Page 186 of Dare
A society where born souls lived freely. A community that had thrived.
This offered a connection between the ruins and its history, without revealing its existence. This was her key. One of her own making.
No one knew where the next drawing would turn up. Each sketch was created in an honest but complicated form, illustrating the lightness and darkness of this continent. It appealed to the Seasons’ attachment to stories, verses, and legends passed across generations, with the creator using images to convey unspoken words.
Fool. Human.
Trapped. Free.
Hate. Love.
Reports said the artwork left onlookers breathless, baffled, troubled, furious, shamed, awed. Sometimes people cried. Sometimes they kicked the sand, destroying the sketches.
It could be a sand artisan. Or perhaps a sand drifter. Someone whose work campaigned for change, questioning the definition of humanity.
A signature. A message. A dare.
Winter and Autumn couldn’t strike Summer where it most mattered. It had to be a person from the Season itself. A woman who knew its landscape, spoke its language, was fluent in its heat.
While reading the report in my suite, my mouth lifted. “Much better, Little Beast.”
***
Two more years passed. In that time, I expanded Winter’s scholarship. I eradicated the kingdom’s experimentation practices on born souls. Using Autumn’s model of integration, some of them lived and worked among their neighbors. Others did not.
Some Winter citizens accepted this. Others did not.
A noble tried to poison my grandaunts and learned the extent of my patience when I got him into my medical den. A hunter set a knife to my throat while I slept, but Solstice intercepted the man.
More such assassination attempts followed. Still. Winter began to change, as did Summer. My efforts paired with Flare’s inspired a shift in the people.
Both courts eased their laws. Gradually, my nation set some prisoners free. Despite Rhys’s tantrums, Giselle gave the same orders in Summer.
According to the queen, her husband had gone from stewing to simmering the pot. However, she had no idea with whom he’d aligned himself. Nor did our clan. That unnerving mystery had yet to be revealed.
Not wanting to be left behind, Spring followed suit in releasing select captives and slaves. Briar’s ladies and her friend Eliot served as ambassadors there, which made communication go smoother.
Some liberated individuals required guidance from Autumn and Winter, which we provided. It was not an immediate revolution, but the change was considerable. It needed to be slow, to prevent as many riots, rampages, protests, and skirmishes as possible.
Indeed, those happened. We’d have been unwise not to expect it. But after the Reaper’s Fest riot, our clan was more prepared.
Although the trade amendment still existed in the Fools Decree, we would eventually get to that document. Perhaps not this year or the next, but in due time.
Inspired by my actions, my grandaunts’ perspectives about humanity changed, yet they faced scrutiny. Often, it tempted them to forsake the cause. Each time, I convinced them not to.
Then one day, the decisions fell solely to me.
Silvia went first, in her sleep. Doria, one month later.
Honoring their wishes, Winter buried its queens in the ice sculpture park where they had met. I hadn’t gotten to tell them. On many occasions, I’d wanted to, but there had never been the right moment, never a safe one until recently when it was too late.
Instead, I spoke to their graves. In a low tone, I spoke her name, the word an ember on my tongue—hot and painful. But somehow, I knew they’d heard it.
The kingdom mourned. Then it crowned me.
The court celebrated. Then it made its expectations known.
Yet at twenty-seven years old, I showed no interest in women or men. I refused to marry, which led to inevitable whining among the council.