I was announced as queen, he has been named heir.
He joined a campaign this first-light with Turin of The Strait, saw the outskirts, the ruins, all kinds of wild and wonderful sights.
Never-ending windmills! Common Communities!
Eee! He carries a lot of responsibility now.
King Rome.
Queen Tuscany.
It sounds wondrous.
“I’m going to travel to every Common Community in The Cradle and give them all chocolates,” I declare. “I hear they don’t get to eat chocolate.” It feels so simple and good—spreading joy with something I love.
I catch the way Rome looks at me, half-smiling, with a hint of darkness that never fades. Rome isn't just touched by darkness; he seems wrapped in it. Over the years, I've tried to soften him, add a bow to his bleak outlook, but he only grows more stern.
He wipes stray chocolate from my top lip, and I giggle again. “You’ll never visit a Common Community when I’m king, Tuscany,” he says. “They’re far too wild and savage for you, sweet sister. Besides, I think chocolate is the last thing on their minds.”
His words tug at my heart. “That’s so sad,” I say, but I intend to change that. I intend to change the world.
Rolling his gaze over my face, he sighs, softening for me. “You’ll do great things. You’ll have your Meaningful Purpose and mother The Cradle like no queen ever has. I’m sure.”
His reassurance makes me beam; I will try to be a wonderful queen.
“Will you walk me to my room, dear brother?” I ask, spinning and dancing toward my chamber, down the corridor that boasts exposed feature bricks.
Excitement bubbles in my chest. “I’m so full now, and it’s nearly time for my Rite.
My last night as just me. I think I take vows or something.
I hope whatever it is involves rubbing my feet while I have a huge sugar crash and fall asleep like a big, overfed house cat.
” I glance back at him, and he smiles tightly, the tension in his body unhidden even as he tries to hide it.
When we reach my door, I turn to him. “I’m going in now. Do you think something weird will happen? Like chanting and candles? I hope I don’t laugh and give myself away.”
He taps my nose, and my heart flutters with mischief. “I hope you do," he says.
As I step into my plush room, I take in the soft glow of the candles on the sills and the marble table presented with ointments and towels. Ooh, I am getting a massage!
My enthusiasm hiccups to a stop when I see Cairo appear from the corner, that secretive curl of his lips in place.
“I do hope you enjoyed yourself tonight,” he says. “You must be elated. You’re so close to Meaningful Purpose, my princess.”
My queen. The word sounds melodic in my ears. I’m the queen now, and the Trade Master’s secret smile is toast! I giggle to myself—then Rome’s voice cuts through my reverie.
“What is this?”
“Rome.” Cairo finally acknowledges him, the soon-to-be king of The Cradle. “I was checking to ensure everything is prepared for her and up to my standards. I will take my leave now. You both need to sleep.”
Master Cairo strides through the door, Rome barely moving to allow him to pass. Tension crackles in the air. My brother doesn’t like the Trade Master.
I touch Rome’s arm, trying to put him at ease. He worries too much.
“Go to bed, Rome. I think you need rest as much as I do.” I gaze up at him, feeling at ease in his huge presence, in his formidable shadow.
Nothing can stop us now, Rome.
“Come to me in the first-light. Early? As soon as the fire turns orange. I’ll tell you about the chanting and foot massages, and you can tell me about The Cradle. Deal?”
“Deal,” he rumbles, and I do a little dance before closing the door, my heart still racing from the party and all that chocolate and excitement.
The door clicks shut.
Unease lingers in the air, almost transferring from Rome to me. The safety and warmth I felt moments ago, fade to a chill.
Swallowing the unwelcome nerves, I turn to beam at the nurses. “What happens now?”
“Put your nightgown on and sit on the bed, princess,” one nurse in a pretty coral-coloured blouse says.
“Okay!” Quickly, I shimmy out of my dress, dropping it to the floor, and replace it with a nightgown.
I sit on my bed.
Wait…
“Okay.” The nurse circles around behind me where I feel her lift my gown. “Hold still.”
Oh, I brace myself as something sharp pinches my spine.
Wincing, I ask. “What’s that for?” I struggle to maintain my smile, feeling as if something heavy—like an elephant—sits on my chest.
“Just lie down. You’ll be okay.”
I want to ask again—what’s that for—because she didn’t answer me, but I feel silly, so I don’t. I’m the queen; I don’t want them to question my capabilities. I have to be brave, especially tonight. It’s my Rite.
I nod, trusting the Trade, my brother, and my beloved Turin of The Strait, The Cradle’s Monarch and Protector—my father.
He’s a protector.
I’ll be okay.
I lay my body on the bed, strangely detached from it. The room shrinks in from my peripheral, and Master Cairo comes into focus. “This is your moment, my queen. Listen carefully.”
When did he return?
I blink. A nurse puts a fabric screen up at my belly button, and my lower body vanishes behind it. The parts of me I can no longer see seem to fade away.
Where are my legs?
I try to smile at the nurse, because smiles are brave; smiles are infectious; smiles make people happy. But, for the first time in my life, my smile hides a secret—I’m afraid.
‘Rome…’ I want to say his name, but my throat is clogged with something, salty and chocolate; tears and brownies. My brother’s name won’t join them, won’t travel the length of my tongue as if my voice is too petrified to draw attention.
The heaviness on my chest deepens until the invisible force crushes me to the bed. I start to panic. Nothing feels normal, nothing feels right, or safe, and I’m vibrating.
I lower my arms.
Feel them.
I grip the sheets at my sides.
Feel that.
Then it happens.
“A nice clean cut,” Master Cairo says, his head hovering over me.
“Say your vows, my queen. Say them as the nurse accepts your gift to The Cradle. This is symbolic. A womb is the first gift a mother gives her child, a safe place to thrive. Your womb is the vessel for life, and you give it to The Cradle like all the queens that came before you.”
Darkness swims around me.
“Go ahead.” Cairo smiles, all his teeth gleaming as he says, “I will take no man.”
I hear a trembling voice, only to discover it is mine.
“I will take no man.”
I gasp.
“Bear no children.”
I sense a tug at my pelvis.
“Nurture.”
Tug.
“Inspire.”
Tug.
“Endure.”
Something is taken from inside my body and lifted like a trophy.
“I am the Queen of The Cradle.”
The air is so rough that I choke on it, gasping and gulping at shards of oxygen while I watch them carry my vessel to a vase and set it carefully within. T-they… They took that from inside me.
My gift to The Cradle.
They… They hurt me.
My trembling smile fills with tears that won’t stop coming. No further questions form in my mind as I swallow and swallow. There is nothing left but blinding panic.
No faces come into view.
No warmth.
“Get some rest, my queen,” a female voice says. “Don’t worry, we left one ovary, for your development.”
Then there is a soft click.
The light goes out—suddenly or after a long time—leaving my body alone on the bed.
I don’t remember what happened...
My eyes burn when I open them to behold the velvety drapes sailing above my bed, expensive fabric that floats from post to post. Frowning, I blink in confusion.
“What happened?” I whisper to the dim room cast only in the crimson glow of the artificial fireplace. Deep red shows that it is nighttime.
I lick my dry lips and can still taste the chocolate brownies from my celebration. I swallow over a rough lump; it feels like years of tears recently clogged my throat. But what reason would I have to cry?
I ate a lot of food last night at my ceremony when I was sworn in as Queen of The Cradle, Mother to The Trade.
Squinting at the pretty drapes, I am unsure why I have this… this ache in my chest. I rub at it. At pain. Not happiness.
I should be happy.
Shouldn’t I?
My body feels heavy. There is a tightness deep in my pelvis as if I were laughing too hard, which is not unusual for me, yet my cheeks don’t feel the fatigue of smiles rather the ache of grinding teeth. Absentmindedly, I slide my hand down to my abdomen and gasp.
“They took it,” I whisper. My small fingers meet the bandage, and somehow I feel the emptiness beneath. “The parts I won’t need now that I am to be Queen…” A breath shudders from me.
Their betrayal burns my eyes. My stupid dreams of being queen stab at the mourning space below my abdomen. The sunshine I feel in my heart turns to charcoal and ash.
No. No.
My eyes dart wildly from side to side, not searching, just lost. My mind retreats, frantically clinging to comfort—warm food; adoring eyes on me; everyone wanting my attention, wanting to play with me on the night I become Queen.
Oh, how I want to be the best queen. Kind. Attentive. I took my vows with a smile. I will take no man, bear no children; all The Cradle’s citizens shall be mine to nurture.
Tears spill into my mouth.