Elestrine

  As I’ve already parcelled out most of the plum posts in this country to various Lords and Ladies of not-entirely-despicable character, my morning is dominated by sycophants and hangers-on scrambling for whatever is left. I am just about to recess to check up on Mr. Oakes’s “hunger strike” when a knight comes before me, practically dragging a pink-skinned human child—a girl, unless I’ve missed my guess—behind him.

  The knight bows his head. “I am Olayth vyzh-Zuvair, your Excellency,” he announces in Xorban-inflected Everglacii.

  “Ah yes,” I say, sitting up, “Audan’s placeholder whilst he’s in Everglace.” I set my sights on the girl, who stands frozen in panic. “And who might this be?”

  “A serious problem, Excellency,” Olayth replies. “My patrols caught her outside of one of the humans’ shelters in Gatineau. Excellency—she was making apples.”

  I try not to register my alarm, instead granting the girl my warmest smile. “Vous avez créé une pomme?”

  The girl looks about uncertainly; then she nods.

  “Utilisant la magie?”

  “Ouais,” she mutters.

  “Oh! Quelle fille ingénieuse!” I enthuse. “Vous pouvez m’approcher.”

  Olayth dutifully releases her hand, and I feel a swell of concern that she will flee. But she proves cleverer than that and walks cautiously toward me. Despite my genial manner, she is practically shaking as she reaches my throne.

  “Vous ne devez pas avoir peur de moi,” I reassure her. “Je ne vous blesserai pas. C’est un serment—et une Fée toujours garde son serment.”

  The promise not to hurt her seems to mollify her somewhat; she nods.

  “Quel est ton nom, ma fille ingénieuse?”

  She hesitates. “Lisette.”

  I lean to the girl’s eye level. “Et dites-moi, Lisette: comment avez-vous appris la magie? Qui vous l’a appris?”

  “Un homme m’a,” she whispers.

  “Un homme Fée? Comme Capitaine Olayth?”

  She shakes her head. “Un homme humain.”

  “Et cet homme,” I say, suspecting I already know her teacher. “A-t-il un nom?”

  “Chuck.”

  *

  “You summoned me, Excellency?” Awyrel asks as she enters my throne room.

  “Indeed, I did.”

  “Is…that a ferret in your lap?”

  I pretend to notice the animal. “Oh! Yes. Awyrel, meet Lisette.” I begin stroking the creature’s fur. “Lisette posed something of a conundrum. You see, I’d promised not to hurt her, and yet…well…I could hardly let her return to her shelter knowing what she did.”

  Awyrel takes a moment to parse this. “She used to be human?”

  “Yes,” I say, lifting the ferret so as to look into its face. “A very clever girl. Captain Olayth brought her in. Do you know what she did?”

  Awyrel says nothing.

  “She’d somehow learnt to make food!” I explain. “And do you care to guess who taught her?”

  Awyrel looks down. “Was it Mr. Oakes?”

  “It was!” I say, honeying my words in mock-surprise.

  “He is very talented, Excellency.”

  “Yes,” I agree. “But it does seem a remarkable coincidence, does it not, that of the million or so human souls inhabiting this city, it would just so happen to be the one I appoint Prime Minister—dear me, the very one who has been encamped on our lawn for two days—who should be the first to master this trick?”

  “Excellency—” she begins, flushing gold. I cut her off.

  “I am only going to ask you this once, dear girl, and I hold you in great regard, so I expect an honest answer. Did you teach him?”

  “I—” She stops. “Yes, Excellency.”

  “Ah.”

  I drum the fingers of one hand rhythmically upon the arm of my throne as I stroke the ferret with the other. Awyrel simply kneels in ashamed silence.

  “Do you sympathize with the humans?” I ask at last. “Do you…empathize with them?”

  “Excellency, I…” She swallows her pride. “It’s true that I didn’t want to see Mr. Oakes starve himself to death—as I suspect that you do not either. And I would be lying if I said that I didn’t have some…lingering regard for humanity. But neither empathy nor sympathy motivated my actions.”

  “Then what, may I ask, did?”

  Awyrel fixes me with an abashed gaze. “I did it for you, Excellency.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “Your Excellency…” She pauses, presumably reconsidering the wisdom of her words. “Your Excellency, I am aware that you regard your mission here as being of paramount importance, not just to Everglace, but to the entire Fairy race.”

  “With good reason!”

  “I do not dispute that.” Awyrel looks away. “I also am aware that her Majesty, your mother, has…imposed a certain course of action with respect to humanity upon you. She wants to marginalize them; to thin their numbers through starvation and transformation until only a few stragglers remain, bolstering our power with their fear and respect.”

  “And what is the problem with that?”

  “It won’t work, Excellency!” she blurts. Then, with a split second of hindsight, she amends: “Or…I don’t think so.”

  Perhaps I should reprimand her for speaking out of place; instead, I simply stroke the ferret. “Speak your piece.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “The Winter Queen is wise,” Awyrel defers. “But she has never been to this country, nor shown particular interest in the facts on the ground. She has a…limited understanding of humanity. And that’s unfortunate, because it is humanity upon whom we depend here.”

  “I would hardly say that we depend upon them.”

  “But their continued existence is necessary!” Awyrel insists. “Or, at least, convenient. Is that not why we accepted their surrender?”

  I do not dispute her interpretation of events. And yet: “We mustn’t err on the other side either,” I retort. “There are some thirty-eight million humans in this country, each with their own will and demented value system, each blissfully unmoored from the bonds of Fairy honour. Imagine such people running amok! Imagine them with magic, no less!”

  “Certainly, an undesirable outcome,” she acknowledges. “But her Majesty’s plan—forgive me—may bring us something worse. At best, this country will be blighted with human resentment for millennia; at worst, we will have to do away with them altogether, leaving us with the very chaos we are trying to avoid.” She looks at me meaningfully. “Right now, the humans fear us, and that gives us power. But if that fear turns to hatred, our position will become untenable.”

  “And so, you took it upon yourself to sabotage the plan.”

  Awyrel stares fixedly at the floor. “I wouldn’t say ‘sabotage’, Excellency. I just wanted to…push it. In a more humane direction.”

  I rise warily from my throne, sending Lisette scampering off. There is, I must admit, a certain logic to what Awyrel says. And yet…

  “You should have brought your concerns to me,” I pronounce. “You should have asked my permission.”

  “You would have been honour-bound to refuse,” she replies, not looking up. “Given your mother’s designs, given your oath. But if you could plausibly argue that her order was impossible—”

  “Then I would no longer be bound to obey it.”

  “Yes, Excellency.”

  I regard her a moment. “This was not your judgement to make.”

  Though Awyrel still gazes at the floor, I can see her dark eyes moisten with tears. “I know.”

  I move slowly toward her, producing a kerchief. “So, what now?” I ask. “How shall we recover from this?”

  “It—” Her voice cracks. She tries again. “It will take time, Excellency, for this skill to diffuse through the human population. If you act now, it can still be contained.”

  I pause. “And supposing I do not?”

  “…Excellency?”

  “Suppose I do nothing to contain this knowledge,” I say. “Suppose even…that I agree with your assessment. What should I do instead?”

  Awyrel seems to consider before answering: “A few days ago, you asked me whether the humans would consider you good or evil. Excellency…be good. Make them love you.”

  I laugh once, and without humour. Then, I reach out and dry the girl’s eyes.

  “Do you remember who you are?” I ask her gently.

  She looks at me, her expression passionate. “I am Awyrel, Excellency, as you yourself have named me. I am your confidante and loyal servant. That and nothing more.”

  “That is not entirely true.”

  “Excellency?”

  “You are my friend,” I tell her flatly. “Indeed, I daresay you are my only friend in this backwards country. And so, I must be able to depend upon your loyalty!”

  Fresh tears appear in Awyrel’s eyes, rather undoing my work with the kerchief. This time, I simply embrace her.

  “You will atone for your transgression,” I whisper. “But—I shall take your words under advisement.”

  Awyrel—maddening, adorable girl that she is—looks up at me and nods. “Thank you, Excellency.”

  I pull myself back from her and straighten up. “Now! We have another matter to discuss, have we not?” I reassume my throne. “Have you devised an escape from this lamentable marriage to Audan?”

  Awyrel manages to recompose herself. “Uh, yes, Excellency,” she says, assuming a businesslike tone. “I’ve consulted Canadian law and found that the only—practical—way to make yourself unmarriageable is…if you’re already married.”

  “Already married!” I breathe, appalled at the idea. “To whom?”

  “To anyone, Excellency. The law is unspecific.”

  “Do you mean to say that I could simply grab some poor fool off the street and marry him?”

  “Or her,” Awyrel notes. “It’s not limited by gender.”

  “And this will make it impossible to marry Audan?”

  “Illegal at any rate,” she replies. “Under Canadian law.”

  “And this is perpetually binding?”

  “Until such time as you divorce or your spouse dies, Excellency.”

  “Oh!” I exclaim. “That’s hardly a way out at all! My mother, discovering that I have already wed, will simply order me to divorce the poor wretch—or even dispose of him personally—and order me to wed Audan!

  “This is terribly dispiriting,” I say, falling back onto my throne. “Are you certain you could not find a more concrete strategy?”

  “I’ve been over the law thoroughly,” she replies. “The Canadians have little in the way of clauses to forbid a marriage.” She shakes her head sadly. “I can say only that I’ve tried my…”

  Suddenly, her face seems to light up. I have known her long enough to recognize when inspiration has struck.

  I sit upright. “You have an idea?”

  “I might, Excellency,” she says tepidly.

  “Well, do tell me what it is! Audan returns tomorrow!”

  “Well,” she says, tracing out an arc with her foot as she speaks. “Why is her Majesty so intent upon you marrying Audan in the first place?”

  “Well, of course, because she’s concerned with the threat posed by Audan’s tribesmen in Xorba and imagines she can neutralize it by incorporating him into the line of succession. Surely that much is clear!”

  “Yes,” Awyrel agrees. “At base, it’s a matter of political convenience—her Majesty wants Audan in the family because she thinks he’d be a smaller threat on the inside than on the outside.

  “Now!” she says, pacing gracefully around the room. “If you were to—as I originally suggested—grab some random fool off the street and force them to marry you…that would be a matter of political inconvenience, would it not? Neither her Majesty nor the realm would gain anything by it, nor lose anything were it dissolved.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Hence why I rejected that plan. Charming as you are when you’re being clever, I do wish you would get to the point.”

  “Apologies, Excellency. But my point is: what if you selected a spouse not at random, but as a matter of political advantage? Surely Audan isn’t the only person with whom her Majesty might consider an alliance to be worthwhile?”

  “Oh, there are any number of alliances to be had,” I complain, “but if my mother weighted any of them as highly as that with the General, I would surely not be in this position—”

  A thought suddenly occurs to me; from her face, I see that it has already dawned on Awyrel. “But…” I continue, “it doesn’t really matter whether the alliance is worth more than that with Audan on its own merits; all that really matters is how costly it would be to break once it has been established!”

  “If ordering you to divorce costs the realm more than would be gained by marrying Audan,” Awyrel summarizes, “then her Majesty will have to go along with it.”

  At once, another thought comes to me, this one less welcome. “But how could I marry such a person without my mother’s permission?”

  “You don’t need it, Excellency,” says Awyrel. “Not under Canadian law.”

  “Really?” I exclaim. “To think that my salvation should rest on such silly little laws! Then it’s just a matter of finding a suitable candidate!”

  “A thought occurs to me, Excellency.”

  “Delightful; let us hear it.”

  “Well,” she begins. “Would it not make sense to marry someone selflessly loyal? Someone whom you yourself have elevated to a position of title and influence? You might then avoid the risk of marrying another boor or schemer in your haste to avoid wedding Audan.”

  “An excellent point,” I say.

  “Indeed, it might be best if you were to elevate someone who already loves you deeply—and, indeed, whom you regard with some fondness as well.”

  “A marriage built around love,” I think out loud. “Is that a human ideal?”

  “Yes, Excellency,” she replies. “Though they’re not very good at it in practice.”

  “Those words could very well be humanity’s epitaph,” I murmur. “Of course, I would need to raise this individual to a fair degree of genuine power if I am to have—what is the human term?—‘plausible deniability’ when defending the alliance to my mother.”

  “You could, for example, appoint her to be the Lieutenant Governor of one of the Provinces—Ontario, for example, being a major one from whom you must demand loyalty. Surely your mother will understand the necessity of such a union—or at least accept that it would be disastrous to break up.”

  An interesting suggestion. And yet…

  “It will never work,” I sigh. “The Lieutenant Governors have to swear allegiance to the Winter Queen. If I marry one, my mother will at best think me a fool, at worst think I am plotting against her, and in either case, have the marriage annulled!”

  “Some other position, then? Perhaps—”

  Suddenly, like a lightning strike in my mind, an idea comes to me. It’s so clear, so obvious, that I scarcely understand why I failed to think of it sooner. I laugh out loud at the force of its impact.

  “Excellency?”

  Oh, but it’s so perverse! And yet…

  I turn back toward the girl. “Thank you for your counsel, Awyrel; as ever, your wisdom does you credit. But I believe that I have resolved this conundrum on my own.”

  I seat myself back on the throne and cross my legs leisurely. A great weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and my mother will soon learn a lesson for trying to sell me to a brute like Audan. Indeed, I may very well have just solved two problems simultaneously.

  Life is good.