Page 132 of A Queen's Game
Valeriya traveled the streets of Satiros, the city’s alleyways and buildings growing narrower, the rooftops rising higher as she journeyed into Rambler Grove. The district was more like its nickname—The Weeds. Scraggly, with tall, spindly buildings made of whatever material was available. Life bloomed from every nook and cranny, be it a well-planned space for housing or dense urban gardens for its denizens. The resilient residences proved they could grow anywhere and through anything. What started as a mocking name for the district became a symbol.
When Valeriya arrived in Satiros—two weeks before her public arrival date—she snuck into the city disguised. Disgusted, she found The Weeds and its dense living conditions. Over the past seven years, she had visited a handful of times per month to support the pilinos businesses in the district. Not all battles were fought with magic and swords. By stealing the crown’s coin, she funded the district. When her and her sister’s plan came to fruition, the pilinos would need resources to help upliftthemselves; otherwise, wealth could keep them trapped in a status below the elven.
In a different form from her other trips into the city, she donned the visage of an older half-elven female she knew in Reyila. Gray marred her temples, magic shifting her body to look curvy, and she wore the plain face of the steward of Reyila’s castle. By rotating who she appeared as in The Weeds, she minimized the risk of people recognizing her and asking too many questions.
While the rest of Satiros was beautiful, she admired the practical aesthetic of the district, where they left no space unused. They turned parks into community food gardens a few years back, thanks to Valeriya’s anonymous donation. With the food prices marked up for pilinos and less lucrative careers, many couldn’t purchase the nutrition they needed.
The ever-growing refugee numbers didn’t help with the shortage of food and space. Over the past couple of years, the population grew by a third, making the already limited area tighter. With every donation Valeriya made, she hoped to give them a chance to thrive in Satiros, to set them up for the future.
A few people nodded their heads at Valeriya as she wound through the packed streets, thankful the cloud cover snuffed the sun’s heat. Even with the shade, sweat layered Valeriya’s skin. Not much further was her first stop—the refugee intake building.
A human boy with a crop of curly brown hair almost ran into Valeriya, but she dodged his clumsy movements. He offered a quick apology before darting down an alley. She could only smile. To give such a boy the freedom to be careless was worth every risk.
With each visit, The Weeds’ denizens reminded her more of Reyila. Her heart longed to show Katya what she accomplished in her short time in Satiros, wishing to hear her husky voice encourage her to keep going. After killing those males, shewanted Katya’s assurance that she was on the right path. Perhaps Valeriya should just message her, though they promised to cut off their relationship. Would she want to speak with Valeriya? Would she still care?
Occasionally through magic, she received a message from Nystanya, brief words exchanged between the two. Her sister was proud, saying that Valeriya had to continue working with Chorys Dasi and change would come; it was only a matter of time. All she could do was listen and hold her head high.
Valeriya arrived outside a brown brick building that sat at the center of The Weeds, deep within the district and away from elven eyes. When she entered, she met the tired stares of dirt-covered refugees. A young half-elven girl was sniffling next to her human mother, who tried to hush the girl. A half-elf in a white vest made their way to each refugee, taking their name and statement. Another handed out food and water to the small group that occupied the space.
“I have a donation to drop off,” Valeriya said to the half-elf with the clipboard.
The round-faced female spared her a glance. “Go on back. Lily will help you.”
Valeriya offered her thanks, stepping through a narrow doorway into a makeshift storage room beyond. A small human female barked orders at two males as they arranged care kits for the refugees. “No, no—that pack is for the mother and daughter. This one is for the old man,” she snapped, earning a glower from one of the males.
“Are you Lily?” Valeriya removed a canvas knapsack from her back.
“Aye, I am. What do you want?”
Valeriya hid the smile tugging at her lips. Such anger and petulance wouldn’t be possible for someone like her anywhere else in Syllogi. “Food donation,” she said, handing over her packfilled to the brim with loaves of bread and hard cheeses. At her waist, she removed a heavy coin purse. “And a monetary donation.”
Lily gave her an uneasy look, taking both bags. She glanced at the food and handed it to one of the males. “Distribute this among the current kits.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to the coin purse. The bag slipped from her hands as she looked inside. Valeriya caught the bag before it hit the floor, only a few gold coins getting loose.
“That… that’s at least five hundred gold.” Lily’s jaw went slack, the males whipping their heads in their direction.
“Five hundred and fifty, to be exact,” Valeriya said with a smile. That haul was the largest sum she had swiped from the royal coffers, and only half of what she took this time. “All to provide refugees with the room, food, and clothing they need to get off their feet.”
“But how?” Lily said, taking the bag back and shaking her head. “This is more than any single half-elf can make, even in Satiros.”
“The fewer questions you ask, the better.” Valeriya offered a sincere smile. “Not stolen, but a blessing, if you will.”
“Gods must bless us on this day,” Lily said, running a hand through her ash blonde hair. “Thank you. What’s your name?”
“Consider it an anonymous donation.”
Lily glanced at Valeriya, then back at the gold and the food. “Well, it’s appreciated. With so many refugees arriving every week, we’ve been running low on supplies.” The coin jingled as she shook the bag. “This will make an immense difference. From all of us, thank you.”
“Just trying to help,” Valeriya said, turning to leave. By helping, she ensured the future for them all in Satiros—ensured her legacy as the Queen who reformed the city-state.
With a light heart, Valeriya strode through the city streets to her next destination. Clustered in groups off to the side of the main walkway, she gleaned information from conversations.
“It has to be a hoax. Is she really a half-elf?” someone said.
“Yes! From Enomenos, married to Minister Keyain,” their friend answered.
“No, it’s a lie. She’s just an elf with odd ears, not half-elven.”
“Well, I heard it from an elf who worked in the palace. They said she even knew how to bake in the kitchens!”
