Page 143 of Foundling

It’d take some time to root out the conspiracy against Leita, even with the information plumbed from Ondra’s mind. As they waited for Charis’s spies to do their careful work, Attalus had been formally declared as Leita’s azai and consort. Matters with the Droplets had settled, and Attalus had even made a swift trip south to retrieve his mother’s hoard. Their chambers were now decorated with artefacts and pieces of his own life, many of which Leita liked to pick up and admire when alone, letting them speak to her of the princeling Attalus had once been.

Finally, with enough information gathered and confirmed, a plan had been implemented to root out the conspiracy. Charis and her spies waited until most of the leaders came together for a meeting upon hearing what’d happened to Ondra. Marcades himself had led the raid that captured most of them, and his forces had soon found the few missing from the meeting.

Attalus had, of course, dearly wanted to participate in the apprehension. However, they both knew he couldn’t be trusted not to incinerate the little shack on the coast where the meeting took place—with everyone inside it. He did, however, get to loom over each of them, and the threat of dragonfire did loosen a few lips.

In the end, Leita and her council had decided charging this dozen was enough. There were others, sympathizers, but Leita hoped that without the head, the conspiracy would die away.

But that wasn’t her main announcement today.

Glancing at Attalus beside her, she took heart from his lopsided grin. He stood with her on the palace steps, dressed in full regalia to match Leita’s own. She’d replaced the horn caps Araxos Anax had removed with gold filigree pieces inset with amethysts. A belt of tooled silver shimmered over his fine linen kilt, embroidered with silver thread. A sash of braided silver and pearls wound over his silk robes from right shoulder to left hip, pronouncing his status as consort.

He looked utterly dashing and regal, even if the effect was ruined a little by his living fur collar. Slinky yawned from where she lay dangling around his neck, the importance of the day lost on her.

Under the shade of Attalus’s right wing, Leita herself sparkled. With just as many jewels, silver, and silk as Attalus, with a crown of silver, pearls, and sapphires glittering on her head, Leita looked a Queen—and today, she felt one, too.

She’d been dreading today for the sentences she must pass down, but at least there was hopeful news to balance it.

“Can you feel it, agae?” Attalus whispered.

“Feel what?”

“The dawn of a new age.” His grin widened when he saw her fight a smile.

“Feeling poetic this morning, are we?”

“Indeed we are. It’s a momentous day. And, starting the day with my tongue stuck up my mate’s juicy cunt always—”

She smacked his backside and pressed on his lips with her magic, willing her cheeks not to darken too much in a flush.

“You’ll be heard, my love,” she reminded him in a fervent whisper.

“Let them,” he murmured, “so that those lingering doubters may know what a devoted consort I am.”

There really wasn’t any fighting her blush—not when her azai seemed determined to always keep her smiling, laughing, flushing, or, ideally, all three at once.

Nerves dulled by Attalus’s audacity, Leita turned once again to all those gathered. She took a deep breath, remembering what she and Charis had practiced the past few days.

“My good people, thank you for accepting my invitation. I asked you here to thank you for your strength, your patience, and your resilience. These have been dark centuries across the faelands, and each of you has borne that darkness bravely. The rebuilding and renewal of the faelands have taken both time and courage, and I want everyone to know, I see and admire your efforts.

“Today, I want to reward those efforts and return to you what is yours to have.”

The crowd looked amongst themselves, puzzled by what she could mean.

“In times past, the immense burden of the faelands’ magic was borne by the Queen and her family. Chosen for their strength and aptitude, the line of Yvenna the First has shared in this immense power. However, my predecessor proved the flaw in this cycle. She usurped the balance and brought misery to the faelands in her greed.

“She took power by eliminating her rivals and successors but also from you, the fae. I wish to return that power to you. I may be of Yvenna’s line, but I am all that’s left. The power of the faelands was never meant to be carried by one fae alone. So I ask you now, will you share in this with me?”

Her question stunned the fae, no one having expected a Queen to dilute her power.

In the weeks leading up to this day and decision, Leita had begun sharing the faelands’ magic with more than just her guards. Her council, the palace staff, each received their own thread linking them to the magic. To forge their own personal connection to the faelands’ magic. The flow of power wasn’t as large as it might’ve been for another royal, but many more smaller threads were enough to alleviate the worst of the weight in Leita’s chest.

“It’s remarkable,” Charis had said when Leita shared a thread of power with her. “I can feel the faelands’ magic—under my feet and in the air. It’s like my own magic flows from me to it and back.”

Leita couldn’t say why the connections could be made now. Perhaps the faelands understood the need to adapt. Perhaps enough generations of Yvenna’s line, through her sisters and daughters and nieces, had married into other families. Perhaps it’d always been this way, but the Queens before didn’t see it—or didn’t want to see.

Whatever the reason, Leita wished for all fae to benefit. That it would create a cycle within themselves to renew and fortify their own magic. With this connection, never again would magic rot and corrode inside them.

The crowd began to realize all that she asked—and offered. Scattered cheers sprang up, followed by clapping and calls of her name. The applause grew, until the whole crowd clapped and cheered, their joy hitting the backs of the conspirators.