The kingdom was large enough now that she found she could no longer be everywhere at once. She found that she felt no need to greet every newcomer on the border, sure that someone else would be there and more than able to handle the situation. Should something arise, she didn’t doubt that the ravens would be quick to inform her, and only then did she go. Not that she didn’t spend time doing things for her kingdom. She knows no other life, no other way. But her kingdom had flourished, had taken on a life of it’s own.
And now she found herself weaving through the pines, thinking of ways to stir the pot in Beqanna. Engelsfor, among others, spent plenty of time trying to steal. Perhaps they needed more challenges. But still, the rest of Beqanna seemed unruffled. The Chamber needed to do more, to remind the rest of Beqanna who the Chamber really was. They were not the kingdom her father had built, one bent toward his whims and alliances with the Gates. They were something far, far greater than the legacy he had created.
She catches the familiar sight of Killdare not too far off, weaving his way through the pines as many of the Chamberlings are prone to doing. This is how she knows the true Chamberlings. They welcome the cool, misty darkness of the forest like one welcomes a lover to bed. They move through the pines with the same ease a cat can move through legs, always brushing against one of another, but never tangled, never stopped.
She slips through the pines in his direction, wearing only her crown of feathers. She has no wings today, no ravens on her back. They are not far away; at least some always circle the kingdom. But for the most part, the day has been quiet. “Killdare,” she says, coming to stand before him. “How is fatherhood?” She asks. She hasn’t formally met their son, but she has seen him around, knows his name. She knew when the boy was convinced. After all, the ravens miss nothing. She may not be everywhere, but the ravens certainly were.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber