Thread: Rebellion in al-Nithiel: The Tragedy of the Onyx Queen

Rashida imagined that, if she could see the sky, it was be a rather pleasant shade of blue. Which, she decided, was a blessing that she couldnt, because beautiful cerulean skies was the last thing she wanted to see right now. Instead she watched the growing black cloud wafting from the palace, her home for the last ten years. An ugly black smudge that chased away all hope that her husband might not have perished. She could taste the sulphur in the air, thick on her tongue and in her lungs, provoking a coughing fit. A coughing fit that ended with her regurgitating whatever it was she had last eaten. It didnt taste as good coming back up. Behind her, the crew laughed. Lookey-here! Our captains gotten herself so ustta a queens life, she lost her sea legs! Wiping chunks from her chin, she joined them in a self-depreciating chuckle. A pathetic gesture that didnt try to deny their jests. It was better they thought that, she decided. Better that though she was soft from her time as ruler, soft enough the rocking of the sea could bring up her lunch. Better than having to admit the truth to them. Better than having to admit the truth to herself, better than to have to prepare herself for another loss. All alone this time. As long as she didnt acknowledge it, the hope couldnt hurt her. In her chambers, her son was still sleeping. Well, Suleimans son. Her husbands son, and therefore hers too, even if not in blood. He looked like his father, with dark hair and eyes on a dusky bronze complexion. A fact she had often acknowledged, but had never before hurt so much as in this moment. I miss him. The first of many instances of missing him, she suspected. Seeking comfort, she dug through her things until she came upon the journal he kept. His words had stolen her heart, turned a political marriage into a fulfilling romantic one. She was hardly a page in before she was smiling, with tears rolling down her cheeks. Hows the Onyx Queen holding up? Her first mate Shamila call as she joined her in her chambers. The sun and sea air had done the woman many favors, as her golden complexion seemed to glow even in the dark of the cabin. A red bandana just managed to hold back the mass of dark curls springing from her head, demanding to have her presence felt. Strong muscles and curves from sailing half her life continued this trend of taking up rightfully earned space. Rashida met her question with a glare. Dont call me that. I was supposed to be there, by his side. Instead I am fleeing, like an animal with my tail tucked between my legs. And what would have happened to his son had you stayed? Someone else could have carried him to safety. We had a hundred loyal and capable retainers who would have been honored to do so. Perhaps you are right. But what of hope? Who would have carried that? You think I still have hope? You were the first one to believe the demons could be stopped. You created this, all of this, because of that hope. Despite everything else, you kept on, that hope the only thing guiding you. If you truly believed there was no hope, you wouldnt have obeyed his dying wish. I wasnt going to deny his last request. When have you ever obeyed him before now? When have you ever obeyed anything but your own desires? Dont say it was because you loved him, because love never made you compliant before. There was a defeated smirked on Rashida face, as she knew there wasnt any arguing with Shamila. Her first mate really had known her too well. Still, shed be damned if she didnt get the last word, I still say he was being selfish. I dont disagree. But, consider this. Suleiman gave everything for his people, everything for his country. In the face of that sacrifice, wasnt he due one small mercy? That he shouldnt have to watch his beloved perish as he did? That he could go onto heaven, knowing you and Harmah survived? Rashida sighed, hating the Shamila made so much sense. Hating it, and yet wishing it were true. Wishing that her husband had known some peace in those final moments, knowing she was safe. There was a few moments of comfortable silence, before she turned her attention back to her son. What am I going to tell Harmah? She lamented, watching the child sleep, jealous of his peacefulness, and ignorance. That his father is a hero? Isnt that what any six year-old would want? her first mate suggested, shrugging. Im sure any child would prefer a living father to the ghost of a hero, Rashida challenged, unwilling or unable to hide her bitterness. By the gods, she'd make the demons pay in blood for this. What he needs is a parent. A mother, if his father is gone. Not a vengeful widow. Shamila advised, sensing her unspoken anger.