Interlude
AMA WATCHED AUNT Millie walk down the center aisle of the throne room, going between the rows and rows of seated courtiers and other important guests. While Prince Fen had returned home with the majority of the Tovalian soldiers not long after the battle cleanup ended, Prince Braxton was seated in the front row along with the handful of representatives other nearby countries had sent—mostly the ambassadors who had already been in Namin. Of course, Braxton might have remained behind more because of Prince Caro than because he was the emissary from the kingdom of Toval; Ama was fairly certain Captain Grall was going to be left behind as ambassador rather than Toval choosing Braxton. Prince Caro was standing on the dais, to the left of the priest wearing ceremonial coronation robes. Behind him was his half-sister Cybil, who had survived their father’s murderous attentions by running away from home. Aunt Millie had found her working as a servant in the castle, so she hadn’t gone far. To the priest’s right stood Cassie, Aunt Millie’s oldest child. Cassiopeia was Carmillian’s heir, with the brilliant blonde hair and blue eyes of all those who inherited the magical power of the Namin throne. She had arrived without needing an invitation a few days ago along with a number of people from their home village in Toval, which was populated entirely by the descendants of those who had fled Namin all those years ago. The village wasn’t empty—not everyone had been interested in returning to Namin—but Aunt Millie had plenty of support behind her.
In an unfortunate coincidence, the location of their village in Toval was almost exactly at the end of the new path Namin had been carving through the mountains toward Toval. Prince Fen had promised Aunt Millie to speak with King Aurelius about fortifying the village and turning it into a trading destination ready for the surplus of travelers who would no doubt use the better road through the Spikehorn Mountains rather than the dangerous path farther north.
All that was left was actually crowning Carmillian as queen.
Thankfully, no one had actively protested her taking control. Ama was certain there were rumblings behind the scenes, but the ruler of Namin had to have the royal magic, so the alternate options for those rumblers were limited to the three people with power currently standing on the dais. Cybill didn’t have enough power to rule, Caro wasn’t interested and wouldn’t be given the respect the position demanded, and Cassie was perfectly happy to let her mother live a long and fruitful life before she took the throne. Ama knew there were a scant handful more people with Namin’s royal magic out there, but none with any interest in sitting on a throne, nor did they have any interest in making their existence public, himself included.
“Namin has the unique domain over past, present, and future,” the priest called, his voice ringing through the room. “Claimant to our throne, prove your dominion over the past!”
Aunt Millie paused in the aisle and her eyes suddenly started to glow golden as she called on her magic.
“Namin was once the continent’s largest exporter of wheat and oats, before the false king stole the throne. Our fields were vast and fruitful, using techniques unique to our lands. When I am queen, I will use my dominion over the past to bring those techniques back into use so our fields return to the prosperous state of before!”
The glow faded from her eyes, and she started walking again.
“Claimant to our throne,” the priest called again. “Prove your dominion over the present!”
Aunt Millie paused, now a little past halfway down the aisle, and the glow returned.
“I see starvation and desperation, children crying, and adults grieving. And I see our salvation, mere days away in a caravan sent from our friends in Toval. Grain, tubers, late autumn vegetables. Seeds to store for our spring planting. Enough that, with care, all the people of Namin may survive the coming winter and thrive with the arrival of spring.”
She closed her eyes, cutting off the radiance from her magic. When she opened them again, her eyes were back to normal blue. Aunt Millie resumed walking. When she reached the foot of the three steps leading onto the dais, the priest called out again.
“Claimant to our throne, prove your dominion over the future!”
This time, Aunt Millie’s third eye opened in the center of her forehead, and the flare of golden magic was so brilliant, some of those sitting in the closest seats gasped.
“I see power, and I see peace.” Even Aunt Millie’s voice resonated with her magic, echoing through the room like a thunderclap. “Power as one of this continent’s strongest nations, able to come to any negotiation or prospective agreement from a position of strength. Peace, as we embrace our role as part of the greater whole, willing to work with others to achieve further greatness without causing pain and suffering to others.”
Aunt Millie didn’t use her power over the future often, Ama knew. The future was constantly changing, with minute decisions affecting major events and so many different options of what could be. She had also told him once that using it felt a bit like cheating, and that knowing when and how something would happen took the magic and mystery out of her life. That said, she did still use it when necessary.
Back when they were in the mid-construction fortress in the Spikehorn Mountains, Prince Braxton hadn’t been shy asking Ama for the impossible. Once the Naminese army had agreed to work together with Toval and they jointly started planning a proper coup, Braxton had approached Ama.
“I know you’re more than you appear,” Braxton had said, hedging, yet still implying he understood more about Ama than he had ever even hinted at before. Braxton’s expression was blank, as if Ama’s secretive history really wasn’t of interest to him. Ama didn’t know if that was true, but at the time he had wanted to believe it. “I don’t want an explanation, and I’m not looking to out your true identity,” Braxton continued. “But I wonder if you might know of someone willing and able to be crowned the new king or queen of Namin. Could you go speak with them and make them an offer for the throne on behalf of Toval and Namin?”
So Ama went, sneaking out of the fortress that night and heading in the direction of his home village where Aunt Millie, Cassie, and the few others with Namin’s magical royal power lived. Sometime after midnight, Ama bypassed Prince Fen’s forces, who looked like they would reach the fortress by morning. Around dawn, Ama had approached another camp, this one with only one fire and two pitched tents. Thankfully, one of Aunt Millie’s Triumvirè had materialized at his side before Ama could decide whether it was safe to walk past the camp or whether he needed to circumnavigate in the forest.
Aunt Millie had seen the future need: that a ruler of Namin was required and had brought only her attendants as she traveled to take her proper place. Thanks to her magic’s warning, they ended up being only a few hours behind Prince Braxton and Prince Fen as the coup began.
And now, here Aunt Millie stood, about to be crowned. She didn’t stop the flow of her magic this time, allowing the golden glow to suffuse her body as she ascended the three steps. She stopped in front of the priest, who nodded to her, before she turned to face the audience.
“She has learned from the past, examined the present, and used those lessons to ensure our future!” the priest called.
He lifted the royal crown of Namin off the cushioned plinth it had been resting on next to him and held it high into the air. The gold of the crown reflected the gold of Aunt Millie’s magic, amplifying it until Ama was squinting to see. The priest lowered the crown slowly, placing it on her head.
“Long live Queen Carmillian Svent Namenian!”
“Long live Queen Carmillian Svent Namenian!” the audience repeated, Ama included. Everyone stood, the scraping of cloth and buttons on the seats and the thumps as people’s feet took their weight the only sound for a brief moment, and then they all bowed. Namese courtiers bowed lowest, and the ambassadors from other countries bowed low as well. Prince Braxton tilted forward slightly, a bow of a foreign prince to the country’s ruler. And Caro, Cybill, and Cassie all dropped to one knee, swearing themselves as fellow magic users to their new queen.
Formalities complete, a line formed from the foot of the stairs and snaking back through the throne room. Ama ignored the jockeying as courtiers fought their way toward the front to be the first to offer their congratulations, preferring to stand at the back of the room and observe.
After the greetings ended, a brief respite was planned. A light lunch followed by preparations for the celebratory ball this evening. Aunt Millie had wisely chosen not to hold a feast, since food was an issue, but Ama was perfectly okay with that. Having to sit and be formal while dining on fiddly foods sounded like torture. Not that a ball didn’t sound like torture, but at least Ama could hide on the sidelines.
He was able to slip away from the throne room about a half hour later, leaving amid a large group of nobles who didn’t spare him a second glance. He walked back toward his room, through the hallways he had never dared traverse openly before. If anyone asked Ama if he had ever been inside the Namin palace before, he would lie and say no. But that was a lie. However, the hallways appeared brighter and the air lighter than ever before as if the weight of the false king had darkened and added a heavy patina to the entire building. Having Aunt Millie on the throne and that bastard dead had returned life to the space. Still, Ama let out a small sigh of relief when he was safely inside the bedroom he had been allotted, and the door closed behind him. He didn’t like being out in the open. Slinking around in the shadows was much more his style.
The servants had left the light lunch he had been promised and had laid out his far-too-fancy suit for the ball. Ama ignored the suit, greedily descending on the soup and fresh rolls left under the cloche at the small table in one corner. His room wasn’t huge, a bed to the right with a small side table and a chest of drawers along the nearest wall. The other side of the room had the door to his dressing room and a bathroom shared by the adjacent room, as well as the table with two chairs, a fireplace, and a small sofa and side table in front of the fire. Not fancy, but more than sufficient for Ama’s needs.
Ama had just finished eating, using a piece of the crusty bread to sop up any last liquid in the bowl, when his door flew open, and Aunt Millie sailed inside.
“There you are!” she said, closing the door much more sedately. “I know you were at the coronation, but I didn’t see you afterward.” She yanked him into a hug, uncaring about silly things like propriety. When she released him, she held onto his shoulders, looking at his face as if searching there would reveal some difficult answers. She finally stepped back, but only went far enough to take a seat in the other chair at the table.
“Ama, I fear you might feel as if you are being pulled in too many directions. You have loyalty to our home village, and to Toval ,which sheltered us all those years. And now new loyalties to Namin, thanks to our return to power.” She paused, looking at him again, but quickly continued when Ama’s purposefully blanked-out face didn’t reveal whatever answer she was seeking this time. “I want you to know, who you choose to throw your own strength behind is entirely up to you. You are welcome here. You are welcome to continue working for Prince Braxton as his spy. You are welcome to quit us both and return home instead. Or, you can always find an entirely new path to take. I do not want you to feel any pressure from any of us. Understand?”
She was waiting for an answer, so Ama pulled up his courage and opened his mouth. Not that she was scary, just that he didn’t really know what his answer was yet.
“I like traveling, and I enjoy what I’ve been doing for Prince Braxton,” he said slowly, working out the words and parsing through swirling thoughts as he spoke. “And now that Namin and Toval have a strong relationship, any work I continue to do for Toval will no doubt benefit you and Namin. Besides…” He shut his mouth before the next words could escape, unwilling to say that secret aloud even if only Aunt Millie—who was privy to the secret—was around to overhear.
She nodded firmly. “Exactly. If you want my advice, I think you should continue adventuring on Prince Braxton’s behalf. Have some fun for a few more years, and maybe someday you’ll find whatever it is you’re actually searching for.”
Ama wanted to believe there was the slightest flash of magic in her eyes as she uttered those last few words, but he also didn’t want to push his own wishful thinking ahead of logic. What he wanted, what he really hoped for, was completely impossible. Still, her words were sensible.
“I’ll do that. At least for a few more years. I can always make a new choice later on.”
“You’re exactly right.” Aunt Millie stood and bustled over to the door. “I need to get back before my attendants get worried. They want me to look perfect for this ghastly ball the council insisted on after I explained why we couldn’t have a feast. My first task is definitely going to be replacing those fools with a competent council, but for now, we get to dance and be merry while the rest of the country starves.” She scowled, but then let out a sigh as her ire faded into the acceptance of inevitability. “I’ll speak with you tonight then.”
She swept out as boisterously as she had entered, leaving Ama blissfully alone again. He would need to start getting ready for the ball soon, but he had a few more minutes to try to still his thoughts.
Yes, traveling on missions for Prince Braxton for a little while longer did sound nice. And it wasn’t as if he had anything holding him back. No family aside from Aunt Millie, no responsibilities to anyone other than Prince Braxton, and no lover. Until something along those lines popped up, he would continue on his current path. Never mind how badly he hoped one of those three would someday manifest.
Ama laughed at his absurdity and pushed away from the table, standing to go find some water to freshen up and begin his preparations for the ball.
Someday. Sure. Maybe. But hopes and wishes were mere dreams, and dreams didn’t come true for people like him. Instead, Ama would celebrate the culmination of Aunt Millie’s dream, and of the dream of peace Prince Braxton had always wanted. Ama would be more than happy with that.