Whitney Writes…

Fadiya stared up the intimidating, winding spiral limestone steps. After a full day of listening to petitioners to the crown, she felt drained of all her energy. And the thought of climbing all those steps now felt daunting. Impossible. When she had a bedchamber just off the throne room for days just like this. Her gaze slid back, through the arched doorway, to the throne room and the hidden bedchamber door at the far side.

She had not even known it was there as a girl. She had always assumed her father had made the trek up these very steps every night, to say goodnight to his three children and sleep beside his wife. Fadiya wondered now how many nights he had slept all the way down here, alone. She grasped the cool stone railing and hauled herself up the first few steps, her thighs already beginning to burn.

Half-way up the staircase, between floors three and four, Fadiya paused, leaning against the cool stone wall to catch her breath. She cursed the palace designer for putting the bedchambers primarily on the sixth floor, and also Ralof for having decided to keep the nursery and their own bedchamber up there. “Away from the din of the working areas” her husband had said. She had previously worked in the sewing shop on the second floor, and had not remembered getting this tired and winded going to bed each night. Had her few years on the throne really made her so soft already?

When Fadiya finally pushed open the nursery door, she was greeted with a sharp intake of breath. Before she could have a moment to even collect herself, a small, dark-haired boy flung himself towards her.

“Mama!!” squealed Unar, her and Ralof’s eldest. Fadiya barely managed to keep herself from toppling backwards down the stairs before she could steady herself and wrap her arms around her son. A tiny wisp of a girl with a poofy blonde pony tail was slipping into Fadiya’s arms as well, and she rested her cheek against Jaga’s soft hair.

Ralof grinned at her from where he was rocking a basinet with his foot as he rocked himself and a toddler in a rocking chair. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” he said softly.

“I thought I was too tired, but this welcome has been worth it,” she said with a smile, squeezing two of her four children all the tighter.

“What does Your Grace think of my proposal?” Gorbak asked, wringing his hands nervously. He shifted from one foot to the other, beads of sweat forming along the brim of his chef’s hat. A steadying hand reached out and rested gently on his forearm. Gorbak looked up into the face of Murdan. He let out a steadying breath, smiling at his lover.

“We would be hard pressed to lose you, both of you,” Fadiya added, her eyes shifting to encompass Murdan as well, “for this extended period of time. You are both certain your teams can handle the added strain this will put on them?”

“I have talked it over many times with both Mazar and Meena,” Gorbak said. His voice lowered, he added: “They both know of the struggles in my marriage to Indel, they think some time away will do me some good.”

“And you?” Fadiya asked, turning her gaze to Murdan, the widower of her father. She was pleased her step-father had found someone to move on with; she had wished, however, that he had not done so with an already married man. “What of Ugrash and Zaeri? What opinion did they have?”

“This one spoke with them,” Murdan said, “while they were not thrilled with the idea of my being gone for long, they did say they will not stand in my way.”

“And they will confirm when I ask them?”

“They will my queen, bring them before you now and inquire,” Murdan insisted.

“There is no need at the moment,” Fadiya said, both to Murdan and the guards who had begun moving to fetch the Khajiiti woman from the smithy. She narrowed her eyes at the guards, she would have to have a word with them for responding to Murdan over her. “What of your children?”

“We will bring Dabani and Yanabil with us, Your Grace,” Gorbak said, “we wish them to learn their heritages.”

“I meant your children with your other spouses…” Fadiya clarified, referring to Gorbak’s seven children with his estranged wife, and Murdan’s five children with her father. “Surely you do not mean to travel with an entourage of fourteen children?”

Gorbak reddened, clearly he had not considered this, or that his queen would ask. “I assumed mine would remain with their mother,” he said hesitantly, “as I doubt she would permit me to bring them from here… with… Murdan.” Fadiya pursed her lips, disliking his response. She shifted her eyes to Murdan, awaiting his answer.

“Zaeri and Nakra have said they will watch my boys, Ugrash and Black-Scale have said they will watch my girls,” Murdan said, unabashed by the inquiry of his step-daughter.

“Gorbak,” Fadiya said slowly, “my only issue with your plan is your wife.” She watched the Orc cook hang his head in shame. “I do not mean to chastise you on your fidelity, or lack there of, that is not my business. My qualm is her age, Indel is, unfortunately, getting up there in age, even for an elf. My fear is if you leave your children here, Indel will die while you are away.” She held up her hand to stop Gorbak’s coming protest. “While of course the crown would care for the little ones in such a time, I worry that they would not fair nearly as well as if they had their father here.”

“You are asking us to delay?” Gorbak asked, incredulously. “Or worse, wait for the mother of my children to die before we depart?”

Fadiya merely shrugged. “Or take them with you,” she said simply. “You are going to Orsinium, are you not? Let the little ones see their heritage.”

“But… that would mean taking them from here knowing there is a high chance they never see their mother again,” Gorbak said.

“A tricky choice, to be sure,” Fadiya said, “but a choice none-the-less. And the choice is yours alone. Whatever you decide, I shall approve your passport to travel to Orsinium in this time of war.”