Mitaldra

“YOU DONT HAVE TO DO this, you know.”  The old man says, tugging on the hem of my coat. Almost two nights of staying in this small camp and I still haven’t bothered to learn his name.  

I raise an eyebrow. “Elaborate.” 

“Kamara,” he whispers. “I don’t want it to seem like we’re dumping her on you. And wont the court ask questions? The queen vanishes for two days and returns with a little girl?”  

I smile. “I have the court wrapped round my finger. They would think twice before questioning me.”  

“I heard. Gossip spreads like wildfire in Vahaltmir. Especially here in Samba.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Even down in the Isiya camp, we know what happens above.”  

I raise my chin. “I do this because you have helped me a lot. Your business is going to fall on terrible times come two new customers. The least I can do is make one if your children’s lives less horrendous.”  

The man furrows his brows. “Err, yes. Thank you.”  

“You’re welcome. Now where is she?”  

The old man turns around, scanning through the people in the grand hall carved of stone. I’ve looked through the crowd. Kamara’s not here.  

“Check upstairs.” I wave him off. He nods, turning and walking as fast as his legs can take him up the stairwell. For a few seconds I stand there alone, my fingers tracing over the new Isiya scar on my arm. This one is much shorter and thinner than the last one, swirling round the length of my left arm like a serpentine. Its an eyesore, but thankfully, one that can be well concealed.  

Kamara comes down the stairs with a small leather pouch, the old man trailing behind her. She still holds her staff. 

“You’re not taking that thing to my palace, I assume.” I say, eyeing the staff in her hand. I cant say I blame her, anyways. Sixteen year olds are usually daft, not to talk about one that’s lived her entire life underground.  

“I thought—”  

“Drop it.” I say, my voice stern. She turns to the old man for help, but he simply shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t want to defy me. For some reason, she doesn’t hold that same fear.  

She sighs, setting the old wood in the man’s arms. He bows before rushing to open the door to the long hallway. He opens it, and I hear the echo far down the semi flooded halls under the river.  

“Some of her salary will be brought here monthly.” I say. “I will send men to drop it on the riverbank. It should be enough to keep the camp sustained.”  

The old man bows and tries to kiss my feet but I shift them away. Unsanitary and disgusting.  

“That will be all. Kamara.” I say, turning around and walking down the corridor to the stairwell. As expected, once we get close enough to the end of the long walk the river parts once more, stairs forming for us to climb. We begin our journey up the height of the parted river and rigid stones.  

“When last did you come to the surface?” I ask, trying to fill the deafening silence.  

She sighs, and it takes her a few seconds before she answers. “I’m not sure. Its been too long. Maybe ten years or more.”  

“You haven’t been outside the camp for ten years?”  

“I like to keep to myself, and we as a camp also like to keep to ourselves. Jiakka nowadays don’t even really know what Isiya looks like, but if they ever found out...” she trails off. “Its just better to be with your own.”  “You don’t have isiya scars.” I say.  

“Yes, but I conduct the rituals that give people Isiya. I would be ostracized just as much as they would.”  

I make a low grunting sound as we continue walking down the stone carved corridor, ankle deep in ice cold water. She visibly shivers, and I groan. If she cant handle herself in cold water, how will she cope with the icy Vahaltmir palace?  

“I just...want to say thank you.” She says, her hands fiddling together. “You didn’t have to help me.” 

Something rises in me, an emotion I cant quite explain. As with all things, I push it back down and keep a blank expression. “I needed new help. You have capable hands.”  

Kamara smiles, running ahead of me. Looking up, I watch as a silver cloud blocks the sun’s magnificent rays. A shadow is cast on the forest, and Kamara stops to look up at the sky.  

“Rain.” I say. “We’ve been away from the palace too long, though. We have to ride through.”  

“I don’t like getting wet.” Kamara says as we both cross the final stone. The water rushes back together behind us, and I dig my feet into the marsh. Two days in the camp and I already missed the embrace of nature so much. How has Kamara survived ten years without seeing the sun?  

My horse is resting, still tied to the trunk of a tall rihngrass tree. I sent the old man to feed it every morning since I’ve been recovering. To let the horse get sick would mean I would have to walk back to the palace. Even I have no explanation for that.  

Kamara kneels on the grass beside Sarabi, petting her as her eyes droop lazily open. Above us, the sky is thick with rain.  

“Are you mounting first or—” 

“Of course I’m mounting first.” I say, pushing past her and using the leather rung on the saddle to climb up. Sarabi neighs as Kamara struggles to hold onto once she’s mounted.  

“How long is the journey?” Kamara asks as Sarabi begins trotting through the forest. Its remarkably quiet and peaceful. Other than the singing of a sparyan bird, the forest is completely silent. Even Kamara stays quiet, eyes scanning the nature around us.   

“You didn’t answer my question.”  

“Kamara—” I fume, turning around. This girl couldn’t shut up to save her own life. She gives me a look that I cant quite place and I roll my eyes in defense. “Roughly ten hours at most.”  

“Ten hours?” She groans. “I cant be on the back of a horse for ten hours.”  

“Would you rather walk?” I snap, trying to catch my breath. Maybe this was a mistake. “Just be quiet, please.” 

For now, she listens to my words.  

“IF THE GODS USED ISIYA, they must have severely high endurance.” Kamara says, yawning. Six hours into the journey, the moon has already risen and Sarabi’s strides grow thin. We’re going to have to make camp.  

“Gods do not exist.” I say. If I’m going to be stuck with here the whole night, the least I can do is talk to her. Silence is good, yes, but I need to take my mind off the ringing in my head. It started after the second isiya, and has only grown worse since.  

“Not as Aeoli traditionally believe, but they do.” Kamara counters. “Iahna like myself believe that the gods used Isiya to gain their power.”  

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I don’t believe that anyone would continuously put themselves through the pain of Isiya.”  

“Yet here you are.” She laughs. “We believe all six of them live on mountains further than the heavens themselves. That they were power hungry. Now they rule over us all.”  

I shake my head. “All sounds like fairy tales to me.”  

“It does offer explanations, though.” She continues, but the ringing in my head doesn’t  subside. It feels like its whispering to me in a language I don’t understand. Its annoying.  

“—like it explains the reason Isiya is so stigmatized.”  

“Because of the gods?” I ask, trying to ignore the incessant ringing. It hurts, and I try again not to show any pain on my face. I must keep it neutral.  

“In Iahna folklore, there was a powerful warrior known as Peyrian Biord. He fought with the Geyortian army eons ago, but he lusted for power. When King Eiodon was on his deathbed, he said he would reward kingship to the most powerful of the high soldiers, since he hadn’t born a child. Peyrian won the kingship, but he still wanted more. So crafted his own script for Isiya, and used it to grow his abilities to almost godlike lengths. He brought devastation and war across the many kingdoms until he was finally chained and trapped somewhere remote using ritual magic. Since then, people have looked at Isiya with a terrible side eye. Its one part of Iahna belief that now transcends all Jiakka.”  “He would’ve become a god.” I say.  

“Peyrian was powerful, but no where near the power of the gods. It was because of him the Iahna belief began and spread. If mortals can be like gods, what prevents gods from being mortals?” she laughs, sighing. “One thing that Peyrian was good at doing was calling to people.”  

I turn around. “Say that again?”  

“He calls people to him with his mind.” Kamara says, her eyes widening. “I could never understand why that was possible.”  

The ringing in my head fades, and I press my fingers to my temple. The headache still lingers.  

“I never learnt about that.” I say. “Never really knew about religion. You know, being a Daegon and such.”  

The trees part as the path below Sarabi’s hooves grows wider. Kamara’s words find their way into my mind again. He calls people to him with his mind.  

“I want to ask a question,” I say, and Sarabi neighs.  

“Sure.” Kamara smiles. “Ask away.” 

“After he was trapped, were his abilities suppressed? Could he still call people to him?”  

“From what I was taught in the camp, he was trapped in a material that stopped his power getting through. I would imagine that like most things, it will weaken too.”  

“So could—”  

“Why are you suddenly so interested in Iahna culture?” Kamara laughs. “You told me shut up not long ago.”  

“I’m bored.” I grit my teeth. “Very bored.”  

Kamara sighs, her eyes wandering the night sky beyond the blanket of trees. The silver moonlight shines down on us.  

“Its been a decade since I’ve seen the night sky.” She says, breathing in deeply and taking in the adventurous smell of nature. “When last I saw it, I was a baby who still had her mother to hold onto. She showed me all the constellations. Told me to draw them down. Then...” her breath hitches. From the side of my eye I see her wipe a tear.  

Despite my stone cold glare, I know I have to say something. “I’m sorry for your mother. And father.” I say. “They didn’t deserve to die so early.”  “You didn’t even know them.” She stammers.  

“Yes, but I know you. You are a capable young woman.”  

I don’t turn my head to see her reaction to my words. Making nice was always  unnecessary and strange in the palace, but here, surrounded by nothing but trees, it manages to not be severely annoying.  

I stop a tired Sarabi and dismount her, leashing her onto a tree. Kamara gets down, setting up our blankets on the ground beside the towering trunk of an old rihngrass.  

She lays down first, sighing as she looks up at the stars. In them, I know she sees her mother. My parents are long gone, and they were ultimately nothing to mourn. She seems to have loved hers fiercely.  

The ringing starts again.  

“MY QUEEN,” ADMIRAL UDON SAYS as he stands from my throne. I had 

asked him to tend to things at the palace while I left. Didn’t know I would be gone for so long.  

The palace is just as I left it—at least, to the eye—so I assume Udon has succeeded in his job. Behind my grand throne, sunlight streams through panes of glass.  

He walks down the dais, his iron armour clanking against the marble. He outstretches his palms and I shake it regally. “Admiral Udon.” My voice raises cheerily. “How have things been in the palace?”  

Udon grimaces as I walk up the throne. When I sit, I fold my legs, getting comfortable once more with the hard metal. “Why do you hesitate?”  

“You were gone for three nights, your highness.” He deflects. “If I may ask—”  

“You may not.” I shut him down, anger coursing into me. “Answer my question, Udon.”  

The middle aged man sighs. His armour clanks more as he walks closer to me. I struggle to hide how irritated I am.  

“Its your brother, Queen Mitaldra.” He says, his voice raspy, almost like he’s spent far too much of his life smoking his ornate pipe. I stand from the throne, blocking out some of the sunlight with my grand height. A shadow is casted down below onto the admiral.  

“Be more specific, Udon.” My voice booms. “What happened to my brother?”  

Admiral Udon gives a hoarse sigh before he continues. “He tried to seize control of the throne. Lady Margae of house Cidarian was also involved. They are both in the dungeons now, waiting your command.”  

My heart twists with my brother’s betrayal, but it is to be expected. He could not respect the wishes of his own queen.  

I turn around, facing the tarnished metal of the throne. The sunlight streams directly into my eyes, but the sting is much better than letting the admiral see the emotion on my face. My scarlet dress weighs me down, and the thick velvet train clipped to my shoulders with gold only adds to it. I lick my lips.  

“And Aeida?” I ask.  

“I beg your pardon?”  

“Lady Aeida. Prince Dahed’s wife. Was she involved?”  

A beat passes. “No. Not that I’m aware of.”  

Another beat passes, but I know the decision I have to make. I cannot be viewed as a coward by my own people. The people who are meant to fear me with everything they have. They people I rule. I am a queen first and a sister second.  “Kill them.”  

The air in the room goes still. Even the admiral does not speak. “Even Lady Aeida?”  

I nod, rushing to wipe my tears. “I do not want it to ripple. Aeida may wish to take revenge on me for murdering her husband, or—”  

“Aeida is still King Yehkan’s daughter, my Queen.” Udon says. “Yehkan is not forgiving. Slaughtering his daughter will only cause problems.”  

I sigh. Udon is right, but with keeping her alive, the chance she strikes out at us remains. Geyortia is a powerful kingdom and a strong ally to Vahaltmir, tied by marriage. We do not want them as our enemy.  

“Fine. We wont kill her, but I want her locked up in the highest room in the highest tower of the barracks in Gaoge. You will give her food, drink and entertainment, but she is never to leave that room.”  

“But Queen Mita—”  

“Be quiet!” I scream. “I will pluck even the tiniest seed of rebellion before it has a chance to sprout. I’ve read enough journals to know that love and hatred are both powerful forces. She doesn’t leave that room until the day she dies. Am I 

understood?”  

He bows his head, stammering. “Yes, my Queen.”  

“Good.” I step back. The ringing starts again, low and quiet. Unlike before, this time its calming. Like I can understand it. It feels somehow like I’m drowning.  

“They will hang tomorrow, at the crack of dawn.” I say. “Is there anything else I should know?”  

“T—the monarchy survived.” He says. “Gaia. All except the king.”  I try to hold back my rage. Today only gets worse and worse.  

“Our plan was to take Gaia once it was at its weakest. Without rule.” I say. “Has the coronation happened yet? Is Gaia still without a leader?”  

“There was a contender for the kingship.” He says. “This buys us some time. The competition will be held soon.”  

Thinking, I focus on my fingers. We have an opening. Gaia is still without a leader. Gaia is at its most vulnerable.  

“Prepare the warriors.” I say. “We march on the fight. The monarchy will be 

slain. Same with the tribe elders. Then I shall take Gaia.”  

“Warnings, malady.” He sighs. “Winning a throne is much easier than wielding one.”  

I nod, turning around again and walking up to the throne.  

“Do you have any idea where the monarchy stays now?” Udon asks. “I’ve not received that detail exactly.”  

I don’t blame Udon. He is a mere human, and does not truly understand the customs of Jiakka. The new king is of the water tribe, so they would have taken him to the water tribe palace. Its the way things are usually done. After the original Oryon palace fell, the monarchy were relocated to the flame tribe palace to wait for the building of the other one. The king then was a flame Jiakka. The to be king is a wave.  

“They are at the water tribe palace.” I say. “This I am sure.”  

Udon bows. “I will relay your information to the troops. In the meantime, would you like to see your brother?”  

“He is a traitor of Vahaltmir.” I spit. “He is no brother of mine.”  

THE RINGING OF THE BELL signals the starting of the hanging. The sun has barely crossed the horizon, yet more than a thousand citizens of Samba’s citadel and the gated city beyond stand around the town square. Nobles, commoners, knights, guards, family. 

Up high and nestled between the mountains, I watch Vahaltmir’s palace shimmer. I don’t want to do this, but something, a little voice at the back of my head, tells me I must. Vahaltmir will never be safe if we allow traitors roam free. We will never take Gaia if we allow them live.  

I swallow my spit and walk onto the groaning wood of the dais. Cold wind billows through the air as I speak. The people move closer to listen.  

“The people we are about to execute today were close and dear to me. My own flesh and blood, Price Dahed of Vahaltmir and head of house Cidarian, Lady Margae. They both conspired against the crown, and for that, they will be punished.”  

The crowd murmurs as they part. Three guards hold my brother and Margae by iron chains. The two of them have been badly beaten, with blood lining their lips and eyes. Margae’s arm is bent the wrong way, and the sight makes me cringe on the inside.  

In the crowd I spot Kamara’s face, cloaked in a bright blue hood. Her eyes pierce mine and for a moment, I rethink my actions.  

When I see Margae’s face again, I shake those thoughts out of my head. This woman will have nothing more than to see herself on the throne. It is best she dies.  

Pulling my gaze away from Kamara, I continue. “A rebellion cannot be had without followers. We are always watching. If I even smell a whiff of rebellion, you will join her in the noose.”  

The murmuring grows stronger as the clouds darken above. The ringing starts again, and I urge the guards to hurry up. Soon, I am face to face with Dahed as they wrap the noose around his neck.  

He grunts, pained. “I beg of you, sister, do not hurt Aeida. She did nothing, she is completely innocent in all of this!”  

I cant help but smile as I trace my sharpened nails across his pale, dying skin. “No. I’m not stupid, Dahed. Love and hatred are stronger than anything in this world. I can already see Aeida drawing a rope around my neck.”  

“Please...” he begs, his eyelids brimming with tears. For a moment, my heart wrenches, but I cant bring myself to stop it. I physically cant say the words.  

He continues. “She is with child.”  

I cock my head. “Ah.”  

“Don’t—”  

“That will only make what I am about to do all the more painful.”  

“Plea—”  

He doesn’t have the chance to finish his sentence before the trapdoor under him opens. His body falls limp and the thick roped noose cracks round his already bluing neck. Beside him, Margae cries in fear, watching Dahed’s body swinging limply. Dead. I walk up to her, caressing her clammy face with my hands.  

“You have made a stupid decision, Margae.” I say. “I will have to look at house Cidarian a bit differently now. At best, I purge them from the royal court. At worst, I kill all of them and take the army by force.”  

“Please...” she ignores me. “Don’t kill me, please. Banish me. Do something else. I have children.”  

Staring at her, I see the fear in her eyes transform to realization. I killed my own brother right next to her. She is nothing more than a fly to be swatted without care, and she knows it.   

A lever is pulled and the trapdoor under her opens with a clang. She falls, the noose tightening onto her neck, choking her. Unlike with my brother, she doesn’t die instantly. I watch as her breaths grow shallow and parted until they don’t come at all.  

Marge and Dahed. Both dead, swinging before me. Bodies limp, eyes open and staring. Its a haunting sight, but one for the people of Vahaltmir to remember. I am not a force to be reckoned with. I turn around to address the frightened kingdom.  

“If you betray Vahaltmir, if you rebel against the crown, that,” I point to Dahed and Margae’s corpses, “Will be your fate. You will hang for all to see, like the dirty peasants you are.”  

The murmuring grows louder as the ringing in my head intensifies. Now, it sounds more like a voice than aimless whispering. Even though I cant fully understand it, I feel the words rattling through my weakening bones.  

March on Gaia. Now is the time.  

I turn to Udon, who stands at the edge of the raised wooden dais. His armour creaks in the cold.  

“Udon?” I say, walking forward. He bows, waiting for my command.  

“Release the drakons.”