We Thought Her Immortal

A short story linked to my recent novella duology, inspired by the last chapter of book 2, and rather obviously by recent events...

It seemed such a little thing, to have brought low a reign spanning decades.

A trifling cold, Alexandra had insisted only the night before, no more serious than the ones that had plagued her for a week or so every winter, as far back as any of them could remember.

Alexandra's body had become cold in her arms, in the early hours of the morning, but that was not unusual, either and Sayfiya had merely pulled the blankets higher over her love.

Soon, the handmaidens, Sayfiya and Alexandra's sisters in all but name and blood, would wake, and come to help Alexandra prepare for the day. A day of mourning that she would never see. Soon, the servants would arrive with breakfast, shortly followed by Milche and his family.

Soon, Sayfiya would have to break the news to their loved ones, and be a rock for the grieving King of the World. The empire would need to be informed, and Sayfiya's students wouldhave to be on watch for anyone seeking to take advantage of the situation.

For now, Sayfiay - Queen's Blade, Alexandra's life-partner and love, her grieving widow in all the ways that mattered - took advanage of the moment of privacy to weep.

Emperor Milche of Dorion, King of the World, could not say that he was entirely surprised.

He wasn't sure that he felt anything, at the moment. Just an odd kind of numbness, aware that he should be feeling something, but too overwhelmed for it to really register.

None of them had been blind to the fact that Alexandra of Dorion was slowing down, passing her more physical duties to Milche and his wives. She had seemed immortal, for all that he knew that no mortal was immune to age. For Thanatos, the god of death, to have finally come for her should not have been a surprise, yet none of them had really expected it to happen.

Milche had been young, when his father and aunts died, young enough for the memory to have faded. There had been so much going on, what with a violent coup and all that followed, that there had been no time to be sad, and when there eventually was, the sorrow had dimmed, a little. When Father died, Mother had been there, steady and supportive as she always was.

Now, Mother was dead, and everyone looked to him for decisions.

"Assume the appearence of confidence, and confidence will come..." Wise advice, shared over cups of Masala as they talked in the evenings. Milche's mother had been full of such sayings, advice for dealing with the burden she bore daily, that Milche was now responsible for shouldering.

But his mother hadn't been alone when she carried it, and neither was he.

Milche took a deep breath, tried to smile reassuringly at his wives, clustered around him in support and concern, and summoned a servant. "Summon the heralds, and the scribes. Missives are to be sent to every corner of the empire..."

The Queen is Dead. Long Live the King.

"Did you hear?"

"I thought it was a horrid rumour!"

"I can't imagine a world without her at the helm..."

Whispers spread through the capitol of Alexandria, whispers of the news that was not a surprise, but which no one had anticipated.

The number of women clustered around the well, the designated point for particularly important gossip that couldn't wait for regular visiting hours, was exponentially larger than it usually was. There was none of the usual jostling to get to the well first, either. ”King Milche… it sounds so strange, doesn’t it, after so long?”

The speaker's neighbours nodded sympathetically, ”No stranger than calling someone other than Alexandra Queen. Do you think he'll choose one for the title, or all three, or none?”

Hastily muffled giggles circulated; the poor King, if he had to choose which of his three wives to elevate above the others. They were all familiar with the power a displeased wife could wield over a household. An older woman, showing the beginning of a hunch, shook her head. ”Best not to speculate, I think. Her poor handmaidens, after all this time…”

A younger woman, whose bearing spoke of either supreme self-confidence, or the folly of youth, hummed agreement. ”Do you think her bodyguard will stay on? I mean, we all knew what they were to each other, even if no-one said it…”

A short silence overtook the group, as they all considered it. The Queen's Blade, or the Poisoned Jewel, depending on who you asked, was also getting on in years, though age hadn't dulled her reflexes or her aim yet. "There's still the new King and his family, but she may wish to retire peacefully and let someone else take over. She's not so much younger than Her departed Majesty, after all."

One of the women nearest the well finished drawing water, hoisting the pithos onto her hip. "I imagine we’ll hear about it soon enough. Will her allies travel for the funeral, do you think?”

A woman in the subtle finery of a merchant's wife and a complexion that suggested a life of travel, tilted her head in consideration, ”The ones who are close enough, perhaps. Some of them are months of travel away, and they can't delay the funeral just to wait for them. The ones with daughters or sisters about to ascend the throne will certainly come to pay their respects as soon as possible, but they still may not make it in time. Chief Reike, at least, will have to cross the mountains if he wants to congratulate his sister in person, and it's a month yet before the spring thaw."

From there, the conversation drifted to when the funeral games and coronation would be held, and what might be expected from the coming years.

One era had ended, and only time would tell what the new one would bring.

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