Page 46 of A Queen's Game
Valeriya
Valeriya rocked her sleeping son in her arms, thankful for the minutes of peace. Still a toddler, his innocence was so pure, his happiness so raw. He was the bright spot among the darkness of living in Satiros, of being married to Wyltam. It had taken years to conceive him—years of pursuing Wyltam’s bed—and her reward was her sweet little Mycaub.
Though she understood her fate would lead to a marriage with a male, it hadn’t made that experience any less taxing. No, males held none of her interest, romantic or otherwise; yet, as Queen of Satiros, she knew the responsibility of birthing an heir. Knowing hadn’t made the process any easier—for both her and Wyltam. The rift between them widened during those excruciating years.
Valeriya smoothed back the black hair from his eyes—hair like his father’s. Sometimes Valeriya couldn’t believe she tolerated Wyltam long enough to make Mycaub. It was worse than any layer of the hells but also her duty. Her reward was her sweet boy, who was so small, so precious, and nothing like his father beyond looks. She pressed a kiss onto his forehead.
Those moments were few and fleeting ever since Wyltam urged her to leave Mycaub with a nursemaid, a fight Valeriya had lost. Wyltam once again got what he wanted.
Valeriya wracked her brain, trying to remember the last time Wyltam had sought their son. Though Mycaub was his heir, Wyltam spent little time with him. That should bother her, but she was thankful for his absence. She didn’t want Mycaub to turn out like him.
She stood and brought Mycaub over to his crib, laying the sleeping toddler inside. He stirred but continued to sleep. Gazing at her son, she found the courage she needed to do her task that evening. Everything Valeriya did was to be a better leader, to make Satiros better for all. One day, the people would know her sacrifice, and she’d be immortal by the memory of her work.
The sky darkened with the setting sun as she left the Royal’s Wing, winding her way through the sprawling palace grounds. Reaching the Southwestern Gate would take half an hour unless she ran into any issues. Valeriya had to be alert as she crossed the campus, for she was the Queen, a job she enjoyed having, but it was harder for her to sneak away.
In Reyila’s court, Valeriya found discreet movements yielded the best information. As the future Queen, Valeriya’s sister relied on her and a half-elf named Katya to help strengthen her political position.
Katya was Valeriya’s friend, training partner, and lover. The tough half-elf matched Valeriya in ferocity; years of practice turned the females into accomplished mages. Both Katya and Valeriya’s mage abilities were unknown to those in Satiros.
Her heart ached for the half-elf who stood shorter than Valeriya, yet still stared down at everyone. Her cropped black hair, her turquoise eyes, her piercings, the notch missing in herear. The details came back to Valeriya, emotion overwhelming her. No, she needed to focus, to make sure no one followed her.
At that hour, the palace and its grounds remained empty, people letting down their guard. The elven court thought no one was around at this hour, but Valeriya watched, seeing people’s true colors. The dirty secrets of Satiros’s court revealed themselves. She knew which marriages were doing well and which ones were not—that is how she learned of Royir’s appetite for young blondes, often watching various females leave his suite when Grytaine was away.
Through Valeriya’s ability to be stealthy, their secrets manifested. But remaining unseen was hard when everyone knew her face. Decades of practicing magic gave her an advantage: she could change her appearance.
True transformation magic was difficult, hard to control. To fully transform a living form took a considerable amount ofaithyr—or magical energy. Few possessed that ability. Only the most talented, most legendary, could do so. Though Valeriya was a proud female, she wasn’t too proud to admit she didn’t have such ability. Instead, she knew how to work around it. Sometimes, just seeming to be a different person was sufficient.
Aware of her surroundings as she slinked through the Central Garden, ensuring no one trailed her and that the vicinity was empty, at least from what she could see. Valeriya stepped into the tangle of plant overgrowth, slipping into the shadows of a tree whose boughs curved towards the ground, creating a dome that shielded her from prying eyes. With a deep breath, she silenced her thoughts and rid herself of all emotions. Her focus remained on the thrum of aithyr energy around her, ever-present and often missed by those not trained to look.
The inexperienced didn’t understand the feel of aithyr. For Valeriya, her conscious reached out like hands, dipping into the unseen power that flowed around her like a river. Whenher mind focused, she could pull that energy towards herself, allowing it to enter her body.
But aithyr was hard to control. It was like holding the fluidity of a river in her arms without the bucket, needing to keep the ever-moving substance restrained. Doing such took incredible mental strength, which she’d gained through her training.
While her thoughts and emotions were at bay, Valeriya pulled on the aithyr, imagining the energy within her mind. As it entered her body, she surged with power—a thick, shifting substance that moved underneath her skin. The aithyr was unruly, fighting against her and threatening to break free. The amount Valeriya needed to perform the magic made the fight worse, yet she held on, her mind forming what she needed the aithyr to become. She manipulated it, her body performing the process of magic, converting the energy into its new form. A thin blanket of energy coated her as she focused, covering her from head to toe.
When she looked down, she saw the servant’s uniform covering a foreign body, knowing her face and hair had changed as well. Underneath the appearance, her body remained in its natural build. If someone were to touch her, they wouldn’t feel the curves of the servant or the simple dress. They would feel Valeriya’s body and the dress she wore beneath. To outside eyes, it was only her appearance that changed.
The hard part was maintaining the appearance, her mind needing to control the magic surrounding her. That’s how her training gave her an advantage. She and Katya used to focus on magic while sparring with one another. Katya specialized in illusion magic, giving her the upper hand at concentrating while fighting. Valeriya was the better fighter, able to attack with weapons and magic while concentrating. The rivalry between them was intense, one that Valeriya upheld until it was no longer a competition.
She shook such thoughts from her mind as she stepped back onto the path, pretending to be the meek servant going about her duties. Valeriya wound through the elaborate gardens, making her way to the Southwestern Gate. As she neared it, she kept her head down, hearing voices chatter from down the palace hall. She darted around the corner, avoiding eye contact with the two guards that walked towards her.
“Aye, you,” one of them called, a bemused grin on his face.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice high pitched and sweet. That was the downside to using an illusion: the magic didn’t alter her voice.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” They stepped closer to her. The male talking had a thick neck and short, blond hair. His quiet companion was skinnier, with black curls pulled back into a tail.
“I’m busy, so leave me be. It’s been a long day.” The dismissive tone in her voice didn’t prevent the guard from stepping into her path, holding out an arm to lean against the wall.
“Oh, you servants love to act like you’re so busy. Try being a soldier like me, and then you’ll have long days.” He flexed his muscles for Valeriya’s servant visage.
She withheld an eye roll. “You are so right, but I must be off,” she said, sidestepping him. With a graceful twirl, she avoided his hand that reached out to grab her and continued down the hall. If his touch had landed, he would have felt her actual body and ruined her disguise.
“Don’t be shy. You servant girls are so skittish. What’s your name?” He began walking with her, his awkward friend trailing behind. She needed to lose them or else she would be late.
Earlier that day, she sent a message through magic, setting up the drop time and location to a contact. Simple messages were easy to pass with magic by harnessing aithyr andtransforming it into words that echo in the target’s mind. Most found that magic intrusive, and she only used it when necessary.
Valeriya turned away from the corridor that led to the Southwestern Gate. Instead, she walked towards the Guard’s Garrison. Noise trailed from the dining hall as guards filed in and out from the late dinner shift, the males still trailing behind her.
