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4 | Keys

2412 Iclis 4, Velpa

Edgerift was no more than a sparkling city of splendor when Marin stepped out of a portal of shadow. She scrunched her nose, the stale prickling of the shadows she bent kissing her skin still. Ever since she mastered the skill, the Heiress seemed eager to send Marin off to random places, usually with even more random tasks.

This particular job involved getting the Imperial power under Cardovia's thumb, and to do that, Marin would have to go straight to the High Queen, Nevrin Sylkrana. The correspondence she had with the Heiress could be nothing more than small talk.

When Marin stepped into the tent yesterday, the Heiress was buried under another pile of paperwork. It's all she had been doing every time an audience commences.

"Do you know what happens when we succeed in turning those from the rut?" the Heiress smacked her lips, if not in thought, then in malice.

Marin shook her head, words dying at the base of her throat. The Heiress didn't take it as an offense. If there was anything the vain woman loved, it was giving lectures and making it seem she was the smartest person in the room. A complex, maybe, but Marin wasn't there to play advocate or counselor.

"Those high up will be bound to follow," the Heiress answered her own question with a self-satisfied smirk. Marin's job was to be there and applaud, if not with her hands, then with her mind and form. "But that only holds when we assume this behemoth of a system functions in tiers. In levels."

"Then, is the system in Lanteglos not to that standard?" Marin ventured.

The Heiress rolled her shoulders. "In a way," she quipped. "The Unseelie Court may have been the first tier, but even if they turned, the higher tiers would not. Do you know why?"

Marin didn't need to get the correct answer in this case, because even if she did, the Heiress would just make it seem like it's wrong and the woman's theories were the correct choice. "Because the Imperial power operates on three different spheres, each with their own tiers?"

"Correct," the Heiress replied with an approving nod. She must have read Marin's sentiment through some minor hint in her toes or something. This woman never failed to surprise anyone she talked to. "What I want you to do now is to break each sphere. Do that, and we will hold the entire Junction City."

"What about the other territories?" Marin dared to blurt. "The Sovereign will not stand by while we strike our loot in Lanteglos. We need to be launching efforts side-by-side."

The Heiress' eyes narrowed. It was a signal. Marin overstepped her bounds.

Marin scrambled back and ducked her head at the woman. "I'm sorry, Peredeira," she said. "I spoke out of turn."

"Hmm," the Heiress quipped with a light nod. "And I suppose you can pronounce my Ancient name now?"

Marin's head snapped up, another apology thick in her tongue. She didn't mean for that to come out, for it to travel to the only person who shouldn't know of it. "I—"

The Heiress waved a hand in the air—a dismissive gesture more than of annoyance. An amused smile played on the corners of her lips, which were painted bright red. "Names are arbitrary," she said. "You will visit Edgerift today as my representative. An appointment has already been made in advance. Instead of me, you will be facing her."

Marin knitted her eyebrows. "Who?"

The glint arising in the Heiress' eyes that afternoon was more than malice. "My foolish Nevrin," she replied. "You'll be having a private audience with the High Queen."

And that's how Marin ended up trudging across one of the bridges crossing the endless moat around the enormous slab of white marble that was the Imperial Palace. Her thoughts were ablaze, following a near-sleepless night when Ilya's snoring spells hit again.

My foolish Nevrin. The way the Heiress said it implied they shared a far deeper relationship than two parties in a treaty. It implied ownership, that the Heiress was confident she could crush the highest office in the island with a mere wave of her hand. Scary, but Marin's job wasn't to figure out the mechanics of everything; it's to get the High Queen to agree to the Heiress' requests and use her power—her throne—for that.

Marin stopped in front of the tall, grailed gate flanked with Unities. Their stiff red coats glistened with the striking sunlight. After all, Edgerift and the Imperial Palace didn't come with thick canopies and lush forests.

"I have an audience with Her Imperial Majesty," Marin said, keeping her face passive and her shoulders relaxed. "I'm Marin Draswist. I believe my presence is expected."

The guards eyed her from head to toe. She made sure she's dressed in the finest ymil her wage and bonuses could afford, and gods, it felt so good. Now in her dark, tight-fitting trousers, black blouse, and the shin-length black cloak fastened by her collarbone, she didn't look twelve. Rather, she's a whole new woman.

No one would be able to look down on her, not when she could flatten them with just the pointed heels of her knee-high, leather boots.

The red coats exchanged nods before signaling at someone to raise the gates a mere fraction from the holes pocking the ground. Without much ceremony, they led her inside the Imperial Palace.

Marin craned her neck at the ornaments, their splendor lost on her. Her practical upbringing in Cardina taught her to value every bit of grena passing through her fingers. Versal wasn't there to stay—it's as fluid as the River of Wishes—and like the well-known body of water, one could never hold on to it for long. Storing it in useless ornaments and letting them gather dust and pests in abandoned corridors—it's the worst way to spend it.

If Marin had the same wealth as the High Queen, perhaps she'd buy a whole town and turn it into a complex of affordable housing. That way, no one would have to sleep under the mercy of the canopies or in full view of the stars again.

A derisive snort flitted off her lips, making a red coat turn to her in urgency. She smiled at him to show nothing was wrong. It's just her thoughts, making her delusional. If she had wealth? What universe would that happen? If she had enough to survive, she wouldn't be here, succumbing to the Heiress' whims. She would be plucking her brother from the Temple of Magic and starting off their lives together. If not for her sheer desperation and lack of resources to fulfill her wish, she wouldn't be in Cardovia.

Because even if she had the High Queen's wealth, she couldn't buy her freedom from the Heiress' clutches.

The redcoats' boots skidded into a halt, almost making Marin run into them. She caught herself in time, craning her neck at the corridors' tall ceiling and the set of white, ornate doors in front of her. That's where the High Queen was?

"Enter, Marin Draswist," the redcoat to Marin's right announced. Together, they pushed the golden handles in, swinging the doors open with such fluid synchrony.

Marin bobbed her head at them as they parted on their side of the doors. She strode into the room and was greeted with tons of flowering plants and exotic succulents she's certain didn't grow in Lanteglos. The sound of running water filtered in her ears, evidenced by a wall of water dripping from pipes circling the atrium. It's...

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a gentle, almost sing-songy voice floated into Marin's ears. She whirled to find a woman perched on a netted, outdoor chair too convoluted compared to Marin's perception of chairs. The woman's spotless gown billowed all over her legs and the floor, painting elegant waves down the lower half of her form. Blond hair fell in luscious locks down her face and chest, complimenting the luster of diamonds populating her bodice and loose sleeves. Finally, huge, feathery white wings towered over the both of them even when the woman was sitting.

As if being dragged by the sheer magnificence in front of her, Marin stepped forward and muttered, almost trance-like, "Yeah..."

She snapped out of it with a quick shake of her head. "I mean, this lounge is beyond anything I've ever seen," she paused to give the woman a deep bow. "Greetings, Your Imperial Majesty."

A small smile crept out of the High Queen's face. Was she grateful it was Marin who showed up instead of the Heiress? Why? She set the quaint tea cup she held on the porcelain saucer meant for it. "I assume you're not here to admire the view?" She tilted her head to the side at Marin before gesturing towards the empty chair nearest her. "Please, take a seat."

Marin followed, sinking into the inviting cushions waiting for her. It took everything in her to avoid squeaking as a different kind of heavenly softness greeted her weight. "The Heiress sends her regards, hence the private nature of our correspondence," she answered, despite finding the woman's face utterly distracting. Even the stormy gray eyes trained towards Marin without wavering. "She has an important request to make."

A cloud darkened the High Queen's face for a moment, but when Marin blinked, it was gone. The High Queen heaved a sharp breath, bobbing her head at Marin. "What does she want?"

"The next agenda in the Heiress' plans is to get the sprites' allegiance," Marin said. "But for us to proceed with that, we need your recommendation."

The High Queen pursed her lips, a nail tapping discordant rhythms on the tablecloth. "Do I have a choice on this matter?" she asked. "I know the Spritean territories are selective on who gets to offer which treaty, but with my seal, they will be more likely to hear you out. So, my question—do I have a choice?"

Marin leveled her gaze at the woman. Beneath the silvery facade, a different image presented itself to her. Someone who was exhausted and melancholic beyond what's possible. Wrong choices made. Regret. Grief.

Loss.

It didn't make them any less different in that regard, but it didn't mean Marin was going to go down the same route as this woman did—whatever path that might have been.

"The Heiress did not elaborate on that matter," Marin answered. "But you should carry on as your usual dealings with her. Just to be safe."

An amused snort flitted off the High Queen's nostrils. She picked up her cup again and took a sip of the aromatic drink sloshing inside it. Not even offering one to a guest? Wow. That's new. "I had hoped," she whispered, almost to herself. "She sent a messenger. Not a thinker."

She turned to Marin with a sharp glare. "What are you, child?" she asked. "Are you here because you have your will bent or because the Heiress dangled an impossible dream over your head?"

Marin narrowed her eyes. "What does that have to do with anything?" she asked. "I am here to deliver the Heiress' request. It's your job to make it happen."

The High Queen scoffed. "Evil breeds evil, I see," she said to no one but the air around them. Maybe the nopraries might be interested. She waved a hand in the air, almost in the same manner the Heiress did. "You are free to go."

Marin bowed again after she stood. "I thank you for your time, Your Imperial Majesty," she said. "I shall expect your cooperation in the days to come."

The High Queen trained her gaze towards the pink and blue flowers blooming under the influence of the shafts of sunlight tearing through the elaborate glass ceiling above them. She didn't want to say anything more, because like Marin, she didn't have a choice but to follow. What's the use of the crown in her head and the power she wielded when all it's good for was to serve the Heiress' purpose?

It sucked, but such was their lives. They both chose to be here, and both of them would die on this road.

Marin turned and was about to head out the door when a weak voice ripped through her ears. "Ideals are only fit for those who have the power to fight for it," the High Queen said. "And the moment the corruption settles in, you have already lost."

Without whirling back, Marin continued walking. The High Queen could lecture her about ideals and corruption all she wanted, but they're stuck in the same rut, the same grave they dug for themselves. Marin wasn't fighting for an ideal. She was fighting for herself and everything she had left to lose.

And in this senseless war of power, fate, and cages, she wasn't the one who held the key; but she might have been the one who threw it to the ocean.

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