Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (68 page)

Privet leaned forward, but when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Athel.

He pulled his hand away. When Setsuna opened her eyes again, she saw him staring at his plate.

“Not yet, huh?” she asked.

“Yeah...I...uh...”

“Say no more,” she bade, holding up her hand. The sincerity was gone from her voice. Her armor was back up. “You know what they say, Ayment Fortress wasn’t conquered in a day. If you’re not ready yet, I’ll just have to keep charming you until you are.”

Privet looked up at her apologetically as she happily took a bit of carrot. “You bounce back quickly, don’t you?”

“It’s because I know I’ll win in the end,” she grinned, giving him a little wink.

“You know, it’s really not...”

“I want to see a show,” she interrupted, looking around as if she expected one to appear. “What kind of shows do you guys have around here?”

Privet took a second to catch up. “Finding an open show would be even harder than finding an open shop,” he warned.

It took them a couple of hours, but they were finally able to find a dinner theater that was willing to put on a limited show. It helped grease the wheels that Setsuna made it sound like entertaining them was a direct order from the Queen herself.

The show was performed in a small theater with just a handful of seats, a small and intimate setting normally reserved far in advance. The chairs were located in the center of the room facing out, with the stage surrounding them like a ring. The performer was an aging artist who wore a tight-fitting bodysuit painted with leaf and vine patterns that allowed her to blend in with the backdrop, which was made entirely of living plants.

She played her flute while her partner narrated the story in a rich voice. Neither Privet nor Setsuna knew the old tongue, but they enjoyed the way his deep cadence meshed harmoniously with the flute. Flowers petals blossomed behind the performer, creating a white silhouette of petal in the shape of a swan behind her. Petals opened and closed in prefect timing, giving the illusion that the white swan was walking around the stage. It picked up speed, and was now flying. It was nothing more individually than blossoming petals, but taken together it truly seemed a giant swan was flying around the room.

As she played, the performer began to dance. She spun around and bounded with an energy and flexibility surprising for her age. Brightly colored asters bloomed around the swan, twinkling like stars in the sky. The swan came to a rest and folded its wings in on itself, becoming a tall white crystal. Puffball-like alliums in various colors vibrated and buzzed about and gathered around the white crystal as if they were insects.

Lilies braided themselves together into a long, dragon-like form which wrapped itself around the crystal to protect it, but the buzzing insects were tenacious. They tore the dragon to shreds and laid hold of the crystal for themselves.

The stage bent and contorted, crinkling here and stretching there, as if all of creation were about to come apart. When the crystal broke, every living thing blossomed at once, creating an overload of color and life, as drooping hazel blossoms drifted to the ground like falling stars. Each insect made off jealously with their portion of the crystal. The backdrop in one place snapped shut as the jaws of an enormous flytrap, startling Setsuna with its size and speed. Another jaw snapped shut, then another, but the insects slipped through each time. The stage buckled, creating a ramp that the performer walked against, tumbling up the surface in a cartwheel while the narrator spoke.

From her high place, the performer player her flute again and violets and veronicas grew beneath her, rolling like the seas of the ocean. One of the insects came down with its piece of crystal. When it landed, green teasels grew up in between the veronicas, creating a small green island in the sea. Privet recognized it as Falmar from its shape. Another insect landed, creating another island, then another. One insect flew down beneath the waves without creating any island at all. More and more islands were created, seventy-seven in all, making the stage look like a large, stylized map of the world.

Finally two insects landed together in one spot, and created the most beautiful island of all. Tiny statices grew up all over it, giving it the appearance of being covered with trees. The heavens whirled overhead, and a great sunflower grew up over it to give it light and protection.

Privet had never seen anything like it. It wasn’t the kind of thing men were normally brought to. When the performer bowed, he applauded enthusiastically. When the next story began, he payed close attention.

As the two of them sat in the darkness watching the stage, Setsuna kept glancing over at him. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she leaned over. “Why are you looking at her so much?” she whispered.

“It’s a show,” Privet answered without looking away.

Setsuna grabbed one of her pigtails and chewed on the tip. “You like her don’t you?”

“Who?”

“The woman on stage.”

Privet furrowed his brow and turned to look at her. “We're watching a show, I’m supposed to look at her.”

“Are you supposed to burn a hole through her by staring so hard?”

“What are you talking about? You picked out this show.”

As the show continued, Setsuna spit out her pigtail and began biting her thumbnail. “She’s not even that pretty. She looks like someone shaved a poodle and painted it green.”

“What? I’m supposed to go to a show and not watch? Stop being jealous.”

Setsuna clucked her tongue. “I’m not jealous.”

When Privet turned back to watch the show, Setsuna pulled out a little green notebook and began to write in it angrily.

Privet noticed and his eyes grew wide. “Is that a...grudge diary?”

“Um, no,” she denied, pulling it in closer.

He rolled his eyes. “Please don’t tell me you are making an entry in your grudge diary.”

“I’m not.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

She shook her head, making her green pigtails flop around. “Nope, now I’m making two entries.”

Privet rubbed his brow and turned his head away in frustration. That’s when he noticed something. At the back of the room, a dark figure was watching them from behind a potted plant.

“Wait a minute.”

Privet stood up and stomped towards the back of the room. The dark figure ran for the exit, but Privet was too fast and cut him off.

“You've been following us all day,” Privet announced as he reached down and plucked up the dark figure by the collar.

“Just who are you?”

Privet held the figure into the light, revealing the face of a pale young man.

“Alder?”

Down here underground, amongst the roots of the Royal Tree, the magic was very strong. It filled the air like a sweet perfume, making one’s skin tingle at the touch of it. Each time Queen Forsythia took a step forward, flowers and grass spontaneously sprouted up around her bare feet.

Hazel lay peacefully on a pedestal of living wood. Her dress and hair floated around her, as if she were underwater. A pillar of sunlight gently descended on her from a window above. Floating flower petals drifted in and out of the light. Kneeling beside the pedestal, taking her hand in his, was Balen. The Queen noted he was still wearing his wedding clothes, which had become dirty and worn from weeks of wear.

“I’m told you haven’t left her side since she collapsed,” Queen Forsythia said coolly.

Balen started a little at her voice, but quickly composed himself. He stood up and bowed, his hand over his heart. “Mere rumors, my Queen, I have a cot in the corner.”

Queen Forsythia leaned on her staff in a courtly manner. “I cannot help but thank you for such devotion. You honor my house, and I am proud to have you a part of it.”

Balen shifted his weight from foot to foot. “But, the wedding never took place, I am...”

“In her heart, you were hers and she was yours,” The Queen said graciously. “That is good enough for me. We can work out the details later. For now, it would please me greatly if you would wear this.”

Queen Forsythia held out a silver pendant in her hand. Intricately designed, it displayed the family crest of the Forsythia household, a stonehawk perched on a mountain top, a cattail held in one claw, a magnolia in the other.

Balen took the pendant carefully. “I...I don’t know what to say, except thank you.”

Queen Forsythia nodded graciously.

“I think I have a pin here somewhere, so I can put this on my lapel,” he mumbled, rummaging through his pockets. As he pulled out a handful of flotsam, the Queen noticed an old, worn badge among the items.

“What is that?” the Queen asked curiously.

“Oh, it’s something your mother gave to me,” Balen shared as he found a pin amongst the pocket lint.

“May I see it?”

“Yeah, sure. Be careful though, it’s pretty old.”

Queen Forsythia held out her hand and took the badge. While Balen affixed his family pendant the Queen examined the badge carefully.

“This is an old ranger badge,” she concluded.

“Yeah, can you believe it? Turns out, when she was in her thirties, she spent a few years as a ranger. She served as a scout during the Florentine rebellion. “

Queen Forsythia returned the badge to him. “I never knew. We were never as close as we should have been.”

“No time,” Balen said distantly as he looked at the badge.

Queen Forsythia templed her fingers atop her staff. “No, she made time for me, but I did not take advantage of it. I wasted it enumerating my grievances with her. I always assumed that there would be more time later. I thought we would have a lifetime together. Before I knew it, she was gone, and I could not even say goodbye.”

For a moment, they both stood looking at Hazel. Her hair floating about, the sunlight on her skin, she seemed to exist outside of time. Only the faintest hint of breath escaping her lips indicated her tenuous grip on mortal life.

“The healers don’t expect her to wake up, but I think they are idiots,” Balen said brightly. “I say, all she needs is a little rest and then she'll be right as rain. She’s long overdue for a vacation anyway. So, don’t worry about saying goodbye, plan on saying hello when she comes back to us.”

The Queen smiled faintly. “I appreciate your optimism. It is a precious commodity these days.”

Balen walked up and moved a stray strand of hair away from Hazel’s face. “What do you think she was like back then, when she was a ranger?” he wondered aloud.

“I know exactly what she was like,” The Queen said stoically. “She was strong, so strong that she thought she could escape her fate. Strong enough that she believed she could break the bars of the wooden cage into which she was born.”

Queen Athel turned and looked at Balen. “But she found out there was something stronger than she could ever imagine.”

“What was that?”

“Her love— for her family, for her friends, for her forest.”

Balen thought for a moment. “It must have been hard for her.”

Queen Athel leaned her head forward, her eyes distant. “It was the most difficult thing she had ever done, but she did it out of love.”

Balen chuckled. “Everyone called her the ice queen. It is strange to hear her described so warmly.”

“But you knew she was caring.”

Balen nodded. “Yes, deeply so. I would watch her from day to day. She was always concerned for each of her subjects, always thinking about them. I honestly don’t know how she did it. I know it is not my place, but I think it was too much. Too much for any one person, but somehow she did it, year after year.”

Queen Forsythia placed her hand on Hazel’s arm. “She did the best she could; she did what was necessary. She did what was right, and even when people hated her for it, she never held it against them.”

Queen Athel closed her eyes.

I’m sorry, mother.

* * *

Captain Sykes could feel the room spinning around him. He had been a sailor most of his life, so swaying and rocking were so familiar that they went completely unnoticed. Spinning, however, was a new sensation. His entire body was covered with large, weeping black boils. The pain was so intense, it frequently robbed him of consciousness.

He stared at the nearly empty bottle sitting on his desk. In all of his career, he had never drank while on duty. Not once, even after the Iberian border wars, when he was awarded the Medal of Courage and promoted to Left-tenant. But now he was forced to drink, because it was the only clean thing left on the ship.

Captain Sykes looked at the boils on his arm. Each one felt like a hot coal had been placed underneath his skin. His whole body trembled in agony. Looking up, he saw his Medal of Courage sitting in its display case. He had been so proud of it back then. Now, it felt so empty, so meaningless.

He coughed painfully. One of the boils on his tongue popped. Drops of blood dribbled onto his desk. He used a handkerchief to clean it up. Portraits of his family hung on the walls around him. His father had been an Admiral, his great-grandfather a Rear-Admiral. He had always been so proud of his Navy heritage. Now, after watching the tidal wave wash over the Wysterian coastline, for the first time he felt ashamed of it.

Loyalty. That word used to be so simple. It was something you either had or you didn’t. An element of character, immobile and immutable. But now...

Left-tenant Iarti knocked on the cabin door. Captain Sykes knew it was him, because he always used a rhythmic tappity-tap-tap. Probably part of the Nayzer national anthem or something. Nayzerians were famously patriotic.

“Come in,” Captain Sykes answered, trying to compose himself against the spinning room.

Iarti stepped in as best he could. He was also covered in black oozing sores. “We just received orders from the Admiral. All ships are to advance and destroy the island.”

Captain Sykes didn’t turn around. “And how are the orders received?”

“So far, no ship has moved.”

Captain Sykes moved to don his hat, but instead left it on the desk. “Assemble the sailors.”

A few minutes later, the crew of the St. Downing assembled on the quarterdeck. They were mere shadows of their former selves. Starved and withered, with sunken eyes, they fought to simply remain on their feet. Every last one of them was dotted with blisters and boils and wracked with fever. Some had too many sores on the bottoms of their feet to stand, so they dragged themselves on their knees. The sound of their violent coughing was a constant background noise.