Chapter 6
· YEMI ·
Chairre was an undulating mass of violet banners and sweeping flower petals as the day’s parades and festivities got underway. The Bear Queen was turning forty-eight and had long outlived anyone’s expectations. Even less expected was that everyone seemed pretty happy about it.
The evening was met with bonfires in the streets.
In the quiet moments before the arrival of friends and dignitaries to the palace, Yemi could hear the thrumming of drums and the echoes of fireworks launched from rooftops.
She could only imagine the throngs of birds being startled to death or fleeing to take equally startled shits over the fields beyond the city.
The palace itself lit up as the sun set.
Cutter had been conscripted to force Yemi to leave her mother’s side after her last episode.
She stood on a west-wing balcony overlooking the tiered gardens where the guests mingled, issuing courteous if perfunctory greetings to everyone as they entered, bowed, complimented the decor, asked after her mother, and finally left to bore someone else.
Paper lanterns floated like fireflies over the grounds, and live music echoed from unseen pockets of shrubbery.
“I shouldn’t be here. They should have canceled,” Yemi muttered to Luzon, king of Muris, as he stood beside her.
“You know I’m with you,” Luzon assured her with a squeeze of her hand. “But consider, maybe Circe needs a party. You know how stifling it is living up here. However bad her days, it might be welcome to her to see how loved she is rather than being told in the paper.”
Yemi stewed. Love was unlikely to have anything to do with why anyone was here.
Luzon had what her mother called “exquisite bone structure”: tall and neatly bearded, with high, sharp cheekbones; a strong jaw; a beatific smile; and thin, angular, amber-colored eyes circled by wire-framed glasses.
He was resplendent in robes of gold and green, dark hair slicked back into a topknot.
They hadn’t seen each other in years but had grown up together, chasing one another around the grounds of each other’s palaces and playing in corners of war rooms as their parents conducted their summits.
He’d been king of Muris for two years now, and Yemi hadn’t seen him since his coronation.
Once upon a time, it’d been thought they would make a royal couple.
Turned out neither was quite the other’s taste.
“I never know the names of seventy-five percent of people who attend the ceremonies in my honor,” Luzon muttered behind his glass of champagne by way of changing the subject.
“You’re better than me. I’m at around ninety,” Yemi replied. “And it’s always the same faces, isn’t it? You’d think you’d catch on eventually, but no. It’s always Lord Something of Somewhere who will inevitably need a favor.”
“Oh, you get the requests for favors, too? The country’s doing well.
How are the nobles always in some state of peril only a royal can get them out of?
Yes, Lord Someone, I understand you’re a cocksman, but when your king can ramble off your affairs like they’re letters of the alphabet, it’s a problem.
Button it the fuck up,” Luzon said behind a smile.
A gruff grunt sounded behind them. His personal guard, Kuro, was tall and bald but only a few years older than the king.
His delicately embellished long jacket hid the arsenal of weapons harnessed around his torso.
He gazed beyond them to scan for potential dangers in the familiar way Nova always did.
The distraction of work didn’t keep him from disapproving of Luzon’s language, however.
“Which one was it this time? The cock or the fuck?” Luzon ribbed him.
“You laugh, but Sumire is picking up on your language. Chef caught her screaming fucks in the garden after a beesting,” Kuro deadpanned.
“My Sumire? She’s only eight.” A smile twitched on Yemi’s lips.
“Beesting’s a cussable offense.” Luzon shrugged. Sumire was his baby sister and diminutive even for her small age, which made it funnier.
“Oh look, a ‘captain of industry.’ ” Yemi snickered, pointing her chin at a bearded man next in the receiving line, wearing a marigold jacket as loud as his laugh.
“Oh!” Marvel Packard chortled and bent theatrically at the waist before Yemi and then leaned backward as if it were necessary to take her in.
“My, my, my, my, my! They told me our gods walk among us, but, My Light, you need only stand and your divinity is clear.” He smiled, revealing so many teeth Yemi thought he’d dislocate his jaw.
She chuckled nervously and gave Luzon an uncomfortable side glance. “Mr. Packard, who is the show for exactly? We just saw each other.” She stifled a laugh.
“Call it humility, my not-flaunting my closeness with the royal gods of Ixia in front of the monied rabble. Though maybe we’re not as close as I thought we were if you’re still calling me ‘Mr. Packard.’ ” He winked.
“Perish the thought. Please enjoy the party.” She stepped back slightly, as if she might have been obstructing his leaving.
Marvel Packard nodded but didn’t move. Didn’t blink, either. He just waited.
“… Marvel,” she added.
“There it is!” He laughed again, startling her. But at least he got moving. “Highness.” He nodded at Luzon as he passed.
“Wow,” Luzon remarked as he summoned more champagne.
“Pace yourself, this’ll go all night,” Yemi told him. She turned her fixed smile to acknowledge the other nameless strangers standing by for her attention.
The double doors behind them opened, and Orie stepped out ahead of the queen. Cutter followed behind her and stood in the back. His armor was so brightly polished that it was sure to cause problems for the photographers.
The queen was greeted with all the boisterous applause a polite, affluent assembly could muster without a hair coming out of place.
Her bear mask was gold to match her gown, and her headdress resembled the sun, its twisted rays dripping with rubies.
She stood upright, statuesque, and raised her walking cane by way of salute, a wordless gesture of triumph.
Orie directed her to the microphone stand centered on the stairs before the garden.
She could not go among the people, but they would hear her broadcast live over radio waves.
The crowds hushed, and even the fireworks in the city below seemed to silence themselves to listen.
“There was a time when I could not imagine I could be celebrated,” she began.
“Not here. Or that we’d have time to do any celebrating before running into the next fight or the next funeral.
Today marks the eighth year I did not think I would see at all.
But you have shown me the truth of Ixia, that it is not slave to its dissenters, its radical factions who seek war to give themselves purpose.
Our people are kindness. We are powerful in the way we treat one another as family, as neighbors, as allies.
I grow more in love with our nation every day, and I continue to be humbled by your service, your dedication to maintaining our era of peace.
And I thank you all for celebrating with me today. ”
The applause went up again, followed by the music and the resumption of distant, colorful blasts.
The queen stepped back and took both Yemi’s and Luzon’s hands.
“How was that?” she asked, joy lilting in her voice as she squeezed.
“Stunning as always, Mommy.” Yemi kissed the cheek of her mask.
“Breathtaking,” said Luzon. The queen palmed his face affectionately—she’d always regarded him as something of a son.
“Didn’t keep you waiting too long, I hope. I know these receiving lines can be endless,” she said, taking the seat that had been brought out for her.
“Nothing you could have helped,” said Yemi.
“Well, don’t let me keep you. Off you go. Mingle, find some fun to have.”
Yemi caught sight of Selah standing small and hunched and morose in the corridor behind them. She didn’t appear dressed for the occasion or interested in partaking.
She wished she could see her mother’s face.
The Drakes arrived on the balcony. Each was dressed in a blue shade the color of the night sky, their white hair stark against it. Dorian’s eyes stayed on the queen, but Dahlia looked right at Yemi until her father’s speaking voice called her attention.
“My queen,” he said, taking a knee before them. Dahlia followed suit. “My daughter, as you requested.”
“My Light, I’ve come to beg your forgiveness, and yours, Qorrea, for the traitorous speech to which you bore witness.
I meant no disrespect, merely to participate in the exchange of ideas you’ve granted our people in your infinite grace.
But I realize my behavior left my motives unclear, and I can understand your outrage.
” Dahlia’s words came out in a torrent, obviously rehearsed and disingenuous.
“Can you?” Yemi asked. But her mother raised her fingers to stay any further commentary.
“Eyes up, child,” said the queen. Dahlia looked at her. “Your father conveyed to you our disappointment, didn’t he? How we expect greater things from you than the company you’ve chosen to keep?”
“Yes, My Light.”
The queen extended the ring. Dahlia’s gaze was downcast again as she kissed it. Yemi was sure it was to hide the lie in her eyes.
“Then let this be the last we speak of it. Provided, of course, you improve on your decision-making.”
“Thank you, My Light,” Dorian said and kissed the ring himself. They both nodded at Yemi and at Luzon as they passed on their way off the balcony.
“Cutter,” said the queen. “We’re on schedule, correct?”
“Yes, My Light,” he replied.
“Good.”
Yemi seethed as she tossed back what remained of her champagne. She watched the Drakes greet old friends as if nothing bordering treason had happened. Her mother reached back and patted her behind.
“Go. Relax. It’s a good night, remember?” said the queen.