Fairest

A young woman stepped out of the line of thaumaturges, dressed in a maroon-red coat, with glossy raven’s-wing hair falling down her back. She was beautiful in the way that all members of the queen’s entourage were beautiful, but there was also something admirable in the way she held herself. A confidence that glimmered. Though her station was beneath the head thaumaturge, her posture and faint smile seemed to indicate that she didn’t much believe herself to be beneath anyone at all.

Levana liked her immediately.

“Agreed. I deem Thaumaturge … er…”

“Sybil Mira, My Queen,” she said.

“Mira as the official royal representative of … oh, I don’t know.” Channary sighed. “Ungifted affairs. You have my permission, by royal decree, to do what needs to be done for the betterment of … everyone.” Channary’s fingers danced whimsically through the air as she strung the words together, more like she was composing a pretty-sounding poem than issuing a decree that could impact the lives of hundreds of citizens—thousands, once their families were taken into account.

Still, the thaumaturges bowed respectfully when she finished and, finally, court was adjourned. The audience stood with the queen, but before leaving, Channary fixed her sweet smile on Levana.

“Dear baby sister,” she cooed. Come here, baby sister. Levana flinched before she could brace herself, but if Channary noticed, she didn’t show it. “I have a fitting with my seamstress this afternoon. Why don’t you come with me? It would benefit you to have some gowns that aren’t quite so … sad.”

Levana didn’t need to look down at her pale yellow dress, or to see how the color faded into her pale glamoured skin, to know what Channary was talking about. She had lost interest in being noticed. Let Channary be known for how fair and mirthful she was. Princess Levana would earn respect in the court by being intelligent and resourceful. By meeting the needs of her country when the queen was too busy cavorting with her many suitors to care.

“I am not in need of a new gown, thank you, My Queen.”

“Fine, don’t try anything on, then. You will make an excellent hat stand while I’m being fitted. Come along.”

She smothered a groan, the thought of denying her sister already exhausting her.

Channary swooped ahead, and the thaumaturges and aristocrats all bowed. Walking in her sister’s wake, Levana imagined that she was the one they were really bowing to.

As she followed her sister into the palace corridor, she spotted Evret coming toward them. Her heart pattered, but Evret didn’t even look at her, merely stopped and saluted the queen as she passed, one fist clapped over his chest. Levana tried to catch his eye, but he stared at the wall over her head, expressionless as a statue.

Only when she glanced back a few steps later did she realize he had come to change shifts with one of the other guards. The changing of the guard was fast and smooth, like a well-oiled clock. Gulping, Levana faced forward again, lest she walk into a wall. This could be her chance to thank him for the pendant that was, even then, hanging around her neck, tucked beneath the collar of her dress.

She could hear Evret’s boots clacking behind her. Feel his presence tugging her toward him. The back of her neck tingled, and she imagined him looking at her. Admiring the curvature of her neck. His gaze dropping intimately down her back.

Her emotions were in tatters by the time they had reached the main corridor of the palace and turned to begin the climb toward Her Majesty’s quarters on the top floor. Channary did not like to take the elevators. She had once told Levana that she felt queenly having to lift her skirts as she went up and down the stairs.

It had taken all of Levana’s efforts not to ask if that was the same reason she lifted her skirts all those other times too.

“Your Majesty?”

Channary paused, and Levana came to a stumbling halt behind her. Turning, she saw a girl not much older than she was, dressed in plain utilitarian clothes. She was breathless and flushed, her hair falling out of a loose bun in messy chunks.

“I do apologize for my forwardness, My Queen,” said the girl, panting. She fell to one knee.

Channary sneered, disgusted. “How dare you approach me in such an informal manner? I will have you flogged for your disrespect.”

The girl shuddered. “I-I do apologize,” she stammered, as if she hadn’t been heard the first time. “I was sent by Dr. O’Connor from the AR-C med-center with an urgent message for—”

“Did I ask who sent you?” said Channary. “Did I suggest in any way that I cared where you were sent from or whether you had a message or who that message might be for? No, because I do not have the time to listen to every person who would seek an audience with me. There is a method to having your voice heard. Guards, escort this woman away.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “But—”

“Oh, stars above, I’ll handle her request,” said Levana. “Go to your fitting, as it is clearly more important than listening to a message from a girl who has run herself ragged trying to get here.”

Channary snarled. “You will not speak disrespectfully to me in front of one of my subjects.”

Levana flattened her hands against her skirt, to keep them from becoming fists. “I meant no disrespect, My Queen. Only that you seem to have a lot on your schedule today, so please, allow me to assist you with your royal duties.” She nodded at the girl, who still remained on one knee. “What is your message?”

The girl gulped. “It is for a royal guard, Your Highness. Sir Evret Hayle. His wife has gone into labor. They fear … the doctor … they have requested that he come see her right away.”

Levana felt a clamp tighten around her rib cage, forcing all the air from her lungs. She glanced back in time to catch the dawning horror on Evret’s face.

But then Channary started to laugh. “What a shame. Sir Hayle has only just begun his shift. His wife will have to wait until he is relieved. Come along, Levana.” Gathering her skirt, she began marching up the steps.

Evret looked from the girl—a nurse, perhaps, or an assistant—to the queen’s retreating back. He seemed cemented to the spot in the middle of the corridor. To leave would be to disobey a direct order from his sovereign. Such an act would mark him as a traitor, and result in what punishment Levana could only guess.

But his indecision did not wane. How desperate he must be to defy the queen.

On top of that, Levana’s own curiosity was piqued. Babies were born all the time and complications were so rare, and yet, Solstice had seemed so weak …