Peace
Irene lifted her cat to her face and collapsed onto her bed with a sigh. His head pressed firmly against her nose; his purrs vibrated her skin.
Phoenix pulled his head back and licked the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Or maybe he just wanted a taste of the moisturizing cream she had applied to her face. The rough edges of his tongue soothed her aching skin and made her giggle.
“Oh Phoenix.” Irene set him on her bedspread and stared him in the eyes. He blinked with wisdom only known to a cat. “I could be so happy—well, maybe not happy, but at least enjoying a life of ease if I ignored this. He’s been so good to me; if I confront him, one of us won’t see the next day.” She scratched under Phoenix’s neck. “I suspect it would be me. Why did he do it?”
Phoenix closed one eye and licked behind his ears.
Irene smirked. “You’re a great help.” She rolled over and gazed at her family picture. It was taken at Easter this year. The aunts, uncles, cousins, and her family wore their royal crest amidst vibrant colors; Father even donned his crown for the occasion. It was the only Sunday that Uncle Dolion ever emerged from his castle on the coast and his court full of pomp and indulgence, condescending to allow his brother’s family to enjoy his presence. Yet within five minutes of the meeting he managed to entangle his brother and two sisters in the age-old argument.
Every other kingdom saw the sense in letting the oldest son ascend to the throne, he argued. Why did Regnumia command that the second son should rule?
It was in the founding constitution, Irene’s father argued. The eldest son still had a very important role: to be an ambassador to the surrounding countries. He obviously had a vested interest in his country; it was the perfect opportunity to ensure that the crucial role of international relations was not left to a bureaucratic pleasure-seeker.
Irene always had to smother laughter under her breath when her father reached this part of the argument. Those words described her uncle perfectly. He did barely any ambassador work, spending most of his time at his court by the sea. He had invited her to visit multiple times but Irene’s parents forbid her from ever visiting. Uncle Dolion employed too many women to make it a suitable place for anyone, much less a young girl, to stay.
Around this time Aunt Abigail would jump in and complain about the law against women ruling. This was mostly an attempt to dissolve the conflict; sometimes it worked, sometimes the argument continued until the two brothers nearly came to blows.
Irene shook her head. But besides the gossip about her Uncle’s court—and she always wondered if her parents exaggerated that—he had been an excellent uncle. Every Christmas he brought gifts that shrank the other gifts to oblivion. It might have been smaller than everything else but it meant much more to her. He always knew what to get her. Her father, on the other hand, was too busy to care. Her father yelled and made you feel like you were wasting his time; Uncle Dolion soothed and handed his time out by the bunches.
Once, when her father had been especially angry with Irene for associating with her maid as a friend no matter how many times he had told her not to, Uncle Dolion had found her huddled in the attic, sobbing.
“My little pigeon, what’s wrong?”
“Dad’s furious with me for spending time with Claudia. He’s going to dismiss her. And it’s all my fault.”
“Oh Pigeon.” He wiped a tear off of her face. “Your dad can be a little strict at times, can’t he?”
She nodded her tearstreaked face.
“Well honey, you know what I’ll do? I have a foreign duke who is begging to gain connections in Regnumia. I’ll give her the title of Lady and marry her off to him. Then she can stay in your father’s court as visiting royalty and he will be glad to host her.”
Irene brightened. “Really? Sounds like a lot of work,”
“Nothing is too much for my pigeon.”
“But what if she doesn’t want to.”
“Claudia should want to please her princess.” Uncle Dolion gave a confident nod.
Irene tilted her head with a bemused expression. “But then couldn’t you use the same reasoning that she should want to please her king.”
Uncle Dolion looked like he had swallowed a rotten lemon. “Uhh–I’m sure she’ll fall madly in love with him.”
Irene accepted this. Her tears were forgotten in giggles as her uncle tried to show her how to fold origami and was failing miserably.
“Oh Phoenix.” Irene gasped as the memory folded to a close. “If I don’t confront Uncle Dolion, imagine how comfortable our lives will be. I’ll finally have peace. Dad won’t be nagging me…” her voice faded and her hands flew to her mouth. She regretted the words.
“Why did Uncle Dolion murder Dad?”
Phoenix stared back at her with a miserable meow, offering no answers.
Irene glanced at the mirror with a frown, before fleeing her room. She ran down the stairs, past a pair of guards who nodded at her, and stopped in front of a door that bore the royal seal. She knocked on the door, an uneasy smile crossing her lips. It wavered and trembled. Part of her demanded that she tear it down and wear a frown while another part of her felt relieved and happier than she had in a while.
“Come in!” Her uncle’s jolly voice rang out.
Irene stepped into his apartment, her thin slippers sliding noiselessly on the cobblestones. The rich, one could even say gaudy, colors opened before her eyes. She gasped. This used to be her parents’ room. It looked so different. A thought crossed her mind that she was ashamed she hadn’t asked before.
“Where did Mom go?”
Uncle Dolion lounged on a sparkling snakeskin couch. “She agreed with me that it would be better for the kingdom if she moved to a different room.”
“What? But how does one room matter in the scheme of power?”
“Pigeon dear.” He smiled as if talking to a toddler. “I am considering asking her to leave the castle altogether. I’ll give her a new and better place to live, of course. Something smaller and more manageable for a widow. With her in the castle it could cause a confusion of authority.”
Irene tried to smile. Certainly he knew what was best. “Will I leave too?’
Uncle Dolion guffawed, his second chin reminding Irene of jello that hasn’t set long enough. “Of course not. I have much bigger plans for you.” He studied her face. “Your mother is tired. She has indicated that she will welcome the break from the constant bustle of the court and the reminders of your father that surround this place.”
Irene tilted her head. Her mother had told him that? She furrowed her brow. She hadn’t seen her much since her father’s death since the doctors had banned her mother from receiving many visitors. The potential heir to the throne was threatened by her weak state. Yet Irene’s mother had always been such a powerful political force for her father, often exceeding what he had planned for the kingdom. For her to want to leave the palace quietly…Irene shook her head. She would talk to her mother soon.
“As for you—”
Irene straightened as she jolted back to the present and realized that her uncle was talking to her. “Sorry, what?”
A shadow crossed his face. “If you can’t listen to me, that sorely affects my plans for you.”
“What? Oh, okay. Sorry.”
A dangerous smile bloomed on his lips. “You’re forgiven Pigeon. Now, one of my greatest desires is to see you on the throne.”
She stared at him, aghast. “But that’s illegal. What about the second child? Mom’s baby?”
“You’re forgetting my position.”
“What can you do though? Isn’t it engrained in the law?”
A scowl crossed his face. “Yes. But I can change the law; I’m above the law.”
Irene wiggled. She didn’t like where this conversation was going. Her father would have been furious. “Uncle Dolion—”
“I would change the law, rule as your regent until you are of age, then return the throne to you and I can return to my court by the sea. You can execute the vision your father had for this country better than I ever could and I think this country deserves a change. And you could definitely perform it better than the little tike causing your mother such discomfort.”
“The Constitution–” Irene gasped weakly. The picture that he proposed was sending stars through her mind.
“Doesn’t this country deserve a change? Why did they institute that law in the first place anyway?”
Irene opened her mouth, ready to give the answer she’d known since she was seven. But words were placed in that space before she could twitch her vocal cords.
“Actually, I don’t care.” Her uncle thumped his foot. “What do you think?”
Irene’s hands were sweaty. She had been jealous of the second child. Why did he have a right to rule when she didn’t? “How are you going to get around the Council?”
He shrugged. “A minor thing. I’ve talked to enough of them to know I have plenty of support in pushing this law through. It might enrage a few of the dinosaurs at the Table but your father left them on too long anyway. It would be good for them to leave, good to get some new ideas on the Table.”
Irene’s eyes widened. She was still processing the idea of becoming queen, even though she was the eldest child. It was a dangerous dream that she had wondered about. She was two years away from being able to rule. As much as she liked him, she did see her uncle’s flaws. She could be the bridge between the rigidness of her father and the fickleness of her uncle. “What—”
“You don’t need to do anything. Leave it all to me, just give me your support. The Council respects you more than you know. They saw how much your father trusted you. Supporting me will be the tipping point that bestows on you the throne.” He grinned so widely that his second chin gave the slightest impression of tension. “Please see her out.”
Irene smiled vaguely as the butler led her to the door. She wasn’t sure if she would have made it otherwise. “Wait, why does the Council respect me? Because of my father?”
Dolion’s smile trembled but won the battle in staying put. “Maybe, maybe. I don’t remember what I said. I’ve also been an influential advocate for you in front of them.” He began elaborating on all the ways that he had done so but Irene was already walking down the hallway.
She could be queen. But why was Dolion so concerned about changing the law of the line of succession? What about the war that fizzled on the brink of their borders over water rights? Or the peasant revolt in the hills and the coal mines?
The line of succession, however, was important to the security of the country.
As she battled within herself about the conflicting opinion she couldn’t shake off one doubt.
Why did Uncle Dolion want to do this for her? He had grumbled for years, almost to the brink of war, about how he deserved to rule. Yet now that he had the chance to rule at least for a while until her younger sibling grew up, he was throwing that away.
Irene shook her head and fled to the gardens where she weeded vigorously until the sun closed its eyes on her.
She stood in the last sparkles of the twilight, breathing heavily, her gown covered in stains. Her mother would be able to offer a knife to this impossible knot. Or at least give her the courage to cut through it.
Despite the outraged yells of the housekeeper Irene ran up the stairs in mudcovered slippers and flung herself against her mother’s door.
It was locked.
Irene pushed her ear against the oak door and strained to hear something, anything.
A dull moan whimpered through the grain of the wood. It shot like an arrow to Irene’s heart. She yanked a bobby pin from her hair and jabbed it into the lock. With a few wiggles she heard a click and threw her weight against the door.
Something creaked on the other side. It resisted her push. With a grunt of frustration Irene shoved it open just wide enough so that she could slip through.
“Mother! Uncle Dolion!”
Her mother was engulfed in her massive four-poster bed. The small bit of her face that peaked over the sheets was as white as an eggshell.
Uncle Dolion stood over her with a pillow. He backed away from the bed and smiled uneasily.
Irene rushed to her mother, tripping over a chair covered with towels on her way there. “What are you doing?”
“Checking on your mother. She needed an extra pillow so I was trying to give it to her when you,” he coughed politely, “rudely inserted yourself into the room. Leave your mother in peace, child. ”
Irene rubbed her mother’s chilled hands between her own. “Do you want me to leave? I can if you’re too tired.”
Her mother shook her head wearily and tried to say something but could only make raspy noises. Irene grabbed a glass of water and handed it to her. Her mother shook her head, pushing it away.
“But mother, you need it. What’s wrong?”
Uncle Dolion stepped forward. “Yes, Dorrit, you must stay hydrated.” He tried to grab the water from Irene. She jostled it, spilling most of the liquid over his clothes. She could almost see her mother sigh in relief through her eyes.
“Look what you did!” He growled.
Irene quickly returned the glass to the dresser and grabbed the towels. “Here, I’m sorry Uncle Dolion, but if she didn’t want to drink it—.” She shrieked and dropped the towel. “No!”
With a leap she grabbed the bare blade of the knife, directing it away from her mother’s abdomen. “Move Mother!” The pain sliced through her skin. Blood began to drip onto Dorrit’s white nightgown.
She had been able to move the blade solely based on surprise. She was no match for Uncle Dolion’s strength. “Fluff her pillows, ha!” Irene bit her lip to keep from screaming.
What a stalemate they were in. Uncle Dolion standing over Dorrit with a knife, Irene desperately grasping the bare blade, Dorrit wide-eyed and white, caught in the middle.
The knife was slipping through her hands. She couldn’t keep a grip. Inches, barely holding on, he wrenched it out.
Irene screamed.
Dorrit rolled out of bed as the knife hit the mattress, landing on Irene’s feet.
“You want to kill my mother, but make me queen? What’s your plan?”
“Ha!” Uncle Dorion walked around the bed. Irene ran forward to shield her mother. “You didn’t get it. What am I?”
Everything flooded together, the pieces fitting. Irene faltered under the realization. He had never meant to gain anything for her, only for himself. He only wanted her support. The crusty lords and dukes would trust her where they wouldn’t trust him. But how could her jolly uncle do such a thing?
“You killed my father too.”
Uncle Dolion’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?”
“A servant saw you do it and brought me proof. I-I thought she was lying. No, I hoped she was lying. Now I’ll take her seriously.”
Something flickered through Dolion’s eyes. “No matter. I was hoping this wouldn’t turn into a family massacre, but I can blame it on a servant.” His eyes widened. “No, I’ll blame the High Councillor. I can get enough people to agree with me when he’s gone.” He raised the knife. “Goodbye Irene. You were a good niece.”
Something nudged Irene’s foot. She looked down. A gun! Where had Mother gotten that? This room must have more than meets the eye. The knife bowed in slow motion toward her. But she didn’t have time to reach it; he would have stabbed her before she bent down.
The knife arched forward
A gunshot echoed through the room.
Uncle Dolion fell to the ground with a groan; Dorrit dropped the gun and went limp. Irene froze, shaking but unable to move. Then she began shrieking like a maniac. “Maria! Luke! Housekeeper! Nurse! Doctor!” Down the hall she ran until she tripped on the stairs and flew down the landing.
Tears streaming down her face, Irene giggled as she bounced her new baby brother in her arms. “How’s the King of Regnumia today?” She sniffed, her face scrunched in a frown. “I think he needs his diaper changed.”
Dorrit laughed from the massive armchair by the fireplace. “Bring him to me.” Her eyes sharpened with worry when she saw her daughter’s face. “What’s wrong honey?”
“I almost let Uncle Dolion kill you! And this precious baby. All out of jealousy and spite. I should have told you the moment I knew that he had killed Father. I don’t know—”
“Hush.” Dorrit ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair. “Your father was a harsh man, especially towards you. I warned him many times; he thought he was doing the right thing. I watched the frustration built inside you. Instead of pushing you away from Uncle Dolion, he forced you toward him.”
“But–”
“I’m not excusing what you did; I’m saying that I understand and that I forgive you.”
Irene sighed. “Thank you.”
The baby coed happily as the firelight danced across their faces, singing farewell to the day.
“For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?” — Mark 8:36
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