Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Tuscany
Vows of a Queen: For Meaningful Purpose, I will be The Cradle’s Marble Queen.
A marble statue doesn’t feel.
Or have needs.
Double doors swing open before me, presenting the queen to the people of The Estate.
Chin high, I stride from the Hall and stop on the top steps.
Below, the tanks idle, surrounded by a sea of Estate citizens, eager to bear witness to my first campaign into The Cradle.
Citizens from every corner of The Estate gather, their eyes drilling, some with suspicion, others with adoration, and I can feel my heart racing, nerves tightening in my stomach.
But I am marble.
Grace. Ease. Grounded.
As I turn to glance at my reflection on the large screen mounted above the square, the image staring back at me—boasting my white dress and sleek armour—seems truly fictional. No wonder the men bit back laughter in the planning room yesterday.
The CR—Common Relations—Guard circles me, his helmet is equipped with several high-tech lenses. I know nothing about technology. I am an ideal, and technology still holds a stigma and provokes suspicion.
His presence is both reassuring and invasive, capturing every moment for history. The broken queen on the steps—will she make it down without falling?
I take a big breath in.
Fanning out from behind me, the ladies in my Army flit down the stone steps, accepting flowers and tokens from the hopeful citizens on my behalf.
“Sister.”
I turn slowly to face Rome as he approaches, his expression tight with concern, all his dark worries circling him.
He doesn’t want me to go.
“Sire.” I bow my head slightly, trying to quell the tremor in my hands by clasping them at my thighs. “I do not wish to argue here on the steps in front of everyone—”
“I agree,” he states curtly. “You will follow the charted map. You will listen to Kong, and you will—”
“I know all of this.” Peering up at my brother, I see so much of our father, Turin, in his size and war-torn physique. “I will be quite watchful and cautious at all times, Sire.”
Squaring my shoulders, I inhale and hold my breath in a proud chest, waiting for his final acceptance and farewell. Something I need—belief in me. I need someone to believe I’m capable… No, not someone. Him. I need my brother to have faith in me.
He sighs roughly. “If you need me, I cannot come to you, sweet sister.” Regret sets his brows into a straight line. “Aster is pregnant again. You know I cannot leave The Estate. I swore it to her.”
I gaze back at him, offering the smallest of smiles, one that I try to lift to my eyes, but can’t. I once said I would never abide secret smiles. Well… I have my own now. “I have my Army,” I assure him.
“And Kong.”
“Yes.” I turn to face my citizens, seeking refuge in their faces, stifling how that name makes me feel… vulnerable.
“Wait!” My brother’s Silk Girl, Aster, suddenly appears, rushing from inside the Hall. “Wait. I need to say goodbye.”
A screech vibrates through the skies, and I know Odio is flying overhead, making his presence known. Where Aster is, Odio is the giant shadow beneath her feet.
I take a deep breath.
Aster attempts to fling her arms around me, her small bump protruding, but I stiffen.
“Oh, sorry, my queen.” She steps backward and bows instead. “London and I”—she strokes her lower abdomen— “needed to say goodbye. I hope your Meaningful Purpose is as fulfilling as mine.”
“If I touch your stomach,” I tease with a small smile, “will Odio fly down here and take off my hand?”
“Obstinate fucking creature.” Rome growls from within his chest, annoyed that his giant eagle has a misguided claim to his Silk Girl and her babies.
“Oh, no.” She blushes, bright pink glowing below her cheeks. “He loves you, my queen. You know that.”
I reach out. Using the tips of my fingers, I dust the top of her small pregnant belly, and the people of The Cradle coo and murmur. At my shoulder, the screen shows the touching moment—the goodbye.
Marketing…
I hover my fingers over her stomach—I will bear no children. Then I feel the wind shift. The crowd gasps as Odio lands beside us with a thump, shaking his black feathers free from the sand-laden Redwind.
Unhurried, I lower my hand when the possessive bird cocks his head at me. Not that I believe he would bring me harm, but since he was directed to guard Aster, he has become rather unpredictable.
“I only wish to say goodbye. Don’t worry,” I say to him softly. “She is yours.”
“Like hell she is,” Rome snaps, and if I could laugh at that, I would.
With a bow to my brother and a final glimpse at Aster, I take the centre stage. The crowd erupts into cheers, a collective energy overwhelming my senses.
Daunting.
Something feels final.
As if… I will not return.
But that is odd thinking. So, I plant on my secret smile and lift my hand in a tentative wave, feeling awkward as the cheers wash over me. The eyes of my citizens, men and women drink me in—their marble queen.
Marble does not feel.
Marble is always steady.
As the CR Guard circles around me, I descend the steps and climb into the armoured tank waiting at the base.
The interior is hard and metallic, and I exhale with relief when I am out of sight.
My ladies climb in beside me, Ana, Essen, and Brook, their presence somehow both comforting and not.
I see the excitement in their eyes, and I do not wish to dampen it. This journey is for them also—but my stomach churns with apprehension.
“Are you feeling well?” Ana whispers in my ear, an easy question, but the context is heavier than anyone would ever know.
I nod and offer her my secret smile just as the tank’s hatch closes with a heavy crunch, sealing us inside.
Leaning into the periscope, I gaze out at the crowd, met by a mix of expressions, some suspicion and prying, but others seem genuinely excited—delighted, even.
Their cheers fade as the engine rumbles to life, vibrating through my bones.
The tank lurches forward, and I grip the edge of my seat, the movement jolting me slightly. As we roll out into the streets, the citizens and their flags and banners blur into a screen of colour.
“Look at them,” Brook says, her voice filled with wonder. She is sweet—young. “When is the last time you saw them this excited?” And she asks far too many questions.
“Decades ago,” I whisper.
When I was ten…
“Well,” Essen begins. “This is to be expected. You’re their queen. Their mother. They want to worship you.”
I see expectation.
Not worship.
The tank passes beneath arched stone bridges, and I catch glimpses of the architecture that defines The Estate—proud buildings. Romanesque. My late father, Turin of The Strait, designed The Estate as an ode to an old-world empire he admired.
We head toward the north exit of the tower. The Estate is entirely encased in stone walls shaped like the arched wings of an eagle. The tank shudders between twin peaks—massive stone feathers stretching toward each other acting as the gated entrance.
We leave.
And we plunge into the thick, whipping Redwind that perpetually scours The Cradle.
Dissociation is a strange thing.
One moment, I’m sitting in the Royal Tank, the rhythmic hum of the engine and the distant growl of the wind become a drone, and the windmills, trees, and mountains blur together like an acrylic painting left in a flooded bathroom.
And the next moment… The tank comes to a halt and someone says, “We are entering the Forest Dam, my queen.”
In a daze, I peer through the periscope to see the massive concrete structure rising before us, and I realise I wasn’t entirely present for that journey.
In the hours between the two places, though aware of my body, I retreated into my mind.
Into a fictional retelling of last night in the planning room.
That time, I stood up from my seat, pushing away Cairo, his words, and the way they condensed me to nothing.
With the map sprawled out before me, a canvas of possibilities, I strode, head high, to stop beside my brother, our bond palpable—impenetrable.
The men watched me.
I didn’t seem to care.
Leaning over the map, I traced the lines with my finger, pinpointing the exact towers, ruins, and places where I would stop.
And my voice… It was steady, articulate, and strong.
To make the recall even more tangible, Cairo smirked, but as he cast his dubious gaze to my brother, that secret smile of his fell.
Rome wore one of utter pride and confidence—perfectly smooth curves with thin, relaxed eyes—in my choices and readiness
Kong… even as I wished not to include him.
He took the stage when he rose from his seat and positioned himself just behind me.
His presence was quiet thunder, amplifying my words, making me feel larger and more significant than I ever had.
The warmth radiating from him was a source of power, a reminder that I was not alone.
I blink.
But now I am back.
And that’s not real.
The dam rises in front of us. It is one of the pioneering structures that The Trade built between the thick, shielding trees.
I enjoy walks around my wing and the aviary, the architecture striking and telling, but the dam is…
I gaze up at it. There is something wild and dangerous about it.
As if at any moment a crack will form, and all that it contains will erupt.
But the sheer run of concrete walls, powerful and proud, has somehow contained all that uninhabited nature at the top for hundreds of years.
There is no Redwind around us; the only hint of its treacherous presence is talons of red that creep from the hazy sky, only to be filtered by canopies of trees that evolved with us and grew roots too thick and angry to be pulled from The Crust.
Nature will always find a way.
“Have you seen the dam before, my queen?” Brook asks me, and Ana and Essen both share a glance. She is rather inexperienced and clearly missed the section of her studies on decorum.
It's quite refreshing.