Fairest (Page 25)

“You are a model of patience,” Levana deadpanned.

“Well, I’ve been seeing pictures of the royal family from the Eastern Commonwealth and … I’m rather intrigued.” She tried to take the child’s bottle away, but baby Selene whimpered and reached for it, pulling it back into her mouth.

“The royal family? Isn’t the prince only a child?”

“A toddler, yes.” Channary bent over her daughter, nestling the tufts of hair with her nose. “At first I thought, why, he might be a perfect little match for my perfect little girl.” She lifted her gaze again. “But then I thought—why, I suppose I could marry too. And the emperor is quite handsome. Broad-shouldered. Always smartly dressed, though a little bland—Earthens, you know.”

“Unfortunately, I do believe he is already married.”

Channary snorted, and baby Selene finally released the bottle, finished. “Always the pessimist, baby sister. Perhaps he won’t always be married.” Shrugging, she lifted the baby over her shoulder to burp her, even though she had nothing to protect her fine gown. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. I’m certainly not planning any assassination attempts yet, but … well. I’ve heard Earth is nice this time of year.”

“I think it is nice every time of year, depending on the hemisphere.”

Channary quirked an eyebrow. “What is a hemisphere?”

Sighing, Levana shook her head. “Never mind. That baby is going to spit up all over your dress, you know.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sick of this one. I’m sick of all of them, actually. Nothing in my whole wardrobe fits anymore, and I know it will just get worse if I end up pregnant again. It will be a full-time job for my seamstress. I’ve been thinking I might have her feet removed, so that she has nothing better to do.” Her eyes sparkled, like it was a joke.

But Levana had seen that sparkle before. She was not so sure that Channary was joking.

*   *   *

Queen Channary Blackburn of Luna did not have a chance to see to an assassination on the Earthen empress. She did not marry Emperor Rikan or see her child grow up to marry a prince.

Five months after their conversation, she did indeed have her seamstress’s feet surgically removed, and the seamstress had not even recovered enough to get back to work before it was all for naught.

At the age of twenty-five, Queen Channary died from regolith poisoning in her lungs.

It was a disease that commonly afflicted those in the outer sectors, due to a lifetime spent breathing in the dust from Luna’s caverns, but it was so unheard of among the aristocrats—and certainly among the royal family—that doctors had never even considered it a possibility, even when Channary broke down and talked to Dr. Eliot about her persistent cough.

The mystery was never solved, but Levana had a theory that her sister had been sneaking away to the regolith caves under the city for some of her romantic rendezvous.

The funeral was similar to that of their parents, and Levana’s feelings were rather the same.

Princess Winter and Princess Selene attended, dressed in royal garb as befit their stature. Selene, now one year old, received kisses from a lot of strangers, but between the two, it was Winter who received the most compliments. She was indeed a very pretty child, and Evret was right—she was taking more after her mother every day.

Evret offered to work, guarding the queen’s casket as it was carried through the streets on its way to be buried in a crater outside of the domes. Levana asked him not to. She’d hoped he would agree to stand by her side. To be her husband. But it didn’t work. To him, duty came first.

The little boy who belonged to Sir Clay was there too, almost four years old now and pale blond as ever. He tried to teach the wobbly-footed girls how to play hide-and-seek among the pews, but they were still too young to understand.

Levana pretended to cry. She was assigned the role of queen regent until her niece’s thirteenth birthday, at which time Selene would take her throne.

Twelve years.

Levana would be queen for twelve years.

She tried very, very hard not to smile until the funeral was over.

*   *   *

“Head Thaumaturge Haddon is retiring at the end of this month,” said Venerable Annotel, keeping pace beside Levana as they made their way to the court meeting. “Have you considered who you might nominate for his replacement?”

“I’ve been thinking I would recommend Sybil Mira.”

Annotel glanced sideways at her. “An interesting choice. Awfully young … The families thought you might be thinking of Thaumaturge Par—”

“Sybil has thus far excelled at the responsibilities given to her regarding gathering shell children.”

“Oh, no doubt. She is very capable. But her inexperience—”

“And I believe that she earned a second-tier rank at only nineteen years old. The youngest in history. Isn’t that true?”

“I … am not honestly sure.”

“Well. I appreciate her ambition. She is motivated, and I like that. She reminds me of myself.”

Annotel pursed his lips. He would be stuck now that Levana had made the comparison. “I am sure she is a wise choice,” he said. “If this is your final decision, I think the families will approve.”

“We will see. I have a month still to consider.” She smiled, but then she spotted Evret down the hall. He was one of the guards waiting outside the conference room. Seeing him, she felt herself deflate. No matter how confident she became in her role of queen regent, every time her eyes fell on her husband, she felt like that same love-struck sixteen-year-old girl all over again.

She hoped to pass a smile his way, but Evret did not look at her as he and his comrade pulled open the doors.

Wetting her lips, Levana stepped inside.

As the doors shut, the family representatives stood. Levana approached the dais where the throne stood.

The queen’s throne.

This room was among her favorites in the palace, and her appreciation for it had increased drastically the moment she’d first taken her seat in that magnificent chair. The room glinted and shimmered, all glass and white stone. From her position, she could see all of the members of the court seated around the intricately tiled floor, and directly opposite her was the magnificent view of Lake Artemisia and the white city.

Sitting there, Levana truly felt like the ruler of Luna.

“Be seated.”

Chairs were still shuffling as she straightened her spine and gestured leisurely at Head Thaumaturge Haddon. “You may proceed.”