Roxane

Chapter Nine

Three years later, Roxane sat in the same place she'd been when the queen had told her the letters would be brought to court. The same place where the queen had told her that the ideas had been approved. And then she'd been crowned Vidar, Eirene at her side as Vidaresse. Today, she was wearing a blood red gown, the fabric itchy and annoying. Her boots had been replaced with black flats. Her hair pulled up with a leather band was now curled and styled. Her once plain and normal face was coated in powders and color.

She hated this lifestyle. Hated being Vidar. But she knew every citizen was benefiting from it.

"Sacrifice after sacrifice," Eirene muttered from across the room, sitting at the same desk she had for hours now, reading papers, signing them, and then sending them to various people around the city.

"It's bound to happen," Roxane said.

"Everything has a sacrifice,"

Roxane could never tell how Eirene was feeling. She was never really angry or really happy. She was always in between.

"Does it ever say what the sacrifice is?" Roxane asked, standing and walking to the southern window.

"Nope. And I quote: As sacrifice is mandatory, we beg you to spend the rest of your time as Vidar helping the homeless. It makes no sense."

Roxane fell silent. She shook her head, the messages still jumbled in her head. Was she the one who would take the sacrifice? What was the sacrifice? Why was everyone demanding it?

Embrace yourself for whatever may come. Everything has a cost, Thanatos had said.

"I'm going riding. I need fresh air," Roxane said hurriedly. She was out of the room before Eirene got the chance to reply. Down the hundred flights of stairs and out of the Aerie. She still hadn't moved back in.

People called her name, clapped, cheered and tried to stop her as she fled down the streets, but she ignored them all. Walked right past them. And fifteen minutes later she collapsed onto the bed in her small house. It was clean inside, her clothes all put away, the floors swept, the beds made. And yet she still felt dirty.

She allowed herself three minutes to lie down. And then she was up again, her dress folded and put in a crate. Her flats were slid under a wickerwork bench. And then she pulled on her newest flying leathers, the material still hard and unworked. Her boots were also new, the buckles still stiff.

She stepped into the washroom, and filled the wash bin with water. That was Roxane's favorite part about the city, other than the ceaklerr; a network of streams ran below all the houses and streets, meaning fresh, cold water for anyone who wanted it. In each house there was a small trap door that, once opened, gave direct access to the stream. So Roxane dipped a cup into the running water, and then dumped it into the wash bin. Once the door was locked again, Roxane tipped her head into the basin, and ran her hands through her hair. The wet strands hung over her face when she rose. She flipped it over her head and ran a fine tooth comb through it. Then she tied it with a leather band and squeezed the excess water into the basin. She picked up the face cloth from a stool in the corner, and dipped it in the water. Then ran it over her face, powders leaving streaks. Over and over she scrubbed at the dye, and when it was all gone, she dumped the water into the road outside.

She left the house, Dawn strapped in the same place it always stayed. She'd built a shelter for Iphigenia in the field behind her house so she wouldn't have to walk to the Aerie every time she wanted to ride. So she walked the chest deep grass and whistled for Iphigenia. The sound of crumbling ground was the only indication she was still here. And when she appeared in front of Roxane, her rainbow coat gleaming in the sun, Roxane smiled. And then pulled herself atop her mount's back. With a kick of her heels, her dragon was fifty feet in the air. And then they were soaring over the city, the houses a blur beneath them. Over the hospital square. Over the Aerie. Into the old solstice pit fights field.