Casarda’s face blanched, and her back stiffened against the seat’s backrest. Her eyes, wide with terror, followed Clythia as she sprang to her feet.
“I did no such thing,” Casarda’s voice was barely above a whisper. “My queen, you are already aware that my father is human. My family—on my father’s side—sent me a letter a few days before you addressed the blight.” She delivered the last bit of information with carefully chosen words. “I was about to inform you of my discoveries. But fortunately, you were already doing what the kingdom needed, what DavinSaw needed. And King Kay planned to disclose this to you through my father.”
Fraternizing or engaging in a romantic relationship with other races was prohibited by law and was considered an outright sin by those who believed in gods. But for two hundred millennia, there were rare exceptions, like weeds amidst grains. Caught by the elation of doing something forbidden, some rebelled against the perfect system that ensured peace. However, the system broke them; they were disowned by their families and executed by the leaders. It was Clythia herself who beheaded Casarda’s mother after she gave birth to Casarda. King Kay should have meted out the same justice to the father, but apparently, he made a traitor a lord of Zalax.
“What would the human king get out of this?” Vina asked, inspecting Casarda with furrowed brows.
“He and King Modyr were the only rulers with the nerve to confront the Sovereign. The rest were a pile of waste,” Clythia said.
Clythia’s rage simmered down to a smolder at Casarda’s justification, and reluctantly settled back into her seat, her puffy dress draping over the chair and floor. Casarda’s tensed shoulders seemed to ease. But Clythia was a bit annoyed that Casarda addressed Lord Hana of whatever province he ruled by her parental relationship with him.
“If he gave you this information, I’m sure he found a way to extend the courtesy to King Modyr too,” Lupis nodded to himself.
“Exactly,” Casarda said. “Nadir is the only safe land right now; ours is one step behind because of the sickness. One key piece of information we missed is that we can only use the Shadow’s magic three times a day if we wish to keep our heads sane.”
There was a hint of accusation in Casarda’s tone, implying more like, “One key piece of information you missed is that we can only use magic three times a day, and now you’ve put us all in danger.”
But no one focused on the subtle accusation; they were all in a frenzy of panic, even Clythia brushed it off—for now.
“What?” she and Kip blurted out in unison—first time for everything.
“Three times a day?” Lupis clasped his palms over his mouth.
“That is impossible,” Vina’s voice was shaking despite her efforts to keep it under control. “Why are we not affected like the others?”
Masai snapped his fingers. “They are opposites. The Shadow and the Sovereign’s magic are opposites,” he said, squirming in his seat, his face lit with excitement. “When the Sovereign’s magic wavers, the effect ripples from top to bottom. From the supplies we all rely on, from the crops our farmers grow, to the queen that rules above all, and then to the rest of us.” He craned his head slowly, fixing his wide eyes on Clythia. The others followed his train of sight.
Clythia nodded, the secret of her flickering magic sprawled before them. She opened her mouth, but caught in his revelations, Lord Masai continued.
“To the contrary, the effects of the Shadow’s magic start from the bottom and make its way up to the top,” Masai pointed to the dome-shaped ceiling. “Witches and wizards with less power are first in line. Sooner or later, all of DavinSaw would have fallen to its negative effects. So opposite, in every way.” He trailed off, shaking his head.
But before anyone could speak, he resumed, leaving Kip’s mouth hanging open. “We can use the Sovereign’s magic as much as we want but not the Shadow’s magic. So opposite... that is genius!”
Clythia raised her brow.
“I mean, that is devastating. Terrible, so so terrible,” Masai said, with fake vehemence, the awe on his face in contrast with his pretense of disgust.
“You are saying these magics are sentient enough to discern importance and class?” Lupis said, glancing between Clythia and Masai.
“And petty enough to never do what the other does?” Vina added, amused.
Masai shrugged. “We know the Sovereign is an omniscient being; they could make their magic sentient. Although I do not know if the Shadow’s magic is sentient or pure power this planet has. Maybe the Sovereign created magic that rivals the Shadow in every way.”
“But three times a day? We might as well stop breathing altogether,” Kip scoffed.
“The limbs hanging have uses, you know, besides gripping a wand,” Casarda said to Kip in a soft voice. Kip cracked his knuckles. “I know how to use them; I can show you what these fingers can do.” He wiggled his fingers. Lupis’s face turned an embarrassing red as though he wished the land would swallow him whole. Clythia’s lip twitched at the corner.
“Stop acting like wild animals,” Vina snapped. “We are in the middle of an important meeting, and you think this is the time to act like dogs and harlots?” Her gaze fixed on the lady of Melop in fury, gaining a roll of eyes from her.
“The subject matter deviating means we have discussed everything there is,” Clythia said to no one in particular, but the way Vina shook her head looked as if the queen had sided with... dogs and harlots. “Issue a decree in your provinces—to limit magic wielding to a maximum of three times daily.”
“Sounds like a potion remedy,” Kip said under his breath, disguising it with a cough. Clythia ignored him.
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“That’s it. Meeting adjourned,” Clythia gestured for them to rise.
Chairs scraped against the oak floor as lords and ladies stood up and made their way to the hall’s door.
“Casarda,” Clythia called. The woman's wavy gold hair swayed as she craned her neck towards her. “A word.”
Casarda nodded and took a seat beside Clythia. They stared at each other quietly until the other leaders had left, with Lupis closing the door behind him—using his hands. No magic beckoned.
Clythia glanced back at General Arkansov and the guards. “You may go too.”
The general hesitated, but Clythia dipped her chin in assurance. She wouldn’t need protection. She was the protector. The guards were a ceremonial presence dragged along to meetings and balls like the trailing dress she wore. This was one of the few things she didn’t take Arkansov’s advice to heart. He had insisted she should be accompanied by guards everywhere. But she didn’t see the point. She was only willing to go as far as painting an impression.
Finally, Clythia was alone with the lady of spies. For a moment, she regarded her quietly, her spiky black fingernails drumming on the table.
“What is your end goal?” Clythia cocked her head.
Casarda propped her chin on her palm, her elbow on the table. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you know why I haven’t revealed anything about the Shadow? When all celebrated me as a hero? When I’ve saved all our asses? But do you know why no one knew?”
“I didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret,” Casarda’s hand, once propping her chin, now descended to the table, placing her arm in front of Clythia, her crimson nails gleaming.
“I will give you a choice to live because of the invaluable information you provided,” Clythia’s voice had lowered. “I won’t show mercy next time. I do not know or care if you are as stupid as you claim or if this is some game to you. Either way, I will get rid of you. But only one of the options will let you leave with your life.” Clythia leaned forward, inches away from Casarda’s nose. “Lady of spies, on a scale of one to ten, how stupid are you? One being the dumbest person alive and ten, you know, the opposite. Unless you are dumb and you don’t know what the opposite entails.”
Color drained from Casarda’s face. “I-um-I...”
Clythia had no intention of stripping the lady of spies of her leadership role in Melop. This was just a stunt to show her that she couldn’t act on her own accord without acknowledging the queen's will.
After all, Casarda was a valuable spy for DavinSaw. Until the blight, her role had been confined to mingling with the other lords and ladies, engaging in gossips of balls and love matches. But now, with the vulnerability the disruption had exposed, DavinSaw would start to learn the weaknesses and strengths of other nations.
The tapping of Clythia’s fingernails grew louder. Casarda was squirming in her seat, visibly struggling to give the right answer, like a student caught off guard by a teacher’s question for not having paid attention.
“I half-guessed—”
“Shh,” Clythia raised her palm, furrowing her brows, and closing her eyes before opening them irate. “A number, Casarda. Don't test my patience.”
“Eight,” Casarda’s lips were trembling.
“That means you already know why I kept the Shadow’s magic a secret, and yet here you are playing dumb and wise before all.”
Casarda flinched.
“Why did you do it?” Clythia’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t mean to call you out or expose you in the wrong light. I only did it because this kingdom is not only your burden but ours too. That is why we are here. Why we serve Ilyana’s line for eons. I deeply apologize if I gave you the wrong impression, my queen. I did it because I admired what you did. But I swear on my mother’s grave, I didn’t mean you any ill will,” Casarda blurted out the words in one breath.
Clythia’s laugh was low. “Your mother’s grave? How ironic.”
Casarda held her tongue, eyes glistening and jaw clenched.
“Well, you won’t join her, at least not today.” Clythia gestured for her to leave.
Casarda pushed to her feet, her steps hurrying to the hall’s door, as though Clythia would strike at any minute.
“And if you contact your father again...” Casarda went still. The rapping of nails ceased.
“Yes, my queen,” Casarda’s voice quivered; her shoulders hunched in on her.
The unspoken threat had hit its mark.
----------------------------------------
Clythia was in the dining hall to eat dinner, located on the first landing—where the hustle and numbers of servants were at its peak, even at this hour. But within the hall, it was ominous, eerily quiet. The intricate artistic patterns of the stained windows were a muse for brooding, for depression to slither in like vines wading their way on walls and windows. The chandelier that carried the flickering candles bathed the room in faint light, its golden rod glinting.
The lavish spread of meals, capable of feeding fifty people, was arrayed before her. But none of the grandiosity veiled the feel of a catacomb the room held. She missed her son, Clen. He was away for his military training in Sravask. He pissed her off when he was here for winter break. Clen would have kept pestering her about everything. Asking what he had missed when he was away like a child who questions every object around him. But that kept her on edge—annoyed, snapping, and yelling at him... not hollow.
Clythia was about to wave her hand to fill her plate but remembered the decree she issued. From morning until the meeting, she had wielded magic several times. When she washed her face, styled her hair, applied makeup, dressed herself, ate... the list went on and on. Kip was right, she might as well stop breathing.
"Umm... anyone?" She called out.
A tall man, broad-shouldered, wearing leather breeches and a tunic, strolled in. His sword, strapped at his waist, swayed gracefully with each movement. The dim lights faintly glinted off his gray eyes... Grey eyes.
Her undoing.
“Yes, my queen?” His voice was rumbling low, making the hairs on her arms rise, like skeletons called forth by necromancy.
Clythia was unaware her mouth hung open until his voice pulled her out of a trance. “My queen?”
Clythia shook her head. “Fill out my plate, please? No magic.”
He sauntered to the long table. With no clumsiness, he loaded her plate with culinary delights. Adept hands piled food with ladles and serving tongs, as though he had done it a thousand times. She envied the ladle, held firmly by his calloused fingers—she wondered about the feel of those rough fingers, tightening around her wrist like a constricting, biting rope; like the one that leaves bruises long after it had been released.
Her breath hitched as he finally settled the plate, a mound she wouldn’t dare devour, before her. The air carried a scent of leather and dew with his nearness. It ignited a desire in her far superior to the hunger rumbling low in her stomach. She wanted to eat him, not the meal. What was she thinking?! She shook her head again. If he noticed how her cheeks burned, or her incessant head wobbling, he didn’t show.
"What's your name?" Her voice was docile, out of character. The queen that trembled Casarda gone.
"Tiyus." He said. Tiyus' smile spread broadly across his face, summoning twin dimples on either cheek upon its wake. Excuse me? Gods!
"Tiyus." Clythia cleared her throat. "I haven't seen you before." Why is her voice betraying her? She sounded like a maiden who had never conversed eye to eye with a boy, let alone a man. And she had quite the number of body count.
“I am not one of your immediate guards. My station is way below. I guard the palace tunnels,” Tiyus said, slowly backing away, his gaze fixed on her. Like a dancer working his way around with muscle memory, his movement was graced, not needing to watch his steps.
“Are you married, Tiyus?” Clythia blurted out before she could stop herself.
Tiyus’ lip twitched. “No, my queen.”
“Are you gay?”
His lips formed an inverted arc, failing to hide his surprise. “No, my queen.”
Clythia heaved a sigh. “Would you do me the honor of distracting me?” She cocked her head.
Everything felt warm around her. Hot.
Tiyus' stare intensified, awakening a fire with every lingering moment.
"With pleasure my queen." His growl settled into a deep resonant alto.