Page 9 of Foundling

Leita could think of a half-dozen cousins truly gifted with magic and many more with the tact and grace befitting a Queen. Any would have been a better choice.

But, of course, Amaranthe had taken that choice away. Usurping the order of things, slaughtering her own family, it was by mere luck and circumstance that Leita now possessed her throne. She was all the faelands had left.

“Don’t you understand that?” she asked the dim and damp. “We’re stuck together.”

A little shudder reverberated through the cool, thick air.

The only way she could describe it to Lady Eilean was that the magic was…frightened. It reminded Leita of fawns she’d come across before, huddled in the grass, waiting for mothers who might not return.

Leita had been such a fawn.

Just as Thalia had found her and looked after her, Leita had stayed with fawns she found in the wilds. She waited with them for their mothers to return, and if they never did, it was she and Thalia who protected them until they were big enough to join a herd.

She’d watched over countless fawns in her years. She could be gentle.

But the magic, terrified and untrusting, wouldn’t be swayed.

Standing from her seat on a flat rock, Leita dusted herself off. “Fine then, have it your way. I’m leaving for a while anyhow.”

She took the steps back up into the palace proper, waiting to see if she and the magic would call each other’s bluff, but no, it didn’t even bid her farewell.

Her frustrated sigh tickled her nostrils, and Leita pinched her nose again. It wasn’t just dust but a cloying miasma that clung to much of the palace. Not quite mold, not quite dust, it lay in thick, muzzy mats that itched the skin and irritated the eyes.

No one understood what it was or how to get rid of it. Everything from magic to brooms to fire had been tested, but every time, it appeared again the next day.

It remained thickest in those areas of the palace Amaranthe had preferred; her meditation room, her boudoir, her library. Leita had strayed into that wing of the palace only once, driven quickly away by the lingering scents of decay and debauchery.

Between the miasma and the destroyed citadel, only the north wing of the palace remained habitable. It was where she and a handful of others resided, most of the usable chambers sparsely furnished.

Tamerlan, as castellan, worked fervently to sort out the niceties of furniture and decoration, but there was a general attitude amongst Leita and her council that there wasn’t much of a point until the miasma could be cleared. It had a way of infesting everything it touched, leaving behind a musty, unpleasant odor in hair and cloth.

Leita suspected the ultimate solution to the miasma was for her to fully bond with the faelands and its magic, which unfortunately meant a problem without determinate end.

Sunlight from the landing peeked into the steep staircase, and Leita took the final steps two at a time, eager to reemerge into the sun. Blowing out a big breath and shaking out her wings, she tried, probably in vain, to knock off any lingering dust.

The clip-clop of hooves announced the arrival of Thalia. The white mare’s velveteen muzzle snuffled at Leita’s shoulder as she stretched.

There you are. I was worried I’d have to come looking for you.

As if you could manage all those stairs.

A hot rush of air blasted Leita’s face, and Thalia stamped a front hoof indignantly. So rude to your elders. Who raised you, a bunch of badgers?

You did, mama mare.

Ugh, don’t call me that.

But it’s what you are. My mare mama.

Perhaps that awful dust affects the mind, too. Thalia regarded her seriously with eyes so dark purple, they reminded Leita of berry juice. You’d tell me if you felt feverish.

Yes. But I don’t.

Good. They wouldn’t let us leave if you’re ill. Nickering, Thalia turned to point her lilac-colored horn toward the crystal pavilion. Speaking of, he’s been waiting for you.

With a grimace, Leita crossed the hypostyle hall, its friezes and reliefs thankfully free of miasma, and passed through the peaked arch leading out into one of the many pavilions of the palace. Each had a theme, and this one was crystals. Great formations of geodes and celestine tetragons had been arranged artfully along a winding path, each enormous crystal positioned for the light to glitter on its sharp edges.

She expected to find Tamerlan or even Marcades there to argue the case against her leaving, especially alone, but instead, she was relieved to find Allarion.