VII: Orsella

Rellan Din Trellis ascended to the throne in 1514 AGC at just fifteen years old. His father, Branden, had died two months prior of a heart attack. His coronation was a grand affair, apparently. Hundreds were packed into the Grand Temple and thousands gathered outside to witness the crown on their new King’s head. His sister, the twelve-year-old Qyther, was said to have been at his side—being that he hadn’t married. They had waved at the top of the steps to the Grand Temple, greeting the people with supposed glee.

If the crowds gathering for her father’s coronation were large, Orsella did not know what to call those coming for her’s.

She woke early in the morning—the sun still not having risen—with a knot in her stomach. Even then, she could hear the crowds gathering farther down the mountain. Her room had been moved to one even higher than her old one; She had been offered her father’s, but the thought made her feel sick. This one had been her grandfather’s, who had died eating at the table and not in bed.

The sun poked its head up an hour later. Orsella gave a short prayer to Amatera, asking Them to give her strength, before Dellore, Malara, and Terissa entered. For another hour, she was cleaned, washed, and dressed into an elegant white and red dress with threads of black running throughout. They braided her hair and wove golden laces through it as part of the tradition. ‘The head getting ready for the crown’ was what her father had told Cormac once. She had overheard him telling him what would happen when he died. How her brother would ascend to the throne and he would rule, bear children, and someday pass the crown onto *his* son. The memory stung and made the knot in Orsella’s stomach tighten.

As Terissa was putting make-up on her, their eyes caught each other for a moment.

“Thank you,” her maid had whispered. The other’s didn’t hear, but Orsella gave a small nod.

*“I won’t have another brother’s life ripped from their sister.”* She had said that, but she didn’t mean it. If Orsella thought that having Caedric Kinkaid killed would bring her any relief, she would not have hesitated. Qyther had even asked her if that’s what she wanted. But no. She had known it would not help. And, in some part, what she said was true, even if the words were hollow.

By the time Orsella had been led to her carriage, the roads were piling with people. Many of them craned their necks and stood on their toes to get a glimpse of her. *Why are they so infatuated? How long has it been since I was out in public? A week? Two?* They had not bothered her then. At the other side of the carriage, wearing in a deep red dress with silk gloves of the same colour, Qyther smiled through the small windows, occasionally waving her hand at them.

“Smile, dear,” she told Orsella, not looking at her and barely moving her mouth to break her smile. “You are the Queen, now. You must present yourself to them. They may be disgusting, but they’re yours.”

“I don’t want them,” Orsella said. But all the same, she pulled her face up and began waving at them. “Yet, here we are.”

“Yet, here we are.”

\*

Compared to the growing crowds outside, the number of people gathered in the Grand Temple was nothing. On each of the six walls were rows of chairs, all occupied by rich nobles, council members, and Lords from all around Tochi. *A sea of men, all here to watch me. If this were any other occasion, I might be blushing.*

Orsella stood at the doors frozen for a few moments. In the centre of the large hall was a chair made of dark oak, its back was as tall as two men, towering over those unfortunate enough to be sat behind it. At its side stood Voice Taylor, dressed in brilliant blue robes and leaning on a slender white staff that was carved with swirling patterns and was topped with a piece of black rock.

Slowly, Orsella approached with her aunt at her side. *It should be me by Cormac’s side. Not this. Never this.* As she came closer, everyone stood, their eyes fixed on Orsella. She didn’t notice for a moment, her gaze was fixed on the chair, looming over her as she grew closer. Then, she saw that they were still stood, waiting expectantly for her order. *What did Fa do at times like this?* Slowly, she waved her hand dismissively, and they all began to sit. Qyther gave her arm a squeeze as she did so.

When they reached the centre, Voice Taylor stepped forward, the tapping of the staff on the floor the only sound in the hall.

“Who comes to claim the throne of the Empire?” the old man’s voice echoed around the room. According to legend, the room was built with the intention that whoever spoke in the centre could be heard in every corner, even if they only whispered.

“Orsella, of the house of Din Trellis,” she said as loud as she could muster. *Why have I become shy now?*

“And who comes to offer her to the Gods?”

“Her aunt, Qyther, of the house of Din Trellis,” Qyther’s voice was much harder and much louder than her own. Voice Taylor turned and beckoned Orsella towards the seat. As she moved towards it, she felt her aunt’s hand leave her arm and heard her steps receding behind her. Orsella felt unsteady without her. Alone.

She sat, her arms resting on the wooden sides. Voice Taylor’s face was stern and unmoving as he lifted the staff up into the air. *I suppose I am of too high a standing for his eye to wander at me anymore.*

“O Amatera of the sun above us. O Gaius of the earth below us. O Merina of the water that we drink. O Polo of the moon that brings light in the dark. O Rota, whose sacrifice saved us. O Shinda, whose embrace comes for us all. Bless this one with Your divine powers so that she may bestow Your judgment. Give her strength in times of weakness, give her wisdom in times of ignorance, give her humanity in times of savagery.” He lowered his staff and faced her. “Orsella, of the house of Din Trellis, do you accept Their gift?”

Her throat was dry. The weight of the Voice’s words pressed down on her. Everyone was looking at her, watching her reaction, waiting for her response. *If I hesitate, they will see. If I tremble, they will notice.* Orsella could scarcely breathe, her chest felt tight and her heart thumped against her ribs. *One word. It’s just one word.* Voice Taylor looked on expectantly, but she didn’t see the old man’s face. For some odd reason, she remembered her conversation with the knight.

*“The last words your brother said to me. He asked me to wish you a happy birthday for him.”*

*It should be you here. Not I.* She breathed in deep. *I’ll make sure to find out why that isn’t so.*

“Yes,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. Looking down on her, Taylor’s eyes hardened. Coming from behind Orsella, one of the guards appeared holding a tall crown made of Black-Steel. Each of its six peaks was shaped into the curls of flames and its surface rippled as it reflected the light. Taylor took it from the pillow on which it sat, his hands shook a little as he raised it above her.

“One crown. One land. One ruler.” Orsella closed her eyes as she felt her head grow heavy, the cold metal slipping onto her head. “Rise, Queen Orsella!” Everyone in the temple echoed her name as she stood slowly. *No more weeping. No more complaining. The deed is done.*

*Now, I must find out why.*

\*

By the second day, the crown made her head heavy and her neck ache. She tried not to wear it as often as possible, but a lot of the time it was expected of her. It had been modelled after her father and as such, fit a little too loosely on Orsella’s head. There were already plans to have it altered, but for now, she was doomed to keep adjusting the thing every few moments.

She did so once more, pausing afterwards to rub her neck. She had risen early again and had made her way to the council chamber near the top of the Royal Keep. The room was large enough, with a fireplace on one wall and a giant glass window opposite, pointing out into the ocean and the islands of the Broken Neck beyond. In the centre was a large table carved from the rocks that broke off the top of the mountain in the Great Cataclysm. Besides her’s, five other chairs surrounded it, though none were occupied.

She sat for at least an hour, staring out of the window from her chair and watching as a ship left the docks. She thought about taking the crown off but willed herself not to. *Maybe if I keep wearing it, my neck won’t hurt as much.* Eventually, the door swung open and in stepped Robyn Dan Jaeger. The Second Monarch kept his dark hair tied behind his head and had trimmed his beard short. The scar on his cheek cut through his lower jaw and rose to meet his left eye. When he saw Orsella, he straightened.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” he said courteously, avoiding her eyes. She remained quiet for a moment, holding her gaze on the man before realising that he must be allowed to move once more.

“Oh. Sit, my Lord,” Jaeger suddenly went limp and sat on the seat closest to Orsella. *This is going to get tedious if they all keep freezing whenever they lay eyes on me.*

And so it did. As one by one, the Lords of her council filed in, each stopping and greeting Orsella, waiting for her approval and obeying when she asked them to take their seat. Dorter Van Harris, the man who had interrupted her father on her birthday, was the second to arrive. She had never heard much about the King’s spymaster, but in their brief interactions, he had seemed a good enough man. The man known as Cigam Van Pinth, however, was a wholly different story. Rellan had often complained to others about him—even Orsella, on occasion. Next came Karl Haarting, of which Orsella knew nothing, but his beard was well kept and he had a softness about him that she seemed to like.

The last council member to arrive was Leut Dan Lothor, the crown’s coinmaster. At first glance, the man looked ancient, his hair was grey and thin, his eyes were sunken behind a pair of thin glasses, and his face was wrinkled and sagging. But however old he appeared, his voice felt like that of a much younger man.

“Your Majesty,” he said slowly and without stopping, dipping into a low bow that looked difficult. He clutched a large red book close to his chest which, when she let him sit, he practically dropped to the table with a loud thud.

*So these are the men who truly run the country. And I run them.* Orsella took a moment, taking them in. Assessing them. They looked at her expectantly and as more time passed, the less comfortable they all seemed. Eventually, Leut Dan Lothor opened his mouth to speak, but she chose the opportunity to cut him off.

“So,” she looked at each of them individually as she spoke. “Shall we get started, then?” another silent moment passed as the others exchanged looks. “What progress has been made?”

“Uh…progress, Your Majesty?” Karl Haarting asked softly, leaning forward.

“My father and brother’s deaths, of course,” another moment of silence followed and Orsella could feel her anger growing.

“Ah, my Queen,” this time, Dorter Van Harris spoke. “Between the funerals and your coronation, we didn’t think it prudent to—”

“You didn’t think it prudent? Your Prince is slain a mere day’s ride from High-Mountain in the night by some gang of murderers and the *next* day, your King suddenly drops dead in his sleep and you *didn’t think it prudent*?” *What have these people been doing this whole time?* Orsella couldn’t stop herself from speaking. The words kept pouring out as the other members of the council shrunk down in their seats. All except Leut Dan Lothor.

“Your Majesty. If I may?” he said, tilting his head a little. “We do so apologise if you are dissatisfied with our service in the King’s absence—though, with you on the throne now, I have to hope we will be able to perform to your standards.” Leut then opened his book, the other side landing on the table and kicking up dust. He placed a thin finger on the pages and began looking at whatever was written “It may interest you to know that we *have* spent a great deal on the funerals, the coronation and..ah…your birthday party.”

Despite her anger, a twinge of guilt went through Orsella. She remembered the extravagance of that day, even though it seemed so far away now. And the coronation…

“How much?” she asked.

Leut dragged a finger across the parchment. “Let’s see…ah. Two thousand Hans for your birthday, four thousand for each funeral, and…eight thousand for the coronation.” He looked up finally, gazing at her through his spectacles with a small smile. “That does, I’m afraid, bring the reserves a little on the low end. Though, I’m sure we could increase taxes a little or—”

“No,” she said.

“Are you sure, Your Majesty?” Leut asked, keeping his voice quiet enough so that she had to lean forward to hear him. “They were already bumped up from your birthday, but I’m certain that there won’t be too much of an adverse reaction from the people.”

“No taxes,” Orsella repeated. *Father increased taxes for my birthday?* Despite her confusion and guilt, she managed to hide her emotions. “My apologies, my Lords. I realise now that there has been considerable stress on the five of you.”

“You can say that again,” Cigam Van Pinth murmured, though not quiet enough that Orsella didn’t hear.

“Pinth!” Dorter snapped next to the sorcerer. Cigam flinched a little and after a moment, apologised to Orsella.

“It’s quite alright, my Lord,” she told him, nodding her head and looking back at the others. “But there *is* something happening without our knowledge and I would like to find out what.” She turned to Robyn Dan Jaeger, who straightened his back a little. “Instruct the Kishis to investigate my father’s body and look at my brother’s possessions to see if my brother had anything on his person that could help identify his killers.”

Robyn nodded. “Of course, my Queen.”

“And in terms of the money situation,” she looked back at Leut Dan Lothor. “I don’t think I shall be having a birthday party next year. Or perhaps the year after. Factor that into your numbers and come back to me.” Orsella rose, then. “Unless there are any other important matters, I will take my leave. My Lords.”