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News of the Crown Princess's suicide met with loyal disbelief. How could one as steady and strong-willed as Princess Arshtat do such a thing, even in the wake of Queen Falzrahm's untimely demise? Impossible. Yet the palace remained sealed for an additional thirteen days of mourning . . .
The details of the princess's death gave birth to a renewed astonishment. Arshtat had not merely taken poison, nor drowned in the Feitas. She had immolated herself upon a pyre, in offering to the Sun, a prayer for peace on her lips. Rather than the final, desperate act of a grieving daughter, Arshtat's death was a deliberate martyrdom to prevent even greater tragedy, and to shame those who would tear her nation apart.
Her suicide note left little room for doubt in that regard, though it made no overt claims of guilt. Its first lines were an apology to her sister, her cousin, and her widower; its heart, a plea for harmony. Sialeeds read the note aloud at the state funeral, making certain to cut herself off at appropriate times, to swallow hard, to take a steadying breath. Few eyes were left dry by the end--Sialeeds's among them. She had to strike a balance between the bereaved sister and the steadfast ruler, between suspicions of a new Conflict of Succession and doubts about her capabilities.
After the funeral, Haswar withdrew to Lunas, renouncing her claim to the throne in honor of her cousin's sacrifice. Ferid, overcome by grief, could not bear to remain in the land that had both birthed and claimed his young bride. He departed alone, expressing only a wearied disgust for Falenan politics as he cast his knightly raiment on the steps of the Sun Palace and walked away for the last time. Rumors claimed he had gone north, to the Scarlet Moon Empire, but no one knew for certain.
The people cried out for the nobility to honor their fallen princess's last wish, their resentment never quite boiling over into revolution, though it simmered just below the surface of the everyday. Arshtat's last words were often quoted on street corners with a fervor bordering on the religious.
As the note's author, Sialeeds felt a small surge of pride at that.
"Don't worry," Ferid had told her, before stepping into the fishing boat that he would row to Estrise, where an Obel ship waited to make the remainder of the journey to a nameless village in the Lorimar region. "Georg will serve you well in my stead. I'd trust him with my life." He cast a fond glance over his shoulder. "I'd trust him with Arshtat's."
"Well, how could I argue with a ringing endorsement like that?" said Sialeeds. She hugged her arms, though the summer night was warm. "You're really leaving." She had known all this time, had helped to set things in motion, but it had not seemed real until this moment.
"I'll send you letters as often as the trade winds permit," Arshtat said, nestled near the bow of the boat, amid a swirl of ragged cloaks, "along with what advice I can, though I doubt you'll need any."
Sialeeds waved off the compliment. "As long as the casks you hide them in also hold the best liquor you can find. It wouldn't do to allow the cheap stuff into the Sun Palace, after all."
Ferid's laugh carried over the hazy, predawn waters, and Sialeeds hushed him, casting wary eyes around the surrounding forest. They couldn't have been followed--despite appearances, Ferid was anything but careless--but she could not help a shiver of paranoia.
"I don't think Kanakan makes the cheap stuff, Majesty," Ferid said. He offered a parting bow and released the fishing boat from the pier. "Long live the queen."
"Be well, sister," Arshtat called as they vanished into the mists.
"You too," said Sialeeds. She waved until she could no longer hear the water lapping against the sides of the boat, though she knew neither of them could see it.
"Your Majesty?"
Gizel's soft voice drew Sialeeds out of her memories. She smiled, laying a reassuring hand on his arm. Sleepless nights shadowed his eyes, and Sialeeds ached with sympathy.
Though Haswar had wanted to tell Gizel the truth, Sialeeds insisted on keeping him in the dark. Marscal might deride his son's lack of political savvy; Sialeeds cherished it. She would protect him from any stain, though they both suffered for it. It was a pain she gladly bore. She only wished that she might ease his.
Gizel clasped her hand, entwining their fingers. "You were thinking of your sister?" he asked.
Sialeeds nodded, grateful that she did not need to lie. "I'm fine," she said. "They're fond memories." She ran her thumb over the back of his hand. "Thank you. I couldn't do this without you, you know."
"You underestimate your abilities, my queen," Gizel said, "though I have no intention of proving that." He smiled, then, and for the first time in months, it wasn't through an effort of bravery. "Not ever."
"Good. I'll need all the help I can get, now that Armes has come sniffing around." Sialeeds sighed and leaned back in her chair. "And I still need to take one of the Barows faction into my circle of advisers. The invasion has made that even more urgent. I refuse to give the old snake any more power than he already has, but anyone else I chose would only be his puppet. The whole thing gives me a headache."
"Well, there is one thing that might lighten Your Majesty's mood," Gizel said, offering his hand once more. "Apparently, a cask of Kanakan wine has arrived at the palace, compliments of Admiral Raja. Shall we?"
Sialeeds had to stop herself from springing to her feet, and she forced her expression to remain suitably harassed. Let her enthusiasm show, and even Gizel might grow suspicious, or at the very least curious. "I suppose that's something," she said, rising to take his proffered hand. "Only one glass, though. I have some correspondence to catch up on."