As I open the doors to the Queen’s reading room, I’m greeted by the uneasy stares of a group of officers posted on the opposite side of the hall. Like everyone else, they have been waiting to hear the Queen’s response to the latest crisis. I hold my face firm and step into the hall, refusing to grant them any indication of just how poorly my joint eting with the Queen and the Admirals of the Air Squadron went.
Last week, the Queen was bullish on giving the disputed island near Nortanian territory an official na. Mariti law dictates that we plant our flag on the island — an archaic but symbolic gesture of our intent to defend our sovereignty. A mission was devised to send the Beatrix — recently returned to service — to perform the task. But as she approached the ledge of the island, a Nortanian vessel flew through a cloud bank and fired warning shots across her bow. As her orders were not to start a war, she retreated. To make an already tense situation worse, Nortane announced they had planted their flag on the island, giving it the na ‘Quixotyl La,’ a word from the ancient Parrot beak that roughly translates to ‘Queen’s Folly.’
Needless to say, Kelani was livid. Furious, even.
As I presented her with a litany of safe options for a response, she beca increasingly unhinged, insisting provocation was the only way forward. A radio address to the Kingdom has been scheduled for tomorrow morning, and her orders from that point forward are clear: Should Nortane attempt to land on the Island, we will defend it by force.
As if things weren’t dour enough, for the first ti in the history of the Kingdom, the ceremony of Holy Communion — our way of speaking to the Goddess — has been closed to public viewing. The Queen’s attempts to seek her guidance have fallen on deaf ears, which has sparked rampant speculation among the public. The Kingdom was plunged into chaos the last ti sothing remotely similar happened.
Now, more than ever, I find myself anxious about the future.
I step into the hallway, ignoring the guards to return to the residence wing where my office is located. As I round a corner to pass the map room, I spot Lieutenant Tobin walking towards from the opposite end of the hall. What luck! He’s just the Ringtail I was hoping to see. I raise my hand, and he waves his tail back.
“Commander,” he greets in a cheery voice as we approach. “I think I know what you’re going to ask .”
“That’s right,” I tell him. “Max has had a rough ti since the tragedy. It would really help if he had a chance to pilot with his son.”
Despite the state of affairs internationally, our covert plan to return to the Eastern Weald has been progressing smoothly. It’s true — Max is still shaken from the tragedy in the weald and his subsequent encounter with the Lithan over the skies of Rhl. But once I explained our plan to retrieve the Serpentine Diamond, he understood my logic and agreed to help. He even suggested the idea of a day out with his son as an excuse for needing to borrow a ship. Obviously, asking for a military vessel right now would be out of the question. But requesting a small, easy to fly training ship fits perfectly with our needs.
Still, I have to go through the proper channels to procure one. And that channel is standing before in the form of Lieutenant Tobin. But as I await his response, Tobin’s tail droops, and he averts his eyes. “Well, I’m afraid I have so sour news. I passed on your request, but it was denied.”
“Denied?” My brow furrows. “By whom?”
“Not sure,” Tobin shrugs. “All I know is it was by soone higher than .”
“There’s no need to hold him in suspense, Lieutenant.”
The strained voice of an arrogant-sounding man rises from behind . I spin around to find a Pine Marten in a bowler hat exiting the entrance to Map Room. He has a briefcase at this side and a mouth that lowers into what could be mistaken as a permanent scowl. I know this man’s complexion well.
“Lord Orlando?” I ask in dismay. “You denied ?”
“I took it upon myself to divert your frivolous request into my wastebasket,” he says, approaching Tobin and at a leisurely stroll. “These are tense tis, and you are needed by the Queen’s side.”
It’s been so ti since I’ve encountered the well-known nesis of the late Princess. Not since the morning of the tragedy, I’d wager. But Lord Orlando isn’t an officer of the Air Squadron. He has a background in the steam gun business but obtained most of his wealth by purchasing large swaths of rental properties in Varecia. How could he deny my request for a civilian airship?
Unless…
“…You’re assigned to the 22nd wing?”
“By order of Her Majesty,” Orlando says, using the back of his paw to brush the dust from his coat. “As you know, there have been many changes to the Air Squadron since the Lithan caught us flat-footed. I was given special dispensation to assist Colonel Holt with matters of procurent and distribution. When your request for a ship ca across my desk, I took it upon myself to save the colonel the hassle of throwing it away and did it myself.”
The 22nd wing is the division I requested a ship from; they routinely deal with small and light airships. But this is a rather rotten maneuver by Her Majesty. Lord Orlando has been vying for the Queen’s favor for so ti now and appears to have gotten it. Bureaucratic blessings such as this are not unheard of in Kelani’s reign — acquiescing the nobles to so degree is inevitable. But allowing a civilian with only a tenuous history in arms distribution to assist policy decisions is preposterous!
“Lord Orlando,” I say, pulling down my waistcoat. “With all due respect, I am entitled to spend my leisure ti however I please.”
“Your ‘leisure’ ti does not entitle you to the assets of the Air Squadron,” Orlando scoffs.
Tobin steps forward and says, “Well, surely we can loan out a civilian training ship for an afternoon?”
“That is my decision to make,” Orlando ripostes, imitating a brick wall. “And my decision is that our Kingdom is hurtling towards a crisis, and we need all available resources as ho. That includes the Commander, whose work is integral to the Queen.”
I contain a stiff laugh under my breath. “You act as if I am not allowed a respite from my duties.”
Evidently, my labor is invaluable, yet not valuable enough to rit a simple ti-off request. If n like Orlando had their way, we would still have 40-hour work weeks and no basic inco.
“Commander,” Orlando speaks slowly like he were talking down to a child. “Please do not take this wrong way, but I believe you had a satisfactory respite after bereaving your husband.”
What?!
…
I stare at Orlando in paralyzing shock, unable to believe what he just uttered. He thinks my ti grieving was… how could he…?
“Whoa, hey now….” Tobin trails off, resting his hand gently against my shoulder.
But I’m not paying any attention to him. I raise my voice and seethe, “How could you say that?! How could you be so cruel?!”
Orlando’s frown deepens. “Commander…”
“Losing the Colonel was the most difficult event of my life,” I say, emotion clouding my voice. “And you’re treating it like I went on holiday!”
“Commander, I asked you not to take it the wrong way!”
“No…!” I counter, raising my voice further. “My misery is not so line item on a ti card!”
“Commander!!”
Orlando’s voice echoes across the walls and down the hall, causing a passing group of palace guards to pause and take notice. For a brief mont, nothing further is said, and all is quiet except for the exasperated chuffs of Orlando’s heavy breathing. He seems genuinely upset, though not as upset as I am. He reminds of father — a pitiful man with a heart of hatred.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting for this novel and more.
Orlando’s face tightens with resolve, and he speaks with a hushed fury. “I asked you not to get upset! But instead, you ignored , and now you are causing a ruckus unnecessarily!”
Such a detestable man, Orlando. I can’t believe I’m being embarrassed in the middle of the Palace by a non-commissioned noble! If it weren’t for his relationship with the Queen, I would bury him myself right this mont. Instead, I must stand tall and endure this assault on my character. Being a Commander of the Air Squadron, there are other, less physical ways I can end his farce.
Orlando continues, “Just because you took ti to grieve, that does not an—“
“HEY!!”
A young voice full of hatred echoes like thunder from down the hallway. I strain to look past the taller Pine Marten and spot a Ruffy erging from the map room, his fists clenched and his face turgid with anger. Small in size and dressed in a fine brown waistcoat, his identity is unmistakable, though his temperant is not.
“P-Prince Sofl?” Orlando gasps.
“Leave him alone!” the young Prince bellows, marching forward. “What gives you the right to talk down to a Commander of the Air Squadron? Huh?”
“Prince Sofl, I was rely—“
“NO!” he shrieks. “You have no rank, Orlando! You didn’t earn a uniform! So shut up!!”
Orlando stares at him, flustered and unable to respond. The Prince has been notably absent the past three months, even to those of us working in the palace. But despite his disappearance, all are aware of the weight that now lies on his young shoulders. Fourteen years old and the singular direct heir to the Lilac Throne. To say that he possesses a certain privilege would be an understatent. The Queen has been fiercely protective of her remaining kit — to question his newfound authority would be suicide.
Sofl lowers his voice but keeps his fangs bared. “Go,” he murmurs, pointing forwards past Tobin and to dismiss the noble. Orlando hesitates but soon grabs his briefcase from the ground and turns to leave. As he strolls past, our eyes et. I can almost swear there’s fear lurking inside them.
As Orlando’s pawsteps trail off, I find myself more shocked than relieved. Is this really Prince Sofl? What happened to the timid boy so burdened by anxiety that he hid behind Princess Asha in public? I’ve not once heard the Prince raise his voice, much less in anger. It would seem that in his sister’s absence, he’s taken on her mantle as the palace antagonist.
Whatever the case, he dispatched Orlando with bravado. “Your majesty,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank you for—“
“Please do not address that way, Commander.”
I hesitate, not anticipating such a curt response from Sofl. Though, perhaps I should have. The late Princess did not prefer her royal titles, either.
“My apologies,” I say. “What would you prefer I address you by?”
After a silent mont of contemplation, Sofl answers, “…Prince will do.”
I dip my head in acknowledgnt. “As you wish, Prince.”
“Now, then,” Sofl says, adjusting his waistcoat to regain composure. “While you are here, Commander, I would like to discuss sothing with you in private.”
I give Tobin a sidelong glance and catch him engaged in the sa act of surprise. I haven’t so much as laid eyes on the Prince since the evening of the tragedy. What could he want with ?
I suppose this is mine to find out. I dip my head and say, “Of course. Please, lead the way.”
Sofl beckons with his long tail then turns quickly to leave. He leads across the palace and into the residences wing, down the long hallway on the first floor, and into a locked bedroom. At least, I believe it to be a bedroom until the door swings open, and I’m greeted by the pungent, earthen sll of Sofl’s herbalism lab.
It’s been quite so ti since I’ve entered this room. Judging by the state of affairs inside, the sa could be said of Sofl. The Prince ignites the gas lamp near the door, revealing a thin layer of dust covering everything in sight. Books are strewn about the tables in the center of the room, with one rather large, dust-coated example opened prominently next to a pad of paper. Cuttings of plants lay nearby, long withered and dead. Even the solar calendar between the bookcases appears to be from last sumr.
As I close the door behind , the Prince wastes no ti. “Commander,” he says, standing in between the tables with his back facing . “I read your account of the tragedy last night.”
Last night…?
My account was written a few days after the tragedy, as soon as I was capable of composing it. It would seem The Prince has needed far longer to gather his strength and revisit the horror of that afternoon.
“Did you…” he trails off, his voice unsteady. “Did Asha really open up to you?”
I release an unsteady breath. I’ve been questioned endlessly about the events of that day, but this is the first ti soone has asked about my eting with the Princess. “As we left her quarters on the Blue Daemon, I knew sothing was… different. I could see it on her face, the way she looked at had changed.”
Sofl remains silent and unmoving. As I would expect — if he has read my account, then this is not new information.
I step forward to join the Prince at the table. “After we landed in the weald, The Princess was upbeat and friendly. She insisted I join her on ‘flower picking duty.’”
Sofl averts his head, but not before I catch a gentle smile growing across it.
“Before they departed the Blue Daemon, I called back Bristleb—“
Erk…!
Oh, how embarrassing. I got a little caught in the mont there. “Um, Calypso,” I quickly correct myself. “I called back Calypso, and—“
“Wait.” Sofl turns to face . “Bristle-who?”
“Bristlebody,” I squirm, scratching the back of my neck. “The Princess ca up with it, It was her new nickna for the Colonel that day. She was quite adamant about using it.”
Despite my fumbled excuse, mournful emotion swells in Sofl’s face. “Asha liked nicknas,” he whispers.
Slowly, the Prince turns away from and approaches the window closest to the bookcases. He draws the curtains, allowing pale gray light to filter into the room. He gazes silently across the snow-covered front lawn of the palace — he must be looking to the garden, where the Princess could often be found.
“Did Asha have a nickna for you?” I ask softly.
Sofl shakes his head. “She never chose nicknas for those close to her.”
Sofl’s tail lowers, and his fur relaxes. He’s beginning to feel comfortable with .
“Once, I asked her why I didn’t have a nickna. She told she didn’t want to stop calling ‘brother.’”
I join the Prince at the window and rest my hand gently against his shoulder. His guard has lowered, and his voice is calm — this is more like the Sofl I rember.
“Commander,” he speaks softly. “I don’t know who else to tell this, but… the official report. It doesn’t make any sense!”
Oh, really?
“They never found Asha’s body,” Sofl continues as pain clouds his voice. “No blood, no footprints… It’s like she vanished without a trace! How could they call off the search for my sister?!”
“Prince.” I pull my hand away from Sofl’s shoulder. “I find that I share your concerns.”
Sofl’s body freezes. He turns to stare at with a longing expression on his face. “Really?”
I nod, then lower myself to eye level with the young prince. “Before you confronted us in the hall, I was speaking to Lord Orlando about securing a ship. So days ago. I received a vision in my dreams. From whom, I do not know. But in my vision, I encountered a strange bird who led to the hollow and the diamond itself. It was lying in the grass, waiting to be discovered.”
Sofl’s eyes light like beacons. “…Really?”
I nod. “My vision felt as real to as our conversation does now. So, I approached a group of animals I trust about performing our own, off-the-record investigation of the hollow. I believe If there’s any chance my vision could be true, then… it would be negligent not to investigate.”
Sofl draws his hand across his chin in quiet contemplation. He stares across the lab with an empty gaze, holding his thoughts close to himself. I know the Prince to be quite analytical with a keen scientific mind. Is he taking my taking my account seriously?
“Commander,” he finally speaks, focusing back on . “I don’t believe Asha is dead.”
“…You don’t?”
“No,” he says, stepping past and into the room. “I don’t know what happened that day, but… I know Asha would never do anything to endanger herself. And if sothing did happen to her, she would do everything in her power to return ho.”
Sofl must be referring to the well-known incident where Asha escaped the palace as a teenager. Whenever asked about it, she was fiercely adamant that she wasn’t trying to put herself in danger and always intended to return ho safely. As her brother, I suppose Sofl would understand Asha’s motives better than anyone.
But his belief poses so interesting questions: If Asha isn’t dead, where is she? Could she be held against her will in Nortane? How did Crow Wing flee the Kingdom without being caught? And then there’s the most curious factor of all:
The Lithan.
Could its appearance in the weald have so connection to Asha’s…
I pull myself away from my errant thoughts. To even consider the possibility of Asha being alive seems mad. But then again, I would’ve thought the sa about a vision sent to in my dreams.
Sofl approaches the desk in the middle of the room. He runs his hand across the dusty to, then stops as his fingers reach a certain line. “Until I see her body…” he growls, baring fangs in pain. “I’ll never believe she’s gone!”
A cloud of dust suffuses into the air as Sofl slams the book shut. “Give a day. I will speak to my mother and see that you get your ship.”
“T-thank you!” I exclaim, floored that he would go out of his way for . Having the support of the Prince changes everything!
“Commander, I can not order you to do this, but… work with your group and scour the hollow. Should you find the diamond, please bring it to as soon as possible. Tell no one in the palace.”
Tell nobody…?
I’m not sure I understand Sofl’s aversion. Still, by rights, the diamond is his. “As you wish,” I acknowledge with a dip of my head. “This changes our plans considerably, I should begin the preparations at once. If you’ll excuse , Prince.”
Sofl’s face tightens with resolve, and he nods. As I move to leave the lab, the Prince calls from behind .
“Commander.”
I stop to look back and find that Sofl’s expression has softened. “…Duncan,” he corrects himself. “Thank you.”
He loosens a smile, and I find myself doing the sa. I draw open the door to the lab and close it shut gently behind .
Reviews
All reviews (0)