RE: Monarch

Finalizing the inscriptions took most of the day. While I’d had my doubts about Maeve, she seemed more than competent. A little too competent.

“Thank you for your time, Lady Maeve.” I stood and stretched my arm. It was wrapped in cloth, which she sternly instructed me to leave on for at least a half day. The material was different—fibrous instead of the transparent wrap the enclave inscribers used, but it served the same purpose: giving the pathways time for the ink to set and the mana to circulate free from outside contaminants.

While a large swath of her competency was believably attributed to a lifetime studying the arts, small tells conveyed a different story.

When I sought out my first set of inscriptions in the enclave, low on resources and looking for someone who wouldn’t immediately run to report my movements to the council, and most importantly, spread word of the suicide inscription on my chest—I found my first inscriber in the shadier side of the enclave. Something of a condensed Topside, the many dens of debauchery were packed into the equivalent of a city block. That first inscriber, while experienced, was used to smaller, more intricate projects—probably inscribing the sorts of things the council would have frowned on—and for my purposes, he was more than adequate.

Only later, when I went for additions to an inscriber Ralakos recommended just before entering the sanctum, did the key differences become clear. The new ink was applied with consummate precision, creating contoured lines more pleasant to the eye, and subtle gradations of shading. New addendums were merged onto the prior foundation, and after some convincing, the inscriber smoothed out and blended the original work flawlessly, somehow doing better work faster.

While Maeve was not quite as skilled as the second inscriber, she most certainly belonged in the second camp, rather than the first. Talent could explain the quality of the work, but not the speed and efficiency that accompanied it.

She had almost certainly done this more regularly than she let on. Probably for quite some time, during a period when a human carrying out an infernal “ritual” would be ridiculed at best, imprisoned at worst.

And now Lady Maeve was here, openly plying her once-forbidden craft on the King’s son. It was both satisfying and humbling to see how quickly things were changing. In recent years I’d come to reconsider much of my mother’s advice with a jaded lens, but one piece stood above the rest.

“Enlightenment is a beacon to the spirit. Give them guidance. Share your vision. And you will find them capable of remarkable change.”

On some level I’d always wanted to believe that, but it was far easier now that it was being demonstrated before my eyes. My father hadn’t taken the soft-handed approach my mother probably imagined would accompany that advice, but he’d guided them in his own way. Paid dearly for it. And now, things were changing.

I walked through the castle proper, still attempting to reconcile the smoking, blood-soaked ruin of my memories with the bustling figurehead it’d returned to. The conversation with Annette still troubled me, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I sought my mother’s counsel. She understood relationships on an almost scientific level, and if anyone could advise me on a less murderous avenue of handling Sera, it would be her.

A wave of bittersweet nostalgia swept over me as I approached her quarters. The last time I’d been here was when I said goodbye.

The Queen’s Guard was posted at the door, and offered small smiles as I approached. I recognized them as Rowan and Valai. Along with their duties guarding the queen, they were loyal and stalwart, supporting her far beyond their station. The queen’s sickness and subsequent death affected them both profoundly. The last time I saw Valai, she was shipping off for the plains, a campaign from which she would never return. My final memory of Rowan was his face, reduced to a bloody pulp as my father rained down fists and fury in the courtyard.

I never knew why they fought, or exactly what Rowan said to elicit such a violent reaction. But it wasn’t much of a jump to guess that it had something to do with my father’s absence at her deathbed.

“Been a long time, Cairn.” Rowan hesitated. “Or should I be using your title?”

“Seeing as how you made no secret of how often you used to change my damn diaper, I think we can let the title slide.” I grasped his arm and pulled him in for an embrace, then did the same with Valai.

“Hello Cairn.” She gave Rowan a superior look. “Told you he wouldn’t have changed that much.”

“If anything, he’s friendlier,” Rowan mused.

“Changed how?” I looked between them.

Rowan cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Uh. Some of the gossip circling around your return painted you in an… unfamiliar light.”

“A fiery, violet light.” Valai poked at me and grinned.

Elphion. People really never stopped talking. I groaned. “We were under attack. And for that matter, I gave them a chance to surrender. Multiple chances.”

“No need to justify yourself to us, boy.” Rowan waved my explanation away, and a bit of steel crept into his expression. “We weren’t always on protective detail.” He looked over my shoulder then, eyes tracing up and down Alten. “Speaking of which. He’s with you?”

I introduced Alten, and while Rowan and Valai were clearly curious about his armor and especially the sword, they kept their silence. But despite the genuine pleasantries and conversation, it quickly grew obvious that they weren’t inviting me in as they normally would have.

“Well, I’m here to see my mother, if she’s awake and available,” I finally stated outright.

They exchanged glances.

“Uh,” Rowan started.

“The queen’s not seeing anyone right now, Cairn,” Valai interjected smoothly. “The infernal emissary was with her until early morning. She’s exhausted. They both are.”

If it was the first time I’d seen them stall this way, I might have taken it at face value. But it wasn’t. When the wasting illness was at the height of its destruction, ravaging her body and twisting her into something almost unrecognizable, they’d intercede the same way. Try to shield me from it.

Panic took me. “What’s wrong? Did the healing magic fail? Were there complications beyond what they led me to believe? Is she—”

Valai held up a hand to stop me and I stilled, a thousand questions still rattling around in my head. She looked at Rowan, and after a moment, he nodded. Valai gave me a reassuring smile. “Wait here. I’ll go ask.”

Alten, Rowan, and I waited in tense silence as the guardswoman opened the door, revealing nothing but darkness within as she slipped inside. Alten—not knowing how to help, but likely wanting to be ready for anything—was sizing up Rowan and being obvious about it, which set the older guard on edge. If I’d been more present, I might have tried to intercede, smooth the atmosphere between them, but I was entirely caught up imagining countless ways things could have gone horribly wrong from my head hitting the pillow to the present.

Rowan’s eyes slid down to the sword on Alten’s side, and the side of his mouth quirked. “Quite the weapon. For a man still showing his green.”

Alten didn’t blink. “This old thing? Found it buried in a refuse pile behind the kitchens. Figured it’d do for cutlery. In a pinch.”

“Guess it’s true what they say. Pearls… and swine.”

“Enough,” I snapped, cutting any further escalation. Though there were different contingents and hierarchies within the royal guard, they were a tight-knit group that rarely liked outsiders. Especially those they perceived to have skipped the line. Still, I’d expected better from the Queen’s Guard. Rowan in particular.

The door creaked open. Maya stepped out, Valai behind her. Maya didn’t look particularly tired, though she was still wearing the same dress from the previous evening. The slight stagger to her step and bleariness in her gaze was the only giveaway. The combination of worry for my mother and Maya’s unexpected appearance rendered me speechless.

“My prince,” Maya said. She seemed to sense something was wrong and turned to the guardsmen. “Be back in a moment.” Then she led me away, down the corridor, with ample room from any listening ears.

Suddenly, I felt guilty. Here I was barging in, making it about me while Maya did everything she could to save my mother.

Before I could say anything, Maya put a hand on my chest. “Relax. Breathe. The guards stalled you, and it recalled unpleasant memories of a time they often did the same, right?”

I chuckled. “Am I… really so obvious?”

“To others? No. Considering what we’ve been through, I’d be an idiot if I couldn’t read you by now.” There was a subtle hum as her fingertips—still pressed against my chest—glowed. “Bit of infection creeping in from the inscription work. Your body will probably fight that off on its own, but no reason to leave it to chance. Can’t heal it completely without compromising the inscriptions, but I can at least expedite the road to recovery.”

I fell quiet. This was an old ritual, one we’d enacted countless times during our time in the sanctum. She did it after every battle, from the smallest scrap to the largest altercation. My fear dissipated, and slowly, the sensation of a swarm of ants, sending fire up and down my right arm, faded away.

“The queen is stable,” Maya said, matter-of-factly, not hedging, or falling back on the vague language the castle physicians frequently leaned on. “She had an episode early this morning. Mostly asthmatic, with some other symptoms. They called for me before I’d fallen asleep, and I came.”

“King Gil told me you attended her, and that the results were good. He neglected to mention that she’d taken a turn for the worse,” I said quietly.

“The danger was past, and the queen insisted,” Maya answered.

“Is she asleep?” I asked.

“… In and out,” Maya said, but her hesitation spoke volumes.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I pressed, trying to keep my voice neutral.

“It’s…” Maya grunted in frustration, looked up at the expanse of ceiling above us, then back at me. “Sometimes, ni’lend, sickness lends itself to irrationality. Disassociation. Sick people do not always act as themselves, and it is easy to interpret this lapse as cruelty.”

Oh. Oh.

I took a step back. “It’s not that she can’t see me. She doesn’t want to see me.” I knew everything that Maya was saying was true. I’d lived it. My mother had been nothing but kind to me on the night of my return, but that meant nothing. The mood swings that accompanied persistent illness were frequent and terrible. And while she’d never lashed out at me, specifically, I’d heard her scream at servants towards the end, something she would never normally do.

“Is there anything I can do? To help with her treatment? Tools, resources, anything?” I asked, numbly.

Maya smiled gently and took my hand. “You’ve already given me the best preparation I could ask for. Patching up you and Jorra’s stubborn hides almost every day in the sanctum was more valuable field experience than you could imagine.”

I nodded, though it hadn’t escaped me that she’d left Bell out of the statement. “Sometimes multiple times a day.”

“Indeed.”

A question lingered in my mind. One that would either change nothing, or drive a dagger into my gut. It was better to leave it. I asked, anyway. “Is she sending anyone else away, Maya? Or just me?”

Maya said nothing. She didn’t have to. From the way her lips pressed together, and her tail snaked up to curl around her wrist, I had my answer.

“Sorry,” she said.

“No.” I put my hands on my hips and exhaled, long and unsteady. “No, you are completely fine. Thanks for taking care of her. Little late, but I’m about to go out on the town anyway. Have a beer with that elf, see about finding his wife.”

“Elf?” Maya asked.

“Uh, yeah. Rock guy.” I mimicked an object bouncing off the side of my head and ricocheting away.

“Ah.”

“Invite you along, but I’m guessing you’re tied up here?” For the first time since returning from my exile, I found that I really didn’t want to be alone.

“Yes.” Maya smiled apologetically. “Once the queen no longer requires my services, Lady Melody was insistent on showing me the gardens. Apparently with the mana illumination, they’re quite striking in the evenings.”

“Damn woman, undercutting me at every turn.” I shook a mock fist and continued to walk backwards. “This is her retaliation for the dance last night.”

“And what a dance it was.” Maya’s smile slowly faded, expression growing serious. “Cairn. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yep.”

“You’ll take Alten with you to Topside?”

I turned and waved behind me as Alten followed, elevating my voice so she could hear. “Alten, you coming with me to Topside?”

“Oh, yes.” Alten cracked his knuckles, his expression dark. “A day in the palace and I’m already spoiling for a fight. No place better.”

“He says yes. Apparently, he’s spoiling for a fight!” I said over my shoulder.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Maya grumbled after us.

In truth, Maya had missed something. Willfully or otherwise. That something being, that my mother had never turned me away. Her guard had, but never at her orders. Even when things were at their worst, and her skin was gray, and she couldn’t so much as lift a cup to her lips.

But it didn’t matter. I’d blunted my reaction, but I hadn’t lied. I’d long ago accepted the possibility of being alienated from my family—Lillian, Maya, my mother and sisters—it mattered little how they felt about me. Or in Lillian’s case, if she even knew me. So long as they lived to see the better world I was trying to secure.

“Uh. You know I was joking earlier? About fighting?” Alten said. He seemed uncharacteristically wary.

“I got that.”

“Just… the look on your face.”

“Hm?”

“Never mind,” Alten muttered, and spoke no more of it.

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