A Rule of Queens

“Send them south,” he said. “Give them the gold. You’ve killed Romulus. Now you must broker a truce. We have no choice.”

Volusia turned back to Romulus’s man. She surveyed him, taking her time, relishing in the moment.

“I will do as you ask,” she said, “and send you to the capital.”

The commander smiled back, satisfied, and was about to go, when Volusia stepped forward and added:

“But not to hide what I’ve done,” she said.

He stopped and looked at her, confused.

“I will send you to the capital to deliver them a message: that they will know that I am the new Supreme Commander of the Empire. That if they all bow the knee to me now, they just might live.”

The commander looked at her, aghast, then slowly shook his head and smiled.

“You are as crazy as your mother was rumored to be,” he said, then turned away and began to march back up the long ramp, onto his ship. “Load the gold in the lower holds,” he called out, not even bothering to turn back and look at her.

Volusia turned to her commander of the bow, who stood there patiently awaiting her command, and she gave him a short nod.

The commander immediately turned and motioned to his men, and there came the sound of ten thousand arrows being lit, drawn, and fired.

They filled the sky, blackening it, sailing up in a high arc of flame, as the blazing arrows landed on Romulus’s ship. It all happened too quickly for any of his men to react, and soon the entire ship was ablaze, men shrieking, their commander most of all, as they flailed about with nowhere to run, trying to put out the flames.

But it was no use. Volusia nodded again, and volley after volley of arrows sailed through the air, covering the burning ship. Men shrieked as they were pierced, some stumbling to the decks, others falling overboard. It was a slaughter, with no survivors.

Volusia stood there and grinned, watching in satisfaction as the ship slowly burned from the bottom to the mast, soon, nothing left but a burning, blackened remnant of a boat.

All fell silent as Volusia’s men stopped, all lined up, all looking at her, patiently awaiting her command.

Volusia stepped forward, drew her sword, and chopped the thick cord holding the ship to the dock. It snapped, freeing the ship from shore, and Volusia raised one of her gold-plated boots, placed it on the bow, and shoved.

Volusia watched as the ship began to move, picking up the currents, the currents she knew would carry it south, right into the heart of the capital. They would all see this burnt ship, see Romulus’s corpses, see the Volusian arrows, and they would know it came from her. They would know that war had begun.

Volusia turned to Soku, standing beside her, mouth agape, and she smiled.

“That,” she said, “is how I offer peace.”

Chapter Four

Gwendolyn knelt on the bow of the deck, clutching the rail, her knuckles white as she mustered just enough strength to lean up and look out over at the horizon. Her entire body was trembling, weak from starvation, and as she looked out, she was dizzy, light-headed. She pulled herself to her feet, somehow finding the strength, and looked out in wonder at the sight before her.

Gwendolyn squinted through the mist and wondered if it was all real or just a mirage.

There, on the horizon, spread an endless shoreline, at its center a busy hub with a massive harbor, two huge, shining gold pillars framing the city behind it, rising up into the sky. The pillars and city took on yellowish-green tint as the sun moved. The clouds moved quickly here, Gwen realized. She did not know if it was due to the sky being so different here in this part of the world, or due to her drifting in and out of consciousness.

In the city’s harbor sat a thousand proud ships, all with the tallest masts she’d ever seen, all plated with gold. This was the most prosperous city she had ever seen, built right on the shore and spreading out forever, the ocean breaking up against its vast metropolis. It made King’s Court look like a village. Gwen did not know that so many buildings could be in one place. She wondered what sort of people lived here. It must be a great nation, she realized. The Empire nation.

Gwen felt a sudden pit in her stomach as she realized the currents were pulling them in; soon they would be sucked into that vast harbor, surrounded by all those ships, and taken prisoner, if not killed. Gwen thought of how cruel Andronicus had been, how cruel Romulus had been, and she knew it was the Empire way; perhaps it would have been better, she realized, to have died at sea.

Gwen heard a shuffling of feet on the deck, and she looked over and saw Sandara, faint from hunger but standing proudly at the rail and holding up a large golden relic, shaped in a bull’s horns, and tilting it so that it caught the sun. Gwen watched the light catch it, again and again, and watched it flashing as it cast an unusual signal to the far shoreline. Sandara did not aim it toward the city, but rather north, toward what appeared to be an isolated copse of trees on the shoreline.

As Gwen’s eyes, so heavy, began to close, drifting in and out of consciousness, as she began to feel herself slumping down toward the deck, images flashed through her mind. She was not sure anymore what was real and what was her food-starved consciousness. Gwen saw canoes, dozens of them, emerging from the dense jungle canopy and heading out, on the rolling sea, toward their ship. She caught a glimpse of them as they approached, and she was surprised to see not the Empire race, not massive warriors with horns and red skin, but rather a different race. She saw proud muscular men and women, with chocolate skin and glowing yellow eyes, with compassionate, intelligent faces, all rowing to greet her. Gwen saw Sandara looking at them in recognition, and she realized that these were Sandara’s people.

Gwen heard a hollow thumping noise on the ship, and she saw grappling hooks on deck, ropes being cast, locking to the ship. She felt her ship change direction, and she looked down and saw the fleet of kayaks towing their boat, guiding it on the currents in the opposite direction of the Empire city. Gwen slowly realized that Sandara’s people were coming to help them. To guide their ship toward another harbor, away from that of the Empire.

Gwen felt their ship veering sharply north, toward the dense canopy, toward a small, hidden harbor. She closed her eyes, filled with relief.

Soon Gwen opened her eyes to find herself standing, leaning over the rail, watching her ship getting towed. Overcome with exhaustion, Gwendolyn felt herself leaning too far forward, losing her grip and slipping; her eyes widened in panic as she realized that she was about to fall overboard. Gwen grasped at the rail, but it was too late, her momentum already carrying her over the edge.

Gwen’s heart pounded in a panic; she could not believe that after all she’d been through, she would die this way, plunging silently into the sea when they were so close to land.

As she felt herself falling, Gwen heard a sudden snarling, and suddenly, she felt strong teeth biting into the back of her shirt, and she heard a whining noise as she felt herself being yanked backwards by her shirt, pulled back, away from the abyss, and finally back onto the deck. She landed on the wooden deck with a thump, on her back, safe and sound.

She looked up to see Krohn standing over her, and her heart lifted with joy. Krohn was alive, she was overjoyed to see. He looked so much thinner than the last time she’d seen him, emaciated, and she realized she had lost track of him in all the chaos. The last time she’d seen him was when he had descended below deck in a particularly bad storm. She realized now that he must have hidden somewhere below deck, starved himself so that others could eat. That was Krohn. Always so selfless. And now that they were nearing land again, he was resurfacing.

Krohn whined and licked her face, and Gwen hugged him with her last bit of strength. She lay back down, Krohn lying by her side, whining, laying his head on her chest, snuggling with her as if he had no other place left in the world.

* * *

Gwendolyn felt a liquid, sweet and cold, trickling on her lips, on her tongue, down her cheeks and neck. She opened her mouth and drank, swallowing eagerly, and as she did, the sensation woke her from her dreams.

Gwen opened her eyes, drinking greedily, unfamiliar faces hovering over her, and she drank and drank until she coughed.

Someone pulled her up, and she sat up, coughing uncontrollably, someone patting her on her back.

“Shhhh,” came a voice. “Drink slowly.”

It was a gentle voice, the voice of a healer. Gwen looked over to see an old man with a lined face, his entire face bunching up into wrinkles as he smiled.

Gwen looked out to see dozens of unfamiliar faces, Sandara’s people, staring back at her quietly, examining her as if she were an oddity. Gwendolyn, overcome with thirst and hunger, reached out, and like a crazy woman, grabbed the sack of whatever it was and poured the sweet liquid into her mouth, drinking and drinking, biting down on the tip of it as if she would never drink again.

“Slowly now,” came the man’s voice. “Or you’ll get sick.”

Gwen looked over to see dozens of warriors, Sandara’s people, occupying her ship. She saw her own people, the survivors of the Ring, lying or kneeling or sitting, each attended to by one of Sandara’s people, each given a sack to drink. They were all coming back from the brink. Among them she saw Illepra, holding the baby Gwen had rescued on the Upper Isles, feeding her. Gwen was relieved to hear the baby’s cries; she had passed her off to Illepra when she was too weak to hold her, and seeing her alive made Gwen think of Guwayne. Gwen was determined that this baby girl should live.

Gwen was feeling more restored with each passing moment, and she sat up and drank more of the liquid, wondering what was inside, her heart filled with gratitude toward these people. They had saved all of their lives.

Beside Gwen there came a whining, and she looked down and saw Krohn, still lying there, his head in her lap; she reached down and gave him drink from her sack, and he lapped at it thankfully. She stroked his head lovingly; she owed him her life, once again. And seeing him made her think of Thor.

Gwen looked up at all of Sandara’s people, not knowing how to thank them.

“You have saved us,” she said. “We owe you our lives.”

Gwen turned and looked at Sandara, coming over and kneeling beside her, and Sandara shook her head.

“My people don’t believe in debts,” she said. “They believe it is an honor to save someone in distress.”

The crowd parted ways and Gwen looked over to see a stern man, who appeared to be their leader, perhaps in his fifties, with a set jaw and thin lips, approach. He squatted before her, wearing a large turquoise necklace made of shells that flashed in the sun, and bowed his head, his yellow eyes filled with compassion as he surveyed her.