She woke up with the sensation of snow. Not on her, but rather outside; Quaith could sense it, resting heavily on the world, making the air seem dense and soft. Whenever it snowed, the sky seemed to be holding its breath, waiting, soft and light and gentle.

Bells were ringing somewhere in the distance – not bells from a sleigh, but the kind a person would play in music, some sort of chime. Quaith rose from her bed, groaning with tiredness, and then threw on a robe that would hide the fact that she still wore her nightgown. No one would look at her that closely; she was just going out to stop that infernal music, if it even could be called that.

“Good morning, Queen.”

It was some attendant or another, and she waved him away. …They should know by now that she was not to be disturbed in the morning. She could start a war if she was not careful with the way she was treated; morning and she were not friends.

She was getting closer to the dinging noise and, following it, she saw that it was coming from one of the sitting rooms adjacent to the main hall. Quaith opened the door and sucked in her breath with surprise.

Him. She hadn’t seen him since she’d been in Ian, and he’d left before she had.

“Nice to see you again, Quaith.”

“Daiaan. The same.”

He was sitting on a chair, his wings folded slightly so they didn’t hit the walls; they filled up almost all of the free space in the room. Next to him on the floor there was an instrument, several feet long, with many flat metal bars on them. He was holding a tiny mallet and, when he hit a part of it, it made a clear ringing sound.

“What is this?”

“A gift.” He played a couple notes experimentally. “Don’t know what it’s called. I just… thought it looked interesting. So I took it.”

She knelt down beside it, tapping it with a fingernail. The sound was clear and pale, the texture of ice. “You stole it, didn’t you?”

“They didn’t want it anyways.” He straightened up. “I figured that some fool in this big castle of yours would know what to do with it.”

“Well, thanks, I guess. I’ll have a – a player – searched for immediately.”

“You look a mess.”

“Many thanks, Daiaan.”

“No, it’s true,” he said, as if that somehow would make it better. “Is something wrong?”

“I woke up. Or, was woken up. By you.”

“Ouch. I’m sorry.” He stood, and she stood too, careful to avoid touching his wings. “I’m only passing through, though.”

“How come you’re not on the island with the others?”

“I haven’t returned since you and I met,” he said. “I’ve been traveling. I’m going south soon, I think.”

“What are you trying to find?”

“What makes you think I’m trying to find something?”

“It was a guess. What are you doing, then?”

“Trying to find something.” He laughed at the scowl on her face. “You really shouldn’t wake up before noon. It doesn’t suit you. Anyway, I’m looking for the Snake Eaters.”

“Snake Eaters?”

“Another group, a tribe I mean, of Nephilim - that is, winged people - one my family hasn’t met before. They live in the mountains, in caves, or so that’s what people have told me. I’m not sure if it’s true or not, but I was in Tekrin, talking to an expert on the subject, and he said that few angels have dared to go up that high – with the altitude, their magic weakens – and so I have reason to think this tribe might be still alive.”

“You’re looking for Nephilim, yourself?”

“That’s what I said, yes.”

She wanted to open her mouth and say, Take me with you, please? She didn’t dare, however; still his gaze tore into her face, and Quaith knew he guessed her thoughts.

“You’re a queen,” he said to her, his voice gentle. “You have to stay here.”

“I know,” she said, laughing. “I’m not crazy enough to go off into the mountains, alone, with you.”

“Hey! Is than an insult?”

“Perhaps.” She laughed and moved to the door. “Will you be staying long? I’ll have them prepare lunch, if you’d like.”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving before tomorrow morning, so I’ve got all day. By the way… I was meaning to ask you, is there an extra room somewhere in this castle in which I could stay the night? I need to stock up on supplies and I’m spending all of my human-money on that. I don’t have enough to pay for a room somewhere.”

“Sure,” she said. “I can do that. But you’ll need to tell one of the servants. I’m busy today.” She’d just remembered. “I have a meeting with… let me remember… a foreign prince of some kind. Konlang. He’s all the way from there, and it’s a very long journey, I can’t remember how long, though.”

“Where’s Konlang?”

“South. I’ll be busy all day. He comes this evening, for supper. Come to the great hall if you want to meet him. I’ve heard he’s quite a strange fellow, younger than I am.”

“I thought we were doing lunch.”

“The servants will make you lunch, I said,” she clarified. “I’m too busy to eat with you.”

“Ah. Fine, then. You’re sure that there’s enough room, with Mr. Konlang’s entourage?”

“Yes, I do, because he’s already here. He won’t show his face yet, though. Perhaps he’s shy, poor fellow.”

“I might show up to your dinner, but if I do, it will just be for the food. I bet it’s better than normal – you treat your other guests better than you treat me.”

“Always. It’s a rule of mine, actually.”

-=-=-=-=-

As the day wore on, she forgot about Daiaan, at least until that evening. The prince left his room only after all of the food was laid out on the tables. It was the most intricate display of anything Quaith had ever seen – little castles out of fruit, cake in the shape of ladies’ skirts, houses with frosting roofs. They all looked like children’s playthings, beautiful and fragile and not edible. (Apparently the prince had brought some of his own cooks with him, who had worked together with the Adryonian queen’s cooks and prepared the “feast”. It looked and tasted like dessert, though, and Quaith longed for something more substantial than the fragile candy toys that were set so delicately upon the table.)

He did not speak Adryonian very well, but Quaith watched him as he tried, stumbling his way through the words, confusing them together. His accent was terrible, especially the way he did his R’s, but Quaith listened to his comments – she got the feeling he was critiquing the food, but wasn’t sure – and nodded and smiled as if she understood what he was saying.

In the middle of the meal, a man walked in – it was Daiaan, his wings carefully folded so that he didn’t accidentally hit anyone in the face. He took a seat at the far end of the table, which was empty because it was typically thought of as an unlucky seat to take, opposite from Quaith, who herself had the seat of honor at the head of the table.

“More fruit salad, lady?” a man next to her asked – one of the prince’s attendants; he had a much better accent than the man he served.

“No, thank you,” she said, wondering if it would be impolite to ask the cooks to make something after they’d already slaved over this pitiful meal. “I’m quite full, thank you.”

She saw that at the end of the table, the men on both sides of Daiaan were talking to him, asking him questions, their faces contorted in what looked like anger. Daiaan, however, was keeping his mouth shut, his expression conflicted. “Gentlemen, leave him alone,” Quaith called out. “Please, he is a guest, a special friend of mine. It is said in Ian sometimes that ‘Wings bring luck,’ and since there is not a bird served at dinner, let us hope he fulfils this.”

A bad translation, she knew – the original Ianese was than angel in the household brought luck – but he was not an angel and few of the people, she guessed, had ever even traveled to Ian, much less knew its phrases. “Oh, and if you want to talk to him, don’t even bother. He’s almost as bad in Adryonian as you all are in Ianese.”

She smiled at him from across the table and he blinked at her. That would stop him from conversing with anyone quite entirely. Quaith was not sure if she’d done him a favor or a disservice, but as he munched on some of the fragilely prepared food, he didn’t seem to mind the sudden quiet.

Finally, the meal was over, and the servants began to pack up the table. Quaith was just standing when the prince helped her out of her chair, his tiny hands cold against hers. “It was pleased to meet you,” he told her.

What was pleased? she wanted to ask, snidely, but he was a prince, and she had to bite her tongue. “Thank you,” she said. “I am pleased to meet you, as well.”

He bowed deeply and left, going to his room to sleep.

Thank God he’ll be gone in a couple of days, Quaith told herself. I wish we didn’t have to entertain anyone; but they all want to meet the new ruler, don’t they? They think their princes and kings will be perfect for me. Isn’t that a laugh? This man – not even, he’s still a boy – will be an awful ruler, if he lives to adulthood. She had heard a wheeze in his chest when he breathed in and wondered what disease he had, and how stupid they must have assumed she’d be to not notice it. He probably doesn't want a marriage, either.

Quaith made her way to the kitchens. The cooks were putting everything away, but she managed to snag a loaf of the servants’ cheap thick bread and slices of turkey – cold, but still good. She had loaded it in a basket to take up to her room when she bumped into Daiaan. He nodded to her, then looked down into the basket and laughed. “The prince’s fine food not enough for you, then?”

“Fine?” she echoed. “Fine, indeed. Maybe for a child.”

“Can I share that with you?”

“Come on, I’m going to my room,” she said. “We need to catch up. It’s been too long.”

“I just saw you this morning.”

“I know, but we didn’t get time to talk… and anyways, you know how I am during that time of the day. Come, come.”

As soon as they got up to her room and sat down in the chairs, he made a casual remark about how much better she looked now that she was cleaned up. “It’s not the amount of cleaning I’ve had,” she said, “or the quality of the clothes I wear, or even the way my hair looks. It’s the time of day. That’s all that really matters about how I look.”

“I see,” he said, smirking. “Anyways, why was the prince here?”

“I’ve been queen for less than a year, and they all want to test me, I think,” she said. “Either that, or every country within a hundred-mile radius wants me to marry its prince. Or king.”

“And you say no to marriage?”

“I say no to marriage when it's not something I choose. And a definite no to political marriages – they’re so, well, wrong-feeling. I mean, he was still a baby. And I will bet you two-thirds of my kingdom he won’t make it to twenty, but, of course, when he dies, half of everything I own would’ve gone to his family. Sly trick, that is.”

“Politics are sleazy.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I’ve got enough men to fill a small village hired to police the town and find out if anyone’s conspiring against me, and another half-village patrolling my castle to look for evildoers. I’m still scared out of my boots half the times.”

“But there is no war, at least.”

“No war yet, that is true. I honestly thank God every day,” she said, “that most of the ruling does not have to be done by me. I approve everything, I smile and act pretty to all the foreign kings and easily offended barons and noblemen, but it’s the fifteen advisors I’ve got who rule the kingdom.”

“You’re just – the façade?”

“If I wanted something done, a law passed or repealed,” she said, “I could do it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” she asked. “Pass a fake law, just to see?”

“No,” he said. “Pass a real one.”

“And tell me,” Quaith said, “Daiaan, since you seem to know what you are talking about, what law would that be?”

“Protect us,” he said. “The angels took our land, years ago. Kick them out. Get it back.”

“I’m sorry they took your land,” she said slowly, surprised, “but if they stole it from you, it’s theirs now.”

“Then just protect us – make it a crime to steal land.”

“It is a crime to steal land.”

“Look in your books of laws, Quaith. It is a law to steal land – from a human. Not from Nephilim, and not from an angel. Only humans. Elves, vampires, even merfolk, we could all be robbed should some pesky power-hungry human try to get our land. We have so little as it is – just make it illegal.”

“Oh. Um.” She pursed her lips. “I could do that. I could do that easily, I think.”

“Then do it. Try. That way, we can keep what little we’ve got.”

The conversation turned quickly to lighter things, but after Daiaan had left and Quaith lay in bed that night, stuffed full from all of the food and suffering from insomnia, she could not help but think of their conversation.

Could she pass the law? Yes. Did she want to? –Why not? It was, as far as she could see, fair, and it should have been passed a long time ago. In fact, it should’ve been a crime for anyone to steal anyone else’s property. Species didn’t matter.

The next day, she did go and check in the huge sacred law books that were kept just behind the throne – it was supposed to symbolize that the only thing behind the throne was the law itself, and that was what the royalty worked for, but it really should have been the other way around, that the throne was the one behind the law – for that piece that Daiaan had talked about. And there, in some ancient scribe’s handwriting, it said, “No human’s property shall be taken from him, without honest and just reason determined by a council or the monarch.”

There – there it was! “Human”. Only humans’ had the protection of the law. She shut the book with a snap making all of the others stare and look at her, surprised.

“Just looking something up,” she said aloud, hoping to deflect the glances. She would meet with her advisors later, and talk to them about changing it. Of course, she could do it herself, but changing the laws was one things and changing the law books another completely. The books were, as far as the people were concerned, the last authority; if a monarch broke any of those laws, they could be killed for it. To change one was like changing rules set down by God.

Daiaan had left before the sun had rose, as he promised he would, and had left nothing for her but the strange instrument. Quaith had ordered it moved into her bedroom. She wasn’t sure why – it wasn’t beautiful and whatever melodic music it could made had not been discovered by her – but it fit nicely between her bed and the wall, with room to spare. She picked up one of the mallets and tried out all of the notes, going up and down. She knew nothing about music, especially how to make it, but she tried out different things, trying to find patterns that sounded decent, pretty.

A knock on her door. It was timid, hardly audible, so it was most likely the knock of one of her attendants. She’d heard from someone that they had a schedule of who had to disturb her in the morning, taking turns. Am I really that awful? she wondered. Of course, it was the morning; in the morning, she could be a storm.

“Come in.”

The man, a familiar-faced servant, entered, his thin hands twisting around each other. “There is a messenger in the great hall.”

“Thank you. How long has been here?”

“H-he just got here, your majesty.” The servant bowed deeply. “Permission to leave?”

“Granted. Oh, wait a moment. Did he say where he’s from?”

“He didn’t say what country,” he said, stuttering a little on his words. “Just that it was a very long journey and it’s very far to the west.”

“The west?” murmured Quaith, but she waved the boy out without any more questions and rose to meet the messenger in the hall, after neatening herself a little. (It was true, what she’d said to Daiaan – no amount of preening could not make her beautiful in the mornings. It was like a wound that only time could heal, but which was reopened each morning as she rose from bed.)

The messenger was dressed in yellow and black and was walking around the hall leisurely, a smile on his face. His skin was pale, she saw, but his hair was thick and black and curly, and he wore a yellow cap on the top. Yellow, Quaith thought. What country’s royal color is yellow? Adryonia was purple, of course, and Ian dark green, and Areen orange; she thought back. She didn’t know any countries past the Central Mountains, far, far west of Adryonia, and her geography was muddled about those on this side of them, too.

“Hello!” she called to the messenger. He bowed, and Quaith went on. “I hear that you have a message to give me, and that you have come from a place very far away. Would you like to rest?”

“Yes, your majesty, it is true I have come a long way,” he said. “But I am not tired. I wish to give my message to you immediately.”

“And what is your message?”

From the bag on his hip he removed a scroll, made of fine white paper that Quaith looked at enviously. Paper was not cheap, at least not in Adryonia. He handled it with the utmost care, and Quaith noticed he was wearing black gloves on his long-fingered hands.

“The most esteemed King Derslevere, ruler of Vina and the surrounding lands, wishes to make an announcement to Her Majesty the Queen of Adryonia.” The man cleared his throat and Quaith thought: Vina – that is very far away; it borders on the Central Mountains, it must be half the continent to get here from there! “He wishes to inform you that he will be arriving at the Adryonian castle approximately ten days after this message was sent.”

Her heart seemed to stop. “Ten days?”

“He has left already,” the messenger told her. “He is taking his time, in order to let you prepare the castle appropriately.”

“The prince of Konlang is still here! I can’t entertain monarch after monarch!”

“I am sorry, but this is all out of my hands,” he said, bowing and rolling the scroll up once more. “If you have complaints with his way of managing things, please tell it directly to the king.”

After all, he will be here in ten days, thought Quaith bitterly. But she thanked the messenger and had the servants prepare him a room, then went to begin preparations.

Preparing for one monarch, the prince of Konlang, had been hard; but preparing for the king of Vina when the prince was still there was even harder, not only because of the overlap but also because Vina was a different country from Konlang. Vina was rich, and huge, and very distant, and also more powerful than Quaith really could understand. They had a huge economy, and most of what Adryonia and the surrounding countries imported – grain, cotton, basically everything except wood – came from there.

She had, however, never met their king. Didn’t even know there was a king.

Konlang was a country that though it was better than it was, known only for its great whaling industry, but Vina – Vina scared her, because it was strong and everyone knew it, even if they knew nothing else.

There was so much to prepare.

-=-=-=-=-

I don't normally do author's notes anymore, but this one warrants it. If this seemed at all confusing, well, a) that should go away before the end of the next chapter, and b) it's because this is a sort-of-sequel to another story, which took on a life of its own. Obviously I'm not posting the first story, or not yet, so hey! Just work with me. If it is too confusing, please tell me and I'll try to fix that. Thanks for reading!