LITMIR.BIZ

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Her statement rolled over my skin like a shock wave. I studied her in a daze—yes, she was aged, but her skin glowed like a young girl’s, and her mind had lost none of its brilliance. There was no indication of illness about her.

      “But that—that can’t be right,” I stammered. “You can’t be dying.”

      “No, no, I’m not dying.” Ubiqua placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, where it settled without discernible weight. “Not now. For now, I have all the strength in the world. But soon it will forsake me, and there must be someone to whom I can entrust my legacy. Do you understand?”

      “Yes, of course. You know I’ll help Illumina in whatever way I can.”

      The Prince’s defection from the Realm had transferred the line of succession to the lineage of the Queen’s eldest sibling, Illumina’s father, making Illumina next in line to the throne. But knowing this didn’t negate my reservations about my younger cousin. I hesitated, wondering if I should speak my mind. While I expected Ubiqua would take my opinions in stride, it was nevertheless perfidious of me to raise them.

      “I’m sorry, Aunt, but I...I don’t think she’s ready for this. She needs more time. She doesn’t yet appreciate the value of peace with the humans.”

      To my surprise, no rebuke was forthcoming.

      “I agree with you and am glad our thoughts align. Illumina will not succeed me.” My aunt settled farther back on her throne, letting her words resonate between us, their meaning well within my grasp had I been disposed to embrace it. “I speak of an heir of my choosing and not just my bloodline. Someone who will honor my legacy and not pervert it. Someone who will finish the work I have begun, and bring humans and Fae together.”

      The Queen brought her blue eyes to bear on me, full of conviction and faith, and I was seized by an urge to run, not wanting to hear her next declaration.

      “Will you accept this responsibility, Anya? This honor? Will you continue along the path I have set even after my death, just as you have followed in my footsteps during life?”

      It was hard to hear her over the pounding of blood in my ears. Thanks to the order of my mother’s birth, I had been allowed to live a privileged life without the real responsibility of being royalty, but that was about to come to a clamorous halt. It was true I had struggled in the aftermath of Zabriel’s departure to accept the fact that, despite her idiosyncrasies, Illumina would be next to wear the Laura, the crown of laurels. But though the idea of her ruling had made me nervous, it had also been a relief. It meant no demands were placed on my future. Now the air around me felt charged with expectation, and my stomach burned as I felt the course of my life changing.

      Coming to my feet, I crossed the room, as though that would permit me to escape the question. When I neared the edge of the netting, I paused, looking down at the spiraling ridge, my thoughts likewise twisting and turning in silent debate. I was sixteen, only two years older than Illumina, and not much better equipped than she to ascend the throne.

      And what of my travels? Despite what Davic believed, I didn’t just enter the Territory in search of adventure; my crossings were of assistance to my father, sojourns to gather information about human activities. But a queen couldn’t be gone for months at a time. I would have to stay, and sit, and watch, and listen, always the voice of wisdom and the hand of equanimity. I would be domesticated...trapped in this city, charged with the responsibility of guiding an entire people to happiness regardless of my own.

      Then there was, Nature forbid, the prospect of another war. I did not want to be accountable for deaths before I was even old enough to bring life into the world. No, the Laura would not fit me as it did my aunt.

      “How soon?” I asked hoarsely, forcing myself to look into the Queen’s face. “When are you supposed to die? Can we stop it?”

      “That doesn’t matter,” she responded, her eyes boring into me, uncovering my fears, their roots, and how deeply they coiled. But she persisted, for she put her people and her Realm before all else. “I believe the Redwood’s prediction, but whether you choose to or not will make no difference in the end. I will die one day, and when that day comes, I have to know that someone...someone with a strong and pure heart will be stepping up to rule in my place.”

      “What makes you sure I have a strong and pure heart?” I put a hand against the Redwood’s wall and tightened my fingers, its heartwood sliding under my nails. “I understand your reservations about Illumina—I have them, too—but Aunt, I want my life.”

      Though I felt childish saying these things, her eyes were sympathetic, and she reached out to me, summoning me to her side.

      “There is only you, Anya. Only you share my ideals. Only you can continue leading the Fae toward peace with the humans.” She took my hand, lightly touching the white gold band with a ruby center that I wore around my right middle finger. She held it up to catch the light, reminding me of who I was, for the ring signified that I was a member of the royal family, the ancient Redwood Fae. “On the one hand, you deserve your life. On the other, the Faerie Realm and the human world deserve your dedication. What is your answer?”

      I tugged on a strand of my hair, trying to ignore the warmth and compulsion in her eyes, trying to concentrate on the question and not on the prospect that she might be dead in what—a few years? Months? Mere weeks? The possibilities were enough to break my heart.

      “Who else knows?” I asked. “About what the Great Redwood told you?”

      “No one. I wanted to resolve things with you before I told your father or the Council.”

      “Then you will talk to Illumina.” My spirit settled into a state of numbness and resignation. I had a duty to fulfill that was of greater importance than my own desires. “You will tell her...that I am going to be your successor.”

      Ubiqua smiled gently, pleased by my decision but more compassionate than ever. “Yes, today. And I will immediately send the news to Cyandro.”

      Although my father was her Lord of the Law, I couldn’t fathom the reason it was imperative to tell him so quickly. But the Queen continued to lay out her plans, not permitting me time to dwell on the question.

      “I would like you to bring Illumina to me, and to stay with us when I inform her of my decision.”

      I agreed, despite the fact that this was not a conversation I wanted to witness. My nerves were already raw, and I didn’t think I could handle hearing Ubiqua’s news a second time. While no one, including the Queen, was immortal, she had held me after my mother, her sister, had died following a long illness. She had helped my father to carry on. She had given me reasons to smile when I’d thought there were none. I loved her deeply, and the thought of losing her was devastating.

      I went to find Illumina in accordance with the Queen’s request, taking my time for the sake of my churning emotions. My cousin also lived in the branches of the Great Redwood, though she more so under the guidance of our aunt. She was fourteen, an orphan of just two years. Having experienced the death of my mother, I felt for her, but my empathy did not stop me from recognizing that the girl was strange.

      Illumina’s small shelter was sprinkled with books, odd items she had collected, and blankets, all of which were acceptable enough. But the walls were splattered red and black with whatever images or limericks entered her mind to paint, and sheets of parchment with beautiful but macabre charcoal drawings were strewn across her table. When she found or concocted a message she especially liked, it was no secret that she would use a small knife to carve it upon her body. Her arms were scarred; across the crest of her right breast was engraved: Keep silent your screams and never look back. When she wore a corset dress, she made no effort to hide this particular disfigurement, as though the sentiment would impress others. In my case, it only turned my stomach, and pushed my thoughts toward the sad horror that she had once sat alone with her tool of choice to work her art, blood dripping down her chest, ignoring the pain, and felt proud in the aftermath. Sometimes I tried to envision committing the act myself, the dedication it would take, and the idea kept me awake at night. Illumina

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