Queen Of Nothing

Part Seventeen: Disastrous Dinner

Rystak sat at the head of the long table, Netilaa to his left, placed directly before a gorgeous black haired woman with sharp silver eyes and a soft smile. She wore a much smaller crown than the king, though Netilaa could only assume she must be the queen-and Ember's mother. The King of Plenty was seated beside her, their other companions scattered further down the table among faces Netilaa didn't recognize. 

With a single nod from Rystak, the chatter began down the line, cordial conversation as everyone began eating. Netilaa hesitated, her stomach knotted as she took in the fish laid out on her plate. Her people had once thrived on the fish of the Cobalt Sea, before they had slowly died out, leaving them to turn to the forests for their sustenance. Rystak regarded the queen slyly, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth as if he knew the implications behind tonight's dinner selection.

"I wonder," Rystak spoke around a bite of his own food. "Have you ever had fish, Netilaa? I know the Cobalt stopped producing them a long time ago, perhaps penance from the Old Gods for the Artillian's cowardice."

The queen felt her muscles tighten, as if she might crawl across the table and end his miserable reign then and there. Ember's leg bumped her lightly, and the King of Plenty cleared his throat. When he looked towards the Queen of Kaskadan, he held a soft smile, something flashing in his eyes as he met her gaze. It was clear to Netilaa that despite Rystak's destructive hand, the young king still regarded his mother fondly. She had to wonder momentarily if perhaps the Queen of Kaskadan knew about the imminent downfall of her husband.

"There have been many stories carried down about the beauty of your garden, Tafis." Though his words were even, his tone casual, Netilaa knew the delight Ember must have been harboring at being able to speak with his mother once again.

"Yes, well," Tafis began, averting her gaze from the attention she received. When her gaze met with Rystak's, her smile faltered and her spine straightened before she turned back to her son. "It is an ever-busy project."

Rystak grunted a laugh, a sound that made Netilaa jerk in response. "Just another project the woman will never finish."

"I should like to see it,"  Netilaa ventured kindly, offering her fellow queen a gentle smile of encouragement despite the eyes that watched her sharply. "Perhaps after dinner. My lands used to be so fertile, they say you could plant a single grain of sand from our shores and grow a patch of oritz to last the season. That was before my time, of course, but I was raised with a breathtaking garden just outside our home that overlooked the Cobalt Sea. It would be an honor to look upon the beauty of your hard work."

Queen Tifus seemed to come alive with the response, despite the dour look Rystak was cutting the Queen of Artillia. Beside her, Ember was attempting to hide the pride in his eyes when he met her gaze. It didn't go unnoticed by the King of Kaskadan.

"If I recall correctly," Rystak began curtly, and the flicker in his eye was the only warning to the impending remark. "That very garden was trampled when our allies wiped out the Artillians. Or so I've heard word. Isn't that what you reported, my son?"

The king's gaze flashed to Ember, as if this information hadn't already been shared between them. Rystak had made the bet on his son being just like him, it seemed, and perhaps believed the news of Ember's participation in the downfall of Artillia would stumble her. Yet, she only cast her eyes to her plate as she swallowed a drink from her goblet of wine. The night was still young, and yet she felt the urge to drown herself in the alcohol already.

"Perhaps," Netilaa began slowly, her voice so low that only those beside her could hear as the rest of the table chatted away. "Everything is a game to you, King Rystak. Perhaps you see your people as pawns while you hide away behind your onyx wall, paying the humans to participate in the slaughter of your own kind. Perhaps it is witty to you, to sit before me and quip about the state of my garden just to flaunt your hand in my peoples' downfall. Yet you rely on me to provide you with the power to take back the southern lands, because without me, you are nothing more than a worried man with a heavy crown.