Until Again (8 page)

Plenium had brought up the topic in the hopes of creating a momentary diversion from the challenge that lay ahead. Instead it had left him with yet another thing to feel uneasy about. There was a reason he and Folium spoke infrequently about Miea’s social life or her future. Plenium could play at the idea of “eliminating” Dyson. He was relatively certain that Folium wasn’t playing, though.

At that moment, the motorcade began its crossing of the Malaspina Bridge. Spanning a canyon nearly two miles wide, the ancient bridge traversed a space that was more than a thousand feet above the ground below. Built at the cost of many lives hundreds of years earlier, it was one of the oldest manmade structures in Tamarisk that had not been renovated in the past few decades. Every few years, engineers would present a proposal for bringing the bridge up to date, and each time the palace would turn the proposal aside due to costs and the relative lack of traffic on the structure.

Plenium watched the landscape with fascination. This was a perspective one rarely got in this kingdom. Certainly there was nothing to provide a vista this wide and at this height anywhere close to Tamarisk City, unless one were sitting on the back of a waccasassa. It was difficult to believe that a natural wonder like the Malaspina Gorge resided so close to a nation as industrial and averse to nature as Gunnthorn.

Just then, Plenium felt the ground shake. At first he thought this was another version of the shift he’d felt a bit earlier. This time, though, it was clear everyone else in the car was aware of it as well. A moment later, he felt the car lurching forward and then he heard the unmistakable sound of the vehicle crashing into the car in front of it.

“Reverse! Reverse!” someone was saying from outside as the ground lurched again. He could hear the car’s tires spinning, but the shaking continued.

He turned toward Folium to see her gaze locked on the horizon. Her eyes were wide, but her expression was unknowable. Until that moment, it hadn’t dawned on him to feel afraid.

The tires squealed, and the ground beneath them rumbled. The car seemed to be gaining a measure of traction, and Plenium felt the vehicle moving backward a bit.

Then the ground rumbled like some massive beast moaning in agony.

And Plenium felt the bridge give way.

The car lurched forward before turning upside down as it began its long plunge toward the bottom of the gorge.

Plenium had never considered his own mortality. He never once imagined what this moment might be like. As he accelerated toward the ground, his back pressed against the roof of the car, the king closed his eyes.

There he saw Miea, beaming, speaking unabashedly about love and possibility.
I must have lived well,
he thought,
if I’m being granted this vision in my final moment.

“Until again, my dear,” he said to the image of his daughter.

“Until again.”

For Miea, the past few days had felt guided rather than lived. From the moment she’d been brought into the administration building on campus, and Amelan told her what had happened to her parents on the Malaspina Bridge, Miea had let others make every decision for her.

The car will take you back to the palace, Your Majesty. These are your new rooms, Your Majesty. Here is the address we’ve prepared for your subjects, Your Majesty. It is important to eat something, Your Majesty. Here are some more tissues, Your Majesty.

She couldn’t think of any action she’d taken that felt as though it had come from inside her. This was probably for the best. Given her own instincts, she would have chosen the precise opposite of action right now. The couch in the receiving room, perhaps, where she could look out on the placid lawn and the local fauna interacting with the world without care. Maybe simply the comforter that exerted gentle pressure on her as she lay in bed.

This morning, however, would be her first Kingdom Congress as queen. She couldn’t allow herself inaction there. Nor could she let others speak for her, as she effectively did by letting her advisors prepare the statement she made upon her return to Tamarisk City. Her great-great-great-grandmother had created the weekly Kingdom Congress as a way for all citizens of Tamarisk to know that the palace was willing to listen to their concerns, to sympathize with their challenges, and to celebrate their triumphs in front of all who’d gathered and all who listened in from afar. The kingdom needed to know that Miea would continue this practice with full dedication and full attention, even at a stage of grief that affected her on so many levels. It wouldn’t do to have others whispering her responses in her ears during something this fundamental to her future and the future of Tamarisk.

Miea understood that these first steps as queen were important ones. The kingdom was dealing with more than a tragedy. If she suggested in any way that she was going to be a weak or unsteady leader, she could be creating enormous risks for all of Tamarisk. She owed the people she served her fullest dedication and her most acute wisdom. Others could appear devastated in public and uncertain about what lay ahead. Not the new queen. Especially not the new,
young
queen.

She knew this Congress was likely to be an easy one in all ways except the most obvious. In all likelihood there would be little more than expressions of condolence from those in attendance. Few in the kingdom would be so callous as to feel that they should bring complaints to the very first gathering after the death of their beloved leaders. Larger matters, such as a full investigation of the events at the Malaspina Bridge and what Miea completely believed was the involvement of the Thorns, were being attended to in other ways. The question was whether she possessed the skills necessary even to handle this most basic level of statecraft. She was utterly untried, and in most ways utterly unprepared. One simply didn’t train for a role one was unlikely to fill for dozens of years.

Staff had put up portraits of her mother and father just inside the doorway at Miea’s request. In a rare moment of clarity she’d directed them to do so, realizing she wanted those images as reminders of their legacy every time she left her office. Miea walked up to the pictures now, settling for a moment on her mother’s unassailable visage before turning to her father.

“They’re gathering in the hall right now, Dad. What do you think they’re expecting of me? They can’t believe that I can be you or Mom, can they? The last time I addressed the Kingdom Congress was three years ago when I reported on my summer out in the fields of Jonrae. People smiled at me sweetly that day, as though I was a precocious child.”

Miea bowed her head for a moment and let the memory fill her. She’d complained bitterly to her father that afternoon about the kingdom not taking her seriously, positing that they’d forever see her as a “cute little kid.”

“This happened much too fast for all of us, didn’t it? I’m no more ready to lead them than they are ready to be led by me. And there’s so much we
won’t
talk about today. The problems with the Thorns didn’t end because they sent an emissary to your funeral. The emissary might even have been a spy. For all I know, they’re planning an invasion because they think we’re impossibly weak right now – because
they’ve
weakened us. I know there’s no indication yet that they had anything to do with the destruction of the bridge, but we’re going to find out they were involved; I’m sure of it.”

Miea took a deep breath, realizing she was at risk of releasing every emotion she’d been storing since Amelan told her the unthinkable news. She couldn’t do that now, not when she needed to bear up under the gaze of those gathered for the Kingdom Congress.

She closed her eyes and at the same time leaned forward, finding her forehead pressed against her father’s picture.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. She didn’t lift her head immediately, finding some comfort in the familiarity of this pose. If she let her imagination run, she could imagine that the glass she pressed against now was the glass of the screen she used to communicate with her parents when she was at university. That she was enacting the silly little ritual she’d accidentally begun with her father when she first went away to school.

“They admire you more than you realize. They always have.”

Miea heard the voice inside her head with such clarity that her father could have been standing next to her with a hand on her shoulder.

“What you interpreted as amusement was marveling at your poise, polish, and brilliance at such a young age. I tried to explain this to you then, but, well, dear, you aren’t always easily
mollified.”

Miea understood that she herself was putting these thoughts in her brain. How was that possible, though, when she didn’t believe these things?

“I’m worried, Dad,” she said with her eyes still closed and her head still pressed close to her father.

“Just remind them that you are wise, Miea. For now, that’s all they need from you.”

Miea took another deep breath and was about to ask another question when she heard a knock on her door. She turned to the sound to see her chief aide entering the room.

“The people have gathered, Your Majesty,” Sorbus said.

“Thank you, Sorbus. I’ll be right there.”

He left, and Miea looked back at the pictures, touching each of the faces gently. The talk had helped, regardless of its provenance.

“Until again, Mother and Dad. I love you.”

A few minutes later she was standing in front of the gathering. There were more people in the hall than Miea had ever seen at a Kingdom Congress before. Many – nearly all – were crying, and Miea wondered if they’d been doing so since yesterday’s funeral. If so, that was one more thing she had in common with the rest of Tamarisk.

She stood before them, and the room quieted instantly. It was customary to begin each Kingdom Congress with a traditional greeting, welcoming the assemblage and inviting them to speak their minds with words first spoken by her great-great-great-grandmother. Somehow, that felt wrong. This occasion required something else, though Miea wasn’t entirely sure what, even if it was essential that she put it into action.

Just remind them that you are wise,
her father had told her. She bowed her head and thought of his voice and of her mother’s unerring strength. She stayed in this pose for a timeless moment. Then she raised her eyes to the gathering.

“We have been torn from the bosom of our nurturers,” she said in a tone that grew steadier with each word. “I have yet to begin to fathom why this is so, but I have at last begun to grasp that we have a future to live. It is incumbent upon us to live it as richly as we were designed to live it. It is my role to lead you, and I will do everything I can to lead you well. However, I invite each of you to help me lead. Tamarisk is our kingdom, and it is our kingdom to share.”

Several people were still crying, but many others had stopped and were now regarding her warmly. She was now ready to speak the words of her forebears.

“The palace calls to order this congress of the wondrously conceived people of Tamarisk. Let all be heard.”

Becky turned the pages of the journal she’d been writing in since she was eight. Before then, she hadn’t thought of the idea of putting down everything she knew about Tamarisk, but it was great to have all of it on paper. It helped when she needed to remember the name of an amphibian from the bloat marshes or to remind her father about the rules to a game that they’d invented – especially when he was trying to change the rules to fit a story. When she finally came up with the naming system for everything in Tamarisk, she wrote it here. When she told a story about a letter that Miea sent from college or an important palace decree, she would write the complete text here the next afternoon. Only when she decided that Miea should have a secret diary did she write the entries elsewhere. It was especially fun to do so after Becky had come up with the idea of giving Miea a boyfriend in college.

The last few days had been weird. Going to school on Monday and telling people that her parents had split up was the most awkward thing she ever remembered doing. Of course it helped that her best friend Lonnie – who Becky had called Sunday night – had started telling people before Becky got to them. Sometimes Lonnie's big mouth made Becky angry. In this case it actually made things easier because it meant she didn’t have to have the same terrible conversation so many different times.

Today had been basically normal. People weren’t asking her about Mom and Dad getting a divorce anymore, and that was totally fine with Becky.

The weirdest thing had been the nightly calls from her father. She was still incredibly angry with him, and he was still trying to talk to her like everything was okay. She attempted to get it into his head that everything
wasn’t
okay, but that didn’t seem to be working. She would just have to keep making her point. At least Mom was treating her like a real person.

She turned a page in the journal to find a lengthy description of the properties of okanogan, the crystal you could mold. Dad had come up with that one when Becky was having trouble thinking of a special way to decorate the walls of the great hall, and she remembered thinking that it was one of the coolest ideas he’d ever had. She kind of overused okanogan all over the palace until Dad came up with a few more materials.