Chapter 31 #2
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“Ash.” She tilted her head. “Do you want to be king?”
He seemed taken aback by this. “Do you think I would be a good king?”
“Yes,” she replied, and it surprised her. Because she hadn’t before. “But I fear you will hate it.”
“There is no way to make these people love me. I don’t want to be a hated king.”
“I think I know a way to make them at least accept you.”
“Of course you do. You’re the cleverest person I know. Come, Zephyr wants to make plans.”
He reached for her hand and she took it, but dread slipped down her throat, filling her lungs. Her legs were heavy and her head ached. The monster she’d envisioned on the bridge morphed until she was facing her father.
They found Zephyr in the greenhouse, tending to a carpet of water clover growing in a copper basin. Asherton wandered to the other side of the greenhouse to prune a camellia, and Magdala overturned a bucket and sat down.
“Listen, Zeph,” she said. “I know that you and I have had our differences. I know you don’t trust me, but I would hope that by now you can see that we have one thing in common.”
“Oh?” He planted his hand on his knee and leaned forward. “What is that, Miss Devney?”
“We both care for Asherton.”
Zephyr cast a tense look at Asherton, as he scolded Anton—who was almost as all as Magdala now—for taking a bite out of his camelia. Zephyr removed his glasses and let out a long sigh. “Continue.”
“I have asked Huxley to send us more guards and, of course, he refuses. But I have an idea that will make them unnecessary.”
“Go on.”
Asherton joined them and sat on the edge of the basin. “Discussing my imminent demise?” he said.
“How to prevent it,” Magdala replied coolly. She kept her eyes fixed on the blurred greenhouse wall. She needed to be pragmatic and think of him as a charge.
“If I’m correct,” Magdala said, “a king must choose one and only one policy to implement upon his coronation.”
Zephyr nodded.
“And what policy do you have in mind, Your Highness?” she asked Asherton, still looking away.
“Well, Miss Devney,” he teased, “my brother and I talked about reforming the dragon trade to preserve the species. I would like to cut off trade with Ashkendor.”
Magdala shook her head. “See, if you make a policy like that right away, you’ll provoke the people.
Possibly start a civil war. Ashkendor will retaliate, we’ll be plunged into the conflict with the other two kingdoms, and you’ll be so unpopular, I doubt a hundred bodyguards could prevent your assassination. ”
“Alright then,” he said. “What do you suggest?”
“Save that policy for your second year. Once everyone is used to you. For your first policy, choose something that will make the people happy.”
“I’m not going to kiss their little buttocks,” he said scornfully.
“Yes, you are,” Zephyr said, suddenly attentive. “Miss Devney is absolutely right. If your first policy is something the public approves, you might be able to pave the way for your more controversial ideas down the road.”
“And what do you have in mind?” he asked.
Magdala shrugged. “Who cares? Whatever is the most popular option with the people.”
“Aren’t you mercenary?” Asherton said with a smirk.
“Lower taxes,” Zephyr added flatly. “Everyone loves a monarch who puts more money in their pockets.”
“So, cut taxes by … three percent?” Asherton suggested.
“Not enough,” Zephyr said. “Make it five percent.”
Asherton tilted his head back and forth, his eyes narrowed. “But if we don’t stop the trade with Ashkendor, then the dragons will be at risk. The whole population of dragons, and my brother wanted …”
“Your brother died a casualty of this war,” Zephyr cut in. “And there’s no point throwing more young souls into its jaws.”
“But if we cut the dragon trade to Ashkendor, we could end the war.”
“Not until we enter the war.”
“For a few months, perhaps.”
“The people will hate you for it,” Magdala warned. “They will not let you survive the coronation.”
“But …”
“NO!” Magdala jumped to her feet and whirled on him, frightening Anton so badly that he tumbled into a whimpering heap on the floor. “Either you take the more political option or you won’t live to see the throne!”
Asherton leaned back, his arms crossed. “But I promised him …”
“I know, and I’m sorry.” She laid her hand on his arm. “But he would want you to live. And the risk is too great. Next year, Ash. You can try again next year, once you’ve proven there’s no curse and the people’s pockets are lined with kibs.”
“Besides,” Zephyr said, “if you plunge us into a war, the people will say the war is the curse. It will fulfill the prophecy.”
Asherton sighed. "I see I’m overruled. Taxes will be reduced by five percent. They’ll be driving around on the worst roads in the three kingdoms, but they’ll have more money in their pockets to fix their wagon wheels with.”
“Perfect,” Magdala said, relieved. “Make that your first policy change, and then we can get you safely into Largotia without a riot; the dissenting royalists won’t want to assassinate you if you’re lowering taxes even more than your mother did, and next year, you can do something wild, like cut the dragon trade. ”
“If there are any dragons left,” Asherton grumbled.