Elestrine

  “You wished to see me, your Highness?”

  Awyrel’s voice rings like sweet music in my ears. “Always, dear girl,” I say, rising to greet her. “Come; drink nectar with me.”

  She curtsies and steps into my sitting room at Rideau Hall—the dreary, nondescript shack that the Canadians apparently mistake for a palace worthy of a Viceroy. She pours herself a cup of golden liquid from a crystal decanter, raises it to her lips, and pauses. “I assume this is not made from indigenous ingredients, your Highness?”

  “Imported from Faerie,” I assure her. “And in my present capacity, I ask that you refer to me as ‘Excellency’. Now drink.”

  She takes a sip, and I grant her permission to sit.

  “Four hundred thousand square leagues of land.” I sigh, after drinking from my own cup. “Nearly forty million humans, each unfamiliar with magic, each twisting it in accordance with their own hopes, fears, values…And every other kingdom in Faerie, gobbling up whatever territory they can on this poxy Earth.”

  “We certainly have our work cut out for us, Excellency.”

  “We have a gilded opportunity here, my hummingbird,” I say. “An enormous swathe of land, politically unified, barely populated, and already shaped by Winter.”

  “Pity we weren’t in time to claim Russia or Antarctica during the scramble,” notes Awyrel.

  “Nevertheless. With such advantages as ours, the future should belong to Everglace! And yet…”

  “‘And yet’, Excellency?”

  “And yet, those buffoons at court seem wholly committed to spoiling it!” I exclaim. “I’ve just heard petition after petition from those parasites! Lord Nightshade of the Falling Snow wants to be granted Nunavut to graze his dragons! Lord Castor-Bean of the Avalanche wants British Columbia so he can hunt sasquatches! Lord Snakeroot of the Icy Hollows wants to coax diamonds from the soil of Quebec! All these blinkered fools trying to enrich themselves whilst all Faerie is in crisis! And my mother the worst of all!”

  Awyrel looks scandalized by this last comment. “Excellency?”

  I smile disarmingly. “Why do you suppose the Winter Queen entrusted me with this burden, Awyrel?”

  “I would…imagine she had faith in your abilities.”

  “Hah! In fact, she has no faith in me at all. That is why.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a matter of loyalty, my dear. You were there with me in that wretched canoe at my installation ceremony; you heard the oath they made me take.”

  “That you ‘solemnly affirm that you will be faithful and bear true allegiance to her Majesty the Winter Queen’?” she quotes. “Surely you’re not saying—”

  “That my mother gave me an entire country just to extract a fealty oath? That is precisely what I am saying.”

  “But you’ve never shown the slightest disloyalty! Why demand fealty now?”

  “Why indeed? Games within games.” I scoff and lapse into English: “‘Vain, arrogant, self-serving technocrats’.”

  “Excellency?”

  “Something my new Prime Minister said yesterday. You know, these humans don’t know how fortunate they are. I can actually treat their ruling class in the manner it deserves!”

  Awyrel takes another sip. “Did your meeting with Parliament go well?”

  “In fact, it went splendidly,” I reply. “A great deal better than I had any right to expect.”

  Awyrel seems relieved by this. “Then you did not have cause to…kill any of them, Excellency?”

  Poor na?ve girl. “Well, I simply had to kill someone,” I reply. “Otherwise, I might have appeared weak after they threw poor Audan against the wall. But I killed only the most loathsome of their number, and their acting Prime Minister I allowed to leave with only a change in species.”

  Awyrel looks crestfallen to hear my account. “…I see. And…this is what you mean when you say it went ‘splendidly’?”

  “Indeed,” I reply. “And I found a suitable Prime Minister.”

  “Someone who will obey you unquestioningly?”

  “Someone who is loyal to his country and his people,” I correct.

  My ward doesn’t know how to react to this.

  “You do not approve?”

  “It is not my place to approve or disapprove,” she answers. “But I…struggle to comprehend your motivations, Excellency.”

  I repose my cup upon the table. “Then let us make a lesson of it. Would you answer a question for me, Awyrel? It’s an important one, I think.”

  “Of course, your Excellency.”

  “Do you think that I’m a good person?”

  This one seems to take her by surprise. “I’m…not sure I understand.”

  “Hm.” I smile. “Yes, it seems an odd thing to quibble about. But the new Prime Minister is quite taken with matters of good and evil and seemed to think it preferable to be the one over the other. Therefore, I ask again: do you think I am a good person?”

  Awyrel ponders this. “I think that good and evil are human notions,” she says finally. “And that such notions fundamentally do not apply to—to members of our race, any more than they do to, say, sunlight. Or fish. And they are even less applicable to you,” she hastens to add, “a member of the royal family, than they are even to my lowly self. However…if I were human…” She casts her eyes to the floor. “…I believe I would think you evil, Excellency.”

  She cuts such a piteous figure that I cannot help but laugh. “Oh, my dear girl, you needn’t be ashamed!” I say, tilting her head toward me. “I did ask, after all, and you are quite correct that we are not human. Still, one must be mindful of the public attitude, and your assistance is appreciated.

  “Now,” I say. “What might we do to rehabilitate my reputation?”

  “Your Excellency…” She hesitates.

  “My dear, you clearly want to say something, so by all means say it.”

  “It’s just…I sincerely doubt that there’s any chance of your reputation improving amongst the locals. Not…with your plans being as they are.”

  I glare at her just long enough to make her fear she has offended me—and then smile. “You are quite correct. My present commission constrains me to be loathed. Though I shall note that ‘my plans’, such as they are, in fact originated with my mother. But that is why I need Mr. Oakes as Prime Minister. Because he is a man of the people; because he can be loved by them.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “With respect, Excellency…I don’t think the people of this country are in the habit of ‘loving’ their Prime Ministers.”

  “During normal times, perhaps,” I tut. “But these are times of crisis, and people seek out heroes. Mr. Oakes will be one, whether he chooses it or not. Especially since I’ve already ensured that news of Audan’s humiliation spreads far and wide.”

  “Mr. Oakes…was the one who threw General Audan against the wall, then?”

  “A spontaneous burst of magic. Quite impressive, really. And even more so, I suspect, in the retelling.”

  “I doubt the General will like that very much.”

  “Hah! An added benefit.”

  “And…you are certain of Oakes’s loyalty?”

  “Yes,” I reply. “At least until the humans can be marginalized; then, of course, their opinion will count for nothing at all.”

  A troubled expression creeps across Awyrel’s face. “Excellency—”

  “But I need not darken your mood with such ghastly matters. Come! Let us take a walk about the grounds and you can show me your latest artwork.”

  There’s the slightest pause, as if she were hesitant to drop these weighty matters; and then we set off together for a stroll.

  *

  “We have much work to do to make this country liveable,” I complain as we venture outside. “I should like to hear your thoughts on redesigning this palace.”

  Awyrel’s attention, however, is directed onto the grounds. “Excellency, what is that?”

  I follow her finger to see a number of my soldiers surrounding a crude snow hut in the style the humans call a “quinzhee”. A small fire out front billows smoke, and two frustrated servants struggle to restrain an adult stag, whom I recognize after a moment as M. Cloutier.

  “What is the meaning of this?” I demand, moving toward the scene.

  General Audan himself salutes me. “It’s your Prime Minister,” he snarls, pronouncing the title like an epithet. “He has encamped on your grounds and refuses repeated orders to leave.”

  “Has he now?” I ask amusedly. I brush aside two footmen and lean in to find that Prime Minister Oakes is indeed inside the quinzhee. He looks quite the worse for wear.

  “Why, Mr. Oakes,” I laugh, “whatever are you doing in there? If you are in need of proper accommodations, you need only ask!”

  “I’m on a hunger strike, Excellency,” he declares. “Until you feed the people.”

  “Then you’ll starve, you miserable ape!” shouts Audan.

  “General,” I say, “kindly leave the speaking to those of us who are trained in it.”

  I turn back toward the human. “Mr. Oakes: would you care to join me for lunch? I promise that no one will kill M. Cloutier in your absence.”

  “I’m on a hunger strike,” Mr. Oakes repeats. “I’m not eating until the people are fed.”

  “Well, I’m offering to feed you, aren’t I? You are a person, I believe.”

  “All of the people.”

  “All of them?” I tease. “Guilty and innocent? Rich and poor? Clever and stupid?”

  “All of them,” Oakes reiterates.

  “Even the evil ones? Ought they to be fed as well as the good?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even the murderers?”

  He gives me a look that might be dangerous were he a member of a more magical species. “Even the murderers,” he pronounces.

  I smile at him. “How very egalitarian.”

  Mr. Oakes does not reply.

  “Misguided, of course,” I say, assuming a scholastic tone. “Your premise is that all people are equally worthy; I assure you they are not. Some”—I gesture at him—“are more deserving than others. You are fortunate to find yourself on the correct side of this inequality.”

  “Says who?”

  “Say I,” I reply with a giggle. “And I am the one who decides who will serve and who will eat.”

  With that, I take up a handful of dead leaves and snow. “Behold.”

  Presently, the dirty snowball becomes a ruby red apple. I hold it out to him, fully aware of the symbolism in local culture. “Go on.”

  Mr. Oakes looks first to me, then to the apple. There is a clear note of longing in his expression—as one might expect when holding food out to a starving man. But then he does something I do not expect: he takes the apple…and feeds it to the deer.

  “Feed the people,” he says again.

  I cannot help but to laugh at this. “Mr. Oakes, you never fail to surprise.”

  The Prime Minister’s lips curl slightly upwards, and then he looks away. “Yeah…”

  Suddenly, he spins around and whips a snowball directly toward my face; I am only barely fast enough to explode it into powder before it makes contact.

  A wave of shocked silence passes through my retainers. Even the deer seems rooted in place. Audan’s hand flies to his sword, but I stay his arm.

  I fix my gaze on Mr. Oakes, who glares up at me defiantly.

  “Not that surprising, perhaps,” I say.

  And then, because one cannot allow an insult to go entirely unanswered, I summon up a mighty gust of wind that collapses his quinzhee and snuffs his fire.

  “Permission to run this hobo off the grounds, Excellency?” asks Audan eagerly.

  “No,” I say. “Leave him. The man is intent upon starving, and I see no reason to stop him. Leave the deer too.”

  I turn away from Mr. Oakes and sidle up to Awyrel. “I must make a note to spread news of this encounter as well,” I whisper in her ear. “Mr. Oakes could scarcely be playing his role better!”

  “I don’t think he knows he’s playing a role, Excellency.”

  “No matter. By the time I actually get around to acquiescing to his demands in a week or two, he shall be a positive icon of resistance.”

  “A week or two, Excellency?”

  “Indeed,” I reply. “Long enough to thin the herd somewhat, but short enough that the surviving humans will still count it as a victory.”

  Awyrel parts her lips, as if searching for words; but before she has a chance, General Audan entreats my attention. “May I have a word, Excellency?”

  I shrug apologetically at Awyrel. “Walk with me, General.”

  *

  “You had some critical matter to discuss?”

  “A number of them, Excellency,” Audan replies. “To begin with: I wish to register my objection to your appointment of this hairy reprobate to the office of Prime Minister.”

  “I beg your pardon!?” I exclaim, scarce able to believe his impropriety.

  Audan sets his jaw firmly. “I realize it’s not my place to question policy—”

  “No, General, it is not.”

  “—but it was I who secured this colony for the Everglacian realm; I who led the armies that cut through the humans’ puny soldiers like pillars of butter; and I who halted this slaughter at the very instant the Crown accepted their surrender. I have served her Majesty fitfully; and I am now charged with this colony’s security. And as such, I am entitled to know why you insult me by granting this barbarian high office!”

  I should have anticipated this. Audan is much too proud to accept any fate save immediate execution for any man who embarrasses him.

  “I appreciate your candour,” I reply. “Therefore, I shall be equally blunt. I appointed Mr. Oakes because doing so serves the interests of the Crown. Your feelings on the matter did not enter into my decision, nor will they in the future. Simply put: you are not here to set policy, General; you are here to implement it. And, frankly, we walk a fine enough blade with regard to our stewardship of humanity that I hardly need the input of amateurs upset over trivial slights. Do I make myself clear?”

  Audan puffs himself up as if to reply—but then, apparently, remembers himself. “Yes, Excellency,” he says instead. “I…apologize for the misunderstanding. I only wished to register my perspective as a member of court.”

  It is a lie, of course, but a diplomatic one. I accept it in the spirit it is offered. “Your perspective is duly noted, General, and I thank you for your circumspection. Was there anything else?”

  Audan seems to stand down somewhat. “Yes. A personal matter, Excellency.”

  “Go on.”

  “I have received word,” he begins, “that her Majesty has seen fit to grant me ducal honours. I wish to inform you that I shall be returning to Everglace for the ceremony upon the next quarter moon.”

  Ah. Audan elevated to the nobility—that at least explained why he felt he could get away with such impropriety. The idea, though, amuses me more than it should: Audan the brutal mercenary, strutting around in noble finery, the least graceful man ever to be called ‘your grace’.

  Then the deeper implications occur to me and I freeze in momentary horror and disgust.

  I force a smile. “I congratulate you upon your honours, General.”

  He nods curtly, half-smiling, like a man who knows his world is falling into place; then he goes to rejoin his troops.

  Bastard.

  *

  I find Awyrel seemingly helping Mr. Oakes to reconstruct his quinzhee, and pull her aside.

  “Yes, Excellency?”

  “I must become unmarriageable within the next three days.”

  “Excellency?”

  “My mother is going to make Audan a Duke,” I explain.

  “Oh. Congratulations to him, I suppose.”

  “My dear girl, I love you fiercely, but you can be so very slow sometimes. Don’t you see? If Audan were a Duke, then he would be marriageable to members of the Royal Family!”

  “…You think that he will ask you?”

  “Oh, there can be no doubt of his intentions!” I say. “He has been courting me in his fumbling, inept way ever since he first came to court, and he hardly makes a secret of his ambitions! No sooner will he have his new title than will he ask my mother for my hand!”

  “And you think that she will give it?”

  “Of course! She must recognize his intentions as well as I; why else grant him title? Oh, but this would be just like that wretched woman! Giving away her daughter to bring a military upstart into the fold!”

  “Well, can you just…say no?” Awyrel asks.

  “Of course not! Not having sworn fealty to my mother!”

  I force myself to calm down somewhat. “My only hope of escaping this boor is to render myself unmarriageable. And it must be by the laws of this country, because my mother would surely have thought of everything in Everglace!”

  “I shall find something, Excellency,” she promises.

  “See that you do.”

  Pox and tiend! Whoever would have guessed that there would be so much politics involved in governing a country?