Chapter 34: The Reckoning of Queens
The deep, delicious ache in my muscles was a ledger of the previous night. It listed Ellie’s claiming fury, Nancy’s relieved hunger, Mary’s silent, desperate clutching in the dark. It was a better archive than any scribe’s scroll. I shifted on the Ice Throne—a misnomer, really, as the enchanted crystal was merely cool to the touch—and felt a corresponding twinge from the purple blossom on my ribs.A reminder.
Ellie sat on her throne to my right, one hand resting on the pronounced curve of her belly, the other absently tracing the carved frost-lilies on the armrest. She looked every inch the queen, her blonde hair woven into a severe crown braid, her expression serene. Only I could see the slight tightness around her eyes. She was still angry. Or perhaps, just profoundly tired.
To my left, on slightly smaller but no less imposing thrones, sat our daughters. Mary was a mirror of my own posture: spine straight, practical boots planted firmly, studying the architectural plans unfurled across her lap. Nancy was sketching in a large book, her curls falling forward as her charcoal flew, capturing the way the light from the frozen chandelier fractured on the marble floor.
The throne room was empty save for us and the crackling silence. Our council of war had ended an hour ago; the generals and stewards dismissed with their orders. Now came the harder part.
“The grain stores in their western granaries are intact,” Mary said, not looking up. Her voice, still a bit hoarse from yesterday’s shouting, was calm and analytical. “Their milling infrastructure, however, is primitive. We can either upgrade it, which is a resource drain, or redirect the grain here for processing and send flour back. Logistically, the latter is more efficient but requires secure transport.”
“Which we can’t guarantee if their loyalty is… performative,” I finished, rubbing my temple.
“Exactly.”
Ellie sighed, a soft, weary sound. “It’s not just loyalty.It’s culture. Hammerfell’s entire social structure was built on the supremacy of armed men. Strip that away, and what’s left? A hollowed-out hive with no purpose. They’ll either rebel or rot.”
Nancy looked up from her sketch. “Or they’ll find a new purpose.Their metalwork is exceptional. The decorative iron on the gates I saw in the battle plans… it was hateful, but it was art.” She tapped her charcoal. “We could redirect that. Commission new works. For us. For the rebuilding. Give their forges something to make besides swords.”
It was a good idea. An artist’s solution. Mary and I exchanged a glance—a practical, appraising one. It had merit.
“We’d need to seed the idea with their remaining craft-masters,” I mused. “Make it seem like their own notion. A proud tradition being renewed, not a command from conquerors.”
“A subtler form of command,” Ellie said, a faint smile touching her lips. “I like it.”
A sudden, sharp kick from within made her gasp softly. Her hand pressed against her side. Instantly, the political dissolved into the personal. Nancy was up first, her sketchbook forgotten on her throne, crossing to kneel beside Ellie. She placed her own hand over her mother’s.
“Strong one,” Nancy murmured, her face alight with a wonder that hadn’t dimmed in six months.
“Hungry one,” Ellie corrected, breathlessly. She looked at me, the queenly mask gone, replaced by a familiar, vulnerable need. “Amy, I’m…”
I knew. The let-down was a palpable, tingling pressure in my own breasts. The ceremonial gown, with its clever, layered draping, was already a damp nuisance. I stood, the formal robes feeling suddenly absurd. “Right. Strategic adjournment.”
Mary carefully rolled her plans. “We all need to eat. And the envoys from the coastal holdings will be here soon. We can’t negotiate while…” She gestured vaguely at our collective state.
“While we’re leaking?” Nancy finished with a light laugh, helping Ellie to her feet. “Probably not the most imposing look.”
We retreated to the small antechamber behind the thrones, a room of worn tapestries and a long, padded bench. It was a family space, smelling of beeswax and the lavender sachets Ellie insisted on. The door closed, sealing out the vast, judging emptiness of the throne room.
There was no ceremony to it now, just a shared, biological urgency. Ellie sank onto the bench with a grateful groan, her fingers already working at the laces of her gown. Nancy settled beside her, curling into her side, one hand resting on Ellie’s belly, the other seeking her own swollen breast with a wince.
Mary leaned against the closed door, watching me for a moment. The scrape on her temple was an ugly yellow-purple. “Does it feel strange?” she asked. “Deciding the fate of thousands, then doing this?”
I pulled my own gown open, the cool air a relief on my skin. “This is part of deciding their fate,” I said, moving to sit beside Ellie. “If we’re too sore, too distracted, too hungry to think clearly, we make bad decisions.” I guided Ellie’s head to my breast. She latched on with a practised, eager pull, her eyes closing. The relief was instant and profound, a sweet, flowing unknotting of tension deep in my core.
Across the small space, Nancy had bared a full, blue-veined breast for Mary, who after a heartbeat’s hesitation, came forward and knelt before her. Mary’s posture was less relaxed, her engineer’s mind perhaps still turning over grain-mill schematics, but as she began to nurse, her shoulders slowly slumped. Nancy stroked her short, messy hair.
For a few minutes, the only sounds were soft suckling, contented sighs, and the distant moan of the wind through the high tower vents. The world shrank to this warm, wet, interconnected circuit of care.
“The coastal envoys,” Ellie murmured, pausing for a moment, her lips glistening. “They’ll want fishing rights extended.”
“They’ll want exclusive rights,” I corrected, shifting her weight against me. “Which we can’t give. The inland towns need protein too.”
“A tiered system,” Mary said, pulling away from Nancy with a soft, final sound. A trickle of milk traced a path from the corner of her mouth. She wiped it with the back of her hand. “Based on population contribution to the central granary. Creates an incentive for surplus.”
“See?” Nancy smiled, offering her other breast. “You were thinking about mills.”
“I’m always thinking about mills,” Mary deadpanned, before leaning in again.
Ellie finished and gently nudged me to switch sides. As she did, she looked at me, her gaze clear and focused. The nourishment had done its work. “We need to go to Hammerfell.Not yet. But before the babies come. They need to see us. Not as distant ice witches on a throne, but as… people.As mothers. Pregnant. Vulnerable. It will confuse their stories about us.”
It was a bold, dangerous idea. The kind only Ellie would conceive. My instinct was to cite a dozen security risks, the instability, the logistical nightmare.
But she was right.Symbols were power. And the symbol of the conquerors, the feared warrior-queens, standing in their ruined square with life visibly swelling within them… it was a different kind of weapon. One their culture of brute masculinity had no defence against.
“We’d need the army,” I said slowly.
“Obviously,” Mary said between pulls.
“And a mobile medical unit,” Nancy added.
“And a plan for if someone throws a rock,” I finished.
Ellie’s smile was radiant, fierce. “Let them. We’ll be a mirror. They’ll see their own helplessness reflected back. Their king led them to ruin for pride. We lead ourselves, and them, towards something else. Even with rocks flying.”
A firm kick against my side, from within Ellie, punctuated her sentence. We all felt it. A little future citizen, voicing an opinion.
From the throne room beyond the door, a low bell chimed twice. The envoys had arrived.
We rearranged ourselves, lacing gowns, wiping mouths, smoothing hair. The brief, animal intimacy was tucked away, replaced once more by the mantle of rule. But it was closer to the surface now. It fed us. It informed us.
As we filed back into the cavernous chill of the throne room, taking our seats on the ice-carved chairs, I saw the cluster of coastal delegates below. They looked anxious, their eyes darting to the frozen kings in the tapestries.
I sat, my body humming with spent milk and renewed purpose. Ellie, beside me, placed a hand on her belly, her face a placid mask of welcome. Mary’s blue eyes were sharp, already calculating the concessions she would demand for fishing quotas. Nancy’s sketchbook was open to a fresh page, her charcoal poised to capture not just faces, but nuances.
The head envoy stepped forward, bowing low. I inclined my head, feeling the cool weight of the crown. I could still taste the faint, sweet trace of milk on my tongue.
“Speak,” I said, and my voice filled the silent, waiting space.