The people and lands beyond our borders are mere numbers to King Emilius. Pins and flags on a map, valuable only in how they can help us. He doesn’t care.
He unlocks his study and takes a seat at his desk. “I will say Cyrus has true passion for raising this kingdom up,” he muses. “Some of his ideas areill-advised,but he will grow out of them. I’m glad you’re getting along better. I understand that you are working with him closely regarding Lady Raya’s needs.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent, excellent. But do not overcorrect and become too soft on him. He is still rash, idealistic, overly influenced by his travels and his friends.”His friends.He means Dante. “My son thinks we should walk away from fruit ripe for the picking. He resists bringing new lands under our fold, because he fears the responsibility. You would never do so—you grab every opportunity that gleams. That is the mark of true ambition.”
I smile, even as his flattery suddenly grates me.
The king spreads his hands at the map of the Sun Continent on his wall. If I look closely, I can see where Auveny’s borders have been drawn and redrawn again where the Fairywood was cleared to make way for new dominions. Balica seems so tiny in comparison in the south, a third of the size.
He coughs into a handkerchief, then folds it back into his pocket. “Auveny is a strong kingdom. You know this much. We are kind and generous—no wars waged since my grandfather’s time. Cyrus will be a good king, despite our disagreements, and if we are a great kingdom with a good king, how could Balica or any others complain? They will be thankful.”
Of course Auvenymustbe a great kingdom; the alternative is unacceptable. Because if we weren’t, we would be brutes. Aggressors.
“When is his ascension?” I ask.
“For the time being, I’m well enough to continue ruling. Perhaps even for another year or more…depending on how long it takes for my son to shed his foolish views.”
“Oh.” Up until now, the king had implied that he wouldabdicate after Cyrus married at the end of summer; did he only recently change his mind?
King Emilius doesn’t seem to notice my confusion, smoothing into a new topic as he taps a finger against his bearded jaw. “I have a small ask.”
“Yes, my king?”
“During the wedding, I’d like you to speak on Cyrus and Raya’s union. Make the Fates’ blessing official. Divine words will help curb naysayers. Prophecy maintains order where good sense will not do, as you know, and it will plant the first seed of unification.”
“Of course. I’ll prepare something.”
“Excellent.” He smiles. “I can always rely on you.”
Bowing, I take my leave.
Outside in the hall, I can finally breathe again. I am sick of the futures I see in my dreams and in the plans that the king has laid out.
The voice in my head said war is inevitable. And isn’t that what I believe, too? The world is built for wolves and their wars. It is built for taking. Each century brings new kings and new squabbles, but there will be the same shortsightedness, the same greed.
To be remembered as someone good, you have todogood.
To be remembered as someone great, you have to get elbow-deep in bullshit and come out looking spotless.
King Emilius will be remembered as someone great.
King Emilius grew Auveny from eight dominions to fourteen. He burnt down swathes of Fairywood, whichwe all know is dangerous and uninhabitable to unmagical creatures. I’ve always wondered how much of that belief traces back to the king.
He’s an expert at making his actions sound wise and necessary. How interesting that with every acre of Fairywood torched, Auveny also gained an acre of land. It was a means of widening our borders, and I didn’t even realize until Dante pointed it out one day.
After botanists learned how to distill ambrosia, King Emilius turned that knowledge into treasury wealth. All that newly scorched land turned into golden fields of fayflower to make ambrosia. Fairy glamour became a trend, a mark of virtue that could be bought. Old fables of fairies resurfaced, sweetened for the new generation to sell happily-ever-afters. Urging on the fantasy was Sighted Mistress Felicita, who often played matchmaker for the Sun Capital populace during her time as Seer.
These details taken separately mean little. Coincidences, scattered across time and anecdotes. But all together? Maybe the clever gleam in the king’s aged eye shines a little too brightly.
Auveny’s success isn’t might or land or fairy glamour. It’s the tales spun about our greatness. They tell us that what we achieve is fate, that we deserve everything in this world and more.
When truth is relative, you make yourself the axis.
In the dining hall, I find my only bright spot of the day—well, bright as a hunched, puffy-eyed, wrinkled-clothed scholar-turned-unofficial-adviser can be. Dante is also eating lunch, so this misery can have company.
I plunk down next to him and use a discarded copy of today’sLacy Thingsas a place mat for my bowl of soup. Below my food, a headline readshigh-heeled turn: camilla enchanted.The article details the sightings of the princess and Lady Raya around the city. Ziza Lace, as ever, leans heavy on the speculation:
