Four Dead Queens(3)

The cool of the metal case pressed against my leg, and Mackiel’s hot gaze was on my back.

Get in quick. Get out quicker.

I had to disengage. “I need to rest for a bit. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, then,” he said, glancing behind him to the House of Concord, his hand on his bag. As a messenger, his tardiness wouldn’t be tolerated. “If you’ll be all right . . .” He waited for me to refute him. I might have oversold my fragility.

“Yes. I’ll be fine here. Promise.”

He gave me a stiff Eonist nod, then said, “May the queens forever rule the day. Together, yet apart.” The standard exchange of interquadrant goodwill. He turned to leave.

“Together, yet apart,” I recited back to him. Before he had taken a step, I was up off the chair and among the crowd.

I clutched the comm case in my hand as I ran.





CHAPTER TWO





Iris


   Queen of Archia



Rule one: To protect the fertile lands of Archia, the queen must uphold the society’s humble but hardworking way of life.


Iris shifted uncomfortably on her throne, rearranging her stiff skirts. The midday sun streamed down from the domed ceiling, hitting the elevated golden dial beneath it. The nation of Quadara was engraved upon the face, with thick ridges representing the walls that divided the land. An amber globe sat in the center of the dial and fractured the sunlight into rays, highlighting hundreds of cursive words etched into the throne room’s marble walls. The words reminded each queen, and those who visited court, of the approved transactions between quadrants and the strict rules the queens must abide by. Queenly Law.

The four thrones, and their respective queens, sat in a circle around the dial. While the quadrants remained divided, the queens ruled from the same court.

Together, yet apart.

Each looked out upon her section of the circular room, a painted crest to signify where her quadrant began.

Iris’s next appointment stepped from around the partition that separated court visitors from the queens. She glanced at one of her sister queens, Marguerite, sitting beside her. Marguerite raised an eyebrow in amusement as the man bowed, his nose grazing the polished marble at his feet. He stood upon the Archian crest: a rural island bordered by branches, leaves and flowers with a stag atop a mountain, depicted in bold golden swirls.

Now thirty years old, Iris had not seen her homeland of Archia for twelve years. But for as long as she lived, she would never forget the crisp air, the lush forests and rolling hills.

When the man straightened, he still wouldn’t meet her eyes. A shame, for she had lovely eyes.

“My queen,” the man’s voice trembled.

Good. Iris cultivated fear. A time-consuming but worthwhile pursuit.

She knew Archia could easily be perceived as the least formidable of all the quadrants, as Archians mostly kept to themselves, rarely crossing the channel to the mainland due to their general distrust for machinery. They focused on physical work and living good, if somewhat modest, lives.

“Speak.” Iris waved a hand at the man before her. “I don’t have all day.”

A trickle of sweat ran down the man’s brow and onto the tip of his nose. He didn’t wipe it away. Iris twitched her nose in sympathy—the only sympathy he’d get.

“I have come here to ask you for power,” the man said. She scowled, and he quickly clarified, “Electricity—we need electricity.”

Iris had to remind herself he was the Archian governor, although the title held little authority in her eyes. The queens were the power. No one else.

Power was a game, and over the years, Iris had perfected it.

“Need electricity?” Iris leaned forward. “No.”

While the other quadrants had electricity, Archia continued to use only what could be wielded by hand and heart—a traditional Archian proverb.

Finally, the governor brought a shaking hand to wipe his brow.

“Electricity would allow for machines,” the governor continued. “The workers are struggling to keep up with this year’s delivery schedule set by Toria. Please consider, my queen.”

She sat back and let out a breathy laugh. “You know better than to ask this of me.” It was true that Quadara’s population continued to grow, and no matter what they’d tried, all quadrants other than Archia remained barren.

Quadara’s divided nation was an ecosystem, each quadrant playing its part. Archia provided crops and natural resources; Eonia developed medicine and technology; Ludia provided art, fashion and entertainment; and Toria arranged imports and exports between the quadrants. And Queenly Law upheld the system.

Archia was the nation’s only hope. Which was why Iris needed to protect her homeland at all costs. She couldn’t risk over-harvesting the land with the use of machines. If they destroyed Archia, Quadara would starve.

While some might still consider Archia primitive, it was not weak. Not while Iris ruled.

The governor’s bottom lip jerked outward. “I know we are not meant to take technology from other quadrants, but—”

“Then you bore me with this conversation because . . . ?”

“Perhaps you should allow this?” Marguerite asked. At forty, she was the eldest and longest-reigning queen, and often the voice of reason. Even though her last appointment for the day had been canceled, she continued to watch court with interest. Like all Torians, her curiosity for other cultures could not be satiated.