Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
I jolt awake with my heart in my throat, momentarily confused by the bright sunlight pouring through the windows. The realization that I’ve overslept—again—hits me like a bucket of cold water.
The sheets twist around my legs like hungry vines as I scramble up, my mind already cataloguing the meetings I’ve missed, the reports I haven’t read, and the people I’ve disappointed.
Sterling would never have missed the morning report. But Sterling isn’t here, and I’m the one wearing the crown.
My head pounds with the remnants of not enough sleep and too many hours bent over ancient tomes. Royal decrees and historical precedents swarm behind my eyelids, a jumble of should haves and could bes that I’d been trying to memorize until the candles burned down to nubs.
A knock at the door has me spinning in place, one arm thrust through my robe sleeve, the other flailing for balance. “Your Majesty?”
“Just a minute!” My voice comes out higher than I intend, betraying my panic. I cinch the robe tight around my waist. Telling myself I’m ready for anything, I lift my chin. “Come in.”
Rhiann Barda steps inside and gestures behind her to communicate that someone else is waiting. Bastian appears in the doorway, his face creased with concern.
“Bastian, I know I’m late. I’ll be at the meeting as soon as—” I gesture to Rhiann, who is hurrying to my wardrobe to retrieve today’s outfit, which she’s already hung and prepared.
Rhiann has assisted me since I first came to Tirene, and I’ve never been more grateful for her help than today.
“Lark, reports are coming in from across the kingdom.” My brother’s words clip my apology short. “The morning briefing has…evolved.”
My stomach sinks. “How bad?”
“Bad enough that I came searching for you.” He steps inside, closing the door behind him. “Merchants from the Western Provinces are refusing to travel. Something about bridge tolls being collected by…” Bastian hesitates, as if checking the words before they leave his mouth, “stars.”
Rhiann’s hairbrush stills in my hair, and I blink at him. “Stars?”
Ever the proper Lady of the Bedchamber, Rhiann snaps out of her momentary shock and sets herself to getting me presentable.
“Lights, they’re saying. Descending from the sky and forming barriers across bridges.” His fingers twist together. “Anyone who tries to cross without payment is…well, they say the stars burn through their wagons.”
We all jump when there’s another knock on the door.
With what we’ve just learned, I think we’re only expecting things to get worse.
“That’ll be your breakfast.” Rhiann finishes tying my hair back as Bastian opens the door for the maid, who’s holding a tray of tea and a single piece of toast. “I assumed you’d be heading off, so we’ll send you the rest to wherever you need.”
I nod, still trying to process this strange information. Stars attacking merchants? What would a proper queen do with this news? What would Sterling do?
Before I can formulate a response, the door bursts open again. Bastian’s hand drops to his sword as I instinctively snatch my own weapon from the table beside my bed.
A guard rushes in, her armor askew as if thrown on hastily.
She stares at Bastian’s hand and my glower before bowing.
“Your Majesty, I apologize for the unannounced intrusion into your bedchamber, but refugees are streaming in from Greenmeadow. Dryads have emerged from their reclusive haunts to attack the village.”
My hold on my sheathed sword loosens with shock. “Dryads don’t attack.” Just saying the two words in the same sentence is enough to spin my head in dizzying circles.
“These ones do.” The guard’s face goes a shade paler, a stark contrast with the bright red hair peeking out from under her helmet. “Three people have died already, and dozens are injured. The village elder is waiting in your receiving hall.”
Two crises before breakfast. No Sterling to offer his military expertise. And not a single idea of what to do bubbling up in my allegedly royal brain.
I take a deep breath. “I’ll join him shortly. Rhiann, you know where I’ll be. Bastian, please assemble the council.”
With my scant breakfast now forgotten, Rhiann focuses on getting me dressed. It’s a simple gown since I have no time for the formal regalia. No time for anything other than facing whatever fresh hells await me downstairs.
I arrive at the place we use as a receiving room, a long, narrow space perfect for processing lengthy lines of people in record time. The people enter on the far side and wait their turn to reach me at the desk on this side. Once finished, they’ll be escorted out.
There are no fancy decorations in such rooms, not anymore. I don’t care about showing off luxuries, or paintings, or expensive rugs.
Under my reign, there are no distractions and no hiding places. Nothing to make the proceedings last longer.
Guards stand at their posts near the walls, keeping an eye on everyone. The space buzzes with urgency. Nobles, guards, and messengers cluster in tight groups, their voices overlapping like competing instruments in a badly conducted orchestra.
They quiet when I enter and bow hastily, faces heavy with expectation.
The village elder from Greenmeadow, one of the largest farming villages on the eastern side of Tirene, stands at the front.
He removes a sun-faded hat to reveal a smooth bald head.
Soil clings to his weathered boots, his clothes stained with what might be blood or sap.
Or maybe both. Considering it’s not yet ten in the morning, he must have left at dawn in order to arrive when he did.
Meaning the attack happened at or before sunrise.
“Your Majesty.” The relief in his voice clenches my stomach.
These people think I can help them. They have faith in their queen.
I just hope I don’t let them down.
Before he can speak further, a woman in merchant’s garb strides forward. “Western roads are closed to us, Your Majesty. The star toll has tripled in the past day. We cannot afford—”
“The dryads have burned three homes already.” The elder pushes forward, glaring at the merchant. “People are dead. Not just running out of money. We need soldiers, archers—”
“Your Majesty!” A thin nobleman I recognize from the Coastal Provinces waves a sealed parchment. “The crops in Millvale were blighted overnight. They’ve completely rotted in the fields.”
“The well in Southmark runs with black water.” Another woman clutches her arms, as if to keep them from shaking. Her nails dig into her simple homespun cloth. “Three children have fallen ill already.”
“Sacred birds are attacking kids in the temple gardens—”
“The doorways at the Temple of Althy no longer lead to the inside as they appear. People have plummeted hundreds of feet into the sea. The ones already inside tried to leave and were also found in the waters.”
This last report rips through the clamor, silencing the room.
A nobleman strides forward as the people around him rear back. His fingers worry the embroidery on his fine silk sleeve. “I funded that temple myself, Your Majesty. Solid stone, blessed by three priests. Now the doorways…they just…open to air. Above the cliffs. Two acolytes dead already.”
My head spins at the bizarre occurrences all being spewed forth at once. “Wait a minute. Are the acolytes children? If they’re old enough, why didn’t they just open their wings and fly?”
“We don’t know.” The nobleman looks like he might vomit. “They just fell to their deaths, screaming the whole way down. A few people flew out to catch them, and their wings disappeared.”
Now I want to vomit.
If we can’t trust our wings…can’t trust our steps…can’t trust our temples, even, then what can we trust?
Horrified mutters join the snapping of expanding and retracting wings. Everyone’s checking themselves. Even the guards. Though those few at least appear guilty about their actions.
I raise my hand, and to my surprise, the room goes quiet. Wings freeze, some up, some down. Every eye regards me.
Now is not the time to show uncertainty. I can’t run off with weapons and magic like I did when facing Narc. I am a queen, and my kingdom is disintegrating in ways I can’t comprehend. “Let me think.”
What would Sterling do? No. What would any good leader do?
A few of the council members wander in, with Bastian at their backs. Their arrival gives me an idea.
“Dalya,” I nod to the coastal nobleman, “send a platoon from the military. This man will show you where. Two squads will help you close off the temple completely. No one enters until we understand what’s happening.
The other two will search the ocean for any survivors.
Take war alicorns, just in case. They know how to get under falling riders. ”
Dalya doesn’t bat an eye at the sudden order. Simply bows her magenta head, collects the nobleman, and ushers him to the door.
I turn to the merchant woman. “Tell me about these star tolls. How many bridges? When did it start?”
She describes the phenomenon as light descending at sunset, hovering above bridges, and burning through the carts and clothing of those who try to pass without payment.
“What kind of payment?”
Her honey brown eyes grow hazy, as if she’s recalling all the details. “Sometimes coins, sometimes food. And even blood.”
I reach out with my mind, searching for the dragons. Kaida’s consciousness brushes my mind, and through a series of emotions and mental images, I convey my request to him.
“Go to the fire paddock and tell the dragontenders that I said Kaida is to follow you home. He’s already eager to help your people carry your goods so that you don’t need to use the bridges.
Those will be closed off until the situation is sorted.
No one is going to tax the people of Tirene without my leave. ”
The woman gapes at me, then jumps back as Kaida’s golden eye peers through a window. I can feel his mischief building as he debates licking the glass for even more attention.