Channary scowled. “Now what are you talking about?”
“Constable Dubrovsky. Is he the father?”
Channary’s face turned haughty. Reaching out, she grabbed ahold of the half-stitched panel of Levana’s dress and ripped it down, revealing the scar tissue over Levana’s ribs before she could think to glamour it into invisibility. Gasping, Levana drew away, scrambling to hold the material against her. “I have no idea who the father is,” Channary snapped, turning away again. “Don’t you see, Levana? That’s the point.”
* * *
She did not become pregnant, though she went to Evret’s bedchambers nearly every night. He and Winter had been moved into the royal family’s private wing of the palace, but only a week went by before Levana decided it would be safer to retire to her own room after her visits to him. She was afraid of what might happen if he awoke before her one morning and saw her without her glamour, and she was tired of using her gift to drag him into a deep unconsciousness every night.
It was not quite the marriage she’d dreamed of, but she told herself it would get better. It would take time.
She did not come to love Princess Winter, who cried every time Levana held her.
Evret refused to let anyone call him a prince, and even vowed to keep his job as a palace guard, though Levana told him over and over that it wasn’t necessary. He was royalty now; he never had to work again. This only seemed to irritate him, though, so eventually Levana stopped pressing the issue. Let him play guns and soldiers if it made him happy.
Channary grew larger and they learned that the child was not a boy. By that time, though, Channary didn’t seem to care. She glowed in a way that Levana knew pregnant women were meant to, yet she hadn’t imagined her sister would be the same way. She would let anyone touch her exposed belly, even the servants. Encouraged it, even. Would yell if a person didn’t coo and aww and tell her what a beautiful mother she would make and how her daughter would surely grow up to be just like her, by all the lucky stars.
As the months passed, Levana came to feel like there must be some conspiracy against her. Rumors were spreading about any number of women in the court who were having babies. The whole city seemed suddenly full of their crying and howling. When Levana went to see Dr. Eliot for a private appointment to ask if there was something else she could be doing, she even learned that a pair of wedded royal scientists were pregnant—Dr. Darnel and his wife, both specialists on the genetic engineering team. The woman was more than three times Levana’s age.
Dr. Eliot was largely unhelpful. She went on and on about how it could take time, and they would look into further treatment when Levana got a bit older, if they still had not had any success. The woman even had the nerve to tell Levana to relax, to not worry about it so much. It would happen when it was meant to happen.
Levana was tempted to make the infuriating woman jab a scalpel into her own eye.
Her sister. The old doctor. Solstice.
There could be nothing wrong with Evret.
So what was wrong with her?
Her only consolation was that, as a result of Channary’s condition and her exuberant need to be coddled, the queen neglected her royal responsibilities more and more frequently. Days would pass without her showing up at court and Levana was sent to take her place in countless meetings. Though she needled her sister about it time and again, she didn’t truly mind. She was fascinated by their politics and the inner workings of their system. She wanted to know everything, to claim what power she could scavenge, and her sister’s absence gave her the perfect opportunity to do just that.
Then, on the twenty-first day of December in the 109th year of the third era, Queen Channary gave birth to a baby girl. She was officially named Princess Selene Channary Jannali Blackburn of Luna, but everything past Selene was immediately forgotten by everyone but the history texts. The celebrations throughout the city and even the outer sectors were riotous for a week.
The royal bloodline would continue.
The Lunar throne had an heir.
* * *
“I like the silver foliage. Don’t you agree, little sister?”
Levana tore her gaze away from the baby, who was laid out on an embroidered quilt in the center of the room as if this were a common day care and not a royal meeting to discuss the country’s upcoming anniversary celebration. There were a number of designers, florists, decorators, bakers, caterers, and artisans standing against the room’s back wall, each waiting to give their opinions and offer their expertise. It took a moment for Levana to realize her sister was asking about two enormous bouquets, almost identical but for some fuzzy silver leaves tucked into one, as opposed to more vibrant emerald green in the other.
“Silver,” she said. “Yes. It’s very nice.”
“In fact, add more,” said Channary, tapping a finger against her lips. “I want the whole room to sparkle. Is everyone listening?” Her voice rose. “Sparkle. Glitz. I want every surface to shimmer. I want every guest to be bedazzled. I want a reputation of throwing the best galas this city has ever seen. I want them to talk about it for generations. Is that understood?”
Nods of understanding were thrown around, but Channary had already stopped paying attention to them as she scanned the offerings before her. Platters of tiny desserts and cocktails with little ice cubes in them, each cube carved into the shape of the queen’s crown.
“No, no, none of this is good enough.” Channary grabbed a tray of hors d’oeuvres and tossed it against the wall. Everyone flinched. “I said I want it to sparkle—is that so hard to grasp? Are you all blind?”
No one pointed out that she had not told them this before. But of course, they should have known before coming to this meeting. Naturally.
Levana shook her head behind her sister’s back.
The baby started crying.
Wheeling around, Channary tossed her arm toward Levana. “Take the child.”
Levana blinked. “Me? Why me? Where’s her nanny?”
“Oh, for star’s sake, she only wants to be held.” Channary started to cough. She turned hastily away, coughing into her elbow, as ladylike as she could. It seemed to Levana that she’d been coughing a lot lately—for weeks, if not months—and though Channary insisted it was only a temporary virus, it seemed to go on and on.
A servant rushed forward with a glass of water, but Channary grabbed it and threw it at the wall, too. Glass shattered across the stone as Channary stomped out of the room, still coughing.
The baby’s screams grew more fervent. Levana approached her, hesitant.
Someone clapped. “Let’s adjourn for today,” said one of the event planners, ushering away the artisans. “Come back tomorrow with … your improved work.”
Levana stood over the child for one dread-filled moment, watching at how her face reddened and pinched, at how her chubby arms writhed against the blanket. Her tufts of dark brown hair wisped in every direction.
Though the child was seven months old and hinting every day that she was about to start crawling, Levana could still count the times she’d held her niece on one hand. There was always someone else there to take the baby, and just like with Winter, this child did not seem to be warming up to her at all.
Huffing, she squared her shoulders and crouched down, scooping up the baby as gently as she could. Standing, she nestled the child in the crook of her arm and did her best to coo comforting words at her, but the crying went on and on, little fists thumping the air, beating against Levana’s chest.
With an annoyed sigh, Levana paced back and forth through the room, before stepping out onto the balcony that overlooked Artemisia Lake. She could see members of the court milling about the lush palace gardens, a few of the aristocrats out in boats upon the lake’s surface. In the sky, the Earth was nearly full. Huge and blue and white and stunning amid the starscape.
Once, she had persuaded Evret to go out on a boat with her, but he’d spent the whole time wishing he was back home with Winte
r, going on and on about how quickly she was growing, and speculating on what her first word might be.
That seemed like a long time ago.
In fact, it had been a long time since they’d done much of anything together.
Bouncing little Selene as gently as she could, Levana examined the face of her future queen. She wondered if this child would grow up to be as spoiled and ignorant as her mother, who cared more about the flower arrangements than political policy.
“I would be a better queen than your mother,” she whispered. “I would be a better queen than you.”
The baby continued to wail, spoiled and stupid.
There was no point thinking it, anyway. Channary was queen. Selene was the heir. Levana was just the princess, with a guard for a husband and a daughter without royal blood.
“I could drop you over this balcony, you know,” she said, cooing the words softly. “You couldn’t do anything about it.”
The baby did not respond to the threat.
“I could force you to stop crying. Would you like that?”
It was a tempting thought, one that Levana barely managed to withstand. They were not supposed to manipulate young children, as studies suggested that too much tampering when they were so tiny and impressionable could disrupt the way their brains formed.
Levana was beginning to wonder how much damage just one little moment of silence could do … when she heard her sister’s heels clapping across the meeting room’s floor.
Turning, she saw that Channary was attempting to hide just how horrible a coughing attack it had been, storming back with a stick-straight spine and blazing eyes, her brown hair swinging against her shoulders. But her face was blotchy and a thin layer of sweat still clung to her upper lip.
She took the baby out of Levana’s arms without preempt, without even a thank-you.
“Are you all right?” asked Levana. “You’re not dying, are you?”
Shooting a glare at her, Channary turned away without taking even a moment to admire the view. As she paced back into the room, the child’s crying began to subside, her pudgy fingers pawing at her mother’s face.
It occurred to Levana that maybe babies weren’t affected by glamours, and they all hated her because they could see what she was underneath.
“You’ve had that cough for a long time. Maybe you should see Dr. Eliot.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m the queen,” Channary said, as if this alone would protect her from illness. “Though, speaking of doctors, have you heard about that couple in bioengineering?” She grabbed a bottle from a satchel and fit it into the child’s mouth. Levana was amazed every time she witnessed this motherly affection from her sister—a girl she had only ever known as cruel and selfish. Surely their mother never fed them. She wondered what possessed Channary to do it, when they had so many servants on hand.
“What doctors?”
“The ones that had the baby. Darnel, I think … the man is … heavens. Ancient. Sixty, maybe?”
Levana clenched her teeth. “I had heard they were expecting, yes.”
“Well—they are finished expecting. The baby was a shell.”
Eyes widening, Levana clasped a hand over her mouth. Pretending horror, but mostly to hide the bout of glee that threatened to spill out. “A shell?”
“Mm. A girl, I think. That thaumaturge went to collect her yesterday, for…” Channary sighed, like it was too exhausting to remember all these pesky details. “Whatever those scientists are using the shells for.”
“Blood platelets. For an antidote to the disease.”
“Yes, that’s right. How can you remember all this?”
Frowning, Levana glanced down at the baby, who was now in a satiated stupor as she sucked on the bottle’s nipple. She turned back to the view of Earth, of the lake, of all the happy couples.
“A shell,” she murmured. “How embarrassing.”
“I’ve noticed that you’re not getting any larger,” said Channary, pacing out to join her on the balcony. “Unless your glamour is hiding it from us.”
Setting her jaw, Levana didn’t respond.
“Tell me, how is wedded bliss these days? It’s been a while since I heard you wax on and on about how much you love your husband. I rather miss those days.”
“We are fine, thank you,” said Levana. Quickly realizing how very un-fine that sounded, she added, “I still love him very much. We’re quite happy together.”
Snorting, Channary leaned back against the rail. “Lies, lies. Though I can never tell whether you’re lying to me or to yourself.”
“I am not lying. He is everything I have ever wanted.”
“How quaint. I really thought you would have set your sights a little … higher.”
Channary’s attention drifted upward, to the blue-and-white orb hanging in the sky.
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, I’ve been thinking more about Earthen politics, lately. Rather against my will, I admit. It’s impossible not to when all the families go on and on about this biological warfare they’re planning. It’s exhausting.”
“You are a model of patience,” Levana deadpanned.
“Well, I’ve been seeing pictures of the royal family from the Eastern Commonwealth and … I’m rather intrigued.” She tried to take the child’s bottle away, but baby Selene whimpered and reached for it, pulling it back into her mouth.
“The royal family? Isn’t the prince only a child?”
“A toddler, yes.” Channary bent over her daughter, nestling the tufts of hair with her nose. “At first I thought, why, he might be a perfect little match for my perfect little girl.” She lifted her gaze again. “But then I thought—why, I suppose I could marry too. And the emperor is quite handsome. Broad-shouldered. Always smartly dressed, though a little bland—Earthens, you know.”
“Unfortunately, I do believe he is already married.”
Channary snorted, and baby Selene finally released the bottle, finished. “Always the pessimist, baby sister. Perhaps he won’t always be married.” Shrugging, she lifted the baby over her shoulder to burp her, even though she had nothing to protect her fine gown. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. I’m certainly not planning any assassination attempts yet, but … well. I’ve heard Earth is nice this time of year.”
“I think it is nice every time of year, depending on the hemisphere.”
Channary quirked an eyebrow. “What is a hemisphere?”
Sighing, Levana shook her head. “Never mind. That baby is going to spit up all over your dress, you know.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sick of this one. I’m sick of all of them, actually. Nothing in my whole wardrobe fits anymore, and I know it will just get worse if I end up pregnant again. It will be a full-time job for my seamstress. I’ve been thinking I might have her feet removed, so that she has nothing better to do.” Her eyes sparkled, like it was a joke.
But Levana had seen that sparkle before. She was not so sure that Channary was joking.
* * *
Queen Channary Blackburn of Luna did not have a chance to see to an assassination on the Earthen empress. She did not marry Emperor Rikan or see her child grow up to marry a prince.
Five months after their conversation, she did indeed have her seamstress’s feet surgically removed, and the seamstress had not even recovered enough to get back to work before it was all for naught.
At the age of twenty-five, Queen Channary died from regolith poisoning in her lungs.
It was a disease that commonly afflicted those in the outer sectors, due to a lifetime spent breathing in the dust from Luna’s caverns, but it was so unheard of among the aristocrats—and certainly among the royal family—that doctors had never even considered it a possibility, even when Channary broke down and talked to Dr. Eliot about her persistent cough.
The mystery was never solved, but Levana had a theory that her sister had been sneaking away to the regolith caves under the city for some of her romantic r
endezvous.
The funeral was similar to that of their parents, and Levana’s feelings were rather the same.
Princess Winter and Princess Selene attended, dressed in royal garb as befit their stature. Selene, now one year old, received kisses from a lot of strangers, but between the two, it was Winter who received the most compliments. She was indeed a very pretty child, and Evret was right—she was taking more after her mother every day.
Evret offered to work, guarding the queen’s casket as it was carried through the streets on its way to be buried in a crater outside of the domes. Levana asked him not to. She’d hoped he would agree to stand by her side. To be her husband. But it didn’t work. To him, duty came first.
The little boy who belonged to Sir Clay was there too, almost four years old now and pale blond as ever. He tried to teach the wobbly-footed girls how to play hide-and-seek among the pews, but they were still too young to understand.
Levana pretended to cry. She was assigned the role of queen regent until her niece’s thirteenth birthday, at which time Selene would take her throne.
Twelve years.
Levana would be queen for twelve years.
She tried very, very hard not to smile until the funeral was over.
* * *
“Head Thaumaturge Haddon is retiring at the end of this month,” said Venerable Annotel, keeping pace beside Levana as they made their way to the court meeting. “Have you considered who you might nominate for his replacement?”
“I’ve been thinking I would recommend Sybil Mira.”
Annotel glanced sideways at her. “An interesting choice. Awfully young … The families thought you might be thinking of Thaumaturge Par—”
“Sybil has thus far excelled at the responsibilities given to her regarding gathering shell children.”
“Oh, no doubt. She is very capable. But her inexperience—”
“And I believe that she earned a second-tier rank at only nineteen years old. The youngest in history. Isn’t that true?”
“I … am not honestly sure.”
“Well. I appreciate her ambition. She is motivated, and I like that. She reminds me of myself.”