Morgan Rice - A Rule of Queens

“Predicament?” she said. “What predicament is that?”

He looked back, baffled.

“My empress, you have started a war you cannot win,” he said. “I am offering you a way out.”

She shook her head.

“What you fail to understand,” she said, “what all men have always failed to understand, is that I am exactly where I want to be.”

Volusia heard a roar, and she turned her back on him, turned back to the arena, and watched as a Razif gored another slave in the chest. She smiled, delighted.

“My lady,” Finian continued, more desperate, “if I may speak boldly, I’ve heard the most awful rumor. I hear you intend to march to the Mad Prince. That you hope for an alliance with him. Surely you must know that is a futile endeavor. The Mad Prince is aptly named, and he refuses all requests to loan out his men. If you visit him, you will be humiliated, and you will be killed. Do not listen to your counselors. Us Finians, we have lived for thousands of years because we know people. Because we trade with them. Accept our deal. Do the cautious thing, as your mother would have done.”

“My mother?” she said, and let out a short, derisive laugh. “Where is she now? Killed by my hand. She was not killed by a lack of caution—but by an abundance of trust.”

Volusia looked at Sardus meaningfully, knowing she could not trust him either.

“My empress,” he said, desperate, “I implore you. Allow me to speak frankly: you are not, as you think, a goddess. You are a human. And you are frail, vulnerable, like all other humans. Do not start a war you cannot win.”

Volusia, enraged, stared coldly at Sardus, who was horrified as all the others witnessed their conversation, all her commanders, all her advisors, all of them watching to see how she reacted.

“Frail?” she repeated, seething.

She was in such a fury that she knew she had to take drastic action, had to prove to all these men that she was the farthest thing from frail. She had to prove what she knew to be true: that she was a goddess.

Volusia suddenly turned her back on them all and faced the arena.

“Open the gate,” she commanded her attendant.

He looked at her, eyes wide in shock.

“My empress?” he asked.

“I will not command you twice,” she said coldly.

Her attendant rushed to open the gates, the cheer of the crowd much louder as he did so, the heat and stench of the arena coming at her in waves.

Volusia stepped forward, out onto a balcony before stairs heading down, and held out her hands, wide at her sides, facing her people.

As one, all her people suddenly fell silent, shocked at the sight of her, and they all fell on their knees, bowing.

Volusia stepped forward, onto the first step leading down. One step at a time, she descended to the arena, walking down the endless set of stairs.

As she did, the entire stadium grew even more quiet, until one could hear a pin drop. The only sound was that of the Razif, breathing hard, running through the empty arena, anxious for its next victim.

Finally, Volusia reached the bottom and stood before the final gate into the arena.

She turned to the guard.

“Open it,” she commanded.

He looked at her, in a state of shock.

“My empress?” he asked. “If I open these gates, the Razif will kill you. It will stomp you to death.”

She smiled.

“I won’t say it again.”

Soldiers rushed forward and opened the gates, and the crowd gasped as Volusia walked through, and the gates quickly slammed behind her.

The crowd stood, in shock, as Volusia walked slowly, one step at a time, into the center of the dusty arena. She walked right to the middle, toward the Razif.

The crowd cried out in shock and fear.

The Razif suddenly set its eyes on her, and as it did, it leaned back and shrieked. Then it charged at her at full speed, horns out, right for her.

Volusia stood in the center of the arena, held out her arms, and let out an enraged cry herself, as the Razif charged at her. Volusia stood her ground and stared back at it, determined, never flinching as it charged and charged, the ground shaking beneath her.

As the crowd cried out, all expecting her to be gored, Volusia stood there, haughty, arrogant, scowling back at the beast. Inside, she knew she was a goddess; she knew that nothing of this earth could touch her. And if she wasn’t, if she could be killed by a mere mortal animal, then she didn’t want to live at all.

The Razif raced for her, then suddenly, at the last moment, stopped short a few feet away from her. It raised up and reared its legs, several feet away from her, as if afraid of her.

It stood there, not coming any closer, and looked at her. Slowly, it dropped to its knees, then to its stomach.

Then the crowd gasped as the Razif lowered its head and bowed before her, touching its head to the ground.

Volusia stood there, arms out wide to her sides, taking in her power over the animal, her fearlessness, her power over the universe. She knew she really was a goddess. And she feared nothing.

One by one, every person in the arena fell on their knees and bowed their heads low, tens of thousands of people, all of the empire race, all deferring to her. She could feel all of their energy, she sucked in all of their power, and she knew that she was the most powerful woman on earth.

“VOLUSIA!” they cried out.

“VOLUSIA! VOLUSIA!”

Gwendolyn stood at the entrance to the cave, watching the sun begin to set, preparing. All around her, men were packing up the few provisions they had and bracing themselves to leave this place, to begin the long trek across the Great Waste, on a quest for the Second Ring.

It was time, Gwen realized, to seek out a new home, a permanent home. Her people needed it, and they deserved it. They might all die trying, but at least they would die on their feet, striving for something greater—not holed up here in a cave, cowering, waiting to die. It had taken her an entire moon cycle to realize it, to shake off the depression of missing Guwayne and Thor. That depression still clung to her, yet now, Gwen was able to work through it, to not let it stop her from functioning in the world. After all, giving into her depression would not change her circumstance—it would only make her life worse.

Of course, Gwen felt a deep sense of sorrow and loss in accepting the fact that Thorgrin and Guwayne might not ever return to her. She felt little left to live for. Yet she thought of her father, and his father before him—a long line of kings who had seen great calamity, and who had put their faith in her—and she drew strength from their example. She forced herself to be strong, to focus on the task at hand. She had a people to lead. She had to get them to safety.

“My lady?” came an urgent voice.

Gwendolyn turned and was surprised to see one of the villagers standing there at the entrance of the cave, out of breath, looking at her gravely.

“Why have you come during daylight?” Gwendolyn asked, alarmed.

“We have an urgent matter,” he said, in a rush. “You are needed at our village meeting, immediately. All of you.”

Kendrick and Godfrey came up beside her, all looking as confused as she.

“Why would you want our people at your meeting?” she asked. “Especially during daylight?”

The messenger, still catching his breath, shook his head.

“It is a matter that concerns us all, my lady. Before you leave, please come.”

He turned and ran off, and Gwen watched him go in utter confusion.

“What could they want?” she asked. “They implored us never to show ourselves before dark.”

“Perhaps they don’t want us to leave,” Godfrey said.