A Ruler's Burden

Nythana hadn’t even known Gerenda for an hour, and she was already genuinely concerned for the girl’s wellbeing.

The sheer amount of work Gerenda had poured into the tournament—and the enormous volume of work that she still had to do—should have been illegal for one person to do. She had already arranged for the guard to be gathered, for staff to be prepared, for vendors to be present with festive foods, for stalls to be opened outside of the competition site, and for interlude entertainment to be provided between the competitions. And yet, she still had to interview the three tributes, design competitions that would best showcase the traits they were seeking in a husband, arrange for those competitions to be held, and deliver that information to each city, town, and village within two weeks so suitors would have time to decide which of the tributes they wished to impress and prepare for the challenges they would be facing.

“This is inhumane,” Nythana said. “They can’t put this all on one person.”

“The more people have their fingers in the pies, the more room there is for miscommunication and error,” Gerenda said, her face as expressionless as always. “This isn’t the sort of event that can be done in a short time, which is why I’ve been working on it for months now.”

“And then you also have to organize a royal wedding?” Nythana asked.

“And a magical beast hunt after that,” Gerenda said.

Nythana wondered if Gerenda was stressed or frustrated at the workload that she’d been assigned, but she had no way of knowing without asking her directly. And she worried that asking such a question could be the strike to her tinderbox that sparked a fire.

“Also, the term you’re looking for is we, Nythana,” Gerenda continued. “We have been tasked with planning these events, which is why we’ve been allotted such a large space and so many different mediums to plan with.”

Nythana glanced around the wide office. Gerenda wasn’t wrong about how many different writing mediums they had. Each project had its own set of chalk and slate, three large sheets of parchment stretched across wooden frames, and lots of paper.

“Pay no mind my portion of these projects,” Gerenda said. “You have your own share of the work to take care of, and it may be more demanding than my share.”

“Right…” Nythana said. “What sort of a spell would be best for a display at the end of the tournament?”

“It should be as big and flashy as you can make it without harming anyone,” Gerenda said.

“Big and flashy,” Nythana mused.

She closed her eyes and delved into her memories of all the magic she’d seen over the decades.

“Definitely light-based, in that case,” she mused. “Probably something that lingers. It’ll need to be an illusory spell yet have a pseudo-solid-state aspect to it. It’s probably best to create an original compound-complex spell just for this.”

“Can you do that in time?” Gerenda asked.

“Probably,” Nythana said. “It’ll be a close squeeze, though. I’ll need to limit the planes of activation to keep them simple.”

She leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

“Any thoughts?” she asked inwardly.

“A few,” Mycelium responded. “Since Daromir wants us to not use any dark magic, we’ll probably need to use paper glyphs to kick it off.”

“Mm, but there’s a stigma around paper spells that they’re an inferior variation,” Nythana responded aloud.

“Which means it’s best to not let them see the paper,” Mycelium said simply. “Easy enough, wouldn’t you say?”

“The paper needs to be thin, flammable paper that will burn up as soon as I activate the spells,” she said. “I’ll be able to activate the spells at the same time as when I’m taking my wand from my cloak.

“And a pre-cast fireproofing spell on your clothes to them from catching fire is an absolute necessity.”

“Yes. Fireproofing my clothing is a must.”

“There should also be some component of utility to the spell,” Mycelium said.

“Hmm, yeah. A spell that’s all looks and no substance loses its appeal.”

She debated for a few moments.

“Perhaps a specter-type mechanism?” she asked.

“A specter-type attack mechanism?” Mycelium remarked with such incredulity that one might think she’d suggested walking on water in a handstand. “Are you mad?”

Nythana bobbed her head.

“Ah, yes. Silly me. You lost your mind years ago.”

“Perhaps a giant bird of flames,” Nythana said. “It’ll need to be a multi-tier magic circle with attached compound sub-spells as well as an inflow additive. I’ll need a mana-based magic control amplifier spell circle embroidered onto the new cloak they’re making for me as well.”

“The idea that wearing a white cloak instead of a black one would make people less likely to realize that you’re a dark mage is utterly ridiculous,” Mycelium said. “All Daromir’s doing is giving the royal seamstress more work when she already needs to prepare wedding gowns for you and the king.”

Nythana noticed that Gerenda was staring at her with a face entirely devoid of emotion.

“Is there a problem?” Nythana asked.

“Not at all… but are you truly going to be able to craft such a complicated spell in time?”

“It shouldn’t be too hard,” Nythana said.

“Anything’s easier than spacial magic,” she added to herself. “Oh!”

She sat up straight in her chair.

“Speaking of spacial magic, I need to talk to Basil.”

“Spacial magic.” Gerenda said.

Nythana couldn’t tell if Gerenda had spoken with surprise, awe, confusion, or something else, or if her words were a question or a comment.

“More importantly,” Mycelium said. “You need to take out all of your belongings from the trunk before the localized mana supply gets drained into inexistence. The last thing we need is for our spacial compression spell to be disrupted and cause an explosion.”

Nythana stood and looked at Gerenda.

“I need to talk to King Basil,” she said. “But first, it sounds like you want to see the spacial magic I was talking about.”

Gerenda blinked at her expressionlessly.

“‘Sounds like you want to see the spacial magic,’ my intertwined hyphae,” Mycelium remarked. “You just want to flaunt the enchantments on our trunk.”

Nythana ignored Mycelium’s on-point accusation and offered her hand to Gerenda.

“It won’t take long,” she promised.

Gerenda reached out and took Nythana’s hand.

“I’d be honored,” she said.

“I wonder if I’ll ever get used to hearing her say things like that in a voice devoice of all empathy and emotion,” Mycelium commented as Nythana led Gerenda from office towards her room.

***

Basil looked up from the last leg of his drudgery work as a knock sounded at his office door.

“Who could it be at this time of day?” Daromir wondered from the desk beside Basil’s, glancing at his stopwatch.

“Come in,” Basil said.

The door opened, and Nythana stepped into the room and closed the door behind herself.

Basil’s heart did a flip within his chest at the sight of her.

“Nythana,” he said.

“I should’ve known,” Daromir sighed.

Basil shot a side eye at his prime minister from beneath the veil covering his face.

“Yes,” Nythana agreed. “You truly should’ve known. Not knowing the exact location of every person in the palace at all times is undoubtedly an irredeemable failure for a prime minister. Why, I’d even go so far as to say you ought to be hanged for negligence.”

Basil dug his teeth into his lower lip to prevent a smile from making it to the surface. Nythana’s dripping sarcasm and Daromir’s suppressed, twitchy-eyed irritation at how unaffected she was by his words may as well have been a comedy act.

“What brings you here so late in the day?” Basil asked as soon as he was able.

“I have a request for you,” she said.

A request? Basil thought. I wonder what she could have to ask of me.

“I can’t promise I’ll be able to grant it, but I’ll gladly hear you out,” he said.

“While I was preparing to travel to Basileus, I spent time in the capitol of Prarius. During my stay there, there were eleven assassination attempts made against me by the nobles and royal family—twelve if you count the bandits that were destroyed by a magic beast before we reached them.”

Basil heard the arm of his chair groan under the force that he was clamping down on it with. He forced himself to relax and release it. Breaking the furniture wouldn’t change the past. Besides, their attempts had clearly been in vain. Still, twelve attempts was a disgusting number.

“You’re not here to ask us to get revenge for you, are you?” Daromir asked.

Oh, here we go again, Basil thought with a roll of his eyes.

Nythana’s eyebrows scrunched together.

“Why would I need to ask your help just to kill a few people?” she asked.

Basil silenced a snort. Of course, the Witch of the Northern Wastes wouldn’t need any help dealing with a few unsuspecting nobles or even royalty.

Daromir pursed his lips, but he didn’t have a response, so Nythana continued.

“The reason they were trying to kill me was because they wanted to oust the girl they’d chosen as tribute, Fernali Cagney,” she said. “Since they ultimately failed to do so despite all their attempts, I worry that she isn’t safe.”

“And you want us to send our people into enemy territory to rescue her?” Daromir demanded.

“Are you incapable of waiting your turn to speak?” Nythana snipped.

“Daromir,” Basil said. “You need to stop seeing Nythana as a dark mage and see her as the future queen.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Daromir relented grumpily. “My apologies.”

“Go on, Nythana,” Basil said.

“I’d like to send a letter to them letting them know that if they’re ever in danger, they can come here we’ll welcome them in.”

“A letter, you say?” Basil asked.

A letter seems like a bad idea, he thought, gnawing his lips in deliberation. They’re too easily intercepted, and we already know there are eyes watching our borders. I can’t knowingly risk my people to help a pair of nobles in another kingdom, even if it’s to fulfill my betrothed’s request. It goes against everything I’ve vowed to uphold as King of Basileus.

I’ll have to turn her down, he thought grimly. I suppose this is what the bards of old meant by “the weight of a ruler’s burden.”

“Your Majesty,” Daromir said. “We can’t send such important information in a letter that could be intercepted at any point between our borders and its destination.”

Thank you for the assist, Daromir, Basil thought.

“That’s true,” he said aloud. “I’m sorry, Nythana, but it’s too risky to send such information by post.”

“You misunderstand,” Nythana said. “I won’t be sending the letter by post.”

Not sending the letter by post?

“How else are you supposed to send a letter?” he asked aloud.

Nythana responded by opening the travel sack at her side and pulling a folded piece of paper from its depths. She unfurled it to show that it was actually three individual pieces of paper—two sheer and one solid—that contained an incredibly complicated compound spell the likes of which Basil had never seen.

“I have a spacial spell that can transport objects with mass of less than one hundred grams to a location I’ve been to before or to somewhere near a person that I’ve met,” Nythana said.

I think I need to stop being surprised, Basil thought. The surprises are likely never going to stop.

“That’s impressive,” he said aloud as he looked at the multi-layered spell. “Spacial magic truly is incredibly complex.”

He tore his eyes from the marvel of spellcrafting before his eyes and looked at Nythana

“What information are you going to give her?” he asked.

Nythana reached into her cloak and extracted a letter.

“Here,” she said, presenting it to him.

Basil took the letter and read it over. It opened by telling the baron and his daughter that everything she was about to say was classified, then it explained that she’d become the queen and that she was worried for their safety. It gave instructions about what to do to get into Basileus if they found that their lives were in danger—namely to state that they had been summoned by Queen Consort Nythana. Lastly, it closed by instructing them to burn the letter so it never fell into the wrong hands.

“And you can send this directly to the baron’s daughter?” Daromir asked.

“That’s right,” Nythana said with a firm nod.

“And you trust that they’ll dispose of it properly?”

“I do,” she said.

Well, we’ll eventually be telling the world that I’ve found a queen anyways, Basil thought. And Nythana didn’t mention anything about tributes not dying, so it should be alright to let her send it. Besides, we can keep anyone that comes declaring themselves to be her guests in holding at the Basilisk Wall’s facilities until we go there to retrieve them personally.

He nodded and handed the letter back to her.

“You have my permission to send it.”

“Truly?” she asked, her face lighting up.

He smiled as he replied, “Truly.”

“Yes! Thank you, Basil. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

She turned and nearly skipped out of the room.

“How can a bloodless girl be so energetic?” Daromir asked with a sigh.

“That’s what makes her Nythana,” Basil said. “And I personally prefer her energetic side over her serious side.”

“Well, considering the circumstances that bring out her serious side, I’m obliged to agree.”

Either way, our wedding can’t come soon enough, he thought as he returned to his work.