Chapter 18 #2
“I don’t, which is why you’re sitting here with me,” he said, his voice suddenly gentle. “Rest. There’s a full water skin on my belt if you’re thirsty. We’ll be out of the village soon.”
But as they passed through the village, the horror became all too real.
The village was small, no more than a cluster of simple mudbrick homes surrounded by fields—and half the inhabitants seemed to be burning on the large pyre.
The other half stood in mourning. Some silently watched the flames, eyes hollow, dried tears staining sooty faces.
Others were collapsed on hands and knees, howling with grief.
Children held hands and wept, no parent left to comfort them.
It reminded her of her short journey from Boreas to Altanus, before she’d been named as Fate’s chosen, before she’d been marked as Drakon’s prey and sent back to this ancient time.
Grief was universal. She remembered the empty gazes, the despair, the suffering.
It had etched itself in the faces of those fleeing monstrosities, and in the bodies of those huddling in the burnt-out wrecks of villages that had been destroyed.
Not even the towns along the Queen’s Road had been spared.
“This is the blight?” Aurora asked, her throat tight with sympathy.
“Yes. The water coming from the mountain now sickens many who drink it. Only one who commands the wild magic of water can fully purify it.”
“Can we help them?”
“That’s what we’re doing right now. Calming the spirits in the Dragon’s Spine Mountains is the only way to end this.”
“What about boiling the water?”
“They’re already doing so.”
What kind of water-borne illness could survive boiling? It shouldn’t even be possible. Seeing her shock, he explained.
“Like torchlight fever, it originates as a grudge from the spirits of the land. That is why only wild magic has any hope of purifying it, and why a monarch is needed to end it.”
“I see.”
Except she very much did not. In her time, the spirits were gone. There was no such thing as a magically induced illness. And the empress’ duties had nothing to do with rituals involving the land. At least, not that she knew of. But then she’d never been overly curious about wild magic rituals.
As they passed out of the village, Aurora couldn’t help looking back. Would those children have a roof over their heads? Food in their bellies? Was anyone in the village in a state to even feed and care for themselves, let alone others?
“You have a soft heart,” Theron said quietly.
Before she could protest that there was nothing wrong with caring, he called over the nearest guard.
“Give them some of our supplies. If the children have no living relatives, and no one willing to take them in, tell one of the adults to escort them to the palace and have Polydorus find something they can do.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you,” Aurora whispered.
He held her tighter for a moment.
“You should harden your heart, madam fairy. There are dozens of villages exactly like this from here to the Dragon’s Spine Mountains, all suffering as much or more than this one.”
If the blight was in the water, she could only imagine what horrors lay ahead.
But turning a blind eye and continuing without even stopping to help?
She didn’t think she could be that kind of person and sleep at night, especially not when people were calling her “Your Highness” and clothing her in the finest silks.
If they had the means to help, then they had a duty to, didn’t they?
“Hardening your heart doesn’t help people, kindness and action does.”
“And do you intend to feed the whole Aurean countryside?” he asked, scoffing.
“Do you have the grain to do so?” She skewered him with a glare.
“For now.”
“Then yes.”
“You would feed strangers? People who might attack you for taking on the title of a Viridian princess? Who might blame you for siding with the people who caused this blight?” he prodded.
“No one should ever go hungry. Not when there’s enough food to go around.”
Her family had not always been so wealthy, so respected.
It wasn’t until her friendship with Phaedra had blossomed that her family benefitted from the connections it brought them.
Aurora remembered going to bed hungry more than once when shipments were late or lost, or clients refused to pay after receiving their goods. No one deserved that.
“I suppose you think no one should ever suffer an illness, even if they cannot pay the healer for their magic?” He snorted.
“A person’s wealth should not determine if they are worthy of care,” she replied.
Most prayed that the medics at the temple of Knowledge would be able to treat them, because no one wanted to think about what would happen if they couldn’t.
Wild magic healers were rare in her time, and until she’d faced Drakon, she’d never needed one.
That rarity made their services costly. Only wealthy nobles could afford their fees.
“You think my kingdom should be run like a temple, then? Dispensing services, grain, and aid simply because the recipient is Trisian?” he goaded her.
“You take in more than enough taxes to do so! I’ve seen the ledgers myself,” she argued. How could he be such a monster to his own people?
“So now you fancy yourself knowledgeable about my kingdom? Enough to be dictating bleeding-heart policies? You could never understand the duties of a monarch. Your weakness would be Aureum’s ruin.” His face was a stony mask.
“I would make a better monarch than you, if you think caring about the people who make up your kingdom is a weakness!” she hissed, her heart hammering in her chest.
She was right to despise him, to use him and leave him. He prattled on about duty and kingship and yet thought his own people were beneath him. Aurora was so angry she could spit. In fact, the second she was off this damn loper, she was going to spit right into his fucking eye.
Seeing her pique, he laughed.
Wrath pumped through her veins. Maybe he was the first monarch to die during the first calamity because he was such an asshole. If so, she’d be happy to hand the first malcontent a dagger and wish them well. Her vision must be a lie. How was she ever to feel affection for such an uncaring brute?
“You would,” he said.
“Would what?” she growled.
“Make a good monarch.” Theron smiled.
“But…you just…”
“I wanted to hear what you had to say.”
“You were testing me?”
He winked.
Bloody bastard actually winked at her.
“I respectfully request that you not age me into a pile of bones. It would be difficult to pacify the spirits if I’m dead.”
“So I can age you into a decrepit old man? I can work with that.”
He chuckled.
“I’m glad we see eye to eye on so many important things.
Aureum has long kept grain stores aside to account for times of poor harvests.
As long as the grain stores remain, it is my duty to ensure no Aurean goes hungry, no matter if they love or hate me.
And when I ascended the throne, one of my first great works was to employ every healer in the land and send them out to care for the people of Aureum.
You are correct in that the taxes the palace collects are more than enough to pay them handsomely, among other things.
In ancient times, when Aureum was not one kingdom, but made up of city states and warring clans, these kinds of things were impossible.
But with a strong monarch and a well-organized army of administrators, a kingdom, like the temples, can provide much for its citizens and still maintain its dignity.
That is what it means to be a good king—a good monarch. ”
The day they’d wed he’d said something about being a good king—but he’d called himself a bad man in the same breath.
She’d thought he’d been speaking of his duties, that he was telling her he had always put his kingdom before his own wants and needs.
But if what he said was true, that he provided for the Aureans better than even Empress Neverita did for the Viridian empire, how did that make him anything but a good man in his own estimation?
Not that she was about to call this lying bastard a good man.
“Why did you call yourself a bad man back then, on our wedding day?”
“You remember that?”
She nodded. He sighed.
“Because a king’s duty to his kingdom must come before all matters of the heart. Trickery, violence, cruelty—all are acceptable as long as the ends serve the kingdom. There is no place for sentiment, loyalty, or love if it conflicts with what is best for the kingdom.”
Was this his way of telling her she could be his queen, but only if she were willing to set aside her conscience? Her heart?
More chilling still, was he telling her that he had never loved her?
Suddenly she felt queasy. Had he always kept her at a distance, refusing to let her in?
Perhaps that was why it had been so easy for him to accuse her of madness.
If his crown prevented him from ever being entirely loyal to her, then no wonder it had been so easy for him to lie to her.
If his beliefs stopped him from putting her needs before what he considered best for Aureum, then she was right to leave him.
“Is that what you really believe? Is that how you live your life?” she asked accusingly.
“I…that is what I was taught. It is how I’ve lived my life,” he hedged, frowning.
“And now?” she pushed.
He was quiet for some time. Perhaps he was only just now realizing what he’d said—what kind of casual cruelty he’d just implied.
Fields gave way to forest, the bright sun to dappled shade, and still Theron hadn’t answered.
She turned away from him. When he did speak, she startled, his voice waking her from near-sleep.
“Now, I pray that such teachings were wrong—that it is possible to be a good king and a good man. I want to be a good husband to you.”
“You can start by believing me,” she muttered.