The Search for Terror (ONC 2021)

Chapter 16

      "How could they possibly know what Issar means to me?" Amaia wondered aloud, glaring daggers at the coral and purple uniform of the soldier holding a knife to his throat. 

      Before Saqat could begin to imagine an answer, one of the younger soldiers burst through the door. "My Queen," he started, "One of the archers delivered this on an arrow, Your Majesty." In his hand was a rolled up piece of paper, the scribbled handwriting showing through the back. 

      She unrolled it, read it, and read it again, letting the words sink in. 

Queen Amaia Goldmorn,

Issar Bakir assures us you are a beautiful woman with a golden heart, so let us prove that now with your resignation from the throne. 
Your forty men will be reinstated as my own personal guard. Already, they have agreed to my conditions so long as they live. Loyalty is often nothing in the face of fear.
Turn your position over to another and return this letter with a signature to promise you never set foot in either country every again. Do this immediately and we will give you back your boy. Failure to do so will result in his death.
You have five minutes to reply.

I hope this letter reaches you in good health,
~King Taavetti Faizan.

      Out of courtesy, she handed the note over to Saqat. 'Let him read it,' she thought, 'May as well.' 

      When he was done, he looked considerably paler. "Your decision, Amaia?"

      "Issar will die, and I will mourn him," she said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "This was no war until Faizan sent arrows raining down, penning us in on our own soil. He started this fight and does not get to choose when it is over. He has caused so much terror that I cannot let him rule over our country as well. He cannot be allowed total control. Third Platoon will come back to us once they see that we are winning, that is not an issue." 

      She took a deep breath to steel herself, and then said with more conviction, "If Issar must be a sacrifice for everyone else's joy, then he must be. I cannot place the life of one man above all else." 

      The only part that didn't line up was how they found him, but she knew him well enough that she assumed he'd walked right up to them himself. Foolish boy. Her foolish boy. 

      Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware of Saqat trying to convince her there was another way out. A different ending to this scenario. His words blurred together, no, not blurred—faded, so much so that she couldn't make them out. Distant memories even at their time of creation. 

      She was still staring out the window, trying through the growing darkness to meet Issar's eyes, when at last the soldier slit his throat. She dropped to the floor with him, the impact vibrating up her body was nothing compared to the hollowness in her chest. 

      But she could only stay there so long. Rising to her feet, she gave the messenger her next order, "Give them everything you've got. When you run out of arrows, find anything heavy you can launch from the towers. Even coconuts can kill from a tall enough tree." 

      Shuffling carried the boy from the room and, minutes later, she stood watching as arrows rained down heavier on the armies below. Men fell on both sides, the blood mostly hidden by the night that swallowed them whole. Battle was easier at night. More surreal. When the sun rose, it would show her this wasn't all a dream, and she would have to deal with it. Until then, though, she watched on. 

      The two countries she should have been in control of by now stood together, one giant mass of anger towards her and her innocent people. Archers loaded arrow after arrow, pulling her men over the edge of the towers. 

      But she had the height advantage, and the group on the ground below was thinning nicely. 

      At least until the arrows and spears ran out, replaced with a range of knives, small stones she recognised from the decorative fireplaces, and bins filled with who knew what. Almost all of which were, unfortunately, avoidable. Most didn't even make it over the gate. 

      "Join the fight, Warrior Ayad. Go into the streets and do what you have been trained to do," Amaia commanded, "Take your best men with you and don't return until you have won."

      Giving up on changing her mind, Saqat ran from the room, desperate to save as many lives as possible, as usual. His absence left a chill in the air and she turned back to face him one last time, but the door was already slamming shut. Breathing in deeply, she looked out the window again, resuming her useless position. 

      Below, she could make out nothing. Night had washed over them all, swallowing them in its expanding depth. And it rose to meet her, slowly, creeping up on the vague outline she had of the mountains in the distance. 

      Amaia settled into her soft, padded chair behind the throne, wrapping around her shoulders the blanket given to her by the very people trying to kill her now. Once upon a time, they had congratulated her, celebrated her coronation. Once upon a time, there had been peace. That felt like forever ago. 

      Her gaze lifted to the skies, fixating on each star and drawing shapes by joining them together, a dot-to-dot with no set answer. 

      The moon was full, a perfect circle printed on the black canvas, looking exactly like the books said it should. A ring of stars held hands around the moon, adding to its glow by giving it their own. And above them, set apart in its glory, was a single star triple the size of any other. White at the centre but purple at the edges, it was no doubt the same star that had welcomed her into the world. 

      Was it here to see her off?

      Or was tonight the night her destiny would finally be seen? Had she been right all along?

      Of course she had been. She'd felt it inside and now she had her proof—it would all be over before tomorrow night. 

      Cosying up in her chair, wrapped up sweetly, Amaia let herself relax and trust that they would succeed. She'd done it. She could sleep now.