Mornute’s adviser stirs. “I’m more than happy to discuss restoration efforts, Your Majesty. But my primary purpose for coming here is to discuss the well-being of Mornute, and how it’s being impacted by Visidia’s recent … changes.”
At once I know Leo is referring to my abolishment of the law preventing Visidians from practicing more than one magic. A law that was crafted upon the kingdom’s biggest lie, and that I put an end to the moment I took the throne.
For centuries the Montaras kept Visidians weak, ensuring they only practiced one magic—and never even had the ability to learn soul magic—so that no one could single-handedly overpower our family. They crafted a legend of a beast that would cause Visidia’s ruin should they break the law. A legend that tricked my people into believing that the Montaras alone could use dangerous soul magic to protect them. The story became so ingrained in our kingdom’s foundation that few people ever strayed.
Even now, my people don’t know what the Montaras—my family—did. They believe I vanquished the beast and freed magic. If they knew the truth, I wouldn’t be on the throne. I’d never have the chance to make things right.
So long as I wear this crown, I have only one goal: repent for the mistakes of my ancestors by breaking the Montara curse and freeing soul magic from our bloodline. I’ll make this kingdom whole by giving my people everything they were always meant to have, and finally tell them the truth.
And then, I’ll accept whatever punishment they see fit.
“I, too, would like to discuss how these changes are affecting our individual islands,” says the Suntosan adviser, Lord Garrison. He’s a stout man with a thick red beard that conceals half his face from view. It’s meticulously styled every time I’ve seen him, and soft, too. Like he coats it in oil every night. “Some of us have traveled great lengths to be here. It’s only right that we get to address our concerns.”
Mother’s reminder rings in my head—you’re not here to fight them. But gods, between his proud chin and assessing eyes, I can’t help myself. “I know our geography, Lord Garrison,” I say tersely, satisfied at the way his eyes narrow in surprise. “I’m very aware of how far you’ve traveled. I’m certainly happy to listen to everyone’s—”
“In the past,” he says, rolling over my words as though I haven’t spoken, “King Audric would open these meetings with each of us presenting our own thoughts and needs for the islands we represent, rather than opening himself—”
At the mention of Father, something in me snaps. Mother’s hand finds my knee beneath the table, squeezing it in warning. But her presence isn’t enough to prevent the malice that cracks my smile.
Lord Garrison was always loyal to Father, but like the rest of the advisers, he was politely cold to me. Up until this past fall, I was hardly allowed any interaction with the advisers. Father held too many secrets; until I earned the title of heir to the throne, I was never allowed details of these meetings. It was purposeless and frustrating, especially now as I sit at the head of a room, meant to lead a group of advisers who hardly know me and whose trust they believe I’ve not yet earned.
But they’re mistaken. I earned my place on this throne the moment I stabbed Kaven. I earned this seat with his blood and mine. I earned it with my magic, and the sacrifice of every life I took to get here.
Trust be damned. I’ve earned this crown with my soul.
“Thank you for letting me know how my father ran things. We all know he was a perfect ruler, never making a single mistake.” I straighten in my seat, pinning my eyes to Lord Garrison’s. “And considering how I was never allowed in those meetings, and that no one ever thought to include me, your information is very helpful. But I’d like to remind you, Lord Garrison, that my father is dead.” I don’t look away as he flinches, nor do I turn to Mother as her hand goes limp on my thigh. Instead, I keep my focus trained on the Suntosan adviser as he shifts with discomfort.
When he opens his mouth to speak, I hold up my hand and continue. “However the late king used to rule doesn’t matter, because he’s no longer the one who sits on the throne; I am. I’m not sure if you felt it was okay to condescend to me because I’m a woman, because of my age, or simply because I’m new to this position and you felt the need to establish some sort of dominance you do not and will never have. But the next time you open your mouth to speak to me, remember that you’re talking to your queen. Do you understand?”
From the corner of my eye, I catch Mornute’s adviser slack-jawed in their seat while the others look away in uncomfortable silence. Lord Garrison’s face turns scarlet, and I’m glad for his embarrassment. He deserves it.
“I understand, Your Majesty,” he practically huffs, as if uncertain whether to be surprised or apologetic.
“Good. Then I suppose we can continue with the discussion I’ve laid out?” I roll my shoulders back, making it a point to show that I’m relaxed, and not a tensed coil ready to spring again. “I am, of course, interested in discussing the aforementioned ‘changes,’ as well, as I suggested before your outburst. We can start with Leo.” Mornute’s adviser turns to me, and I smile once more, trying to ease their shock. Though most of the advisers are reserved, this one is still so new that they wear their expressions clearly on their face, and I like it. It makes me trust them more than most in this room.
Leo jolts to attention and grabs the parchment before them, rifling through it to gather their thoughts. “I want to discuss how the abolishment of this law will negatively impact our island. Our port town, Ikae, is the largest tourist destination in all Visidia, and is our most prominent source of income. We worry that if our magic makes its way to other islands, we’ll no longer be able to generate the same tourism we currently do. If anyone can make their town dazzling with enchantments, why will ours continue to be so appealing? I’m worried Mornute will be looking at a massive decrease in income due to this change.”
Their worry is a legitimate one, but it’s one I’ve already considered. “You’re right that this law will change things,” I tell Leo. “But Visidia has been due for a change for some time. And as it evolves, we must focus on evolving with it. While you’re right that Mornute is primarily a tourist destination, I believe you’re overlooking the monetary value of its alcohol exports.” The glimmer of curiosity that sparks in Leo’s eyes tells me I’m right; this isn’t something they’ve deeply considered. “Mornute’s climate lends itself well to being one of the few areas that can grow the ingredients needed to make great ale and wine in massive quantities. You can focus on expanding production; if the tourism rate in other towns goes up, so will its alcohol consumption, and they’ll need to import spirits from somewhere. There will be more of a demand for your products than ever, and perhaps even greater revenue as well.
“My suggestion to you is to get a head start on preparing for more alcohol sales,” I continue. “Expand the vineyards on the mountainsides. Plant more barley. And while you’re at it, consider developing a style of alcohol that’s unique to Ikae. Make enthusiasts come directly to the island if they want to experience it.”