Page 7 of The Witch Queen

“With the thayar flowers in decline, and us being no closer to understanding why or uncovering a solution, it’s critical that I go.” A fresh wave of guilt and fear wash over me at the reminder of the danger my kingdom is in. But I don’t let it show on my face, keeping my calm and unwavering demeanor firmly in place as I listen to Nemesia’s speech. “We need to assess—carefully and delicately—whether any of the other kingdoms have experienced their own magical irregularities and if the rulers have ideas as to why this could be happening. I’m the most knowledgeable on the subject, not to mention my skill as a courtier, and we need this information. We don’t have another ten years to wait for the next Forum.” She looks at me, pleading in her eyes. I give her a slight nod, indicating I understand what she isn’t saying, though not willing to concede just yet. “Laurel,” she whispers quietly. Something about the desperation in her expression softens my resolve. I know she cares as much about the people of Thayaria as I do. If she’s letting her own fear show, she’s serious. I let out a huff of air and wave my hand.

“Fine. What do others think?” I ask, searching the eyes of those around me. Only nods and soft murmurs of agreement greet me. “If none are opposed, then I’ll follow the Council’s guidance. Nemesia will accompany me,” I decide. “Are there nominations for the second advisor to attend?”

Several advisors speak up offering a few names of seasoned diplomats. Carex, one of my youngest advisors and the current Captain of the Royal Guard, advocates strongly for himself. Nemesia’s eyes narrow. She’s never forgiven Carex for the failed romantic relationship with me, even though it ended mostly amicably after decades of courting. He has swayed a large contingent of advisors to his side when Nemesia offers another name.

“Admon should come as our second advisor. He’s attended many times, and his familiarity with the other kingdoms will prove useful in gathering information,” she says. I wonder how much of her suggestion is driven by her genuine desire to have Admon there and how much is to protect me from traveling for several weeks with a former lover.

Admon is an interesting choice. While he has attended many times in the past, he’s the eldest advisor on the Council, and doesn’t leave the capital, or even his rooms, often. More than half of the advisors nod their heads in agreement. Carex fidgets in frustration, eyes filled with annoyance he doesn’t try to hide.

“Admon, are you willing to go?” I ask.

“It would be my honor, Queen Laurel.” His warm smile softens something inside of me. I look around the room, offering the Council ample opportunity to disagree or challenge the decision.

“Your Majesty,” Carex starts. “I believe I’m an excellent choice. Not to mention I’ll be a fifth guard for you. I think you should consider—”

Nemesia cuts him off. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, Carex, you’re new to this Council, and very new to foreign relations. This is not a decision we should make lightly. We’ll vote.” She has a point. Carex has only been on the Council one year, while most of the other advisors have served for decades or even centuries.

“Those in favor of Admon?” Nemesia asks the room. At least two-thirds of the room raise their hands.

“Then it’s decided,” I say. “Nemesia and Admon, please work with Carex to bring me a shortlist of guards who should accompany us.”

They both nod, and Nemesia adds, “It will be to you by the end of the day.” Carex only fumes. I’m sure the two of them will battle it out again over who the guards will be, Carex insisting he attend himself as a guard. What I would give to watch that verbal sparring match…

Nathaniel, a towering and lanky fae male who has served for thirty years, clears his throat. His dark black eyes lock on several other advisors, as if he’s seeking their support for what he’s about to say. I notice several heads nod almost imperceptibly. This is planned, then.

“I’d like for us to discuss the matter of the barrier,” Nathaniel says, voice wavering slightly, likely because he knows this is a sensitive subject. I stiffen, not wanting to get into this conversation now. Several heads now nod enthusiastically in agreement with Nathaniel, encouraging him to continue. When he speaks again, his words are steady. “Surely after three hundred years, it’s time to lower it. The people want to be able to leave Thayaria. Our isolation causes unnecessary fear.”

“I’m not discussing this matter with the Council,” I say firmly and with all the queenly command I can muster. “This is my decision. It’s not time.”

Tension fills the air, the unsaid remarks as loud as if they’d been yelled. The Council has advocated strongly over the years to drop the mist—it’s the only topic we regularly disagree on. But they don’t know—can’t know—why the mist won’t come down any time soon.

“If you won’t drop it entirely, then perhaps we should allow more people to leave. You have the ability to let small groups cross the barrier. Surely, we can let those who’d like to leave do so without dropping the barrier entirely,” he adds. More murmuring and head nods make their way through the Council.

I resist the urge to sigh. This is yet another thing I can’t be fully honest with my advisors about. Yes, I can grant entry to small groups or merchants entering and exiting the mist, but it’s draining. Not to mention it makes me feel a little like I’m losing a part of myself every time I do it. The mist is an extension of me, and I think when I part it, I’m somehow altering or slicing open some magical source deep within me. But it’s hard to explain to a room of advisors that I fear allowing mass crossings might have negative impacts on my psyche. Instead of admitting all this, I give the hollow excuse I’ve given hundreds of times before.

“As I’ve explained multiple times, I’m not capable of allowing more than a few crossings a day, and we need to reserve those for dock workers bringing in shipments.” The looks of skepticism turned in my direction make me inwardly squirm, but I keep my expression unwavering.

“We have no more topics for today’s meeting,” Nemesia offers quickly, saving me from questions I can’t answer. Wary eyes study me, but I ignore them, despite the angry side conversations I know the dismissal of this topic will cause once the meeting adjourns.

After nodding to the Council to dismiss them from the session, they slowly filter out of the room, conversing amongst themselves. I stand back from the group, locking eyes with Nemesia and giving her a pointed look. Then I sweep out of the chamber and back down the short hallway to my suite. She follows, understanding my desire to continue the conversation in private. We walk into my sitting room turned makeshift office, Nemesia collapsing into her favorite chair. I settle into a worn leather sofa that’s seen too many conversations like this one, its supple leather familiar and comforting despite being older than most of the other furniture in the room.

“Out with it,” Nemesia says. “I know you’re going to try and convince me not to go, but I have more reasons I did not share in the Council meeting.”

“Do those other reasons have anything to do with Mazus Vicant? And a fear that he’s somehow behind the disappearance of the thayar?” I ask.

She smiles conspiratorially, a grin I’m so familiar with after three centuries of friendship. “So, you share my concern? If that’s the case, I don’t understand your hesitancy to bring me with you to the Forum. It’s on Delsar this cycle, and you know Velmara won’t try anything there. Their relationship is too tenuous.” Velmara and the kingdom closest to them, Delsar, located just south of Velmara’s capital city, have almost as bad a relationship with one another as Velmara and Thayaria.

I sigh. “I agree that we need to use everything at our disposal to uncover the truth, even you. It doesn’t make me any less nervous for your safety, but as you once told me, sometimes I have to be the Queen my people deserve.” I smile. The tension falls away from Nemesia’s body. “Why doyouthink Mazus is behind our declining flower population?”

She walks to the bar cart I keep along the back of the room and pours herself a glass of amber whiskey. “I don’t have any conclusive evidence, just a gut feeling. There’s been nothing in any of our archives to suggest that this has ever happened before, or that any of the scholars of the past were even worried about something like this happening.

“But I’ve been corresponding with a scholar located south of us, in Reshnar. I didn’t tell him the flowers are declining. I said that we—well, you, since I thought telling him theWitch Queenwanted this information would terrify him into helping—want any information the Reshnar archives have on the thayar. He probably thinks you’re planning to use them in a spell or some other evil ritual people make up in their minds.” Nemesia pours a glass of wine and then hands it to me. “He confirmed everything we already know—the flowers only grow in Thayaria, are somehow connected to the magic of the leylines, and are likely the result of so many leylines flowing through and converging here. He suggested he’d love to learn more about the extent of their magic-enhancing properties, but I didn’t engage in that conversation. The only information Reshnar had that we didn’t is a unique drawing of the flowers from an old text.”

She hands me a sheet of parchment. My eyes scan the sketch, and I frown as I study it. It’s a depiction of the thayar flower, done with painstaking detail and perfect accuracy. The top third of the stem looks like it’s been dipped in crimson paint, with dozens of soft fuzzy petals arcing out from the deep green stalk. But the drawing is titled, ‘Depiction of the thayar flower found in Velmara.’My eyes return to hers, searching for a clue about why the flower that only grows in Thayaria is labeled as found in Velmara.

“The Reshnar scholar believed it was a mistake when the book was transcribed from its original. He asked me to confirm whether we have the same book and whether the drawing exists with this label or not.”

“And do we?”

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