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Chapter Three- The Little Queen (The Queen of Diamonds)

  She knew her father was dead from the moment she woke. In her dreams the night before, he had come to say goodbye. She had not wanted to wake. So she did not open her eyes at first, as if holding them shut and returning to that realm of sleep would make what waited for Meriwyn outside of her room any easier to face. Any less real. But she could hear the hushed speaking outside of her door. Apothecaries or servants no doubt, or perhaps Percin of Valehold, come to tell her that the sickness had finally claimed him in his sleep. That after her father’s three month long battle with the sickness, it had finally plunged its vile dagger into her father’s heart. She dredged herself out of bed like a dead fish, and rang the little bell near her. Servants scurried in from their hiding places in the castle’s passages, and within a mere few minutes, Meriwyn was ready for the day. When they were finished, as if on queue, the door swung open and indeed it was Percin of Valehold who stood before her. He was not quite as tall as her father, but he was far taller than she. Percin wore the red of House Holt, and above his heart was the white pear with gold leaves of his house. The pears grown by House Holt were little more than legend now, but once they were said to grant great strength to those who ate of that sacred grove.

  “Is…he….” She could not finish the sentence, Meriwyn could not bear to say it.

  “He has gone to the Cold Harbor.” Percin said softly, resting a hand on Meriwyn’s shoulder. She could not cry. The Azalus were not to cry.

  Not in front of them at least. Give your tears to the gods. She told herself, trying to remember her father’s words. She took a shaking step into the hall outside of her bedroom, breathing in the smell of baking bread in the morning air. It was wrong. It was too warm, too pleasant. Her father was dead, but the world did not care. The guards still patrolled, the cooks still cooked, and out in their fields, the common folk toiled. But her father was dead, all the same.

  As he guided her down the hall, the man stooped over to whisper in her ear.

  “There will be some who see this as an opportunity, your grace. You must not falter, or the wolves of court will devour you whole.” Percin’s voice was like honeyed wine. She had always thought he’d have been a fine singer, were he not her father’s Lord of Wages. He had hair the same warm brown as a pie’s crust, and a moustache that he groomed meticulously each morning.

  “You must only be strong for the day. The night is for secrets.” He tried to offer a smile, but Meriwyn could not return it.

  “I want to close my eyes and never wake-” She began to whisper.

  “You mustn’t speak that way.” Percin interrupted. “They will leap upon that weakness. You would not let all your father worked for fall to ash, would you?” He asked.

  Mariwyn’s throat was dry. She shook her head. She was 10, it was time to be an adult.

  “You must accompany me to today’s meeting. I know we have handled things for your Lord Father for the most part…but he can no longer finish your lessons.”

  Meriwyn nodded. Percin guided her towards the kitchen, for a quick breakfast.

  You are a Queen now. She told herself, but the words didn’t feel quite real.

  The castle was alive with activity. The rattling of armor as guards bustled past on their rounds, servants ever tidying and cleaning in a constant war against dust. The castle was so large it was an always losing battle. As they passed windows she took glimpses at the city she would now need to reign over. Her House’s motto seemed more notable than it ever had in the history lessons.

  We Reign. The two simple words of House Azalus that had rocked the foundations of the little clans who called Durendane home before the Landfall, but that was over eight hundred years ago now.

  Percin pushed open the doors of the council hall, and the entire room fell into a perfect silence as Meriwyn stepped in. But not for the same reason that her father used to. Meriwyn squirmed under their piteous eyes, feeling itchy in her dress. Percin placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He stepped into the room, looking across the seven men and the few empty chairs.

  “King Lucen the IVth is dead.” Percin said, his voice more commanding than was typical. The men in the room did not speak, but some of them looked fearful. Some of them looked surprised. Not a one of them looked confident in her, and she felt as though she was wilting under their gaze. Percin spoke up now.

  “I was with him in his final moments. The Apothecaries can vouch for my words, King Lucen named me Lord Regent before his death. Lady Meriwyn is a mere ten summers old.” He said, looking down at her. The men shared a look she did not understand.

  “We have many matters to address, but I would like to first name Lord Hectar Corinth as Lord of Wages.”

  There was a smattering of quiet conversation through the room, and Meriwyn found herself rocking on her heels. She tried to force herself to stop.

  Nervousness is weakness. She thought, but they sounded hollow in her voice. When her father said those things, he said them strongly.

  Fear is Death! She tried to remind herself. Hectar Corinth, a plump and stout man of some fifty summers, spoke up.

  “I do humbly accept this most gracious offer.” The man struggled to give a bow, his jowls jiggling as he spoke. His voice reminded Meriwyn of butter.

  Ser Theron of Sunstone spoke up next. “What of the exile?” He asked. “The Blacksails have been spotted North of Aplos for the first time in fifteen years.”

  “Rousse the Black is of no consequence.” Highfather Lyam spat, the old man’s voice filled with venom. “He is hated by the gods, and will remain across the sea- where he knows well he belongs!”

  Meriwyn had never met her Uncle Rousse, but she’d heard only terrible things. That he was a pirate, a slaughterer of men, a brigand! Time away from Durendane had changed him. The Knights needed to come home, time away from Durendane seemed to break down their soul.

  Percin guided her through the carpeted hall to the Queen’s seat. Her mother’s seat.

  No. Mine now. She thought, sick to her stomach. Percin sat at the head of the table, in her Father’s chair. It was wrong, all wrong, and she wanted to run out of the room and never look back. Instead, she quietly pulled herself into the chair and waited for Percin to go over the day’s agenda.

  “Perhaps we should send word to Rousse, offer him a chance to return home- if he swears fealty before Queen Meriwyn of course.” Theron said, glancing at her. The old Knight tried to offer a warm smile.

  “There is no need.” Hectar huffed, slurping a glass of wine as he spoke. “Rousse is across the sea, haunting the Free Cities. Let that black spirit haunt the backwaters if he wishes.” He thumped his chest in pride. Father Lyam nodded in agreement. Lord Of Whispers, Damien Fireforge, had thus far been silent. Now he spoke.

  “I will send my hands into the pockets of those far flung places, and see what we might dredge up. But my lady,” He continued, looking at Meriwyn. His eyes were a cold gray that looked false. Metal. “I would suggest you fret not about the turncloak. He will be of no harm to you.”

  She managed a nod.

  Atho Waye, Lord of the Greenery, remained silent. He had looked sick to his stomach ever since they declared the death of her father. The council, at full strength, was made of nine. The reigning Azalus, The Lord of the Hilt, which was usually given to second children, The Lord Castellan, The Lord of Commons, The Lord of Wages, The Lord of Whispers, the Lord of the Greenery, The Lord of the Waves, and the Highfather of the Church of the Nine. The seat of the Lord of Commons was empty, previously held by Hectar Corinth. The Lord of Waves, Jon Hall of Icenhall, had gone sailing and never returned. Most presumed he had died, lost to the depths of the sea. Rumor had it, his wife had gone mad and locked herself and her children in the depths of the Ice-hall the town gets its name from. Nobody had seen her in months, and some claimed she was dead. Perhaps she was.

  Why is the world so dangerous? She thought. He was only on a boat.

  Meriwyn was shocked back to the present by the sound of Percin’s voice.

  “Lady Meriwyn.”

  “Yes?” She tried to sound regal, but instead she squeaked the word. Percin cleared his throat, shook his head sadly, and began to speak once more. She strained to pay attention, but she seemed too small in the queen's chair. These men didn’t look the way she remembered, stoic and proud. They were more like sharks now. In a way, she knew they could smell blood in the water. Weakness. She had to be strong, for her kingdom. But what did that Kingdom even mean? Meriwyn had never been further than Fireforge, and even then only for festivals. She barely even knew this Kingdom, and they meant for her to rule it? Just yesterday she was still being tutored. Would she even have time for that anymore?

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  “There is the issue of this current succession.” Percin said. “You are young, Lady Meriwyn, and-”

  Something strong in her spoke then. She knew it couldn’t have been her.

  “Queen.” She said, just loud enough to be heard over the men in the room.

  “Yes…yes I suppose that’s correct.” Percin narrowed his eyes. “Queen Meriwyn, and I suspect many houses see you as weak. I think it is important to secure a marriage as soon as possible, for the sake of the Kingdom. To at least arrange one for a future date, that the houses might be sated.”

  Married? The thought chilled her. Surely something that serious could wait for later? Her father wasn’t even buried yet, and they were already trying to marry her off? That strong thing within her balked. She was the Queen now.

  We Reign. She repeated to herself.

  “No.” Meriwyn said. “Not yet at least…we shall hold a grand funeral feast for my father. We will celebrate his life.” Meriwyn knew that kings and queens of old always held feasts, and they usually seemed to improve the mood. Maybe a feast would help.

  “There is, of course, the issue of empty seats.” Hectar Corinth leaned across the table with a smile so wide it threatened to split his face.

  “I have a son who just so happens to have quite the talent with sailing-” Hectar continued, his voice dripping with false sweetness. Meriwyn shook her head.

  “Lady Massel of Icenhall.” She declared. Highfather Lyam did not appear to have even heard Meriwyn. Theron of Sunstone smiled widely, and Meriwyn felt strong then. Hectar Corinth’s jaw nearly dropped onto the table as his jowls shook with shock.

  Atho Waye tried to clear his throat, but still seemed troubled by the news of her father’s death. Meriwyn was glad that at least one person on the council seemed to really care, besides her and Percin. Damien Fireforge stroked his chin thoughtfully.

  “All of the Bastard-Kin are skilled sailors.” He mused. “Lady Massel is known for her fury.”

  “And her madness!” Balked Hectar in shock. “You cannot be truly serious my lady, putting a madwoman on the council! She’s locked herself away in grief! Hysteria!”

  I wish I could do the same. Meriwyn thought. She steeled herself, forcing the tears she wanted to spill into the back of her head. She focused on nothing but the current second.

  “Send the summons to Lady Massel Hall.” Meriwyn ordered. Damien Fireforge gave a deep bow.

  “The hawks shall reach her before the weeks end.” He confirmed. Percin gave her a curious look, she thought it could be something akin to admiration. Pride maybe?

  “Queen Meriwyn, what of the Lord of Commons?” Percin asked. “If you don’t have anyone in mind, I have a few ideas.”

  Hectar glared at Percin.

  “House Corinth is vast, and I have many skilled kin who could be of great service to Durendane.” He knit his hands as he spoke.

  “Exactly.” Atho Waye finally spoke. “Perhaps it is time we gave a smaller house a chance.”

  Hectar scoffed, rolling his eyes.

  “House Marsh are good, hardy folk. They take care of their forests.” Atho nodded ponderously.

  “Surely that is no reason to place someone in charge of our dealings with the common folk. Kingdoms are not built on trees, but with them. Cut them all down for all I care, if it's for the betterment of the Kingdom.” Hectar growled. Theron said nothing, but looked at the man with disgust. Atho ran a hand through his blonde hair, looking back at the man as Hectar poured himself what Meriwyn believed was his third glass of wine.

  “House Marsh has always stood with the crown. Is it that you think they are weak, or is it because they are not your kin?” Atho asked.

  “Do you question my loyalty?” Hectar growled.

  Meriwyn was certain she heard Percin whisper “constantly.” under his breath.

  Ser Theron stepped forward, his hand resting lazily on his sword. His snow white hair seemed to glow in the early morning light as he spoke.

  “Our enemies want us fighting with each other. The truth of the matter is, she is his only trueborn child. She is the only heir. The Kingdom stands on shaky ground, and this is no time to argue loyalties. We have work to do.” Theron clasped a hand on Hectar’s shoulder, squeezing so tight that Meriwyn worried he’d draw blood. “And we will do our work with joy.”

  “Yes!” Hectar wheezed. “Yes, yes we shall! I am always happy to be of service to the crown!”

  Percin shot Theron a thankful look.

  “I would suggest Olin Marsh.” Percin stroked his beard as he spoke. “Or perhaps Hane Waverly.” Meriwyn knew a little bit about the Marsh family. They possessed the only salt flats in all of Durendane. She believed Olin was the thirdborn son, and if she recalled correctly, Hane Waverly was a man restrained to wheelchair. Her father had spoke of him once. She remembered sitting with him by the fire so many nights while they talked about the days. What was it he had said about him?

  That man could sell land to a fish. Perhaps it would be a good choice? A Lord of Commons who kept the people at peace was the goal, surely. Perhaps he would even convince some of the other houses of her strength. Certainly he would at least think he was a wise choice.

  “Hane Waverly.” Meriwyn decided, before she was fully certain it was a good idea. “My father thought him a wise man. I would offer him a spot as Lord of Commons.” She couldn’t help but smile, at least a little bit.

  Queen Meriwyn. I am ruling! She sat up a bit straighter in her seat at the council table.

  “A good choice, my Queen.” Ser Theron nodded in agreement. “Hane Waverly is a man of great convictions. History will see this was a good choice.”

  For the moment, she was able to forget how she got into this chair. If Ser Theron approved of the plan, then Meriwyn knew it was a good idea. Her father had assigned Theron as the Castellan of Castle Azalon nearly thirty years ago. She could hardly fathom that Ser Theron had been fighting battles and attending council meetings for thrice as long as she had lived. Her stomach flipped as she wondered if she should be doing any of this. Her father had never let her so much as sit a council meeting and now she was leading one. She wished he was here. He’d know what to say. A familiar burning sensation rose behind her eyes, and for a moment, Meriwyn closed them.

  You will not cry in front of them! She demanded of herself.

  Damien Fireforge’s voice brought her back into the moment.

  “I shall send the summons, my lady.”

  By the time Meriwyn had returned to her room, she felt so tired she worried she may never wake again. The day had passed by in a blur of choices and questions, many of which she scarcely understood, but in the end Meriwyn had survived. She was not crowned yet, but she was Queen now. Percin would get everything in order for the Coronation. In the darkness of the room though, everything felt heavier. As she approached her bed, she knew that tonight her father would not be visiting to tell her a story. He would not tuck her in, or kiss her on the forehead, or search the room for anything frightful. He was gone, and with him had fled all sense of steel. The castle did not feel strong anymore, it was as ice. It could melt away from her, if she was not careful. Finally alone, Meriwyn dragged herself into her bed, and as she lay her head down on her soft pillow, the dam broke and she finally wept.

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