For What is Bought in Blood

The Greatest Soldier

My feet thunder on the floor as my strides continue powerfully down the second-floor hall. Men and women alike swerve out of my way, some furrowing eyebrows in confusion, others immediately begin whispering. Bright colored gowns of ladies mix in with the deep colors of the servant gowns as people flurry to move out of my warpath.

I do not dampen the sounds of my footsteps. I want to be heard as I approach the council room. The first storm of autumn rages outside, dark clouds dimming all the walls in the castle. Outside of all the windows on this side of the capital city show browning trees and flutters of black flags in place of the crest of Arithia. I remember these streets only months prior covered in shades of green and joyous celebrations as my father returned from battle.

Dark ridges in ornate patterns cover the council room door. Countless generations of my father's line have pushed these doors, unknowingly waning the carvings as they entered the room. Voices of dull argument cease at the sound of the old hinges whining, my glare entering the room long before the rest of me. My eyes fill the space, searching for the face that deserves my anger. When I lock eyes with him, I can almost feel the spice of hatred propelling my feet forward.

"Alula," the advisor to the crown speaks, a connotation of urgency behind the otherwise calm words. Feigned surprise laces the deep wrinkles within his pale face. He knew servants would talk of use of this room in my absence, he knew I would come. I am suddenly more aware of how I appear, a woman overcome with emotion. My hands are clenched to my sides, but I do not care to unfurl them. A bushy eyebrow perks up at me, and I feel my nails bite deeper into my palms. "Must you barge into our meetings? You are not needed in the matters we discuss today, child." Hands worn with age grace the top of the table; palms flattened. His attention is scorching, as if he is attempting to silence me before I can begin. I almost scoff at his attempt to placate me.

My voice is thick with sarcasm as I dare to continue stepping into the room. A dark stare from a warmongering advisor would pale any frail woman, but I am no coward. This man has known me since birth, and I no longer fear the glint of hatred in his eyes. His dark breeches and deep blue overcoat toe the line of treason in these times. The other advisors are seated, entirely in black, in accordance with my mother. I feel many eyes on me, including those of The Queen.

"Is that why I was not invited to this specific meeting, Ervan?" I divert my gaze quickly to see that my usual seat beside my mother still sits empty. With me also gone from this meeting, mother sits alone at the far end of the table. She appears miles away from the conversation, staring blanky at the edge of table before her. My eyes snap back to the elderly advisor as quickly as they left him.

"Or are you taking advantage of my still-grieving mother?"

The room collectively sucks in a breath. Ervan clears his throat, shuffling to retain his seat at the table. My mother's face twists, and I can see her fighting to stay composed. Her memorial dressings hide much of her face, but her painted lips are still pursed with emotion. The anger in me begs to turn into lingering sadness, but I know what this meeting is meant to be.

"No one is rushing the Queen into anything, Alula. It has been months." I know the soothing voice of Morelin, always trying to buffer between the Queen and the other advisors. His pointed face holds no anger, just concern for me as our gazes meet. A soft, tilted smile beneath his dark facial hair begs me to remain calm. Of all the men at this table, Morelin is the kindest. He speaks to me, nothing but sympathy in his eyes. "The people grow concerned for their Queen, that is all, my dear."

I know of these complaints. It is more than concern that fills the outside of the castle- it is outrage that the Queen has made no public appearance since the King's passing. Everyone was held in grief for weeks after he died, but the memorial requirements my mother keeps in place to this day is beginning to look like weakness. The people want to know what is to be done next, and if the war my father died fighting in will continue to be unchecked by our armies. With no King, the armies have no direction and have been ravaged upon. The morale of soldiers has fallen enough that remaining generals cannot control them- men deserting in broad daylight and battles fought with no one left to account for has galvanized disorder. Morelin knows I feel the weight of these burdens heavily, hence his polite tone.

My mother rustles in her dressings. Though it is barely cooled outside, her dresses remain unchanged. Even in the highest heat of summer she insisted on being dressed in dark gowns made for colder months. Undoubtedly her grief suffocates her in such a way that the dresses only begin to symbolize. Her crudely painted black nails reach for the edge of the table, as if she is trying to get the attention of the room. Her small shuffle is enough to silence us all.

"Your queen remains unready to make such important decisions." A small voice speaks from behind the veil. The shadows thrown by storm clouds make her facial coverings entirely too efficient, appearing almost as if she is only a set of blood-stained lips. She then shifts back firmly into her seat and rotates her head, as if looking out one of the many windows in the room. I know that she is remembering and seeing nothing at all. I feel my anger leave me as I watch the grieving image of my mother.

"Your Majesty," Ervan speaks, standing from his chair with barely enough grace to cover his urgency. He clears this throat, knowing the blatant disrespect in his tone would have never occurred with my father in the room. One fat hand slips beneath a neat fold in his jacket as if he is grabbing his heart in sympathy. The barely made smile upon his face says differently. "I am not sure how much longer we can delay."

Knees wavering in anger, I step fully up to the long table. My hand slams on the far end from my mother. The advisors startle but have no time to scorn me before I speak myself.

"A country has lost a King, that we all know and feel." I step back from the table, tucking my hands behind my back and burrowing them into the fabric of my own mourning gown. I make sure to scan all the faces in the room, most of which fill me with contempt.

"The Queen has lost a husband. That is something none of us can understand." I walk around the table, four men of importance to my father staring back at me. I find my place beside the throne of my mother, dwarfed in comparison to my father's empty throne beside it. I place a gentle hand on the shoulder of my mother, who leans into me without moving her gaze from the window. I feel a breath shudder through her.

I speak with enough force that I cannot be ignored, the soft image of a princess never having worked on these men anyway. "I expect no other meetings will be held in my absence." As Ervan begins to complain, I turn to sit back in my rightful seat at the head of the table.

"Dismissed."