Disillusioned the birthr.., p.3
Disillusioned (The Birthright Series Book 3), page 3
For the first time, I wonder whether it wasn’t a combination of two different attempts that killed Mom. What if one enemy planned to kill her and began the slow dose poison, and another attacker planned to weaken her prior to a challenge or something similar? If that was the case, her death would be extremely difficult to pinpoint and even harder to punish.
I strike Lyssa’s family from the list and return to my reading, creating a master list slowly. I need to have something to take to my meeting with Balthasar in a few hours. He’s been spearheading the investigation, at Judica’s direction up until now, but she’s gone, all her work and suspicions with her. I hope she kept Balthasar somewhat up to date on what she found.
Every time I turn the page on the journal, Mom’s letter beckons.
Finally, I pick it up again, my pulse pounding in my ears. What does she have to say? Why would she hide it behind a prophecy she said was about me? The missing pages make me wonder whether she was concerned that someone else could enter. Could her security have been compromised somehow? Could her murderer have removed something that condemned her or him?
I can’t ignore evidence, not for any reason. What if she tore the pages off and put some of them here, in this very letter? I pull out the paper, a little disappointed it doesn’t match the striped paper of the missing journal pages.
Dearest Chancery,
I hope I’ll tear this letter up with a smile on my face one day soon. I hope my suspicions will be proven wrong. But in case I’m not, in case my fears are realized. . .
I have so many things to teach you and so many things to tell you. I would prefer to space the lessons out so that you can process the information in bite-size pieces, but in case that’s not possible, I thought I should take a moment and draft a highlights reel.
You have such beautiful instincts, dear one. You have a heart the size of Paris. It’s a real credit to you that you always put people first. You care so very deeply.
But you have to stop that nonsense immediately now that I’m gone.
If you’re reading this, you’re Empress in my place. I’ve died, as I feared I might. As a monarch you cannot consider the fate of the individual people involved in the problems you face. A question of treason isn’t about Lark, or Lyssa, or Frederick. If we are at war, the determinations you make cannot be about the fate of the persons living in the combat zone. The laws you establish can’t be created because of their impact on your friends or your family. You must look beyond those people and to the consequences, the policies, the fallout that will result decades and centuries down the road. I thought beheading my best friend might destroy me. I thought my heart might break beyond repair.
And I did it anyway.
If I hadn’t taken that dramatic step, that irrevocable step, we would have barreled down a dangerous road. You make laws now, not decisions. You must consider the future consequences before you act, every single time. One of the reasons I played chess so often with Judica was so that she would learn to look beyond the next few moves. As a queen, you must see decades, centuries, and even millennia down the path. A small course correction will have rippling consequences for Alamecha and because of our pre-eminence, the world.
And your choices will be even more dramatic, because you have a Destiny.
I’ve shortchanged you I fear, my darling, because I never curbed your generosity or kind-heartedness. I didn’t press you as a child, never forced you to accept the training you should have received. I didn’t hone your mind and body like a blade as I did with your sister. I fear you aren’t well prepared for the difficulties ahead. I’m sorry for that. I failed you, and I know there’s not much I can do at this point other than entreat you to rectify those deficiencies at every opportunity.
Queens must not show mercy. They can’t ever forget the needs of the whole when confronted with the one.
If you’ve been able to keep Judica by your side, through some miracle, she can help temper your decisions in this regard. She’s an expert at looking dozens of moves ahead to what will follow. She always sees the big picture and acts upon that instead of worrying about the ramifications right now. Most importantly, she doesn’t hang on to guilt and sorrow. You can learn a lot from that. Try consoling yourself with the twin comforts of justice and foresight.
But none of these are my biggest concern.
As queen, you can never make any mistakes. I’m going to say that again: You never make any mistakes, Chancery.
This will be especially difficult for you because you’re naturally receptive to correction. It has made you an exceptional student. You take whatever criticism people dish out and then apply it going forward. It’s one of your strengths, but with all things, our strengths are also our weaknesses.
You may not proceed in this manner anymore, not publicly anyway. I have made plenty of mistakes in my time. Most people thought keeping you was a mistake, but they were wrong. Sparing your life was my greatest blessing, my boldest and most intelligent move. No one directly saw how you blessed me, but you strengthened me when I faltered, and now I know that saving your life was probably Providence. But I made many, many other blunders no one ever saw. I made dozens each decade, but I buried them.
You, too, will slip up, repeatedly. But as with me, your subjects must never know. Our people follow us because they have faith in us to keep them safe and maintain the rights and privileges to which they have become accustomed. If they lose faith in your ability to keep the wolves at bay, they will defect. And once that starts, it’s nearly impossible to stop.
So whatever mistake you make, unmake it. Cover it up. Bury it. If that means people die, that’s the price for maintaining control. And lest you feel like that means I’m a megalomaniac, it’s not about the power, or the wealth, or the lifestyle. You see alphas everywhere in nature. The biggest, strongest, and scariest of the pack keeps the others safe, and prevents the members of that pack from arguing amongst themselves over their individual positions. Your role is vital and necessary and you must maintain it, regardless of the cost.
You might not have been born as an alpha, but it’s time to transform into what your people need. Be perfect: That’s all I’m asking. I know it seems like a tall order, but I believe you can do it. I’m not just saying that. I know it in my aching old bones.
I don’t know how or when you’re going to unite the families, and I don’t know why it had to be you, but it has a strange sense of inevitability to me now. You should have died, and I spared you. Your flawed sister tried to kill you, and I banished her. Then your twin hated you, even though you weren’t Heir, almost as if she could sense what would happen, what you truly are. As if she knew you’d displace her.
For what it’s worth, great people very rarely strive for greatness from the outset. The remarkable evians who have changed the course of the future are almost always people who were in the right place to do the good the world needed at that time.
You will become what the world needs in order to do what must to be done. I know that’s true. As always, failure is a choice. I know, Chancery, that you will choose to succeed.
I hate to leave you with a handful of platitudes, but our family motto has kept us on course for millennia. So I’ll leave you with this now:
Accept the world as it is, or do something to change it.
Love,
Mom
I wish I had found this letter before announcing to my entire Council that I screwed up with Judica, but there’s no recapturing that genie. Mom’s faith seems misplaced. So far I’ve failed to kill my rival, released her to raise an army, and now I’ve created a Council composed of a half-evian and a human. My own Council thinks I’m insane.
What if they’re right?
Perhaps I should phase in my changes more slowly. Maybe I need to think about the far-reaching impact of these changes and whether that long term impact will improve Alamecha or weaken us. I wish I liked chess. Like, even a little bit.
I think about Mom’s letter while I train with Edam.
Whenever there’s a lag in my discussion with Balthasar, I contemplate her words. Unfortunately, he hasn’t really found any promising leads.
While I eat dinner and read through more journals, I hear them in my head on repeat.
And again as I review petitions, and governance reports, and career selections.
But after that, I need a break, a break from the past, a break from second guessing our future. So I lace up my Merrells and head for the door to my courtyard. When Duchess whines, I rub her head. “It’s okay girl. I’ll be back soon.” Great Pyrenees don’t really enjoy running, and I know she can’t keep up with me, not with my current need for speed.
If I’m lucky, my guards won’t notice I’m exiting through the back and I’ll get to run alone for once. Other than my mom, the thing I miss the most about life before is the ability to come and go without much scrutiny.
“Your Majesty.” Arlington’s standing on the cobblestones of the courtyard near the wall.
I practically jump out of my skin. So much for my plan to escape alone and focus on nothing more than the wind and surf.
My eyes swivel to the other side of the courtyard to where Ralph stands with his hands at his side. “Why are you two out here?”
Ralph says, “Frederick has doubled your guard. He told us you knew.”
I close my eyes. “He mentioned he wanted to, but it’s really not necessary. I’ve been running around the island alone for years, not to mention the long rides I used to take on Napoleon. No one ever told me that riding my horse or going for a jog wasn’t safe unaccompanied.”
Ralph shrugs. “Our orders are to go with you, or detain you until Frederick can discuss it.”
Freddy knew I’d be annoyed. I want to stomp my foot, but since I’m wearing sneakers, I’ll look like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “I’m Empress. I’m going for a jog, and you two will stay put.”
“What if I accompany her?” Noah offers from the other side of the gate at the back of my courtyard.
I sigh in relief. “Yes, I’ll take Noah with me.”
Arlington makes hurt puppy eyes. “He’s a human.”
Which is hardly better than taking a dog in their eyes. I grit my teeth.
“But we’ll give you some space if you want.” Arlington shrugs. “It’s our job to keep you safe, Your Majesty.”
And if I refuse to let them follow me, they’ll be in trouble with Frederick. “Lag far behind,” I say.
Noah opens the gate and I jog through it. I can pretend we’re alone, right? I take off down my typical path.
“Whoa, Flash Gordon, ease up a bit for the pathetic human, por favor.” Noah’s practically panting behind me.
Right. I keep forgetting. “Sorry.” I drop back to a pace I think he can sustain.
“Feel like talking about anything?” Noah asks. “Because I don’t have a dog in the fight. I probably can’t help, but I feel I should offer up my human opinion, now that I’m being paid for it.”
I glance sideways at him.
“Wait, I am being paid right? Because Dad will lose it if I dropped out of school without a paying gig.”
I laugh. He’s worried about money. “Sure, we’ll pay you.”
“Phew.”
“Speaking of your dad, where does he think you are right now?”
Noah chews on his bottom lip.
“What did you tell him?”
“I’m really super, duper sick,” he says. “So I won’t be at school for another few days. Those traitors call and tell him when I don’t show up.”
I hadn’t considered this part. Noah’s my age, but for humans that’s not old enough to live on your own. “Um, do you need my help with anything? Should I, like, type up a job description or something?”
What if he needs to leave? Am I about to lose him to the mundane norms of the human world? It’s not like I can kidnap a minor and keep him here. I mean, I could, but that’s pretty awful. The idea of losing Noah makes my head spin. I want him to stay. I rely on being able to talk to him, because like he said, he doesn’t have a dog in this fight.
Which makes me think of Cookie.
“Hey there, remember me? We were keeping this run slow for the human.” He wheezes. “You know, so I don’t die.” Noah’s face is bright red. “I can’t answer your questions when you’re sprinting away from me.”
“Sorry,” I say again. And then I recall Mom said I shouldn’t admit my mistakes, which is basically an apology. Maybe that was Edam’s point so long ago, when he told me not to apologize. I’ve only been striving for total perfection for a few minutes, and I’m already completely failing. Which I need to not do, because when I fail, I apologize, and that’s another failure.
I hate all of this. Trying to be perfect is exhausting.
Noah’s heart rate finally starts to come down a bit. “You asked,” he says, “what you can do to help.”
“Yes, right.”
“My dad would be fine with me leaving that ridiculous American school if I could pursue my studies remotely, while working at a job that will hopefully provide room for growth.”
“I thought he wanted you to step in with the family business.”
“Our American interests, anyway,” Noah says, “but he can’t hand it off to me until he’s confident that I’m prepared to handle something substantial. If I find a promising job on my own, that should be enough to keep him satisfied for a bit.”
I’ll talk to Larena. Surely together we can come up with something convincing.
By the time I return to the compound, I feel much better. I may have made one mistake and not known to cover it, but I know now. I’ll have to hope my Council will be inspired enough by my future good decisions that they forgive me one oversight. Not that I can ask them to forgive me, obviously.
After my shower, Larena meets me to discuss a few hiccups that have cropped up with regard to Mom’s funeral and my inauguration. By the time we hammer out the final details, I’m ready to drop into bed.
When I hear a tap on my door I groan. “Come in.”
Edam opens the door and peeks his head through. “I checked the Queen’s chamber, but it was empty.”
I sink back against my pillows. “I can’t use it.”
“You’ll get there, but there’s no rush. If you mean to stay here for the foreseeable future, I’ll let the guys know.”
“Thanks.”
At a tiny yip from behind the door, I bolt upright in bed. Duchess lifts her head beside me and growls low in her throat. I pat her head. “It’s okay gal. It’s only Edam and he’d never hurt us.” Or at least, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t.
I swing my legs out from under the covers and straighten up to standing. “Why are you here?”
Edam pushes the door open and leans down to pick something up. “I thought you might be ready for this.”
A tiny grey dog growls softly and then whines.
“It’s a Weimaraner,” he says. “They’re very bright, and they love long runs. They also love to be right by their people.”
“How did you—”
“I ordered him after what happened with Cookie. An old contact of mine breeds them, and since you love to run. . .” He clears his throat. “He’s finally old enough to be separated from his mother.”
Separated from his mother forcibly, just like me. I close my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Edam says. “If it feels like a bad fit, I’ll take him back.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“No?”
Edam’s face falls. “I knew it was a gamble, and I’m sorry if it upset you.”
My voice cracks when I say, “It wasn’t a mistake. I’m happy, I swear.”
“Oh good.” Edam crosses the room and hands the wriggly ball of energy to me. “I figure you and Duchess can whip him into shape quickly.”
Duchess hops off the bed, growling a little. When I place the pup on the floor, she bumps him with her nose. He spins in a circle over and over until he trips and falls into a pile on my rug. Duchess sits down, and if dogs could roll their eyes in exasperation, she’d have done it. She rests her face on her paws and watches the little dope with a long-suffering expression.
“Well, I’m sorry I interrupted you getting some sleep. I can take him tonight and bring him back in the morning if you’d like.”
I shake my head. “No, I want him here.”
“He’ll need to get up and go to the bathroom every few hours,” Edam says.
“I know.”
“Okay, well, let me know if you need anything.”
I grab his hand. “Don’t go.”
Edam turns around slowly, his eyes rising incrementally as well, until finally they meet mine. Something sparks there, something hot, something real.
My heart catapults into my throat and I can barely force the next words out. “What I mean is, if you don’t mind, if you slept in here on the couch, we could take turns with him.”
The smile spreads slowly across Edam’s almost painfully beautiful features. “I’d be happy to stay here with him.”
I climb back into bed, and Duchess hops up and settles next to me. Edam lays down on my sofa, and the fumbly puppy tries twice before he finally lands on his chest.
I stifle a laugh.
But when the wiggle worm licks his face, Edam shoves him into the small space between the edge of the sofa and his enormous body. The puppy isn’t initially happy with that arrangement, but after a little reinforcement, he finally collapses with a small whuffle.
When I finally drift off to sleep, I feel safer than I’ve felt since before Mom died.
3
It felt like Mom’s funeral would never actually take place, and in some ways, it kept me from truly processing her death. Every single morning since she died, I’ve woken up with an unfounded hope that maybe she’s still alive.
No one holds funerals for people who are coming back.
I know that I should be looking for attendees who look guilty, or relieved, or exultant. I should scan the back of the room for people who turn up to gawk, but I can’t do it. My brain feels almost foggy with grief, saturated with bone-deep sorrow. No matter where I look, my eyes circle back around to Mom’s casket. At least Balthasar and Frederick are supposed to be watching the audience. Besides, we can review camera footage later.
