Snow whisks across Northern Aldridge, slamming into the sides of the Gate of Heaven. My thin blue dress does nothing to stop the cold from seeping inside and piercing my skin. Yet, this dress is not made for function, as it reveals nearly all my legs save a miniskirt, and leaves my shoulders bare. It is the dress I had hand-selected last year for my ascension.
The people gather around the Gate of Heaven as far as the eye can see. Ascensions only occur once every thirty-four years, so even without mandating attendance, they would have come to watch me become their new queen. Beyond that, most never have a chance to marvel at the beauties of the Gate of Heaven, which towers thirty times higher than the tallest man of Northern Aldridge. On either side of it extends a wall of equal height and even greater strength, passing far beyond the Beriac Forest to the west and the Lural Mountains to the east. No man or woman alive has ever seen its end.
“Do you ever wonder if there’s anything beyond our kingdom?” Muriel stands at guard beside me, donning the white and gold uniform I designed to blend in with the perpetual snowfall. She holds her bow in hand. I have never personally seen her shoot it, but if Conor is to be believed, she never misses her mark.
I know she is not referring to Aldridge, as the divine world beyond the gate is obviously inhabited. “No, there is not. We are alone.” That is what the Angels tell us, and even logic defies such a thought. The Lural Mountains are impassable to the east, and even more so to the north. As for the Beriac Forest, no man or woman who has stepped foot in there to find the other side has ever returned.
A flash of fire erupts in the air, signifying the start of the ceremony. The people cheer for my mother’s little magic trick as she steps to the forefront of the stage. I will be able to perform crowd pleasers like that with light magic, but what use will it be when I have to deal with rebellions? What use is this useless power of healing? I clutch on Muriel’s words.
“Thank you for coming.” My mother’s voice booms across the crowd, magically amplified by a wind mage. “It has been an honor and privilege to serve you as your queen these past thirty-four years. Yet there comes a time in every queen’s life when she must hand over the reign to their daughter—”
The first thing I will do as queen is set an end to these long speeches. My arms and legs are a webbed mound of goosebumps, and I am sure the commoners are not feeling particularly great either.
My mother motions to me after finishing her overly long speech. This is the ritual I have practiced nightly with Muriel. I take my knee in front of my mother and bow my head. She lifts her pendant off her neck, revealing the shining green emerald adorning it. Even in the cloud cover and snow, it seems to radiate with its own beautiful light. She places it around my neck, says a few words, and steps away so I may rise.
“I accept your pendant, and my new duty to my people, until the day my own daughter is my age, or failing to bear my daughter, my son.” From last night’s conversation, I understand how meaningless the second half of my vow is.
Conor ascends the stage, with a long object wrapped in cloth. This is the moment I have truly been waiting for. Every queen receives a staff representing their power to replace the gnarly wooden staffs of their youth. My mother, for instance, has a large torch as hers.
“Miss Evelyn,” he holds the cloth out to me. “The church presents to you a weapon to keep the faith. We ask you to wield it and continue to honor our creators, the Angels, as your ancestors have.”
I pull back the cloth and set my eyes on the beautiful staff lying in his hands. It is a smooth polished white marble, save for its tip – which is adorned with a circle quartered by a cross. A truly magnificent staff for a truly magnificent queen.
I wrap my fingers around the smooth marble. With this I am queen. The people shall obey me without question, or shall lose their heads over it. For the next thirty-four years, Northern Aldridge shall be mine.
“Created us? The ‘Angels’? Give me a break!” The crowd breaks to leave him standing alone – nobody wanting the kingdom’s guards to confuse themselves for the blasphemer. But this is a man who is not afraid to die. “Yeah, back away from me like the cowards you are. At least I have the guts to stand up to this so-called queen. Listen, you little blonde pipsqueak. We’ve lived our entire lives without enough food, without enough oil for heat, and not enough clothing to keep this damned snow off our bodies! And I’m sick and tired of it. Until you stand up to your fake ‘Angels’ from the south, I’ll never respect you or anyone in your line as a queen.”
He spits, his saliva landing right on the boot of a guard.
“Unhand me, you bastards!” he shouts.
The guards lift him off the ground, with one of them lifting his visor. “What would you ask us to do with the blasphemer?”
I never thought some so mundane would be my first real order. “The same as always. Execute him.”
They throw him on the ground. The crowd separates for a man in a black hood, wielding a giant axe. This should be good for the crowd to fall in line.
“No!” shouts Muriel.
She grabs my shoulder with such intensity, I have to wince. Had she been anyone other than my one true love, she would be sent to join that man now. But I understand she can be a little too strong with her hands when her emotions ride unchecked.
“Do you know this man?” My mother did order the execution of her grandfather when she was only a babe, so I must be careful not to repeat her mistakes.
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Muriel releases her grip. The axe-wielding man stands in his place, awaiting my signal. “No, I don’t. But you must understand. Every life in this world has meaning. It’s precious. We cannot throw it away over a couple of words.”
As much as I wish to bring down the axe, I cannot deny a heartfelt wish from her. I love her far too much to let a single decision come between us.
The man stares up at me, venom in his mouth and fire in his eyes. Yet, I only shake my head. “Lock him in the dungeon. Ensure he is well taken care of, and arrange for a surgeon to remove his tongue within the fortnight.”
The guards seem a little baffled by my move, yet they follow it nonetheless. Even the crowd seems confused, some of the more daring ones whispering amongst themselves.
My mother stays silent, but from her crossed arms, I can sense her disappointment in me. It is not matter to me. This is my kingdom now, and her opinion matters not.
Muriel and I descend the stairs, beyond the line of guards. Surrounding us are ten huge carts, each filled to the brim with blue crystals which glow with their own light. Over the past month, as training for my rein, I had been placed in charge of overseeing the manufacture of the crystals. Every aspect of the operation – from mining the ore to polishing the shape to ensuring the Level Twos contributed enough magic to make them work – had been under my watchful eye. For a new queen can mess up most anything, but she must never mess up a tribute.
The gates unhinge themselves – pulled apart by forty beings on the other side. Each one of them has a pair of white wings on their back, signifying their status as Angels.
That man is such an idiot to think these creatures could be anything other than divine. Humans do not have wings, nor do they have the strength to pull open such a steadfast gate. Even if our entire kingdom attempt to push open the Gate of Heaven, it would not budge an inch.
Through the gates emerges a single girl. From appearance alone, she cannot be much older than me. But, my mother had warned me not to be deceived by her appearance, as she transforms her body to the same age as the queen every ascension.
She keeps her dirty blonde hair tucked up in a bonnet, save for two locks on either side which drop to her torso. She wears a navy-blue tunic which falls to her thighs, adorned with images of the moon. On her back are the pair of white wings typical of an Angel, but these are smaller – to the point where she has to walk instead of fly.
She approaches and locks her golden eyes onto my own. Golden eyes are the symbol of royalty for humans and Angels alike, so she must be some sort of princess of the Angels.
“Are you the Wingless queen?” She keeps her eyes transfixed on mine.
I drop to my knees, hearing the Angel’s term for us for the first time from one of their mouths. “Indeed I am, your grace. We have created the crystals as offerings to you, as you requested.”
She picks one of the crystals out of the box and examines its hexagonal prism shape, coming to a point on either end. She speaks not a word before placing it in the cart and motioning for her men to pull the carts away. Still more men drop down crate upon crate of supplies. Some contain ingredients for food, some contain thin fabric and string to sew our clothes, and some contain oil to heat and light our homes. As always, there is never enough, but it is more that we would have without the gifts from the angels.
She turns without a word. “Next month we shall be expecting double tribute and gifting the Wingless double the usual. We shall not be able to reach your people in December, when the ice becomes too unstable.”
I had been expecting the new quota, but never this unemotional trade. The convoy returns to the gate.
“Your grace!” I call.
She raises her shoulders in anger. “You dare speak to me without being spoken to?! Who do you think you are?”
I cower down, half expecting lighting to strike me from the sky. Yet, when none does, I brave my question. “How are the crystals? Are they high-quality?”
She picks up a crystal again. “It is sufficient. Remember, I expect double next month.” The convoy departs through the gate, leaving Muriel and I seemingly alone. Of course, we are not alone, as thousands of civilians watched the exchange behind the wall of guards.
I fight back tears. She said it is sufficient. Despite my best efforts, I did not impress her. I did not make her happy with my work. I only achieved the bare minimum.
Muriel places her hand on my shoulder. “Isn’t that great? She accepted your work the first time! My dad used to always tell me stories how most queens failed and they had to spend a week under the watchful eyes of the ‘Angels’ to redo and repair their work.”
But she is only being nice. The Angel was not impressed with my work in the slightest. I had failed.
I am not going to let her down again. The problem is I had used my mother’s old methods. She would supply the Level Twos with a comfortably living, and they would donate their daily pool of magic to the crystals. Level Threes would chip in for November and March’s double quotas – being able to supple the same amount of power as the Level Twos even though there were more than three times as many Levels Twos as Level Threes.
But Level Twos are weak, so they make weaker crystals. An idea forms, and I rush on the stage so the kingdom can see me.
“This is my first proclamation. For the next month, all magic wielding citizens of the kingdom shall be required to participate in the creation of the tribute. From Level One to Level Four, nobody shall be allowed to sleep unless they have given their all to the crystals. Level Zeroes shall be required to mine the ore.” My eyes catch Muriel. “Nobody shall be excluded save the kingdom guards and the royal retainers.”
At least that should save her from my proclamation. The crowd, however, down not like this at all. They erupt in a flurry of shouts and curses, angry and annoyed. As well they should be. They have been lazy for far too long, making the Level Twos do all the work. If those Level Fours have the energy to stage a coup d’état against my mother, then they can put it to better use in the crystals.
The guards work to contain the situation, and I exit the stage.
“Eve!” shouts Muriel. I cannot stop. If I listen to her, my resolve to do this will break. I have to press on and explain it to her later. It is hard enough to gather every civilian in the kingdom.
My mother stands at the base of the stairs, folding her arms across her chest. “Rescind your order at once,” she commands. “You have not the slightest clue as to what you are doing.”
From years of obedience, my feet turn back. Yet I stay firm and dig my staff in the ground. “I know exactly what I am doing. Who do you think you are to tell me otherwise?”
She grips her staff hard. “Magic is a dangerous substance. You cannot fool around with it like some toy. You could bring ruin to us all.”
“Cannot be too bad if we are still here two thousand years later using it.”
“Do not dare speak to me like that! I am your mother!” She lifts her hand to strike me as she did ten years ago.
Yet this time, a gloved hand stops her. The guard holds her steady and whispers, “Calm down, Gwendolin.”
“Gwendolin? How dare you address me as such?”
I point my staff at her. “He has nothing else to address you as now, for I have the jewel. I am the queen, and you are not. And unless you wish to stage a coup d’état against your own daughter and break a two-thousand-year tradition, you shall learn your place.”
I beckon to Muriel. “Come. I need a walk after this excitement.”