EPILOGUE
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Iris Everton
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3rd of Janus, 936 PC
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Iris allowed her elite guards to lead her down the long wooden ramp of her Royal Cloudcruiser. She’d perfected the dignified entrance expected of a queen long ago, after hours upon hours of practice in her bedchambers. Yet, the fear of appearing less than entitled still lingered in the back of her mind during every public appearance. Sometimes the deepest roots are simply impossible to tear out.
“Thank you, Captain Essel,” she said to the woman that led her guard. The Lotus snapped her feet together and bowed her head briefly before positioning herself to the side of the ramp. The other guards followed suit obediently. Not long ago, they had called themselves Hounds. Now, they were Iris’ pets.
“I’ve seen dogs take better looking shits than this,” Captain Essel said, staring at the hideous town. Sloppy, muddy roads. Dilapidated buildings. A field that hadn’t been tilled in years separated the town proper from the disheveled inn before them. She glared at the dew on the midnight grass with disdain, expecting it to clear a path for her like her subjects. It was every bit as dense and oblivious as her subjects. Fortunately, she’d worn her boots and could stomp across the wet grass like one of the ruffians that lived here. Not the fashion statement she’d prefer to make but Donovan strongly encouraged her to dress for war, not the ballroom, on the rare occasions when she left the floating castle.
“Precisely why Alaric chose it. He didn’t expect I would dare step foot in this mess.” She doubted any royalty had ever stepped foot in the lawless town. And since any chance for future monarchs to do so would be erased by sunrise, she considered the moment tragically historic. How long has my baby lived in this hellhole? How did I let Donovan convince me to leave her in this filth for so long?
Warm breath floated into the night as she watched her advisor hurry toward her from the inn. “Your Highness.” She waited patiently for permission to provide her report, fiery red braid hanging down the back of her gambeson. Penelope Price never disappointed, never made mistakes. She’d been an easy choice when looking for a reliable number two.
“Good news, I hope.”
Penelope smiled. “She’s being held on the second floor, Your Highness. Room 3.”
“Very good.” Iris began removing her thin white gloves, plucking one finger at a time. They were in Penelope’s hands without request. The purple glow of her fingernails was still new to her eyes, her mind. The power that tingled beneath them was a feeling she’d waited years for as she and Donovan perfected the lotus formula. “Any Purists?”
“No, Your Highness.”
“A shame.” She strode toward the inn, her entourage following closely.
An eerie emptiness filled the pub in spite of the bodies lying strewn about. All wore black singe marks. Their arms and legs were bent in unnatural directions. A few leaned against the wall in their booths. Broken mugs and spilled ale littered the floor, there were holes in walls, banisters torn apart. The structure itself barely clung to life. Her Lotus were piling corpses in the center of a horse-shoe shaped bar. Each looked more petrified than the last. She couldn’t think of a better punishment for a group of Purist sympathizers.
Not one to ignore quality work, Iris said, “They are every bit as good as General Camdrie claimed.”
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“If not, better,” Penelope said. “A brilliant acquisition, Your Highness.” If only I had thought of it. Tripelthin Styner was the mastermind behind the efficiency of her militaristic advances.
Captain Kin approached. He was a man of unwavering confidence and humble competence. The type of leader she could trust to do as he was told, yet adjust on the fly when necessary. A rarity for the old guard she’d had at her disposal, expected now that her army was elite. Two of his men followed, dragging a limp man by the arms. “This is the owner,” the captain said, presenting the barrel-chested old man behind him. “Orin Rockhide.”
The pub owner lifted his head, a hint of defiance burning in his eyes, despite the defeat in his blackened, charred legs. She refused him the pleasure of eye contact. “Put him on the ship.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Captain Kin sent his men outside.
Orin muttered as he was dragged by but that conversation was beneath her.
Even her slender frame made the rickety stairs moan as she made her way upstairs to her baby. The filth railing kept her hands at her side. Burning this place to the ground will be doing it a favor. Room 3 sat at the top of the stairs. A Lotus stood at the door, arms tucked behind her back and acting dutiful and respectful of her superior. The lotus pin on her chest gave her instant credibility, though Iris had to adjust it slightly, positioning it perfectly. “That’s better.”
The Lotus lifted her head. “My apologies, Your Highness. A million thank yous.” She stepped out from in front of the door, her once confident shoulders now bowing under the weight of embarrassment.
Dark stains painted the floor inside the door – blood or bile or some other disgusting bodily fluid. A Lotus held a wooden sword in front of the window, rubbing his hand and scowling. This one’s demeanor sent a tinge of caution to Iris’ brain as he gave a less than enthusiastic bow of his head. The Hounds of Haldar were excellent at their job, that could not be denied, but most were so volatile even she felt threatened at times. She dismissed the Lotus from the room entirely, turning her focus to the cowering child on the bed, her head buried in a grimey pillow.
“Cora,” she whispered. She stepped forward. “Cora.” A gentle hand on the girl’s back made her roll away aggressively, hitting her back against the plaster wall. She held a raggedy doll tight in one arm and a wooden dagger in her hand. Her cheeks glistened in the candlelight though she wasn’t crying now. A thin smile formed on Iris’ lips. Her cheeks are still round, her eyes so blue. “Cora, I know you don’t remember, sweetheart. But I’m your mother. Iris.”
“I know who you are.” Words sharp as knives.
“And I’d like to know you.” Cora shook her head. “Please, sweetheart. It’s been so long.”
“No.”
Cora’s reluctance was no surprise. Years with her lying father would not be brushed away with a simple hello. Against every fiber of her being, Iris sat down on the edge of the repulsive bed. “I like your doll. May I see her?” Cora tucked her friend behind her back quickly. “I won’t hurt her. Promise.”
“No. She’s mine. She doesn’t like you.” I don’t have time for this.
She nodded her head at Penelope. The advisor pulled a syringe from her pocket and removed a cap at the end of the needle. Cora’s eyes widened at the sight. Her efforts to escape through the wall was almost achievable with how thin they were. She kicked and screamed as Penelope grabbed at her, eventually gripping a flailing leg. The needle disappeared into Cora’s thigh. She clung to the doll as tightly as she could before her eyes flickered shut.
“Take her,” Iris said and reached for the familiar doll. It slid out of Cora’s grip slowly. She’d given her daughter this doll. Back then its colors were vibrant but it had decayed just like everything else in this rotten inn. It was soft though. And unassuming. Everywhere but the chest. She waited to be alone before she ripped the head off the curious ragamuffin. Sawdust fell to the floor like dirty snow, coating her boots. The head bounced across the floor while her slender fingers removed the ornate box from within the doll. She could barely believe what she was looking at. How long had it’d been since she’d seen this box? A grin formed on her lips. Thank you, James.