Esamne chose her clothing with a careful eye. Anything too vibrant would make it appear that she wasn't taking Pescel's situation seriously. Anything too somber would make her seem melancholy and too emotional to handle the work a queen needed to take on. In the end, she chose a pale cream, velvet gown, which made her look cool, calm, and graceful. She disrobed and set it aside for the morning.
Everything had to go just right. The Arch Dukes held her fate in their hands. Esamne thought it must not be that difficult if Farek, her former tutor born into poverty, had become the Regent. This interview was all just a formality. Becoming the acting ruler was her birthright, and Farek had been missing for weeks. For all they knew, he could be dead.
Still, she spent more time than usual going over ledgers and reading through correspondences. She wanted to appear knowledgeable and confident. Esamne wouldn't put it past some of them to spring some last-minute test on her. When she closed her eyes that night, she felt prepared and excited for the next day. At last, she would be making steps toward fulfilling her duty to Pescel and ending this pointless war.
When she entered the council chambers the next day, her confidence wavered somewhat. The Arch Dukes all sat at a long table, facing the entrance to the room. They reserved a small chair for her across from them, some distance from the table. In fact, they set up the entire room as if they were going to interrogate her, not interview her. Her insides heaved a little, but she kept a calm smile on her face, gliding smoothly across the floor to the unassuming chair. With the grace of goddesses, she sat onto the seat, determined to make it look like a throne.
"My lords," she greeted them, "at last we have an opportunity to discuss Pescel. I hope you are all feeling well."
"We are doing quite well, Princess Esamne," Arch Duke Gretzen answered.
"Queen," Esamne corrected, keeping her smile bright and shining. "Queen Esamne. I know it takes some getting used to since I was a princess before my parents died several years ago."
"Yes, of course," Gretzen responded. "My apologies, Queen Esamne. It is hard to look at you and not see the little girl I have known for so many years."
"We all grow up." Esamne shrugged. "I am glad you are well."
"Let's get to it, then," Arch Duke Fyin said. "We have much to discuss."
"I agree," Esamne replied.
"Do you know what Farek's next steps were with this Pescelean war?" Fyin asked.
"He was researching the Statue of the Goddess Winds," Esamne answered. "He believed that there was some woman of prophecy who could unlock it for him."
"Any clue where we could find this woman?" Arch Duke Lopal asked.
"No," Esamne said, shaking her head. "For all I know, she could be a myth."
"Hmmm…" Lopal pondered. "Did Farek leave behind any communication or research on this?"
"Probably…" Esamne said, her brow furrowed. "Excuse me for my confusion, but what does this have to do with my coronation? The statue is folly. We need to get back to using our resources on taking care of our country."
The Arch Dukes, looking over papers and whispering up until this point, all looked up at her in shock. Then, they whispered to each other.
Arch Duke Aruik cleared his throat and addressed Esamne. "Queen Esamne," he began, "perhaps there was a miscommunication. We are not at this time ready to discuss you taking on a leadership role. We were simply hoping to get more direction on Farek's plans so that we could act accordingly during his absence."
"Yes, I believe there was a miscommunication," Esamne scoffed, taken aback. "I assumed I was the rightful heir to the Pescelean throne, you were my servants, and Farek was a traitor who had fled in shame. You assumed I was Farek's secretary."
"Now, let's calm down, Princess Esamne," Gretzen said, raising his hands in a placating way.
"Queen!" she snapped back. "Queen Esamne! And, you don't get to tell me to calm down."
"This is exactly why we aren't discussing your coronation today," Aruik said, rising from his seat. "You act irrationally and can't logically discuss matters."
"Are you kidding me right now?" Esamne felt like she stepped through a mirror to a backward world. "I'm irrational? Farek killed a viscount over a dress, and I'm the illogical one? You're asking me if I can help you find a fictional woman to unlock a statue. We are emptying out the treasury, losing countless Pescelean lives, and draining our country dry to pursue a lunatic's fantasy!"
"Perhaps," Fyin said, a pitying expression on his face, "Queen Esamne needs to rest. Recent events must be a strain on her. After all, the wedding she so looked forward to hasn't come. Her heart must be broken."
"Is that what you think of me?" Esamne asked him. "I am not a heartbroken maiden. I am a Queen ready to rule."
"No, I'm sorry, Queen Esamne," Aruik said. "You are a queen in title only and for a reason. You have shown that you have a head for throwing frivolous parties, not running state matters. Without a king by your side to guide you, we cannot trust that you will keep this country from ruin. That was why your coronation was on the condition that Malphesent married you and countered your womanly mood swings."
“Womanly mood swings?” Esamne scoffed. She wondered if they ever treated her mother like this when she was alive. They obviously held great contempt for anyone possessing a womb. “I find it interesting that you think I’m the one with mood swings, and Farek was the one with a cool head. Out of the two of us, I’m the only one who never pushed someone through a window over a dress.”
Esamne opened her mouth to say more and then closed it. The Arch Dukes looked unmoved. Misogyny and greed had clouded their minds. No matter what she said, nothing was going to get through to these old men. They had made up their minds that she wasn't fit to rule this country, even compared to Farek Malphesent. She took a grounding breath and stood up from her chair with one graceful movement.
"We are done here, my lords," she said, her eyes flashing fire. "I don't know where your imaginary woman is to open your magical statue. Good luck with your mythical quest."
She walked toward the door, which the guards opened for her.
Just as she was exiting, Farek's assistant Pekor entered. He gave her a delighted smile, which she did not return, as he passed her to approach the Arch Dukes."G-gentlemen!" he exclaimed through his stutter. "I'm s-s-so glad you asked f-f-for my help."
Esamne turned around, but the doors closed before she could catch more. How serious were the Arch Dukes in their mission to unlock the Statue of the Goddess Winds? How far did Farek's madness spread throughout Pescel? Esamne wondered how these old goats ever gained their powerful positions. Arch Dukes were a set above the other Dukes of Pescel, the nobility of Pescel voted them into their roles as royal advisors. These four went beyond advising to judging whether their royalty had the right to rule. She grated at their brazen greed for power.
Year after year, they continued to win their positions. Surely, they had deep pockets and were bribing the nobility. Esamne pondered over that when another thought struck her. They had said that they wouldn't trust her without a king to guide her, but they didn't seem to have a hard preference outside of Farek. She remembered what Immelda told her at Lord Pleffort's funeral: there was a man who would cross an ocean to be by her side. How do you court a man in the middle of a war with your own country?
Esamne's mind scrambled for answers. Without the Plefforts here, she felt lost in a lonely ocean. Since her parents died years ago, she felt unsupported by all but a few. Then, the Hicaron brothers escaped to Kandum for safety, and Immelda left for Pecuna to grieve the death of Lord Pleffort. Even Farek was once supportive in a strange way. At least he had wanted her to be queen, even if that didn't mean he was willing to give up his power in the process.
Her pride prickled. It felt like the Pescelean court would rather have no acting ruler than let her take charge. Who was even running the country right now? She had to assume the Arch Dukes, though their efforts seemed misdirected. They were spending time looking for information about what Farek wanted so that they could act on his plans. Did the rest of the nobility trust that the Arch Dukes were doing a good job?
They thought she was only suitable for parties and romance. She had tried for years to convince them that she knew her country. Every morning since Farek took up this pointless war with Hicares and now Kandum, Esamne read through correspondences and ledgers. She sought out the areas hurting most in Pescel and used her voice to bring attention to those needs. Her parties were usually fronts to network with influential people and create real change in her country. However, none of her efforts would amount to much if she had no control over where the treasury directed tax money. Pesceleans were funding and fighting a war that didn't benefit them at all.
Walking down her halls, she watched those working around her. The servants of The Palace always treated her with respect. It was their job to do what she asked of them. So, she wondered if it was all a veneer. They could be saying the same hateful things that the Arch Dukes just told her, but behind her back. She really couldn't blame them if they were. Esamne lived a luxurious life, filled with parties and celebrations, while they were sending off their loved ones to die as they spiraled further into poverty. She was sure that the people of Pescel would prefer to have a real leader in charge, unlike the nobility. If everyone in Pescel was allowed to vote on the Arch Dukes, would the people making the decisions have different faces? Would Pescel's fate improve?
Esamne was in her rooms before she knew it. Lost in deep contemplation, she didn't realize her body was moving here instead of her office, which is where she spent her mornings. Deep down, she was longing for privacy and felt that her usual routine of reading through ledgers and correspondences was futile. Instead, she wanted to reach out to her only friend in Pescel. Lady Immelda was grieving, and it didn't feel right to lean on her. However, Esamne took her pen to paper, hoping that her friend could forgive her.
Basking in the warm light that flowed through the solarium windows, Immelda luxuriated, stretching her limbs out on her settee. Her hot tea caressed her face with its steam as she listened to the birds singing to each other outside. With every sip of her fragrant tea, she tasted lavender and closed her eyes. Memories of her deceased husband drifted in and out of her thoughts, like waves lapping at the beach.
It was a beautiful and pleasant morning. Immelda hated it more for that. How was it possible for this Spring to be so perfect when the man she loved was dead? She wished the rest of the world lived in the shades of grey her heart took on since losing the love of her life. Sighing, she set her empty teacup down and picked up one of the letters on her tray of daily correspondences. When she saw who it was from, she sat up straight.
She looked up over her letter to her new assistant sitting across the room from her. Terald became invaluable to her, not just because he was a skilled servant, but also because they shared a common goal. They both wanted vengeance for those they lost. Terald looked back at her, curiosity lifting his brows. Immelda’s mood shifted from melancholy to interest in a very brief moment. Immelda opened the letter and scanned it.
“Well?” Terald asked, his impatience getting the better of him. “What’s that interesting?”
“Queen Esamne,” Immelda answered. “She needs help. The Arch Dukes aren’t going to allow her coronation. They seem to be waiting for Malphesent to come back.”
“That can’t be right,” Terald said, coming over to see the letter for himself. “He murdered a viscount in front of a crowd of nobles.”
“It’s what she says…” Immelda replied, too stunned to say anything else. “She needs me. She doesn’t have any allies at The Palace.”
Immelda thought through her extensive list of responsibilities. Since her husband died, she was responsible for all of the squire’s duties to Pecuna, which turned out to be a much more daunting job than she expected. Immelda wondered how he had managed to operate a spy network on top of all of this. There was simply no way she could leave Pecuna at this point. Guilt washed over her. She hated leaving her friend so stranded.
“Perhaps,” Terald said and paused a moment and contemplated, “you could send me in your stead.”
“Terald,” Immelda began, “Pekor is still there. Surely, he would recognize you.”
“It should be easy enough to avoid one person at The Palace. I was there for quite some time, and you never noticed me.”
“To be fair, I was busy with court intrigue,” Immelda said.
“As Farek’s assistant, the same will be true of Pekor,” Terald countered.
Immelda got up and paced around her solarium. When Terald approached her so soon after returning home, her initial reaction was to distrust him. Then, he explained himself. They shared the same pain. They both lost their loves to Farek Malphesent. More than that, neither of them wanted to wait around for the grief to diminish and move on. The Regent needed to pay in spades. Immelda let out a deep sigh and handed the letter over to Terald.
“I’ll write something up for the Queen,” Immelda told him. “While you are there, give her my best. Also, don’t let Pekor breathe another breath. We will not suffer traitors.”
“Agreed,” Terald said, locking eyes with her to show his determination.
For the second time Terald arrived at The Palace. The first time, he dwelled around the fringes of its occupants, a humble servant who ate cold food and slept on a hard floor. This time, as Lady Pleffort's assistant, higher-ranking servants ushered him in, without a trace of recognition on their faces for the man who once scrubbed their floors late at night. They gave him a room with a feather bed and a washing area and informed him that dinner would be at seven that night.
The impeccable food at dinner impressed him. He felt sure he had never eaten food this well prepared in his life. The nobles ignored him to gossip with each other about who was bedding whom. Queen Esamne smiled and nodded at those sitting near her. During the brief glimpses he got of her as a servant here, he never saw her looking so sad. She did her best to look like she enjoyed yet another dinner with her court, but her eyes seemed far away.
When Terald left dinner, he saw servants lined up against the hallway walls, waiting for their designated noble to return to their rooms. Those were the lucky ones, the ones that didn't work for The Palace itself. Yet, they still ate cold food and must submit to whatever whims their noble had. They shared rooms with their masters, and Terald knew for certain that some of them wound up carrying babies for men they never wanted romantically.
He felt disgusted by the opulence of the grounds and the extravagance of the nightly feasts. People within this very building might starve to death, and the other servants would simply hide their bodies so the nobles wouldn't feel distressed at the sight. Meanwhile, the same delicate nobility sent their servants' brothers to war and prostituted their unwilling sisters. He wondered how Brence ever dealt with living in such a despicable place while acting as Farek's assistant.
After a restful night's sleep, determination replaced his anger over the injustice at The Capitol. Perhaps, he could convince Queen Esamne to do more than get her crown back. Maybe he could influence her to make real changes in Pescel. She was a superficial and empty-headed creature from all accounts, but not one without a deep heart. Maybe that was all it took to be a good ruler.
He remembered that he wasn't just here to assist Queen Esamne at Lady Pleffort's request. He was here to accomplish the first step in his mission of vengeance. He would find Pekor and kill him.
Terald sat in a waiting room with several others. They wore a mixture of boredom and anxiety on their faces, like uniforms. It seemed that most of them weren't there to see the Queen, but rather Pekor. One after the other, they made their way to Farek Malphesent's former office. Curiosity eventually got the better of Terald, and he asked one of the men sitting next to him what was happening. Pekor was looking for an assistant. Terald wondered why Pekor needed an assistant and why there were so many candidates. When a servant ushered him into Queen Esamne's office, he made a note to investigate more on that later and share what he knew with the Queen.
Esamne's office was different than how he imagined it would be. He assumed it was an office in name only and pictured a smaller, more intimate throne room. Instead, a long table overflowing with books and paperwork took up most of the available space.
The Queen sat in an ornate chair, but it wasn't close to being a throne. Beside her sat a small side table where she had tea and breakfast available to consume. Frankly, it shocked Terald that Queen Esamne hadn't sent for help long before Farek showed his true colors. This chaos must be challenging to manage.
Terald bowed at the entrance to her office, extending his arm out to show the communication from Lady Pleffort.
Queen Esamne indicated to one of her guards to bring the letter to her. When she spotted the Pleffort seal, she briefly looked at Terald with greater interest before tearing the message open to read it. A smile crossed her face, reaching her eyes this time. "Please, step forward, Terald," the Queen said, waving him closer in a friendly manner.
Terald did as she requested, feeling a little awkward as she scrutinized him. Were the clothes Lady Pleffort chose for him inadequate? Terald doubted that since she was the darling of the Pescelean nobility herself. No, she seemed to be looking beyond that. Was she hoping she would be able to tell that he wasn't some traitorous cultist if she stared long enough?
"I have to say," Queen Esamne spoke at last, "I was hoping Immelda would come herself, but I knew that might be difficult for her right now. This is a nice surprise. She is such a good friend."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Terald said with a slight bow.
"You don't need to be that formal," Queen Esamne said and gave a musical laugh. "I mean, yes, I am your Queen, and I appreciate your respect. However, you do not need to bow to me every time you speak. That's incredibly inefficient, and we have a lot of work to get done."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Terald said, fighting the urge to bow again. He looked at the burdened table. "It does look as if you could use a little assistance."
"Oh, this?" Queen Esamne asked and laughed a second time. "This is my usual morning delivery. I don't have a problem sorting through this by lunch. No, I need your help in other ways."
Terald was about to ask what she needed when the Queen motioned to her guards to leave the room. He watched them go, a little stunned that she trusted him enough to be alone with him so soon. He reminded himself that it wasn't truly him that she trusted; it was Lady Pleffort. Once the guards were gone and the door clicked shut behind them, the Queen sat down with a sigh. She aged about ten years at that moment.
"Terald," she said, looking at him with a hopeful face, "Immelda says in this letter that you have some history with Farek Malphesent I might find useful. Please share."
"Oh, well," he started, a little uncomfortable. "There is quite a bit to share."
He wondered how much he should share. At last, he decided on everything just short of admitting to his murder plans. He watched her eyes grow large in shock. It was surprisingly painful to tell his story to the Queen. When he spoke with Lady Pleffort, their mutual desire for revenge kept him from processing how terrible everything had been. Now, he relived the moments he saw everyone he cared about dead at the hands of the Regent. He almost didn't tell the Queen who Pekor was, but then decided he should be honest about it. He had a feeling that she was going to need to know as much about Farek's former assistant as possible.
"There is one other thing you should know," he said and sighed. "Farek's assistant, Pekor. He is the only other surviving Pecu cultist. He knows much more about Farek's mission than anyone else will. The cult's entire devotion belonged to preventing a prophecy that goes against Malphesent's desires."
"What do you mean?" the Queen asked and sat up straighter at the mention of Pekor.
"There is a prophecy about the Embodiment of the Goddess Winds," Terald explained. "Pecu cultists believe she will unlock the Statue of the Goddess winds, possibly destroying Pescel in the process."
"Oh, that." Queen Esamne chuckled. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"It may not be true," Terald said. "It may be just a story, but it's a story that is controlling how your country operates currently. Also, if it is true, millions of lives are at stake."
"I see your point," Queen Esamne said and rubbed her weary face. "I suppose I should try to learn more about it then."
"Something tells me that you need to learn as much about Pekor, as well," Terald continued. "There were dozens of applicants in the waiting room with me, wanting to be his new assistant."
"An assistant for an assistant?" the Queen asked and shook her head in confusion.
"Is he an assistant without Malphesent here?" Terald asked, not waiting for an answer. "He seems to have made himself cozy in his former master's office."
"He's vying for the Regent spot," Queen Esamne whispered to herself. Then, looking up at Terald, she continued, "The help I need is much more difficult than handling some paperwork."
"I can see that," Terald said. "What would you have me do?"
"Eventually," she responded, "I would have you assist me in bringing about a revolution. It's time for Pesceleans to have a say in what their taxes fund and which wars are worth fighting."
"That sounds…" Terald didn't know what to say. Daunting? Impressive? Like a dream come true? "It sounds like a plan I would be happy to support in any way possible."
"Yes, but for now," Queen Esamne said, "I need help with a somewhat personal matter which just happens to coincide with the greater plan."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Terald replied.
"I need a husband, and there's only one man in Telverin I want to marry," she said. "Unfortunately, he just happens to be Prince Novem of Hicares and fighting against us with the Kandumes."
"That isn't ideal," Terald replied, grimacing, which caused Esamne to give a sad chuckle. "How can I help you achieve this?"
"Lord Pleffort was my Lord of Spies," Queen Esamne said, getting up from her chair to move closer to Terald. "They can send messages and transport people anywhere. Unfortunately, Lord Pleffort is dead. You will take his place."