I ache with hope, Rowan. Camellia replied, though only in her mind. The words that she spoke aloud had to be with far greater care - because complaining about hope was both childish and far too Seelie, no matter how much Camellia believed in it. She could believe in it silently, if she wanted. Just as she needed. “I should never wish to be a liar.” Yet wasn’t she, at least in part? Keeping her knowledge of the rebellion a secret from her mother - and from the woman in front of her - the woman who’d been everything and more to her sister? “I will not allow harm to come to the Court - at least not if I can do anything about it.”
She scrunched her nose, then. “I cannot say I would ever picture myself as a knight, but I understand your point.” Why can I not have both snow and hope? Hope for a new life, hope for our Court? There was so much left unspoken as Camellia did her best to focus on being direct - something not entirely in her nature, but worth an attempt at least. If she wanted Rowan’s help, she had to help her as well. Do as she wanted. “Curbing, as through the Tithe?” Her breath caught for a half-second, and she found herself wishing that she could cough, but her breath returned before that was necessary. “My mother is a valued teacher - and I hope that perhaps you can be, too. A Queen, be she future or current, needs advisors, after all.”
Her own thoughts plagued her mind again at Rowan’s comments. I need to make them love me. Fear is not my way, ought there to be a way to rule a Court without it? “I am acutely aware of a range of emotions,” my fingertips can literally give me the entire spectrum, should I choose to use them, “I promise.”
She sucked in her lower lip as Rowan began to speak about her grandmother. Love and emotions. The words sounded more than a bit too familiar. She watched Rowan’s expression change just slightly at the mention of Camellia’s grandfather. She did not speak with Tierney too often, but she enjoyed the moments she had spent with him, and understood how important he was to her mother. Was Ceila as soft as I am? How were we different? “I promise I will be a good Queen when the time comes. I am only glad I am not alone.” She brushed strands of her hair from her face, the wind having blown them back. Please tell me about Caora now. “I like to hope that I have guidance through all of those who came before me, even if they are unable to be here to advise me.”
I will not allow harm to come to the Court, she said. Rowan couldn’t help it: she laughed out loud. It was curt and it was callous, but someone had to help this once and future Queen, should she live to claim her birthright. Oh, Caora, if only you could see me now: teaching your little sister all the backbone you had along with your graces, Rowan thought, making fun of herself in her head. She was far from the best person to be doing this. The downtrodden look that eventually would claim Camellia’s face—whether that be now, or later—when talking to Rowan would eventually emerge. She was a series of difficulties; that’s what she was. “Sweetheart, you’d best learn more than one definition of harm,” Rowan said after her bark of laughter. “There is a difference between good intentions and right actions.”
Rowan raised a brow when Camellia mentioned the Tithe. “No, that’s not what I’d been thinking, but that, too. You will have to decide which of us dies. What makes us worthy of a death to the Horde. You cannot not do that. Just as you can’t not enforce rules. The rules keep all of us safe—all of us—even if it is at the expense of a few who chafe against them.” Rowan exhaled sharply and tried to think of a way to phrase it better. “Okay, you fear for your life, as your sister did. There is no way you have not. But—that’s a lesson itself, a lesson all royals have to learn because it is part of your blood. It is who you are. You are a sacral princess. A—conduit, like me. All power, in order to not be corrupted, requires responsibility, death, and sacrifice. You have to learn your own death, your own risk, to ever understand the mantle of power.” She searched Camellia’s face for understanding.
Was that the switch? Ro wondered, having never entertained it before. Is that what made an heir worthy of receiving their ruling Hand: their understanding of this concept? She didn’t know. She only knew that it was true: that to rule justly, you had to know you could die. That your very survival to the crown was a risk with a reward, not a promise, not an entitlement. That in order to pass such judgements, choose such deaths, in others required that you understand the gravity of the gift of your own life. “I trust your mother with my life; I am sure she will teach you well. As for me, I’m an advisor you inherit whether I will it or no, should I live to see your reign.” Beyond that, Rowan couldn’t promise much at this point. This slip of a girl who’d barely seen the world wanting to assume an iron crown already almost missed the mark: Rowan ached for the days she never saw, where she could be free to enjoy, before her mantle.
When Camellia sucked in her lower lip, Rowan hitched up a corner of her mouth into a half-grimace. “Listen, there’s a difference between causing fear and creating it. No one is asking you to be a monster like me. You don’t have to create fear. But as a ruler, you will cause it. It is inevitable and trying to escape it will only weaken you to those who would take advantage.” Rowan paused for a long while. “I think this is the longest I’ve ever gone without cursing. It’s—wild, honestly.” It was also the longest time she’d strung as many words together, but something in her wanted to help save this girl from herself and help her become a shadow of the woman her sister had been. A different person, but with some of those echoes, some of what Rowan had ached to see on the throne.
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