Page 34 of Of Realms and Chaos

What I would have given to alter the fae crest, to get rid of the gold and make something new. Something that represented my strength and resilience, that highlighted the change I would bring to the realm.

“Was the marriage arranged? How old was her king consort when he passed? Has she remarried?”

Henry looked surprised by my line of questioning, as if I was asking the wrong ones. Every part of my mind was racing with thoughts and plans and strategies, each coming together as the information came in.

Wrath stayed silent, his yellow eyes focused on me with an intensity that was impossible to miss. Over the last day, he had studied me that way, like I was a problem to be solved—one that had baffled him from the start. His gray fur was silky, body small, and long tail swishing back and forth. Calm, for now.

“Yes, seventy-one, and no,” Henry answered, drawing my attention back to him. “Why?”

A mortal queen who lived a life of rules and expectations, never making choices for herself. She wed who she was told, the man older than she and doubtfully her first choice. Two years after the death of her husband, she still had not remarried. Why would she when being unwed meant freedom?

Not so different from a fae princess who suffered in the same way.

“What is the significance of the raven?” I prodded, earning an eye roll from the Sun. One thing about Henry was that he maintained a short leash on his emotions. If he was happy, sad, angry, annoyed, he showed it.

A horrible courtier he would make.

When I refused to fall victim to his displeasure, he huffed out a breath and answered.

“Well, to the demons it means intelligence and insight. We view it as a symbol for wisdom.”

I nodded, feeling the resolve form within me.

“The fae think similarly. We believe the creature represents prophecy and transformation—the belief in oneself and the ability to morph into something better. What a leap, to a raven from a snake. A cunning and chaotic thing, ever changing and shedding to fit a new mold. Even the colors are vastly different. Green and yellow to red and purple, a sign of power, femininity, and royalty,” I mused.

The kingdom of Behman was not only the smallest but also the poorest. Their ports were closest to Eoforhild, the waters far enough from The Mist that there was no true danger. Still, the red hue on the horizon was enough to make them nearly deserted, few ships willing to dock there.

Henry and I had portaled to Betovere, the two of us disguised so we could board a ship headed to Maliha, the kingdom that Sterling’s family ruled over. I had briefly seen Isle Healer, but in my grief and drunkenness, I had not cared to take in the sights around me. The moment we landed in Maliha, we portaled to Behman and got to work. Even in that small glimpse of Isle Healer and Maliha, it was clear how Behman struggled.

The residents were thin, their eyes sunken in, clothes stained and ripped. Every aspect of life within this kingdom seemed dull and painful, the only thing bringing some semblance of joy and health being the obscene amount of trees and greenery.

Why would a new queen—one who had watched her kingdom fall victim to poverty through no fault of her own—want to keep a sigil crafted and worshiped by ancestors who let her throne crumble? Why would a woman who spent her life being told who to marry and what to say and how to dress want to serve under the cunning snake and violent sword?

“Ash, can you please tell me what is going on in that terrifying head of yours?” Henry asked, his voice a sharp plea.

Wrath, who had questioned me extensively after we portaled to the inn yesterday, seemed to catch on before Henry did. The dalistori knew quite a bit about why we were fighting against the fae. Though I left out much of my personal suffering, I imagined he had come to his own conclusions about my life and relationship with Mia and Xavier.

“You think she will rally to your cause because she, too, has lived a choiceless life.” Wrath’s voice hung in the air, that haunting tone taking on a sense of finality as it echoed through the silence. I wondered if he, like the afriktor, knew more than a normal creature. If he had a sense of what was to come.

Henry knew then where my thoughts had gone, the plan I was concocting. Whether or not he understood after two centuries of being loved by a mother and father who adored him—albeit in strange and rather violent ways—I did not know, but the look on his face seemed to say that he would follow my lead on this. That he trusted me.

“Shah gaining the crown was a unique opportunity. She had the chance to start fresh and mold the kingdom into something new, something she viewed as better. Yet she was still wed to a man she likely had no interest in but who probably had quite a bit of interest in her and that crown. It is hard to make big changes when your consort is an old man with little desire to alter a system that stands to benefit him. Those who gain from an oppressive system care not for those who will suffer beneath it. Yet Shah seems to want change. Her people love her and talk highly of her. How many of them mentioned her when we spoke to them? At least two from what you have told me.”

Nodding, Henry brought a finger to his chin, seeming to contemplate what I said. I waited patiently for him to chime in, to confirm what I knew in my heart was true.

“Yes, they do. She hosts balls to raise coin for the needy and drastically reduced her consumption to donate as well. The first woman we spoke to said that Shah had opened up a sort of shelter for women in need, specifically those who have been victims of a man. She is a spearhead for programs that feed the hungry and clothe the poor.”

“She is a dreamer,” I whispered, thinking back to that night months ago when Bellamy had first come to me during one of my nightmares. Recalling his words and my pessimistic beliefs.

Even now—with the loss of Winona, Pino, and the residents of Haven—I thought of the world as a place too dark to hope for light, myself too wicked for dreaming, but maybe enough people with influence and control could make something better.

Maybe I had been wrong.

Looking up, I ran over to my satchel, digging through it until I found the pencil with Bellamy’s note still wrapped safely around it. He would sense me touching it, prepared to whisk it back to him the second I let it go.

I am eating with Noe, Luca, Cyprus, and Lian. They are arguing about strategy and dessert, and all I can think is that your sarcastic jibes would make this far more entertaining.

I miss you.

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