LITMIR.BIZ

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       A king must always put the needs of his people before his own desires.

      His father’s words. Words to live by. Words to rule by.

       A king must never lose control.

      Words to be ruled by, whether he wanted to be ruled by them or not.

      They made it to the ledge and he made his sister sit rather than stand. He sat too, his back to the wall as he looked up to the roof and then down at the intricately patterned marble floor.

      ‘I feel like a bird in a cage,’ said Moriana. ‘Wonder what the women who once lived here felt like?’

      ‘Sounds about right.’ He wasn’t a woman but he knew what being trapped by duty felt like.

      ‘We could practise our archery from up here.’ Moriana made fists out in front of her and drew back one arm as if pulling back an imaginary arrow. ‘Set up targets down below. Pfft. Practise our aim.’

      ‘Bloodthirsty. I like it.’ Bottled-up anger had to go somewhere. He could use this place at other times too. Get away from the eyes that watched and judged his every move. ‘Swear to me you won’t tell anyone that we’ve been here.’

      ‘I swear.’ Her eyes gleamed.

      ‘And that you won’t come here by yourself.’

      ‘Why not? You’re going to.’

      Sometimes his sister was a mind-reader.

      ‘What are you going to do here all by yourself?’ she wanted to know.

      Roar. Weep. Let everything out that he felt compelled to keep in. ‘Don’t you ever want to be some place where no one’s watching and judging your every move? Sit in the sun if you want to sit in the sun. Lose your temper and finally say all those things you want to say, even if no one’s listening. Especially because no one’s listening.’ Strip back the layers of caution and restraint he clothed himself in and see what was underneath. Even if it was all selfish and ugly and wrong. ‘I need somewhere to go where I’m free to be myself. This could be that place.’

      His sister brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. The gaze she turned on him was troubled. ‘We shouldn’t have to hide our real selves from everyone, Augustus. I know we’re figureheads but surely we can let some people see what’s underneath.’

      ‘Yeah, well.’ He thought back to the hour-long lecture on selfishness he’d received for daring to tell his father that he didn’t want to attend yet another state funeral for a king he’d never met. ‘You’re not me.’

      Sera

      Sera wasn’t supposed to leave the house when her mother’s guest was visiting. Stay in the back room, keep quiet, don’t ever be seen. Those were the rules and seven-year-old Sera knew better than to break them. Three times a week, maybe four, the visitor would come to her mother’s front door and afterwards there might be food for the table and wine for her mother, although these days there was more wine and less food. Her mother was sick and the wine was like medicine, and her sweet, soft-spoken mother smelled sour now and the visitor never stayed long.

      Sera’s stomach grumbled as she went to the door between the living room and the rest of the once grand house and put her ear to it. If she got to the bakery before closing time there might be a loaf of bread left and the baker would give it to her for half price, and a sweet bun to go with it. The bread wasn’t always fresh but the sweet treat was always free and once there’d even been eggs. The baker always said, ‘And wish your mother a good day from me’. Her mother always smiled and said the baker was a Good Man.

      Her mother had gone to school with him and they’d played together as children, long before her mother had gone away to learn and train and become something more.

      Sera didn’t know what her mother meant by more; all she knew was that there weren’t many things left in their house to sell and her mother was sick all the time now and didn’t laugh any more unless there was wine and then she would laugh at nothing at all. Whatever her mother had once been: a dancer, a lady, someone who could make Sera’s nightmares go away at the touch of her hand…she wasn’t that same person any more.

      Every kid in the neighbourhood knew what she was now, including Sera.

      Her mother was a whore.

      There was no noise coming from the other room. No talking, no laughter, no…other. Surely the visitor would be gone by now? The light was fading outside. The baker would close his shop soon and there would be no chance of bread at all.

      She heard a thud, as if someone had bumped into furniture, followed by the tinkle of breaking glass. Her mother had dropped wine glasses before and it was Sera’s job to pick up the pieces and try to make her mother sit down instead of dancing around and leaving sticky bloody footprints on the old wooden floor, and all the time telling Sera she was such a good, good girl.

      Some of those footprints were still there. Stuck in the wood with no rugs to cover them.

      The rugs had all been sold.

      No sound at all as Sera inched the door open and put her eye to the crack, and her mother was kneeling and picking up glass, and most importantly she was alone. Sera pushed the door open and was halfway across the room before she saw the other person standing in front of the stone-cold fireplace. She stopped, frozen. Not the man but still a visitor: a woman dressed in fine clothes and it was hard to look away from her. She reminded Sera of what her mother had once been: all smooth and beautiful lines, with clear eyes and a smile that made her feel warm.

      Sera looked towards her mother for direction now that the rule had been broken, not daring to speak, not daring to move, even though there was still glass on the floor that her mother had missed.

      ‘We don’t need you,’ her mother said, standing up and then looking away. ‘Go home.’

      Home where?

      ‘My neighbour’s girl,’ her mother told the visitor. ‘She cleans here.’

      ‘Then you’d best let her do it.’

      ‘I can do it.’ Her mother stared coldly at the other woman before turning back to Sera. ‘Go. Come back tomorrow.’

      ‘Wait,’ said the visitor, and Sera stood, torn, while the visitor came closer and put a gentle hand to Sera’s face and turned it towards the light. ‘She’s yours.’

      ‘No, I—’

      ‘Don’t lie. She’s yours.’

      Her mother said nothing.

      ‘You broke the rules,’ the older woman said.

      Sera whispered, ‘I’m sorry…’

      At the same time her mother said, ‘I fell in love.’

      And then her mother laughed harshly and it turned into a sob, and the older woman straightened and turned towards the sound.

      ‘You didn’t have to leave,’ the older woman said gently. ‘There are ways—’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You’re one of us. We would have taken care of you.’

      Her mother shook her head. No and no. ‘Ended us both.’

      ‘Hidden you both,’ said the older woman. ‘Do you really think you’re the first courtesan to ever fall in love and beget a child?’

      Sera bent to the task of picking up glass shards from the floor, trying to make herself as small as she could, trying to make them forget she was there so she could hear them talk more, never mind that she didn’t understand what half the words meant.

      ‘How did

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