No one ever told her anything other than she was a petulant child. No one saw greatness in her, or expected her to rule (let alone overthrow her own father to get the crown). No one had ever really expected much of anything from her, really, other than a sharp response and a poke in the ribs. Ah, hadn’t she fooled them all. It was better that way. Better to be seen as one thing (a child, a fool), and to strike when they don’t even see you coming. Half the time you set them all so far off balance that they simply topple right out of the way.
Her father had accepted his fate with far more grace than she expected. Granted, he might slip in and kill her in her sleep on day. Not that the ravens would allow it, but he might try.
She thinks there’s far more to him than the mask of the comedian that he wears. She doesn’t blame him for the mask. Masks are useful, and fun. But she thinks he’s rather a capable thing, when asked politely. Or when given the right tools. But his first comment is the mask that he wears. Still, she laughs, because it does amuse her. There’s something enjoyable about being flattered, even though she’s fully aware it’s quite fake.
His second answer is better though. She’s never given much thought to the Tundra. They stay quiet, but there in their frozen wasteland of a home. Fine, it wasn’t actually a wasteland, but she thinks it might as well be. They were a little displeased that Crito was here though. Even tried to steal him back. Not that they were successful. Really, did they think the ravens didn’t tell her everything? She knows when others are sneaking about.
“I might loan him out. It could be quite the show.” she says. Not that Erebor belonged to her in any such sense. He belonged to her only insofar as he served the Chamber, and therefore answered to her decisions, as did everyone else in the kingdom. Not that she made it a point of making particularly unpopular decisions. In fact, she made very few decisions without the agreement (or as close as they could get to agreement) of her kingdom. Except the alliance with the Valley, simply because at the time it was necessary. Now though? She hadn’t yet decided, and she was slowly seeking opinions.
But she does have to agree. The Chamber would be something, if they burned down a kingdom of ice.
But the mood of their conversation shifts, and she cannot deny that she enjoys this. In what is likely a very different way than he does, certainly, but she does enjoy it. It is always fun to be the strong woman, to be the one wielding something of the puppet strings. No one in her kingdom was really a puppet (except for Gryffen’s pets), but she can’t pretend that she doesn’t enjoy power now and again. She does. And despite the mask of the fool that he wears, he isn’t half bad.
Kushiel has one fatal flaw. Shame really, because it’s not even his fault. The simple problem is, she likes the unattainable far more. The simple problem is, he is not Weed.
But Weed wasn’t always around. And Weed might not come back.
So she whispers into his ear again, made far easier since he’s dropped his head. “I might just take you up on that offer one day.” Maybe their child would wield fire or ravens or both. Maybe it would be nothing, except another product of the Chamber, but that too was enough. Though for now, she needs no more children. And for now, there is Weed.
She moves away though. Not necessarily because she wants to, but because she’s only immune to her own fire, when the ravens burn. She is not immune to his, and the inferno on her back could leave her side charred. She didn’t mind a few scars, a few bits of pain, but half a seared body was another thing. Though she leaves the burning ravens on his back for now, letting him play with the fire. Maybe, if he proved himself worthy enough, she’d give him one to keep.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber