ESSA
Icould hear the din of the crowd outside in the courtyard. Screaming, clapping, cheering, chanting, thousands of voices coming together to form a sound like the roaring of an ocean.
The balcony overlooking the courtyard was broad and rounded, and several chambers opened onto it.
I was closeted in one of the smaller ones, along with those who I’d asked to accompany me.
Auntie Dreya sat in a chair near the hearth, clad in a lovely silver dress, still pale but alive.
Romia, Cronin, and Kramat and their dragons, along with Kennak Bargate, were there to represent the Skrathan.
Prelate Kortoi, all smiles, stood off in a corner chatting with Hoatan, several Gray Brother mages surrounding them.
Ollie stood somewhat apart from everyone else, wearing a brand new blue robe which was trimmed in gold, like Hoatan’s—signifying that he was now the Torouman to a ruler.
Even more than who was there, I was painfully aware of who wasn’t. Pocha, Lure, and Dagar. Clua. Rohree. Othura. And Charlie. All my closest friends, gone. Instead, I was surrounded by vipers.
Maybe that was the price of a crown…
Ollie, seeing me standing alone, approached me.
“Well. What say you, Queen?” he asked, sounding pleased.
I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said. “I have no words.”
Ollie took a deep breath, as if savoring the air. “I know it’s been hard, Essa. None of this has gone how we imagined, or how we hoped. But look where we are. We’ve played the game and won. You’re about to become queen, just as we dreamed of when we were kids.”
I gave him a sharp look. “Just as you dreamed, maybe. I never wanted any of this.”
His expression hardened. “Come, Essa. You can fool others, but you can’t lie to your own Torouman. You’ve been dying to prove your worth—ever since you lost this,” he touched the stump of my arm. I jerked it away from him.
“Now you have proved yourself,” he went on in a whisper.
“You won the challenge. Became Irska. Through your cunning, you’ve decimated the ranks of the noblemen who opposed you.
And next, you will sit upon the throne. We’ve won.
And when the histories are written, they will show that I played my part in getting you here.
Even if you show little gratitude yourself. ”
“Gratitude?” I hissed. “Everything I have and everyone I love has been either lost or debased. I still don’t know what your role has been in making that happen, Ollie, but I assure you, I’ll find out. And gratitude may not be my response.”
For a second, anger glittered in his eyes. “Everything you love is gone, you say. And yet I stand right here. What does that say of me, Essa? I’ve devoted my life to you. Grown up with you like a brother. Doted on you like a lover, while you—”
“Your Majesty!” Kortoi called, interrupting us. I looked up to see him waving us over.
I had little desire to chat with the Prelate—not ever, and certainly not now. But I was grateful for the opportunity to storm away from Ollie.
“Yes?” I said, breezing up to Kortoi and his attendants.
“I wanted to show you something,” the Prelate said, his usual unnerving smile plastered across his too-pale face. He gestured to a Lacuna, who held a pillow draped with blue velvet. He pulled the cloth aside, revealing…
“My mother’s crown,” I whispered.
It was a beautiful, ancient artifact which, it was said, dated from a thousand generations before Aulucia the White, a time before history.
Some claimed it had once belonged to an elven empress called Euza at a time before the earth was in its present form, before the birth of humans or dwarves.
It was made of gold filaments as fine as spider silk that split and twined in an impossibly complex pattern.
In it were set eleven stones, oval-shaped and pointed at the top and bottom.
Ten were the dark, deep blue of twilit night sky.
The eleventh, set in the center, was larger than the others and milky white.
But upon a closer look, one could see what seemed to be a million glittering stars in its depths.
It was breathtaking. Priceless. And I’d seen it on my mother’s brow as I watched her sink to the bottom of the ocean.
The Prelate leaned close to me, conspiratorial.
“We retrieved it for you,” he said. “Her sword, as well. It was no easy feat, let me tell you. The water where she fell is more than two leagues deep. But such places are, after all, the Void Lords’ domain.”
If Kortoi was expecting a thank you, he was disappointed.
I couldn’t speak. Nor did I have the capacity to cry.
I merely stood there, staring at the crown I’d seen on my mother’s head for as long as I could remember and thinking that in mere minutes, it would be mine.
The central jewel seemed to captivate me, its facets and scintillations hypnotic, drawing me in.
Then the sound of a trumpet fanfare stirred me from my reverie, followed by a louder roar from the crowd.
“Ah,” the Prelate put a hand on my shoulder, turning me toward the door. The long nails of his hand reminded me of claws as he leaned close to my ear and whispered, “It’s time.”
Guards opened the doors, and the din of the crowd came in, far louder than it had been a moment before. My head still ached from the scorper venom, and the sound seemed to ring my skull like a bell.
Hoatan hurried this way and that, shouting and pointing, getting our procession lined up in the proper order.
Kortoi was to go first, followed by Hoatan, then by my other guests, Auntie Dreya and Kennak Bargate, then the three Skrathan, then Kortoi’s Gray Brothers, then the Lacunae generals and commanders.
Then Ollie. And me, last of all. It reminded me of setting up a Torzame board before a match, each piece in its place.
When he was satisfied, Hoatan signaled to a herald stationed near the door, who cued the trumpeters, who blew another blast.
“This is it, Essa,” Ollie said, nudging me gently forward with an encouraging smile.
I began walking.
As I emerged from the room into the stark midday light, I saw that the rest of the pieces for our game had been set out already.
Columns of armored Lacunae filled the vast balcony on my left, and on my right, the Sylph Lord and his entourage sat in a festooned box seat with their own clones and goblin warriors lined up behind them, almost as numerous as the Gray Brotherhood’s knights.
As I moved forward at a slow, stately pace, my attention turned to the courtyard below.
All the kingdom seemed spread out before me, my subjects packing the square, others sitting on rooftops, or leaning out windows, talking and yelling and screaming in adulation and excitement.
Most of them seemed excited to see me—jubilant, even.
Their energy was incredibly overwhelming.
But I also caught sight of at least a dozen plain, black standards flying in the crowd—the flag of the Gray Brothers.
Gathered around them were pockets of dark-clad commoners who watched me with sour expressions.
The sight filled me with an unsettling feeling, a heightening of the anxiety that was already threatening to overwhelm me.
Still, I made myself stride slowly forward.
Near the front of the stage stood two figures—a pair of beautiful youths.
The girl was clad in a shimmering, light green dress and wore a flower crown atop hair the color of morning sunlight.
The boy had dark, curly hair and deep brown skin, and he wore a robe of dark blue velvet dotted with what looked like diamonds.
It was sleeveless, showing his long, strong arms. They were the high priests of the Earth Mother and the Star Father.
In the tradition of their orders, both were young.
The Earth Mother’s high priestess served between puberty and their sixteenth birthday.
The Star Father’s high priest was appointed at sixteen and stepped down at twenty-one.
If they were older, more experienced, they might have made powerful allies for me.
But both their orders were cloistered, more interested in spiritual purity than earthly power.
They spent their time praying and communing with higher powers, and came out from their temples only for parades or for ceremonial occasions like this one.
As I reached them, the Earth Mother’s priestess smiled and placed a necklace of pink flowers around my neck.
I turned then to the boy, who reached into a pouch and sprinkled some sort of glittery dust on my head.
Then, they both stepped aside and the Gray Brother holding my mother’s crown stepped forward.
He once again removed the cloth covering it, revealing its ancient beauty.
At the sight of it, the crowd erupted again.
Someone took up a chant, then others joined in.
Their rhythmic words were unintelligible at first, but as more and more took up their call, the meaning of what they were saying emerged.
When I understood, my face flushed and the breath seemed stolen from my lungs.
Poison queen, they chanted.
I didn’t know how news of the bydrune’s outcome could have spread so fast—my moment of desperation and ruthlessness suddenly made manifest on twenty thousand pairs of shouting lips. But it had. And I stood there. Sick. Numb. Taking in their adoration. Their scrutiny. Their judgment.
How would the history books remember me? Here was a hint. A chant. A song. Reverberating from the cracked stones of Charcain to the vault of heaven itself.
Poi-son queen! Poi-son queen! Poi-son queen!