Page 36 of Jailer to the Death God
“Thank you, my lady.” The guard who spoke to me is sweating a little, probably fearful of becoming caught up in some political standoff.
As I glide through the halls and into the Council Chamber, I keep my stepmother in my mind. I don’t remember my real mother, but my father’s second wife was a true mother to me for fifteen years. She was a princess of Yurstin, a land to the south, and she met my father at a rulers’ summit in Ivris. When in the public eye, she behaved with a consummate grace I always admired; but she was much less regal in private—playful, kind, with a sparkle in her eye. She could be stern at times—anxious or angry about one thing or another—but somehow her love bled through those moments too.
The agony of her absence is a little less when I walk like her, when I speak as she would have spoken, when I let my image of her guide me through my queenly duties.
“Your Majesty!” It’s the chief manager of the palace household, hustling along a corridor toward me, carrying a sheaf of papers. I left so early for the square this morning that I didn’t have time to meet with him yet, either.
“Walk with me,” I tell him. “I’m heading into the Council Chamber, but it shouldn’t take long. You can come in as well.”
“Are you certain, Your Majesty?” His round face flushes, and he looks terrified at the idea.
“Quite certain.” I take his arm, towing him gently along. Maybe I can use him as an excuse to get out of this council session quickly.
I sweep into the Council Chamber, adopting a manner that’s both coolly capable and extraordinarily busy. “Esteemed council members, I can only spare a few moments, since there is much to do today. As you can see I have the Chief Manager with me, and we need to go over some—”
“That’s all very well, Your Majesty,” cuts in the Duchess of Louge, “but this Council is distinctly displeased by your blatant disregard of our communications. You were absent from a scheduled session, and you have not responded to multiple messages delivered to you directly. This Council has grave concerns about two important matters—firstly, the foreign healer who has been traipsing about, dispensing death and false hopes.”
“Dispensinglife, I think you mean,” I interject. “No children have died of plague since he arrived. And that is a miracle of the gods, well worth celebrating. Let us drink to it, since I see you all have libations at hand.” I nod to the bottles and goblets on the table. One of the councilmen near me has a full cup of wine, so I snatch it and raise it high. “To the lives of the little ones!”
Mumbling faintly, the council members lift their goblets and drink. I take note of which ones seem most enthusiastic. Lord Redglaive, Master Coors, Lady Elanann, and a couple others.
“Good work has been done in the city,” I tell them. “And starting tomorrow, I will be traveling with Vaughn the Healer beyond the walls, throughout the countryside. In my absence I will be appointing Lord Redglaive, Master Coors, and Lady Elanann to handle the day-to-day affairs of the palace and the city.”
Lord Venniroth half-rises from his seat. “Forgive me, Majesty, but that seems rather impetuous, especially considering there are others better qualified, with more experience in such things.”
“Nevertheless my appointment stands. Gentlemen, my lady, I will meet with you later this afternoon, around five bells, to discuss the details. And now, Duchess, I believe you had a second concern?”
I’ve been speaking swiftly, barely pausing for breath, not allowing any of them to jump in with the questions I can see churning in their eyes—questions about “Vaughn the Healer,” his strange magic, and his origins.
The Duchess of Louge looks taken aback by my abrupt attention. She casts a glance at Venniroth, as if she is an actor on the stage and he is the one giving her cues when she forgets her lines. It would be comical if I wasn’t walking a tightrope in the same show, trying not to slip even though they’ve oiled the rope.
“The matter of the Queen’s marriage,” says Venniroth.
“Oh, yes, the matter of your marriage, Majesty.” The Duchess nods. “Three days have lapsed since we spoke to you of the matter. Four days remain, and yet you have not made any attempt to court eligible men who might join you in the rulership.”
“I have been prioritizing the lives of my people over my personal relationships, as you so wisely reminded me to do during our last meeting.” I give her a brilliant smile. “But as it so happens, I have—um—I have planned a dinner and dance tonight. The Chief Manager and I were just speaking of it, weren’t we?”
I squeeze his arm firmly, and the poor manager squeaks, “We were? Oh, yes, yes, we were. A small dinner—”
“The largest dinner we can manage,” I continue, still smiling, still squeezing his arm. “We’ll be sending out messengers within the hour to invite all the eligible men in the city. Survivors only, of course. It wouldn’t do for me to marry and then have my husband perish from the plague, now would it? Allow me to extend personal invitations to a few of my Council—Master Ward of the Merchants’ Guild, Captain Yerron, Lord Jestin….” I pause, looking around the table as if hunting for more unmarried or widowed men. “Oh, and Lord Venniroth.”
Placing him as an afterthought was intentional, and judging by the flush on his cheeks, he knows it. The Council can force me to choose a husband, but they cannot force me to marryhim.I won’t. I will find some other man who is palatable to the Council—and hopefully not altogether distasteful to me.
16
When I land hastily in the courtyard before my throne, I release a sigh of relief.
There is no one here but me.
No interlopers have draped themselves across my throne. It remains as it always has been—a gigantic edifice of bone, antlers, and moss, marked with symbols of my divine power. Atop its peak rests the massive skull of the stag—the first kill of mankind. I could not save that magnificent animal’s life, but I keep his skull as a reminder to myself of the cruelty of humans. More than that, it has become an emblem to mortals, a symbol of my merciless justice.
The sheer emptiness and silence of my palace reassures me. But I need more proof that I retain full control of this realm. I need to check on the furnace, and I must summon my hounds, to remind them who their master is.
Leaping into the air again, I speed toward the furnace. Souls drift down from the holes in the sky, from the passages between the mortal plane and this one, from all the kingdoms and unclaimed lands of men. Those souls flow in a neverending stream toward the furnace, though they pass through one by one.
Time has a different meaning here. While I’m in my own realm, I’m conscious of how time is passing in the mortal plane. However, that measure of time has little effect in the Unlife. I can accomplish a week’s worth of tasks here, within a single day of mortal time.
But I’m already feeling the pull of the magical bond between me and the Queen. The icy grip of my chains is tightening, constricting my limbs.
