[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Though it was hardly like Zamara to change according to what might be popular at any given moment, Gjeelea had long ago decided to wait for the right moment to release herself from the chains of the new, dark Pashtia. Nearly everyone in Kanak except for her own father knew that times needed to change – change for the better. Still, Khamul had come to be feared more than even the orcish regiments at his disposal. Arguments that once arose about who would be the heir to the throne now seemed very far-gone. Discussions over the building of a new temple for Rae had long since passed into nothingness. Days that were once spent contemplating the allegiance of the westerners became days, hours, and even minutes, which Gjeelea desperately wanted back.

Oh, and how the princess so fiercely wished to have that one moment back. Many months before, she had thought quickly to prove that allegiance with the Emissary’s king had been her idea all along. Now she hated herself – and her brother – for making the worst decision of their lives. At first she almost thought to place the blame on Siamak for how Pashtia had so quickly changed from a bustling nation of knowledge and culture into a dark, evil place that had become a prison. Then Gjeelea realized that it did not matter whose fault it was that things had changed – it mattered only if things could be returned to how they once were, or changed for the better.

Her marriage to Korak had been a falsely joyous event. It occurred just before the ‘great’ and ‘wondrous’ victory over Alanzia. If anyone was happy at the wedding, it was only Korak for having gained what he had lusted after for so long: the chance to become the next king. Gjeelea did not smile, or, if she had smiled, she had long forgotten it for there had been no real happiness in her on that day. Khamul did not smile either, and spoke only when it was necessary for the ceremony to proceed – there were no words of cheer or glee between father and daughter, and nothing between father and new son. After the wedding Gjeelea withdrew from Korak, rarely speaking to him, though she imagined that Korak preferred her silent anyway.

Many of Gjeelea’s days were spent inside the palace, fearful of what Kanak had become. She missed her walks out into the town, when she could go and read at Basit’s bookshop and talk with Rafiqa…or read to their daughter, Tendai. Gjeelea regretted that she had rarely spoken to people like Zamara, or Arshalous, or Arlomë, or even Morgôs, because they had been so wise and it seemed as though all of them suspected something before the cloak of evil had fallen upon Pashtia. Some days, when Gjeelea had spent hours on end with only her own thoughts as company, Gjeelea missed when she and Siamak were young. When they were young, neither of them thought much about competing to be crowned – mostly because it had seemed so far a way. For a few years, youth kept them together.

Most of all, Gjeelea missed her mother.

Bekah had kept everything together in Pashtia, and Gjeelea hardly noticed it until months after she had died. If Bekah had not been murdered – oh, how things would have been different.

The princess had spent long years competing against Siamak. Popularity was always on Gjeelea’s side, for in social matters she had always been fearless and bold. Now, when everything else had fallen apart, Gjeelea knew of no one she could trust. What did it mean that all the years had come down to this? Gjeelea knew what had to be done to fix the path Pashtia had been taken on. She had contemplated it many times.

Khamul could not continue to rule.

The Emissary’s whisperings into Khamul’s ears needed to be stopped.

Morgoth could not make his reign in Pashtia.

Most of all (Gjeelea had known it since she had learned of her betrothal)…

…Korak could not be king.

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Long nights were often – if not always – spent alone. Gjeelea, essentially, had no one to be with. She no longer wished for the company of the maids, and besides them, who did she know who would spend long hours conversing about the evil that had spread through Kanak? Siamak did not speak with Gjeelea, and Gjeelea did not seek his company. Korak wanted little of Gjeelea except for her to become queen one day. The princess had not spoken to Khamul in many weeks – maybe even months. On several occasions, the Emissary visited Gjeelea, but the discussions were tense and restless. Gjeelea wanted so badly to strangle the Emissary for all he had brought to Pashtia. She wanted to slaughter him for riding up on his horse that one day, so many months ago, with all his shiny-armored soldiers and alliance proposals.

This night, Gjeelea had decided to spend her time in the garden of the palace. She went there often, and yet every time she visited the flowers and fountains, she recalled only one memory. The only thing she could think of when she came to the gardens was the night of the Emissary’s welcoming feast. Gjeelea remembered it all. She remembered who of the royal family arrived first, second, third, and fourth. She recalled all the words exchanged. She remembered where she and Siamak had stood; Gjeelea even remembered what flowers Bekah had placed in her headdress.

From next to the bench on which she sat, Gjeelea picked a jasmine bloom and smelled it, remembering how things had been before Bekah had died.