Yemi stepped forward until the flickering light showed her a man’s beaten face, busted lips curled in a sneer, dark spit dribbling from the crevices where a tooth or two used to be.
“I see that mouth’s gotten you in more trouble than you can handle tonight,” she remarked.
“I’m a living Man, and speech is still free. Who gave you your rights, fish?” he replied, tilting his head back to look down his nose at her.
“You did,” said Yemi. “We live in a society, the rules of which recognized you as a soldier and citizen at one point, and me your Qorrea, appointed and divinely favored. And we respect those roles.”
“Divinely favored.” He chuckled. “You know when I knew the Kept’s divinity promises were shit? When they started pulling nothing but bones out of the water. We were promised prosperity when the Butterfly King took his bride. More of us have suffered and died since you creatures got here. The seas give us nothing but a few warmongering queens high on their owndivinity.Fuck the Kept. Whatever they’re praying for, it isn’t us.”
“Your queen fought beside you in every campaign, willing to bleed as much as anyone else was asked to.”
“You mean she took the opportunities she could get to butcher men by her own hand. An animal doing animal things.”
What a strange little man,Yemi thought. She should have been furious, but her mind was working too hard trying to mirror the acrobatics he must have managed to believe anything he was saying.
“Well, if you’re determined to cling to that absurd narrative, don’t let me stop you,” she said.
“Why are you here, Qorrea?” Tenerive asked behind her.
“I promised someone I would speak with you. Gauge your perspectives. Determine if mercy is in order.”
“I think the prison light suits you. You deserve to be down here with us more than you’ve belonged anywhere,” said Wall.
Yemi laughed. “Well, which is it? Am I a creature, or am I just like you? You idealists with your rhetoric. It’s never consistent, is it? It always boils down to either your own anger or fear. And you’ll dump all of that at the feet of whatever principle will make you feel superior.”
“Whether that’s true or not, know if the Drakes do come, it’ll be for you,” Caphree said grimly. “Arms or negotiations, they don’t want a third generation of this. And they won’t make the Bear Queen a martyr.”
Yemi considered this. Dahlia clearly saw herself as Yemi’s rival, but she’d given her little troupe a different narrative, one they could be invested in. A pity—she could have respected the purer motive these two soldiers seemed to possess.
“I’ll take that under advisement,” she told them. “I appreciate your being candid with me. For what it’s worth, a consequence here must be paid. But I don’t believe it has to be the highest penalty in this case. Not for most of you.” She looked pointedly at the other man.
“Give my best to your mother if she’s still here when you get up those stairs. Old girl can’t hold on forever,” he said.
Yemi inspected him momentarily, wondering if these were desperate attempts to goad her into attacking him. But one of the more brilliant things about being a royal was that there was always someone paid for the honor of doing all that on her behalf.
She took a couple of steps toward his cell and smiled. “Get some sleep,” she said coolly. “Dream of all the things you have to look forward to here at the end of your life. I’m sure tomorrow will be very busy for you.”
“Mine will be a noble death,” he called. His voice followed heroutside as she ascended the stairs. “Men should never live long enough to be made to bow to beasts.”
Yemi and her mother sat in the sun-dappled parlor of the residence playing a counting game with teal glass tiles while women attended to their hair. The queen was having her locs retwisted while Enna and another maid took down Yemi’s braids to be restyled for the celebration. Painted portraits of dead royals hung massive on the walls between windows, looking on either imperiously or bored as Yemi lost the third round in a row.
“You’re still so bad at this.” The queen laughed, her maid smirking over her shoulder.
“I still think there’s a trick to it that you’ve never shown me.” Yemi frowned at the glyphs etched into each tile, certain now that each was a word in another language her mother had refused to teach her. It was the only explanation.
“No, my love, you’re just the worst.”
“At least we’re not playing for money.”
“Oh, definitely. I’d have had your shirt years ago.”
“Cocky. How unbecoming.” Yemi smiled behind a fistful of caramel popcorn. “Daddy ever beat you in this?”
“Ha! Once, the first time we played, and only because I let him. Pretty sure it’s why he married me.”
“So you were a card shark in a past life.”
“Present one, too, by the look of it.” The queen leaned forward as best she could to reshuffle the tiles for another round.
