The Royal Task

Chapter 2: The Royal Task

Shaela

I sat at my desk, pondering how to go about my task. An insane task, frankly. One that I had no certainty in the likelihood of the results being anything my parents would approve of. And for it to have been suggested by the King’s council astounded me. The parchment in front of me was blank. Those littering the floor of my desk, on the other hand, were filthy with ink. Blotted out attempts and writing this damn letter. “Dear, Crones?” No... “To whom this may concern,” No. “To the Witches of the Mists,” No. How the hell am I supposed to address a letter to a Coven of witches? Witches who haven’t been seen nor heard from in centuries. They might not even exist, and if they do exist, I certainly do not think it’s a good idea to poke the nest of a bunch of supposedly powerful magic users who have isolated themselves from the world above for so long.

My thoughts were bouncing across my head, tangling themselves in the infinite permutations of how this letter could be written and what disastrous results may come of it, eventually tying themselves in a big enough knot for me to call it quits. I gathered my scrapped attempts into a waste bin and then moved from my desk to my bed, only stopping briefly to peer out my bedroom window. My bedroom overlooked much of my family's land. We were an old family. A small one certainly, but an old one. My parents and their parents before them (and so on) had weathered much hardship to reach the prestige we have. To the privilege of being in the King’s court in Ludenbruh. Quite an exclusive affair. I took in the beauty of our grounds, the intricate hedges and flowers, the small pond that caught the reflection of the moon, the city that extended well off into the horizon, with the royal military academy rising above the peaks of the various shops and homes. I cemented the image in my mind once more and went to bed. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would let me find the words come morning.

---

I sat in the cabin of an airship, my airship, and gazed out a porthole. It was a ship of the line, freshly constructed by the skilled shipwrights our military employed. Its hull hung suspended from a sky bladder, which controlled our altitude via the magic waters within. Fabric webbing spanned the lengths of the hull, reaching out into the sky like a wyrm’s wings and controlling our roll and yaw. A crew of more than fifty would be affixing lines, adjusting the webbings, monitoring gauges, and ensuring that we stayed on course. I knew not where our course would take us, only that we were adrift the calm currents of the sky, skimming across clouds. The beads of condensation grew to the size of coins before flitting away as surface tension broke. After some time, I elected to move from my seat, past the table covered in navigation charts and illegible planned voyages, and opened the door out to the deck, only to be greeted by the blinding light of the sun.

---

A beam of sunlight cut around the outer edge of my curtains, piercing my eyelids. As usual, I had awoken at first light, before the clock on my bedside table could chime six. This was routine. It had been since I first started my training at the academy. Our rank didn’t mean we were privileged to excess sleep, just nicer bedding. I speed through my morning without thought, or at least without thought of the undergarments and clothing I was changing into, the washing I had done, the hair I had combed. My thoughts instead lingered on my oh-so-brief dream. I was on track to receive a promotion, to get my own ship to command, to serve as a key member of the just-now-burbling conflict at the southern border. Everything was falling in place, save for my latest task. Securing a treaty with a foreign entity that lacks an embassy, ambassador, envoy, or any diplomatic presence, really. Giving my cluttered desk a passing gaze, I exited my room. While the letter needed to be completed, my duties would take me elsewhere for the day.

From my estate, I rode by carriage to the academy. Most officers still lived with their noble families, though some chose to stay at the academy’s conjoined garrison. The trip only lasted a few minutes, and at this early hour, most of the citizenry still slept or were just beginning their breakfast. The academy grounds cut a hole in the flow of the city. High walls protected it from all sides, with turrets periodically jetting upward over the wall. Unlike our forts outside the capital, the turrets weren’t manned by enlisted or even officers, but instead, the King's royal guard watched over the academy and all its property. It consisted of the garrison, the armory, the academy (which itself consisted of classrooms as well as the commander and instructor offices), and the fields used for a wide range of training. The royal guardsmen were a dedicated sort. Even knowing my family's carriage, and my schedule, and my face peering through the window, no effort was taken to move the large gate ahead of my arrival, or anyone else, even the grand admiral. So, as usual, I stepped down from my carriage and was making ready my identification. “Morning, “ I raised a stamped metal badge, which proved that I was who I said I was, only to be met with a raised hand.

“One moment, Lieutenant,” One of the two guards that flanked the entrance spoke, his hand still raised in front of me. “I have been tasked to deliver you a message, I apologize our runner did not make it to you before you departed.” He rummaged through his red-woolen overcoat pockets and presented a slip of paper. Coughing to clear his throat, he continued, “Her honorable Lieutenant Shaela of house MacCrow is put on leave, effective immediately, until His Majesty the King’s assigned task is completed.” Another cough. “I’m afraid I do not know the details of this task, but I’m sure if it's of such import, you are aware of it.” He gestured for me to take the slip of paper. “We’ll see you again soon, I suppose,” and then he saluted me.

“Thank you, sergeant,” I returned the salute, and after a crisp about-face, returned to my carriage, which had not yet left me. As the carriage door closed, and my driver began to take us home again, I let out only a single word, “Shit.”

I arrived back at my family estate, moving swiftly through the front doors, but instead of heading upstairs and to the left to my bedroom, I passed under the twin stairs that framed the door to our garden and found my parents seated, awaiting their morning meal.

“Shaela, joining us for breakfast for once,” my mother chuckled. “The brass finally give you a break?”

“Yes, mother,” I struggled to keep my tone neutral, as my eyes darted back and forth between her and my dad, watching for any signs on their face, any tips that my gut was right. That they had arranged my leave. Grabbing the back of one of the chairs at our outdoor dining table, the tension in my body travelled from my words to my fist, and my nails dug into its white paint, little chips getting trapped under my nails as I moved to sit down for a nice, non-confrontational breakfast. My dad was hiding behind a book; the cover was in a gold filigree, in an old cursive font, difficult to make out from my seat. Something to do with history. Whatever it was, he wasn’t giving away anything about my predicament, I turned back to my mother, “I hope I’m not disturbing you two by joining.” I had managed to push the venom down, my tone was even and warm.

“Of course not.” She squeezed one of my hands. “In fact, your father and I have been meaning to try to make some more time for you. There is much to discuss, you know.” There it was. That was the tell I was looking for. My parents had entrusted me with this diplomatic endeavor, but their real motive had been buried within. Their prime fixation has been since I was young. Twelve? Ten even? It didn’t matter, my mother continued, “And it sounds like you have plenty of time to discuss.” She pursed her lips, lingering on the thought, maybe realizing her daughter had caught on, but continued the farce anyway. “So what led to this break from duty?”

Before I could answer, one of our staff arrived with a cart filled with pastries, tea, bacon, and more for my parents. “Ah, Miss Shaela, I did not know you would be joining your parent. I’ll have another meal prepared for you.”

“It’s alright. I’ve eaten, just a cup of tea will be enough, thank you,” I replied quickly to get back to relative privacy. “I’ve been put on indefinite leave until I secure the non-aggression pact with the Mistlanders.”
My father put down his book and sipped from his tea before taking a deep breath, “I thought you had finished that business this past week. Has there been some trouble”

They both were dancing around their involvement. They wanted me to bring it up, play my hand, take charge of the conversation. Instead, I replied, “I’m afraid drafting conditions for a non-aggression pact is quite difficult, particularly for one intended for a group whose culture and society I’m not familiar with. I had intended to write it tonight after receiving counsel from some of my superiors, but given I was turned away, I may have to reach out to other noble houses.” Both my parents straightened their posture, setting down any food or drink they were working on.

“Now, don’t you think we could be of assistance in such matters?” My mother posited, nodding to my dad.

“You and the King entrusted me to get this done. I think learning what resources I may have outside house MacCrow would improve my standing as both a military officer and as a diplomat.” They both winced again, but this time, my father cut to the chase.

“You are to be a captain soon, and the events down south are troubling. You’re likely to see combat at this rate. We were hoping that this task would be an opportunity for us to host a sort of... debutante ball.” He paused on those words, “I have a draft for you to look over. You just need to fill in the blanks so we may invite some new faces, witches as they may be, over along with the other young bachelors and bachelorettes, and you might get a chance to you know...”

My mother jumped in to finish his sentence, her patience reaching her limit as we beat around the bush, “Finally get married!” I slumped back into my chair a little. “You’re approaching 25, our family line isn’t getting any younger or longer. You need to carry on our house’s legacy.” Urgency rose in her voice. It was true. I was unmarried, an officer, and rumors suggested war would break out any day now. As their only child and the potential last of our line, it was irresponsible for me not to think of the house. Our legacy. My stomach turned, and my eyes drifted skyward. After taking in a sufficient amount of bright blue, I closed them just long enough to see myself back as captain of my airship, drifting through the sky as I saw fit, winds permitting. This was a necessary step to get there. “Alright then, let me see the draft.”

“I’ve had it placed on your desk.” My dad replied.

The rest of breakfast was quiet, and after finishing my second cup of tea, I departed to my chambers. Seated at my desk, sunlight flooding the room, I poured over my dad’s work and said to myself, “If this is what they want... I’m not sure they’ll like what they get,” and filled in the blanks for the final version.