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'I'd like you to speak with Essa, my inventor.'
Opie's features pinched. 'The Emperor may kill me for no other reason than because I allowed you to steal his airship. If I tell your inventor anything, I'd be writing my own death sentence.'
'Then join my court. I can make it worth your while, and your sister is welcome too. I'm building a new kind of kingdom, where anyone can be prosperous, whoever they are.'
'Forgive me, but I've heard rumors not everyone in your kingdom is happy with your methods. Peace seems a long way off, let alone prosperity for all …'
'That's true enough,' said Fyia. 'Change is hard … even harder for those who stand to lose the unfair advantage they hold dear. It's impossible to please every one of my people, but it is possible to make the game fairer for all who play. I have that power, and I intend to use it.'
'Even if it turns your kingdoms against themselves?'
'It won't.'
'It might, without the dragons …' Opie looked shocked at his words, then fearful. 'I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I've overstepped. I am too used to arguing freely with my sister.'
Fyia waved a hand. 'If I punish everyone who speaks their truth, my rule would be no better than that of the Kings before me. You're right, my plan isn't without risk, but nothing worth doing ever is. Uniting the Five Kingdoms wasn't without risk either, but now I must make it mean something.
'I won't sit back and allow women to be oppressed, or turn a blind eye when market stall holders are taxed out of business. I won't tolerate corruption and fraudsters, just because it would make my life easier. Of course I'd rather there were dragons, but I'll damn well rule as I please, regardless.'
'Even if that means years of unrest for your people?' he said tentatively, obviously not quite believing her words.
'There's already unrest. Just because people aren’t fighting in the streets doesn't mean a silent war isn't underway. Only those on the side of justice have no army and much to lose. But now they have an army; my army.'
'And you have much to lose.'
'You think I should hoard my titles and wealth? Build a palace and sit on my throne until I die? What's the point of everything I've achieved if I squander it? How would that make me any different from the tyrants I overthrew?'
'Many would be content to live a peaceful life, surrounded by those who love them,' said Opie, the entire room raptly focused on their back and forth.
'Many would. Many are alcoholics, gamblers, liars, and cheats. Should I follow their example too? If peace and quiet were all I craved, I would not be Queen of the Five Kingdoms today.'
Opie regarded her with open astonishment. 'You are certainly ambitious.'
'You sound surprised to meet such a woman, yet your sister can't be lacking in determination of her own?'
Opie laughed. 'It has nothing to do with your being a woman. The Empire does not discriminate quite like the Five Eastern Kingdoms. I suppose I'm surprised to meet any ruler with ideas like yours, but then, I've never known a conqueror, only rulers born to their thrones.'
Fyia waved a hand in the air and hissed. 'They care more about their bloodlines than their people; it's drummed into them from birth. They're like horses.'
'The same wasn't drummed into you?'
'I was no warrior, and because of that—and other factors—my parents would have happily let the reign pass to a distant cousin rather than to me. Happily, in this case at least, they neglected my education.'
Opie shook his head, a look of disgust morphing his features.
Silence fell, and Rouel filled it. 'A song, Your Majesty?' he said, with a mischievous smile. 'For I believe there is one you wanted to hear …?' Rouel glanced at Edu, grinning broadly.
Edu's eyes flicked from Fyia to Rouel, a look of horror freezing his face as realization dawned.
Fyia went very still. She pursed her lips and frowned, then firmly shook her head. They had a command structure for a reason, and she would not undermine it.
Rouel shrank back, embarrassment staining his cheeks as he realized he'd overstepped. Perhaps she wouldn't promote him after all. 'Something upbeat,' she said tersely, 'and never do that again.'
Fyia left the dining room and headed up on deck. She couldn't get enough of flying, her soul drinking in the stars, the reflection of the moon on the river below, the peace that came with gliding through the air.
The only sounds were the whispering of the wind and the soft whir of the airship's rotors, turned down low, given the breeze at their backs.
She stood at the chest-height railing in the stern and took deep, nourishing lungsful of air. Her inner eagle urged her to throw herself over, to truly fly, to feel the rush of freefall before pulling up inches from the ground. If only she could.
