Page 20 of The Moon Blessed King
‘I can just light people on fire if they try anything,’ she reminds him. Lio, who didn’t even flinch when she accused him of failing to keep Elician safe from more than a year of torture, breathes in sharply. Cat stills in his seat.
‘Have you ever heard the sound of someone screaming while they’re burning?’ Elician asks, ice dripping from each word. She swallows, shaking her head, not trusting herself to speak. ‘Smelled their flesh as it—’
‘Elician.’ Cat very nearly whispers the word, breathing it out on an exhale that Fen barely hears.
Elician takes the napkin by his plate, wipes his hands, then mouth, then stands. ‘Wear the fucking sword.’ He marches from the room, Lio following in his shadow, and leaves silence in his wake.
No one speaks. No one eats either. The food lies before them, all, for certain, to now go to waste. ‘You should do as he says,’ Cat murmurs. Then he stands and follows Elician and Lio out. Tears prick at Fen’s eyes.
Fuck everything about today.
She pushes back from the table and flees to her room. The sabre she has been practising with rests next to her desk. Right by the letter Aliamon had given her. A letter detailing her multiple flaws but telling her she still has time to correct them. All she needs to do is behave. She is very bad at that, but reading and rereading it has become something of a nightly ritual. The last words her adoptive father had to give her, and she is still a source of shame.
She snatches at the sabre and its belt. Both clash with her chosen dress, not formal enough by far, but she loops the belt around her waist and makes sure the sheath and sword sit well at her side. She needs to run to make the start of the parliament meeting, but she still gets there before all the lords have assembled.
Everything has been prepared meticulously for this occasion. All are seated according to rank and purpose, the front row allotted specifically for Elician’s interior council. Fen sits in the first seat closest to the aisle, her hands folded in her lap, desperately trying to hold back tears. Adalei is directly across from her at the head of their gentry.
Just down the line from her sit Lord Hamad and his son, Rodans. Tall and lithe, Rodans exudes a charming aura of confidence. He is not the type of person to insult everyone he knows in the worst way possible all before breakfast. He is a dutiful son, who attends these sessions despite it not being a requirement for heirs to do so. He even joins Fen during her swordsmanship classes, and never once teases her when she fails. He waves in her direction, and she forces herself to smile at him. Wave back.
The door nearest the front of the hall opens, and everyone rises with practised ease. Lio is there, escorting Elician and Cat to two golden chairs engraved with gilded images of Soleb’s historic past. The great rush of fury that coursed through Elician at breakfast is gone, replaced with the placid demeanour she is far more familiar with seeing. He is not relaxed, but he no longer seems ready to go on the attack either. Above them, the clock strikes the top of the hour, and Elician sits the moment the toll ends. The rest of the room follows suit.
‘We welcome this, our first parliamentary session under our name,’ Elician intones, as tradition requires. He asks for the scribe’s confirmation that the proceedings are being recorded, then begins the first in a long list of required announcements. Fen stares straightahead and just focuses on breathing. On not making another fool out of herself for the third time this day.
But then, her brother is interrupted. ‘Permission to speak, Your Majesty?’ Lord Hamad asks from down the line. Elician seems more startled than anything else, as if he had memorized the order of the ceremony and had not prepared himself for any alternative. He glances awkwardly towards Calissia, sitting in the gallery above, before clenching his jaw and forcing his gaze back to Hamad. ‘Speak, our lord,’ Elician allows, sounding far more confident than he appears.
Hamad bows with his hand over his chest, low and submissive. When he straightens, he apologizes for his interruption. ‘I have much respect for you and your position, Your Majesty, and it is because of this respect that I am driven to speak.’
‘So…speak,’ Elician says. Fen bites the inside of her cheek. Rodans abruptly needs to change a laugh into an almost acceptable-sounding cough, and he is not the only one needing such an excuse.
Hamad is ignorant of the titters. He bows his head. ‘Of course, Your Majesty. Only, it has come to the attention of certain members of this body that there was a change last night to our book of laws. And I see from our schedule that such a change is not to be discussed. This is, of course, your due, but with the upcoming nuptials between you and Stello Alest, there are those in this body who are concerned as to what the future may entail for your house.’
Fen doesn’t understand.What law?‘And what concerns are they?’ Elician asks.
Hamad clears his throat. He gestures, with some small attempt at civility, towards Cat. ‘We all know that Stello Alest of Alelune is a Reaper, Your Majesty. A Reaper, especially amaleReaper, cannot provide the crown with an heir. With your decision to strike one of ourmost ancientlaws from the book – as is of course your right – forbidding the ascension of a Giver to the throne of Soleb, this body must ask if you intend for Princess Fenlia to now be your heir.’
Fen doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t think. She sits, frozen as a lake inthe deepest of winter. Her ears ring with a sudden, sharp siren of tinnitus. She cannot bring herself to look to her left or to her right. Adalei sits directly across from her, and her cousin is, for once, looking right back.
‘No,’ Elician says. ‘Adalei, daughter of King Anslian, is and always will be our heir.’ Elician’s voice sounds like it is swimming through the frozen tides of her disbelief. Shouting through the water threatening to drown her as she sits there, still and unmoving, desperate to not be perceived.
Why today? Why did this question need to be raisedtoday? When everything else had already gone so very wrong?
She has always known Adalei would be Elician’s heir. Adalei has been called such since the moment they returned to Himmelsheim. She has been primed and groomed and prepared for this very moment. She hasknownthis.
‘Is Princess Fenlia not your sister?’ Hamad asks. ‘Would that not take precedence over a cousin, regardless of how eminently qualified that cousin may be? With the law on Givers not inheriting struck down, Princess Fenlia is legally higher in the line of succession.’
‘Fenlia,’ Elician calls. It hurts to move. The muscles in her neck are too tight. She demands each one to respond to her, rallying each tendon like a cavalry set to charge. She meets her brother’s eyes. ‘Will you abdicate your place asfirstin the line of succession to confirm our cousin Adalei’s placement as my chosen heir?’
She has never considered it.
She has never wanted it.
Behave, Aliamon had insisted. This is what Elician wants. What she knows he has always wanted.
Her lips tremble as they part. Her voice is scratched and torn as she says: ‘Yes,’ too quiet for anyone to hear. She has to say it again. Louder. Braver. Stronger. ‘Yes – I abdicate.’
And her brother seems pleased by it. Pleased by the thought and the understanding that she is not his chosen. That she is less than.
As she always has been. ‘In knowing this country’s concern regarding Givers ascending to the throne, I made the choice to amend this law for one purpose alone. Crown Princess Adalei has always been my chosen heir. She and her children will be the line that rules this house after I am gone,’ Elician says to Hamad. ‘But, should theworsthappen, and my dear cousin is unable to fulfil that role, then I wish then and only then for the throne to pass to one who has long been a part of this house. Princess Fenlia is, at this time,secondin line behind the Crown Princess Adalei, to ascend only if there is no one that stands before her, and only for the length of one human lifespan so there is no threat of an eternal ruler on this sacred throne. I would not risk this country’s storied history or its fate unnecessarily. Does this satisfy this body’s understanding of this decision?’
