Chapter 27
The seamstress setsup a makeshift salon in the castle. She is now one of the “elite few” who’s able to see me and has, by my understanding, been intensely vetted by Eldas. It’s hard to believe it’s now been over a week since the attack. In some ways, it still seems like yesterday. I’m still jumping at every sound and movement in the corner of my eye when I round corners. In other ways, it’s like an eternity.
Rinni escorts me to a room with large windows that overlook Quinnar on three sides—almost like a closed-in balcony. Here, the seamstress has set up three tables under each window, yards of fabric, lace, and jewels glittering in the sunlight. I’m directed to stand on a pedestal in the center of the room as Rinni and Hook stand guard outside the door.
The seamstress steps around me. She flicks her fingers and invisible ice is dragged over my skin as measuring ribbons unfurl down my arms and legs. I do as she instructs, holding out one arm and then the other. The measurements are endless and it gives my mind time to wander beyond the window panes.
Quinnar is getting dressed up like a spring maiden. Heavy garlands of wildflowers plucked from the fields that my room overlooks have been magically woven across awnings, balconies, and porches. Minstrels have begun walking the streets, standing on benches surrounding the central lake and belting their songs.
It’s a joyous veneer on a dying world. The throne was less aggressive but somehow more exhausting than the last time. Its toll is less physical and felt more in the recesses of my magic—a hollowing out of the powers I have.
My power—the last power of a long line of Human Queens—is diminishing, and I fear for this world if Eldas and I don’t end the cycle.
I frown at the thought.
“Apologies, Majesty, did I prick you?” the seamstress asks, looking up from the muslin she’s draping over my body.
“Oh, no, I’m fine.” I force a smile. I had been frowning at the realization that I’ve begun to care for this world—not just in the way that I care for anything living. No…I care for it deeper than that. Perhaps it’s the throne, or perhaps it’s Eldas, but I’m beginning to care for Midscape as though it could be a home to me.
I stare out at the statue of the first Human Queen, kneeling before the first Elf King, and can’t help but wonder if they will someday make a statue of me—the last queen. There’s no way to be certain that I am the last… But a nagging inkling whispers with certainty that I am. One way or another, the Human Queens will end with me.
What would you do?I wonder with an aching heart, wishing the first queen could hear me. If only you could guide me…
“Your Majesty!” the seamstress squeaks as I step off of the pedestal, interrupting her work. Muslin falls from my hips.
“I’m sorry, just a moment, I need a better look at something.” I quickly cross to the windows, staring down at the statue.
From this vantage, I can see details that are hidden by the queen’s hands when standing at ground level. Nestled in her cupped hands is a sprout. I was right—she’s not kneeling before him, she is burying something. And that something is a plant.
“When was that statue built?” I ask.
“Excuse me?”
“The one in the center of the lake, when was it created?”
The seamstress hums in thought. “I’m not rightly sure. It’s always been in Quinnar. Perhaps by the second or third Human Queen.”
One of the first five queens—someone whose journal I’m missing. “If it’s that old, how are the details still preserved?”
“I believe the Elf King tends to it.” She motions back to the center of the room. “May we resume, Your Majesty?”
I go back to the pedestal, mind whirring. The sculpture was an early creation, when the throne was young and the memory of the first queen was fresh. Is there a meaning hidden in it? Or is it truly just to honor that early queen? Those questions lead me to wonder what it might actually be depicting… Is it the creation of the Fade, or redwood throne, perhaps?
My thoughts continue to spiral around what I’ve read in journals, searching for a link to this revelation of the statue’s true nature. I might be reading into it too much. But I must find a way to break the cycle. That’s the only solution. If I don’t, Midscape will be in danger.
Then, I return to Capton and everything I’ve ever wanted.
But what do I want?
“What do you want?” the cheery seamstress echoes my thoughts.
“I’m sorry, what?” I blink back to reality. She motions to the table of fabrics.
“For your dress, Your Majesty. What do you want? Silk, or velvet? Or perhaps chiffon? I think jewel tones for your complexion but I want to make sure I incorporate your opinion. After all, a woman’s natural beauty is enhanced best by her own confidence.”
She would lay an egg if she knew that what would enhance my confidence best would be a sturdy pair of canvas trousers and some kind of breathable shirt or tunic that I didn’t mind getting absolutely filthy.
“I trust your judgment,” I say, finally.