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Chapter 3 - Exodus
Luella
The drought was getting worse. The temperatures had been rising, and I was starting to feel the gravity of the situation.
I combed my hair furiously in front of the mirror my brother sent me. Samuel said that he had acquired it during one of his travels. Of course, he thought of me, his vain younger sister.
I missed him. I wished I was more useful to Queenspell, as he had proven to be at Shadowcreek. Meanwhile, Carolina rarely visited anymore. My younger sister worked as a teacher, somewhat like a governess but for more children – not even children but people only a few years younger than she was. She was now a bonafide member of the 21st century. A time traveler.
Here I was, supposedly the heiress to the throne. It felt too easy and unfair for me to be crowned without proving anything. I was just a useless shell, waiting to be passed on the throne and the inheritance. I kept on brushing my hair. People who had seen me doing this often shook their heads in a mix of disgust and disbelief. They could not believe that I could be this vain.
But hear me out.
They did not know that I was deep in thought whenever I did this. I did not want to look like one of those ladies who sat and stared into space. I needed to do something.
Young royal ladies were expected to read, sew, sing, or play an instrument.
Ha!
I hated reading. It was something Carolina was excellent at. The books in the castle library were now lonely without her. My father and some council witches were probably the only ones still taking books from the library. I could easily say that I was like my mother, impatient and did not have time for reading, but I knew it was more than that.
Every time I looked at a book, my head hurt. The letters swirled in front of my eyes, taunting me. It took me a while to read a line. I knew its basics, but I had to hide in my room whenever I attempted to go through a whole book. I rarely finished any reading. I was too proud to get the help I probably needed.
It was the same with instruments. The notes were difficult for me to discern. They flew away from me every time I tried focusing. Nobody had ever called me focused. The powers that I had come naturally to me. They were an inheritance, passed on smoothly. I was the opposite of Carolina, who had to learn everything. I was a sponge, a pretty one but often marked as mindless. I could not even flirt properly without being held back by my fear and conscience.
Sewing? Ha. You had to be jesting. I would probably prick my fingers at the first loop. I was too impatient for something so intricate. Whenever I was angry, things burned. It would be expensive, letting me sew silks and other precious fabrics.
Then, there was singing.
I only did it whenever I was alone. I loved doing it, but I did not have enough confidence. Not yet. No matter how vain I was about my beauty, I was insecure about any of my talents – if I could call them that.
Many people did not know that while I inherited my mother’s fire, I was also an air witch. I discovered that I could fan my flames to make them stronger. Unfortunately, I could not bring forth water. Water could have solved everything.
With water, the citizens of Queenspell would not have started moving to the north. Even Cathrona’s ice had been melting, and the kingdom was not ready to accommodate everyone. King Eldred would have been willing, but there was not enough space. The other northern kingdoms, such as Rosell, were not too friendly. They were still bitter over losing Swordsmith to my brother’s allies. Yet, it seemed to me that they would have made better choices than what some of the Queenspell folk had been doing – moving to Arrowspear.
It was an insult.
It would have been understandable if a Queenspell citizen had moved to the north for the cold and the moisture. Moving to a continent known for its arid lands to escape the drought? It was a message, even a sort of rebellion. It could even be a threat. We knew we still relied on Arrowspear for cotton, cocoa, sugar, and many other products. We might need the foreign continent for more if the drought continues.
A knock at the door broke through my reverie.
“Your Highness?”
It was Francilia, her face peeking through the door.
“Well, come inside,won’t you?” I beckoned, forcing a grin on my face.
“Your mother, Her Majesty, wants to talk to you,” she said, not making a move to enter. She was there on an urgent errand.
I frowned at that. It must be something important that my mother had to call upon me. The midday meal would be in an hour, and she could have just waited for that. It meant she wanted some privacy. She, my father, myself, the council of witches, and just about anyone with rank often attended the meals.
Francilia and I exchanged worried looks. It did not bode well for me; we both could tell.
My hair had been combed for about an hour and was not even in a braid. My hair was loose, but I knew my mother could not wait. So, I stood up and walked as quickly as I could. Soon, Francilia was trying to catch up with me. She was a few inches shorter. We ran down the stairs. As someone who did not have to impress a spouse-to-be, I could behave in whatever way I wanted. Still, I walked primly when guests were at the castle. I still had my mother’s approval to consider.
“Yes, mother?” I called while at the doorway to her study.
“Come inside, Luella,” she said, her voice weary. She had been unhappy lately. The crops were dying, and Father was only recovering from illness. For some reason, both of them no longer had access to their powers. Martha worked with the physician to help Father get back on the road to recovery.
