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IN her rush to escape Leanne, Azrael disregarded all grace and elegance expected for one of her rank and burst into the audience chamber, unaware that it was already complete with a throne, rug, and well, an audience.
Three women gaped at Azrael before sweeping to the ground in unison.
“Princess,” the foremost woman breathed.
Azrael stood frozen and surveyed the room. Queen Ceres was nowhere in sight. She swallowed and took her time to cross the small chamber, climbing the three marbled steps and taking her place on the silvered throne.
Azrael waited for the women to respond, but they all had their heads pressed to the floor and didn’t move a muscle.
“You may rise,” Azrael suggested.
The closest woman slowly raised her head, but didn’t look at Azrael directly. Azrael recognized the capital city of Leocivat’s iconic green that wove together in varied shades along the length of her gown. Tiny silver bangles glinted at her wrist, likely a treasure she’d kept from Manor Saffron.
“Princess,” she said.
“You may speak to me as you would any other. I’m Azrael. What is your name?”
The muscles on the woman’s neck tightened and Azrael realized her mistake. She was already rejecting the tradition of Manor Saffron. Every Queen gives up her name, leaving her identity only that of her rank and title bestowed at her coronation. Azrael blushed at her inadvertent act of superiority.
But the woman raised her eyes in reverence. Azrael startled at the revelation the woman was also a hybrid. Her eyes glittered, one green and one blue. A wave of relief hit her when she met her gaze, since it was the only time she’d ever felt someone at odds with good and evil as she was. But in this woman’s gaze was not only kinship, but ancient sorrow and wisdom.
“Azrael.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper as she said the name. “My name is Tartelia Beuanaville, previously Tartelia of Manor Saffron. These are my sister wives, Julie and Cecilia.” She waved to the young women behind her. They raised their heads, which were entirely covered in sheer purple veils, leaving only slits for their charcoal painted eyes to peer through.
Tartelia continued, “I became free after my owner passed away during Terion’s reign. I’m now remarried by choice to the Baron of Eisendour. It brings back strong and beautiful memories to have returned. Thank you for bringing us here.”
Azrael shifted in the cold, metallic throne. Terion was a name she’d only heard in ballads. She was taught that a Windborn’s lifespan could range from two hundred to three or even four hundred years. While she knew it in theory, she had never seen it for herself, living only amongst children eighteen and younger. This woman hardly looked a day older than the Queen. And the Divine only knew how old she was.
“Do you know why you’re here, Tartelia?” Azrael asked, straining to keep hold of her presence of authority.
Tartelia’s pink lips slid into a smile. “You’ll become Queen soon. You’re very wise to ruffle the owners’ feathers. Your wares will fetch higher prices, and you may even manage to award better treatment for those already sold. It’s a wonderful plan.”
Azrael crossed her legs under the sheer gown, straining the fabric tight against her thighs. Her heart fluttered and she prayed her neck didn’t flush with the rushing blood. “No, Tartelia. I wish to understand why I should become Queen. I wish to learn what fate awaits a female Windborn once she leaves this Manor, especially the hybrids. I want to know...are you happy?”
Tartelia’s brows knit together as she frowned and stumbled to her feet. Her sister wives behind her gathered their robes and did the same.
“Happy?” She flashed her tongue across her lip as if the word had a foreign taste.
“Yes. Are you happy?”
She looked to the ground. “No one has ever asked me that before.”
“Well, I’m asking you now,” Azrael said sternly.
Tartelia pushed a dark curl out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. She stood very still, and then Azrael realized she had begun to cry.
Azrael rushed from the throne, forgetting status and regulation. With no one to stop her, why should she pretend to be someone she wasn’t?
Azrael grasped her fingers around Tartelia’s bare shoulders and shook her lightly. “Is it so terrible? Is it not worth it? Would you have rather...”
Tartelia peered into Azrael’s eyes. Her expression was of joy, not sadness or fear that Azrael had expected. A single tear rolled down Tartelia’s cheek, and Azrael couldn’t tell if it was from joy or sorrow. “Azrael, you are so very young, aren’t you?” she whispered.
Azrael let her hands fall to her sides. “Sixteen.”
Tartelia tilted her head and smiled. “Ah, sixteen. It was so long ago, but I remember it as if it were yesterday. My Queen, the same as yours, took me under her wing. She taught me not to fear what was waiting for me outside the Manor. She’d warned me what it would be like. And when I saw it for myself... When I experienced it for myself... I knew she had prepared me as best she could.”
“What was it like?”
She sighed. “An uncaring and cruel owner... Days without speaking to another soul... Children snatched from my body before I had a chance to even see their faces. Could there be a worse fate?”
Azrael tried to swallow as her mouth went dry. Azrael didn’t want to ask her next question, but she needed to know the answer. “A fate worse than death?”
In spite of the seriousness of the question, Tartelia chuckled and crossed her arms. “If you had asked me that during my early years in Leocivat, I would have said yes. But now, I’ve grown into myself.” She straightened and puffed out her chest. “I have claimed authority in my home. My children grew up to be beautiful, powerful, and respected. So much for rumor of hybrid-spawn being cruel, narcissistic beasts. Once they matured, they managed to marry into respectable houses and vouched for my wellbeing.
“When my owner passed away, I inherited his estate. I don’t know if he had a turn of heart, or if my children had a hand in the affairs. Regardless of the reason, I became a lady of the court. I made a life for myself. So no, it was not a fate worse than death.”
Azrael glanced at the other two girls still huddled behind Tartelia. “And them?”
Tartelia raised her hand in command. The girls untied their shawls and revealed their faces. Azrael gasped in recognition.
“I know you both, don’t I?”
The smallest girl stepped forward. She was a unique Windborn. Instead of emerald green eyes and dark hair, she was a lighter shade in every way. Her eyes were milky and grey, the green hardly visible even in the midday sun. Her hair was blonde and straight; its full length going down to her waist.
“Cecilia,” she meekly offered her name with a small smile.
Azrael nodded in return. “Yes, I remember you.”
Julie stepped forward and let her shawl fall to her side. “Azrael, it’s nice to see you again.”
The tension and sarcasm that dripped from Julie’s voice sent goosebumps across Azrael’s skin. Azrael took a step back and recognized the girl who had left the Manor when Azrael was only twelve. Julie’s cheeks were round and plump, garnished by a dark mole just beneath her left eye.
Azrael cleared her throat. “Yes, I believe we’ve met.” Azrael pushed away a memory of Julie glowering with jealousy every time Michael showed Azrael interest over her. Michael’s attentions had been entirely unwanted; what did Julie have to be jealous about?
Julie’s eyes narrowed as if she could hear Azrael’s unspoken defense.
“And how has life outside the Manor treated you both?” Azrael asked, slowly inching back to the safety of her throne.
Julie spoke first. “If it hadn’t been for Tartelia, our lives would have been quite miserable. But the Baron is an old and kindly man. We are only requested to share his bed on rare occasion. Otherwise, we are given time and coin of our own. It’s not so bad.” Her gaze drifted to Azrael’s jeweled shoes and Azrael had to slam her green eye closed, lest she be overwhelmed by Julie’s envy.
“I see,” Azrael said, rubbing her closed eye. “And what makes you say your lives would have been miserable?”
“You’ll see when you speak with the other girls,” Cecilia said. “There are only a few like Tartelia who have the clout and finances to secure a good match for the Windborn. More than the Queen has ever done.”
Azrael took her seat once more, overwhelmed by the realization that there was an entire world outside the Manor that she didn’t understand. I need to hear more.
Azrael forced her green eye open, but Julie’s thoughts had already turned to other matters. She seemed worried, glancing about the chamber as if something would attack. “Do you have something to add, Julie?”
“Will you look for Sarah?” she asked after fidgeting in silence.
Tartelia snapped her fingers in rebuke. “Julie! We do not speak of that to the Manor. Do you wish all of my hard work to be undone?”
Azrael held up a hand, willing authority into her voice. “You dare to keep secrets from the Princess? Your alliances are with this Manor, not those outside.”
Tartelia glowered. “I owe this Manor no such loyalties. Does Manor Saffron protect her daughters when they’re thrust into vile and greedy hands? Where was Manor Saffron when I was broken and bleeding? Where was Manor Saffron when I cried out for protection and hope? Where was Manor Saffron when my children were snatched from my grasp?”
Guilt washed over Azrael, as if she were directly responsible for the ill fortune the Windborn inherited when they left the Manor. And if Azrael took on the role of Queen, it would be a guilt she’d need to bear. But not today. Today she was still one of them.
“Then help me to make change. I need to know what you know. Only you have seen the world outside these walls. Only you can help me, and only I can help them.” Azrael waved her hands to the girls behind her. Julie and Cecilia looked at each other as they wrung their hands.
Tartelia sighed. “Then you should know, the stories you will hear this day will have a common theme. Humans wealthy enough to afford a Windborn will buy a male. Men are pampered and exalted with opportunity for advancement. But Windborn women hold no such esteem. Those who buy us are unsavory lineages who don’t live by a moral code. You won’t find a Windborn girl who’s happy. Not one who hasn’t won her freedom yet, anyway.”
Azrael frowned and looked to Julie. “And who is Sarah?”
Tartelia visibly wilted, likely hoping the topic had been forgotten. Julie straightened. “She was my friend. She left Manor Saffron only one season after I did. The Baron allowed me to visit her once I found out where she was. But when I went to see her, the owner claimed that she’d run away. He was none too happy about it, either.” Julie stomped her foot and clenched her fists. “Sarah told me, she told me she would wait for me to find her again.”
“And what do you think happened to her?”
“I don’t know, but she didn’t run away. And she wasn’t the only girl to have gone missing shortly after their sale. Ask around, you’ll see. Someone’s taking them, or...” Julie went pale as she considered the alternatives.
Azrael buried her face in her hands and felt overwhelmed by her duties. How does the Queen do this?
When she pulled her face away, she grimaced at her charcoal covered hands. Leanne’s going to kill me.