Chapter 25
Even days later, Leita couldn’t help marveling at the state of the palace.
She often found herself wandering the reclaimed areas, a long-buried memory surfacing to see that window or that door.
There was where she and Lilibet had acted out dramas to make each other laugh.
There was where she and her cousins were bathed, a dozen little otters slipping through the grasping reach of mothers and nursemaids.
However, there were still places she didn’t tarry.
The Queen’s quarters were quickly cleared, as were the many chambers taken up by Amaranthe’s harem of weak-minded sycophants.
Something of an apothecary was found, all manner of foul concoctions polluting the air.
All of it—profane texts, ingredients, jars, furniture, bedding, curtains, cushions, clothes—went into a bonfire lit by Attalus.
The dragonfire consumed all before it, reducing the last vestiges of Amaranthe’s reign to ash.
With the miasma cleared, a profound sense of relief now permeated the palace and Fallorian itself.
A literal veil had been lifted, the cobwebs of decay burnt away.
Light streamed into the palace where it’d been blocked before, the sea breeze let in to freshen the air.
After a few days’ work, the reclaimed parts of the palace were once again gleaming limestone and marble, the window glass clear, and the braziers polished to a high shine.
Her staff and council were noticeably relieved, and everyone stopped to congratulate or thank her.
Even the elders lauded her efforts, praising her devotion and cleverness.
The palace, Fallorian, the faelands itself was coming alive again, emerging from the darkness of the past. A new day had dawned for them, and oh, how bright it was.
Leita wanted to bask in that light. She tried to, anyway.
But the more she felt the faelands stir and awaken, the greater the weight upon her shoulders became. She didn’t mean that metaphorically, either. Weight bore down upon her, sometimes stealing her breath away it pressed on her chest so powerfully.
This was what the elders had meant, she supposed, to be the center of the spokes. The keystone of the arch. Everything led back to her, everything leaned upon her for support.
And while Leita could lean on her own support, reaching for Attalus whenever she wanted, she didn’t dare reveal this crushing weight, not even to him. It was the Queen’s burden, and she had to learn to bear it.
She soon found keeping busy helped, and so Lady Idrisil happily arranged for Leita to meet with several of the more renowned craftspeople and merchants, to learn what sorts of goods might be made for export. The faelands couldn’t rely on a few silver mines anymore.
Ondra helped her dress for the occasion, flowing trou and bodice of pale lilac with a few choice jewels round her neck and fingers. As Leita surveyed herself in the mirror, the amethysts winked back at her.
Leita looked like herself—if a bit more refined—and she was glad to see the weight she now carried wasn’t obvious. Perhaps, with time, it would become easier to bear.
For now, though, she had to be content with the faelands coming awake.
She could feel it just over her shoulder, following behind as Ondra or Carenza often did.
It hung around near her, shy still, but with its own burden of the miasma lifted, Leita thought she’d freed the faelands to indulge its curiosity about her.
Before heading out, Leita stood in the open doors to the balcony.
Laid out in the sun on a long sedan was her dragon, his tail curling lazily.
Slinky lay beside him in a ball, tired from gorging again on fruit and cheese.
In fact, the marten was starting to look less cylindrical and a bit more… robust.
“How is this?” she asked, presenting her outfit for approval.
Attalus rolled onto his side to face her, an appreciative croon on his lips.
“You look beautiful, agae. Stunning.” Reaching for her, he reeled her closer once he had her hand in his.
Leita bent to receive his kiss even before he tugged on one of her necklaces.
“Perhaps too beautiful,” he amended, “perhaps you should stay here with me and lounge.”
“Alas, some of us have work to do.”
“I am working, as you well know,” he countered with a grin. “I’ve the important position of keeping you happy and satisfied. To do that, I must keep in peak physical form.”
Leita laughed against his mouth. “I’m glad to see you taking your work so seriously.”
“Indeed. So is the plight of the consort.” Settling down on his back again, Attalus folded his arms behind his head, letting the sun glitter and gleam along his scantily clad body.
He certainly made a tempting sight, as he well knew, leering up at her from his sedan.
All ruby scales and hard muscle and warm comfort.
“Later,” she promised.
“The word of the Queen.”
With one last kiss, Leita pulled herself away, Ondra accompanying her down through the palace.
Now that matters seemed to finally be going Leita’s way, Charis didn’t think it necessary for her to bring along a whole unit of guards wherever she went outside the palace.
Marcades had vociferously disagreed, and so a compromise of a triad was struck.
She and Ondra picked up the three guards in the front courtyard, the triad falling a set distance behind as instructed.
Leita wanted to be protected, yes, but she didn’t want to intimidate. Her guards weren’t meant to mete out violence on the people. Keeping them further back was a signal to the fae of Fallorian that Leita trusted them and that they should trust her in return.
That’d been Charis’s argument, at least in the last council meeting. While Leita agreed, Marcades and even Attalus somewhat had been holdouts. Only after agreeing to the triad had they been mollified.
As they walked down the gentle slope of the front courtyard to the gates, Leita spotted a white unicorn resting under a yew tree.
Care to join us? she asked Thalia.
You know the cobblestones feel awful on my hooves. Besides, isn’t the objective not to intimidate your people? Bringing along Thalia the Moonchaser might not communicate that.
Leita grinned. I suppose you’re right. You’re far too intimidating.
Very true. But, if you want to be useful, be a dear and bring back some apples.
Very well, mama mare. You know this palace is at your behest.
Thalia bid her farewell and settled down in the shade again.
While she stayed within the palace, Leita saw less of her lately.
Thalia had never liked the indoors and certainly not the nest of stone corridors and stairwells that made up the palace.
The outdoor spaces were her domain, and Leita had spotted Thalia and Attalus cavorting in several of the pavilions.
Perhaps it’d be good to restore the palace stables next. Built for unicorns, it was meant to be a grand space filled with all the things needed to make dread-mounts and mares comfortable.
Yes, Leita liked that idea.
Turning to Ondra, she said, “Remind me to talk to Tamerlan when we return about refurbishing the stables.”
“Of course, my Queen.”
That settled, their little party headed down into the city.
Although it was midsummer, the sea kept the worst of the heat at bay.
Breezes blew up from the harbor, gusting down the long, narrow streets of Fallorian.
Bright flowers and banners swayed in the gentle breeze, and the whitewashed walls inset with coral and abalone shells positively shone under the late-morning sun.
For the first time, Leita realized that this place was beautiful.
Different from the forests and the foothills and the beaches, yes, but beautiful in its own right.
Built with fae hands over millennia, the city had been crafted to suit the many tastes and needs of thousands.
The river might carve a mountainside or prairie, but it was the fae who shaped streets and erected buildings to rival the sky.
It made her…proud.
The weight inside her twinged, as though pleased to hear it.
Through the lively streets they went, more people than Leita had ever seen out and about in Fallorian.
She’d heard from Lady Idrisil that more families were returning from the hinterlands, reopening boarded-up houses.
Fallow fields outside the city were newly plowed, and hundreds of households now kept gardens.
The mills had been restored, their great millstones creaking to life once more.
The hot ovens of bakeries, potteries, and forges burned throughout the day, the sound of industry a new melody within the city.
Shops were beginning to fill with goods to sell—and customers to buy them.
There was talk of reopening the university next year, and the archives had been opened to the public for the first time in centuries.
Dozens of ships sat in harbor while dozens more sailed out to sea, destined for Dyfan Bay and the trade routes burgeoning along its coasts.
The fae were coming back to life after centuries of cruel dormancy, and it filled Leita’s heart to see it.
If this was what it meant to be Queen, then she could surely bear it.
In one of the lower tiers of the city, they left the main promenade, passing through a great coral archway into the revived merchant district.
Along this arterial road, another right found them at the entrance of a beautiful city square, a fountain trickling water at its center with a crowd waiting for them gathered round it.
At the sight of Leita, several fae raised their hands in greeting. “My Queen, welcome!”
The triad took up posts around the square as Leita and Ondra met the merchants and craftspeople.
Remembering Charis and Lady Idrisil’s advice, Leita patiently accepted each of the greetings, allowing her hand to be kissed and her praises sung.
While it might still make her flush, she thought she was getting—if not used to it then—