While Azdomas, Storrev and Varolz looked on, Vraska sat on the floor, playing with Kyteringa, a young devkarin girl, whom Vraska had rescued from the Eternals. Or she had at least participated in the girl’s rescue. When Golgari and Planeswalker forces had allied to save civilians trapped by the Dreadhorde, the elven child had been lowered into the gorgon’s arms by a Planeswalker named Yangling. But for some reason, Kyteringa viewed Vraska as her sole savior and had, in a very short time, bonded with and grown quite fond of the queen, who was now teaching the child kanala, using the blue marble gift as their shooter.
“You’re already very good,” Vraska told the girl.
“Did this marble really come from a princess?”
“Yes. Princess Aesha of Kaladesh. The prettiest and wisest princess of that entire world. Almost as pretty and wise as you, Princess Kyteringa.”
“I’m not a princess!”
“Are you sure?”
“Queen Vraska!” All eyes turned toward the door as Cevraya entered, accompanied by a young elven male—young for an elf anyway—whom Queen Vraska had never met in person. Still, it was easy enough to identify him from the skull mask he wore, which marked him as the devkarin huntmaster, Myczil Savod Zunich.
Cevraya was a Golgari shaman, a devkarin elf, who had been passed over as Matka in favor of Izoni. Cevraya was no great fan of Vraska’s, but their common distaste for Izoni Thousand-Eyed had created a truce of sorts between queen and shaman.
Zunich, on the other hand, was the son of Vraska’s predecessor as guildmaster, the devkarin Patriarch and undead lich Jarad vod Savo, whom Vraska had put to permanent petrified rest as the first step of the coup that had made her queen of the Golgari. It was a minor miracle that Jarad’s son wasn’t beside his father in the Statuary, as Vraska would normally have included him in her purge. But Zunich had been deep in the Undercity, hunting a leviathan, at the time. In fact, he’d been down there for a couple of months and hadn’t even heard of his father’s (second) death and Vraska’s ascension until long after both had been achieved. Deciding not to open closed wounds, Vraska had declined to demand his immediate execution and had instead ordered Azdomas to have Zunich watched. The kraul had observed no signs—or even words—of treason from the huntmaster any greater than him haughtily abstaining from joining a toast to the queen in a Golgari-frequented alehouse. So Vraska had (for the time being) decided to let Zunich live.
With an eye to the girl and a hand extended to indicate the need for calm, Vraska used a measured tone to speak: “What is it, Cevraya? How can your queen be of service?”
Cevraya took the hint and lowered her own voice—which hardly hid her urgency. “It is a matter of some gravity, Your Highness. Izoni has made an attempt on the life of Myc, of Myczil Zunich here. The Matka’s trying to consolidate her power among the devkarin.”
“That’s a serious charge,” Vraska stated, keenly aware that Kyteringa was listening, too. Listening and frozen.
“Serious and accurate, Queen Vraska,” Cevraya said. “Izoni Thousand-Eyed sent her poisonous spiders after Myc, fearing that the devkarin would rally to the only son of Jarad vod Savo, rather than to her.”
Patting Kyteringa on the shoulder, Vraska stood and looked Zunich in the eye. “You’ll be safe here in my court—with me and those loyal to me.”
Zunich scoffed: “Please. I know you killed my father.”
“Your father died long before I turned him to stone.”
“True enough. And I won’t pretend he was the same elf who raised me after that first death. But that doesn’t mean I’m glad to see his petrified form among your collection. Nor does it mean I’m prepared to trust you, ‘my queen.’ ”
Vraska could practically see the sarcasm drip from Zunich’s tongue. Kyteringa, though not fully comprehending the circumstances, clearly understood Zunich’s hostility toward her hero. The girl stood abruptly, holding the blue shooter at the ready—as if prepared to shoot it at any enemy of her queen.
Zunich turned his attention to the girl. He crouched down to her level and said, “You shouldn’t trust her, either. She killed your father, as well as mine.”
“Liar!” the girl shouted back in his face, her hand shaking angrily, the marble ready to launch.
Vraska wrapped her hand around the girl’s to head off any potential eye injuries. Kyteringa looked up into the gorgon’s eyes, and Vraska looked kindly, if sadly, down into hers. “He’s not lying, Kyteringa. I did take your father’s life. There are things I did to safeguard all the Golgari that I’m not proud of. But I would never hurt you.”
The girl looked confused. Vraska squeezed her hand gently and smiled sadly down on her. Kyteringa said, “Never?”
“Never, Princess. Never.”
The elf child didn’t smile back. But she nodded.
Vraska then turned her head to meet a rising Zunich’s gaze. He flinched, knowing that looking into her eyes could wind up being a permanent condition. But to his credit, he did not look away.
In a clear voice, she said, “However I came by the crown and whatever the grievances that drove me to seek it, I now intend to be a queen of and for all the children of the Golgari. I swear to you Myczil Savod Zunich, to you Cevraya, to all assembled here, to anyone and everyone on Ravnica who will listen, that I, Queen Vraska, will protect devkarin children as I would teratogen. Human, elf, kraul, troll, Erstwhile, gorgon or any of our guild shall find a haven of safety among the Swarm.” Her words rang with true conviction, as every word she spoke was the absolute truth.
Then she sighed and said quietly to Zunich, “But I won’t hold you a prisoner, Huntmaster, if you cannot trust me or feel secure in my company. I know you have relatives among the Selesnyans, and if you feel safer among them…”
Cevraya grabbed ahold of Zunich’s arm and urged, “Your heart is Golgari. Do not deny it, yourself or the Swarm. You know I have always been your friend, even when your father was not one. I believe in Queen Vraska, believe that you’ll be safe among her host, at least until I can deal with Matka Izoni.”
“And when would that be?” he asked dubiously.
“It won’t be long,” Cevraya assured him. “Word of Izoni’s treachery is already spreading.”
Still, he hesitated.
With one hand still gripping Kyteringa, Vraska addressed him most pragmatically: “Huntmaster, if I wanted you dead, I’d look you in the eyes, as I did your father. My victims are on full display for all to see. I do not send spiders to do my killing.”
And this was also perfectly true. For Vraska, of course, didn’t want Zunich dead. She wanted him loyal.
As if to prove her point, Vraska’s eyes began to glow. Zunich held his ground, ready to die. And when the glow faded, he nodded to the queen, realizing that she could’ve killed him at any time.
He said, “I know my father was not the same man after becoming a lich. We had grown estranged long before you…took the actions you did, as I did not always agree with—or even respect—the policies of his reign.”
“This is known,” Cevraya offered.
“It is,” Vraska confirmed. “It is why I see no conflict between us. It is why—as unlikely as it may seem to you—I’d like us to be friends.”
“One step at a time, perhaps,” he said cautiously.
“And what is that first step? Will you accept my protection?”
Zunich looked from Vraska to Cevraya to the girl Kyteringa. The latter seemed to be waiting for him to let her know if the queen could still be trusted.
“Yes. I will. And thank you, Queen Vraska.” This time, no sarcasm dripped.
“I am glad of it,” Vraska said, smiling. She could feel the elven girl’s hand relax in hers. “Now, perhaps you’d care to join myself and Princess Kyteringa in our game of kanala?”
He chuckled and removed his mask. “I haven’t played kanala in years…”
“I can teach you, Prince Myczil!” said the girl with some glee—and maybe a slight crush. “The queen says I’m already very good.”
So the happy princess sat. And the satisfied queen sat. And the thawing prince sat. And the relieved advisors watched the proceedings with no little pleasure.
And Vraska thought, Baan was right. Much can be done with a simple jar of spiders.