Chapter 2: The Wrinkled Wolves

The High Court of Sahirra had stood in the middle of the red desert for seven hundred years, a ring of obsidian thrones carved into the ribs of a dead Leviathan, sunken into the heart of the capital. The old ones called it Draakhal-Veir; the Jaw of Judgment.

Aeryn sat at its center, her legs barely reaching the silver rest beneath her seat, and the court ministers as usual eyeing her with disgust and malice. But she didn't care, it was the throne that was right now her center of attention. As she tried to peek down, to see how up her feet were from the ground, she felt as if she was sitting on a pit hole and might fall anytime, in short It was too large for her. It had always been too large, even when she'd played in its shadow as a child, mimicking her father's commands in a voice full of giggles and naivety. Now, there was no play. No joy. Just silence and Dead stares.

While aeryn was drowned in self-thinking, across the circle, the nobles watched her with the quiet contempt of a pack that had lost its alpha but not its fangs. All of them were wearing their age like an armor; wrinkled skin, silver eyebrows, gold-tipped canes and bone-crested rings, looking down at her.

They bowed; they certainly did, but only their heads. Never the spine. Never low enough to forget who they thought she was: a child-queen born with taboo, stained by prophecy that was never said, and orphaned by the black fire, that also happened according to them due to her so called cursed fate.

It had been twelve days since the regimen changed after the deaths of her parents. She had ruled for twelve days only. Twelve days of icy civility, and of scraped smiles and quiet refusals by her so called servants and ministers.

She was watching them pretend to obey while they spoke behind closed doors, sent letters sealed with false approval, and changed nothing and did nothing to restore what was lost. Not the guard shifts. Not the tariffs. Not even the prayer-rites.

She needed them, she was so young to carry the world and the burden of the noble lives on her shoulders. And they knew it. And wanted to use this fact against her to get rid of her.

....

But little Aeryn, stranger to tactics, ignorant of plannings, tired by the weight of the heavy crown, and scared of the shooting eyes, tried everything they asked her for, until she was tired.

She wore the silks they preferred; light blues and grays that "soothed the courtly mind."

She trained her voice to sound older, deeper; that only gave them more to laugh at.

She memorized the names of their wives, their bastard sons, the bloodline histories stretching back to the Silver Era.

She gifted goldleaf paper to Lady Marrion, who wrote poetry.

She complimented Lord Innos's crumbling teeth; said they looked like carved ivory.

She smiled when they mocked her. But what with the passing time it got her nothing.

They started when she was young and kept going even when she got older and tried to use her command. They laughed when she tripped over the word "recompense."

They sneered when she asked where rain came from, and if the gods had moods; out in the open court while they were discussing floods in the distant zones, her maid motioned her stop talking but they had already got a chance at her.

They exchanged amused glances when she tried to speak of tariffs and grain distribution. Even one time, as she tried to discuss the tarrifs, one of the ministers jested, "your highness, it seems you no longer worry about the moody Gods." And all of them started laughing.

It didn't matter that she'd watched her parents die.

Didn't matter that she was after all carrying the power in her blood and nightmares in her eyes.

All they saw was a little girl playing dress-up in a dead queen's crown.

One afternoon, Lord Vael of House Miraj; who wore eight rings for the sons he had lost to plague and none for the daughter he still ignored; stood up during council and said, without hesitation:

"My queen, with utmost humility, I suggest you appoint a Steward. Someone older. Wiser. You may sign off on his decisions, of course, but let him guide the blade. For now."

Aeryn's fingers stiffened around the stem of her goblet.

Vael continued. "You are burdened, child. Let us carry it with you. Just until you grow."

Heads nodded like leaves in a poisonous wind and almost all of them murmured their support.

She forced a smile. "And which of you would like to carry my crown; my dear loyal ministers?"

No one spoke up, there was dead silence.

Then, Lord Innos, the oldest man in the room said, "Only what you allow, Your Majesty."

She saw his eyes. And they were clearly saying, while he smacked his lips, with a greedy look.

Only what we let you keep.

.....

She spent that night alone in the palace observatory, under the vault of stars. She was already 12 years old now. But nothing much has changed. Even today they demanded her to get off the throne. The domed ceiling of the observatory was enchanted to reflect the sky as it appeared across every region of Sahirra; storm-ridden on the coast, cloudy in the east, and cloudless in the desert heartland. She stared up at it, legs curled beneath her, crown tossed onto the marble beside her.

"Do they all hate me?" she whispered aloud.

No one answered. Her maid, also her nanny was standing right beside her, in case she needed something, and she was the only one who was on her side.

"My Queen" She said.

"Drop the formalities, Sakina…" aeryn said softly.

"I am yours, your highness, still, I must not ignore what is required of me.

🗝️ Want to know what happens next before anyone else?

I post new chapters 1, week early on Patreon, and right now, you can try it FREE for 7 days.

Your support helps me keep writing. 💖