Chapter 1 - 7th of Hermai, year 1257

 

Xene stands in the shade of a tree. Hyranil’s Gardens lived up to their fame as marvels of engineering. Intricate stonework bends streams of water over and under the beds of flowers and exotic plants. Delicate branches have been trimmed to appear as creatures of the depths, an artform no one in Edipia would dream of, but Hyranil had always had a flair for the dramatics. However, by far the most interesting part of the garden would have to be its owner walking along one of its paths towards him. 

 

Queen Althea had chosen to take a stroll in this garden to get away from the many annoyances crowding her court. Yet, one such annoyance has found its way into her garden once more. Althea pauses at a fountain of exquisitely carved marble to watch the water flow over each crevice. 

 

“Sir Xene, you aren’t meant to be here. If you truly require me, please make a formal inquiry, or, if you are so intent on roaming my court, go anywhere other than my gardens,” Althea says. Her face bows over the fountain, watching the waters, but her voice easily carries to Xene over the softly bubbling.

 

With a few steps, Xene stands under the afternoon sun. Althea’s eyes take him in. The foreign warrior is tall, broad shouldered, and wearing a new set of clothes. 

 

Who keeps giving him new things to wear?

 

“Why would I do that when it’s much more convenient to speak to you here, where your guards are within sight, but not able to hear me?” Xene asks, a careless smile passing over his mouth.

 

Althea brushes her hair over her shoulder and notices it’s true. Her retinue of guards are angled in such a way that they can’t see Xene in her garden, or that she is doing anything other than looking into the rippling water.

 

“What do you require of me?” Althea asks, wishing she could smile, but knowing that would only encourage him more.

 

“Although Nero left before fulfilling his promises, I don’t see why I am not enough to convince you of the necessity of this project,” Xene says, his voice mild. 

 

Althea wonders how much more she can push before he snaps at her. To her, his calm is more of a challenge than truth.

 

“And once more I remind you that even if Prince Nero had shown me anything about this plan before leaving, I still wouldn’t be able to put it into motion without him here,” Althea says, turning her head upwards to catch the rays of the sun on her face. “I will not promise any of Hyranil’s resources. Our engineers already have a specialty. Unless you can produce documentation that they are even capable of such a sudden shift in methodology, you are both out of luck.”

 

Xene watches her. The bright light illuminates her and refracts an entirely different aura. Rumors of her beauty hadn’t reached him during his travels, it’s likely most of the lands do not know what Hyranil hides in plain sight upon its throne. 

 

Although awestruck, Xene stands completely relaxed in the presence of Hyranil’s queen. His hands rest in pockets and he maintains an air of mischief even while standing before someone who could easily have him executed, but this isn’t their first meeting, not even their fifth, and Althea has resigned herself to having this strange intruder appear without warning. 

 

Althea had been firm at first. Tossing the intruder into prison, ordering interrogation and execution pending their findings. Prince Nero, her younger brother, third in line to the crown, had saved this man from death the first and second time. 

 

Unwilling to turn her brother against her, Althea decided she had better things to do than try to force the matter. Now Xene approaches her like this, following a whim and asking for an extraordinarily difficult favor.

 

The foreign warrior Xene hails from Pyrrik, a land pledged to Erakil the goddess of fire and flux. He entered her court a couple moons ago, claiming to hold the blueprints that will change the course of history, that is, if Hyranil’s architects and engineers would aid him in producing the invention. Something Queen Althea isn’t prepared to offer him.

 

“Nero is turning south soon and should be able to sway the Chamber of Engineers. Will you continue to suffer my presence until then?” Xene asks, peering up at Althea.

 

This is news to Althea. Her hands clench for a moment before brushing down her skirts. As far as she knew, Nero was still in Aēmi, where he’d departed weeks ago shortly after asking his older sister to refrain from killing Xene.

 

“You’re a guest of Prince Nero. You are very welcome here and it will be interesting to hear Nero and you both try to convince me of this extraordinary discovery. However, if it is nothing but the same vague proposal I will have you both escorted from the palace, is that clear?” 

 

Althea’s heart beats a bit faster. 

 

Will this be crossing a line? Will he laugh or frown?

 

“Clear as Thales’ waters, Your Highness,” Xene says.

 

When that title falls from his lips, Althea can’t help but think it’s being used as a small mockery. Xene’s home country Pyrrik isn’t ruled by monarchy, but her life depended on this crown. From where she stands, the joke of it all feels flat.

 

Slightly disappointed and not knowing why, Althea watches her reflection ripple in the fountain. If only everything would go as she planned. Xene was an opportunity, she knew, but one that could have a harsh consequence, even if there was also a significant monetary gain from his invention.

 

Althea takes a deep breath, holds it for seven seconds before releasing it slowly. When her eyes flick up across the garden once more, Xene is gone. He’d probably left as soon as she’d given her assent to the audience. She stands in the sun letting the silence sink in.

 

I suppose I should organize a welcome feast. Something intimate, family only. As always, Leto is with Nero and the both of them returning home will certainly make Ariston happy.

 

Ariston, the youngest prince, first in line for the throne, is far younger than his siblings at only eight years of age. He’s the only one capable of bringing all of the royal siblings together and keeping them on their best behaviors. 

 

Thalassa would be the most difficult to bring to court.

 

As High Priestess, Thalassa has many responsibilities, which is the word she uses in correspondence with Althea the most to indicate her older sister would be better served sparing her attention on someone else.

 

Althea had been holding out on promising Thalassa something and if she relented those pesky High Priestess duties were sure to dry up and Thalassa would slink in through the back entrance to at least have dinner with them all.

 

Sighing to the skies, Althea feels the weight of holding her family together pressing down on her. Five siblings with no surviving parents. As the oldest, Althea tries to keep them united, but nothing she’d tried had ever endeared her siblings to her that much. 

 

Althea’s skirts swish around her ankles as she strolls through the garden. She tries to calm the churning of her mind, but as it had been the last seven years of her reign, her mind refused to quiet unless she was actively reducing the amount of work she had on her hands.

 

One of Althea’s hands raises to her neck and grips her necklace. As she presses the cool stone into her palm, a small stream of water raises and alerts her guards that she is ready to be escorted back into the palace.

 

Eyes raised to the highest points of the towers surrounding her, Althea makes her way back through to the entrance of the gardens. As she steps from the gravel path of the garden onto the smooth stone pathways of her outer court, the guards close rank around her seamlessly. 

 

Althea walks with a calm, measured pace through the grounds and back to the Philosopher’s Tower: her home, her office, and, in her younger years, her prison.

 

It’s strange to now be among the figures that walk the grounds. As a child, she gazed down at the world from her tower and wondered at what business carried these people across her parents’ court. 

 

It’s Althea’s court now and that thought would have sent her mind spinning as a child. 

 

A place as hostile as it was beautiful, with water spilling from the towers, gathering into streams that merge into Horos River where Thales first appeared before the First Philosopher. The water spun many mechanisms and made the palace, and its towers, a marvel of the world. 

 

Hyranil is the First Kingdom which arose from the support of a goddess, but not the last. The lands were now completely claimed by the goddesses whose believers created them.

 

Thales, goddess of water and intellect, built Hyranil.

 

Erakil, goddess of fire and flux, keeps Pyrrik in her grasp.

 

Empedi, goddess of soil and blessed seeds, belesses Edipia.

 

Nax, a being of air and philosophy, breathes life in Aēmi.

 

Atha, goddess of scholars and mathematics, resides within Athēma.

 

Perhaps, one would think Athēma, home to the Cult of Atha, would hold the top engineers, but the mathematicians there did not care for physical applications of their work. The Cult is dedicated to the purity of math and the movements of the heavens. 

 

At least in their purity they haven’t been poisoned by greed as the believers of Thales in Hyranil.

 

The towers of Hyranil’s Palace had been a gift from the goddess, but as other beings of power emerged, the monopoly Thales had over the people disappeared and her powers faded. She was the most powerful until the last generation, Althea’s parents had much to answer for, but their disregard of the goddess and her subsequent weakening ranks high.

 

Too bad they were long, and dishonorably, dead. Unable to answer for their crimes under Althea’s rule. It breaks her heart, no really.

 

The skies are clear as the day is warm and the water spilling down the towers cools the air as Queen Althea returns to her court.

 

Almost immediately after returning from the garden, attendants join the guards seamlessly. Marcus hands her a document, two newer attendants Althea hasn’t learned the names of yet follow behind him. She nods in greeting and takes the document, her eyes scan the words and her mood plummets.

 

“We expected this. Marcus, what appointments are left today?”

 

“A meeting with the deputy head of the Philosopher’s Tower, followed by a meeting with the deputy head of the Engineer’s Tower. Both will be asking for more money. Then, a state dinner with a son of Argyros. Yes, the same one as last time.”

 

Not too busy.

 

“I’ve received word that Nero and Leto will be returning soon,” Althea says, handing back the paper without breaking stride. “Send a scout to the northern border to alert me when they reenter Hyranil. Make preparations for a royal dinner, family only, the day they return. Slip word of this to Galen, I’m sure Ariston would want to anticipate the event.”

 

Althea’s thoughts tend towards Ariston easily. Only mention his name and it invokes the sound of pitter-pattering feet, a head of golden curls, and a babe so small and fragile in her arms. Ariston resembles the rest of the royals much more than the current queen. Althea is smaller than her siblings, but it is her long silver hair that is particularly uncommon in Hyranil. 

 

Under the rule of her father Kind Zarek, the last rumor about her hair had ended with a pile of bodies. He’d made sure that those sort of rumors stayed where they belonged: in the back rooms.

 

Gliding through the halls, shuffling papers, and trading words with Marcus, the small crowd around the queen makes its way through the palace and begins to climb. Up, up, up to a dizzying height for the uninitiated, but a spot in the sky that Althea feels more comfortable at than when her feet are planted on the ground.

 

The doors open and reveal another surprise. 

 

“Akakios. I don’t recall you in my schedule for the day.”

 

The man stands from his seat in Althea’s personal office. Akakios age is beginning to show in the gray gracing his temples. He is one of the few advisors that survived Althea’s purge of her father’s advisors. Akakios remains as he has nowhere else to go, the Othonos name had been stripped from him long ago. An exile on the council had been a scandal before Althea was born, but now after years of service he was mostly overlooked. His talent spoke louder than his origins and Althea quite liked using something to her advantage that the nobles had carelessly tossed away.

 

“I heard about your dinner with a son of Argyros and thought you might want a way out of this tiring courtship all sides know will not come to fruition,” Akakios says.

 

Althea moves through the room to sit behind her desk. Most of the guards remain outside, save one who now stands behind the queen’s desk. Marcus and his two assistants also flank her desk for the moment. When Althea sits, so does Akakios.

 

“That would be welcome news. They should not be so greedy. Wasn’t it just three generations ago that they married into the Thales name?” 

 

Althea waves her hand with the question as if to bat it away. Marriage was the last thing on her mind, but she couldn’t completely ignore the problem that the most prominent clans of her country kept insisting she do something about. 

 

Althea wasn’t meant to be queen. She’d been hidden from the noble clans for most of her life and when she was introduced to society, it was made clear her father’s favor did not rest upon her. The nobles had admired her beauty, but no one had wasted their time considering her much further than that. There had been a Crown Prince to woo and the twins had tumbled out of the birthing room with more talent than the clans felt from Althea.

 

Now, the noble clans scramble to form an engagement to the previously imprisoned princess that they’d never considered as an actual candidate for marriage before.

 

Althea was raised as the spare. A despised spare at that, but the following children wouldn’t do for state matters, to her parents disappointment. At her birth, second princess Thalassa presented as one of the goddess’ chosen few and was whisked away by the Order of Thales after only a few years of life. 

 

Then the twins, Leto and Nero, followed. One blessed with strength of body and one with strength of mind, but each lacking in the other. Making them both too unbalanced for the crown. Ariston, a surprise baby, was too young, the crown would crush him. 

 

The previous queen and king weren’t worried though. They had done perfectly with their first child. Adamantios. His name meant unconquerable. He’d been dead for seven years, dying in the same dishonorable way as the previous queen and king, by drowning.

 

“This son of Argyros does appear perfect on the page,” Akakios says. “Yet he has a weakness for gambling. While not illegal and not the worst piece of information I have about him, it should be enough to slow the frequency of the dinners.” 

 

“Send the missive. Tell the right gossips. Let me know if the dinner tonight gets canceled.” Perhaps I can dine with Ariston. “Be blessed on your way, Akakios.”

 

Dismissed with a mission, Akakios rises from his seat and leaves the queen to her work. Internally, his mind spins what exactly to tell the gossips and his heart is gladdened to be able to deliver a blow against the greedy Argyros. 

 

“Marcus, make note of what exactly Akakios does to spread the word, if possible. I think we need to update our records of his contacts, just in case.”

 

“Yes, Your Highness.”

 

Althea’s eyes flick up to him. “If you don’t want to do it, delegate it. That’s why I pay for your ever shifting corpus of assistants. If you would stop sleeping with them, they may last longer.”

 

Marcus’ face is calm, but she can tell he’s a moment away from laughing. One of the assistants faces goes red.

 

“Yes, my queen.”

 

Althea smiles up at him before returning to her work. Much better. Your Highness was reserved for when Marcus was annoyed with her. My queen was a holdover from when he would exclusively call her my princess. Others wouldn’t dare call her that. It was reserved for Marcus.

 

— — —

 

The day slips by. One perk of being queen is that if people want to see you they must come to you. The meetings with the members of the Towers go just as Marcus predicted. Updates on their various crown sponsored projects and a request for more money at the end. 

 

Althea would sponsor them, if the crown had more money. Yet another lasting legacy left by her parents. It took everything in Althea to hold the flagging queendom together after they’d spent far more gold than she could even dream of. 

 

After the final meeting, Althea leans back in her chair. The plush pillows aren’t enough to soothe the ache in her temples, but it would be unseemly to rub at her face with so many attendants around.

 

“Is there an update on the dinner planned for tonight?” Althea asks, eyes closed against the world.

 

“Akakios sent a message that he spread the word, but we’re still waiting for an official cancellation,” Marcus answers.

 

“Send something to Galen that I may summon Ariston. It would be just the thing they would do: send a message while I am sitting at the table waiting. Is there anything left to be done here?”

 

“No, my queen. Well done today. It’s time to prepare for your dinner.”

 

“Wonderful.”

 

Althea stands and in a wave the rest of the assistants stand from their desks. She waves for them to return to work.

 

“Just Marcus. Thank you for your work today. May Thales bless your way.”

 

Althea, followed by Marcus and her guards, leaves the room behind and begins to wind her way even further up the tower. The previous queen’s quarters are on the ground floor of the central wing of the palace. Althea had never been invited there during her mother’s life, so she never visited it in her death. Rather, Althea preferred her quarters to be as inaccessible as possible. The top of the Philosopher’s Tower where she had grown up would always be her place.

 

It's the only place of her’s that Xene had yet to figure out a way to sneak in.

 

The wooden door opens to reveal Charis already pulling out her dress for the evening and laying it out on one of Althea’s couches.

 

“Right on time, Your Majesty. We have just enough time to get you ready and all the way down this tower of yours to make dinner on time.”

 

Charis is flighty as a bird, fluttering from here to there. As bird-like as she is, she’d always held something against Althea’s accommodation. Her face when Althea became queen but decided she would remain in the tower was something the sculptors should study for a masterpiece on the subject of devastation.

 

“Good evening to you too, Charis.”

 

“Yes, yes. Into the changing room, if you please. And out with you, Marcus. No men. Even though you barely count,” Charis says, trying to shoo him out by waving both arms at him.

 

“Charis you wound me, do not allow our botched romance to poison you against me.” 

 

Marcus’ voice is dramatic and completely insincere. He held a hand to his chest as if Charis had just driven a dagger there. Charis rolls her eyes and laughs before continuing her instance that he leaves.

 

Althea relaxes in the presence of her closest attendants as they banter. They’d been madly in love for a year, till they agreed they would rather sleep with other people than marry. 

 

It confused Althea, but she didn’t truly care so long as they stayed by her side. She’d held them both so dear for most of her life that she would never recover if they left. The whole time they were entangled Althea worried they would break each other and both would turn cold in her service. Thankfully, they now just ruthlessly make fun of each other.

 

“Marcus can stay,” Althea says. “I need him to take word at the door if the son of Argyros cancels.”

 

“Oh, has Akakios finally found a way to sink that man’s hopes of marrying far above his status?” Charis asks.

 

“Yes, about time too,” replies Marcus.

 

Althea leaves them to it and disappears with the dress into the next room. Typically, the queen of Hyranil would have a dozen attendants. In the records held in the royal treasurer's office, one would find a queenly amount of attendants on the payroll, however none of those people are actually allowed into Althea’s rooms. They lived far below. Near the unfittingly named Queen’s Quarters, enjoying a life of ease and barely any work. They are discarded daughters of the clans anyway, nothing about them spoke of ambition. They are as happy about the arraignment as Althea and keep their mouths closed for their lives to remain ones of ease.

 

Althea listens to the murmurings of Marcus and Charis as she changes into an evening gown. The large windows arch over a sky of orange and red. Moments like these are when the weight of life seems more bearable. Watching the birds fly and listening to the tones of the people she loves in the next room.

 

Althea changes as much as she can by herself then taps on the door. Charis enters and finishes tightening and repositioning the dress just so. The two women link arms and reenter to where Marcus waits. Althea sits at the vanity and Charis begins applying her makeup.

 

“You should wear the gift from that one son of Kallis, just in case he doesn’t cancel,” Marcus says after peering down at the jewelry laid out for that evening.

 

“I wish they would give me anything besides jewelry. We have enough ancient pieces that will never tarnish or break. Why would I need something new? Allow me to pass the grant to fix the eastern bridge as a present.”

 

“That would make quite a splash with the gossips. ‘She only loves gifts that benefit her power.’”

 

Althea laughs aloud at the voice Marcus uses. It’s exactly that of Melitta, a daughter of Othonos, who is the most consummate gossip in all of Hyranil’s Court. Althea’s laugh is beautiful. Marcus smiles at the honor of hearing it. It’s been quite a while since he’s last made her laugh. 

 

The Gloomy Queen, the gossips often call her and they aren’t completely wrong in the nickname, because she is rarely seen happy and smiling like this. There’d been a lot weighing on those thin shoulders for a long time. Althea was extremely young when she was crowned, only having seven and ten summers. She was the oldest royal alive at the time, but the court to this day, seven years later, still marvels at how easily the crown transferred to her.

 

Overnight, Althea was declared queen. The crowning ceremony occurred after the shortest time of mourning while still obeying tradition. In the span of a few months, at the turn of the new year, which so happened to be the 250th anniversary of the founding of Hyranil, its youngest queen in history was crowned. 

 

A queen whose subjects barely knew the name of.

 

The people knew of Thalassa, gifted beyond measure by the goddess and swept away by the Order of Thales to be raised in their Temple. Leto and Nero were often the topic of conversation as they made sweeping accomplishments in their fields even as children. Baby Ariston was featured often in gossip as portraits of him were passed around, all the people noting how much he looked like his mother and how incredibly cute he was.

 

Althea was the manager of the towers from a young age. A thankless, grueling, and difficult job, but she kept the towers running smoothly. Of course people still had something to say. 

 

“She kept them standing,” they would note. Implying the job as one anyone could excel at, for people would only notice anything about the towers if they fell down around them. 

 

Hyranil’s three towers contain exclusive societies devoted to different laudable activities. The largest tower, the one Althea laughs in now, is the Philosopher’s Tower, or Thales’ Tower, where the philosophers of Hyranil have gathered for centuries. 

 

Thale’s Tower is a pale spire flanked by two smaller towers. Kremastos Tower, meaning overflowing waters, is named for the complex aqueduct system built by those the tower contains: devotees to engineering. 

 

The last, smallest tower is called the Spring Tower and stands near the back of the palace. It is for the use of the Order of Thales even in its semi-fallen state, the Order still has a select few living and influencing among the court.

 

Charis smiles at them both, warmth in her chest. Her hand clenches around the brush for a beat before fussing around the queen and fixing her makeup. Althea needed makeup to look as though she had any color at all. Many of Hyranil’s people were dark and tanned from years of working outside, meanwhile their queen was paler than most, having spent her life indoors. It was quite striking. Pale skin and silver hair made her appear almost ghostly. With Charis’ help, Althea achieves a more doll-like than ghostly look, but it’s a fine line.

 

“Marcus, call for Ariston regardless of if this man shows his face,” Althea says, while Charis brushes cool products down her neck. “I’m tired of waiting.”

 

“Yes, my queen.”

 

Her laughter is gone but a smile remains as the queen looks down at her country. All the things Althea has sworn herself to protect lie below, but the only one she truly loves is no doubt fighting to get away from his nannies for a few more stolen moments of play before dinner.