Whispering Songs

The first sun rose in blues and teals above the horizon, harkening for the new day. I turned towards its chill, stopping, the click of my heels echoing their melody beyond me in the great hall against the warm Ascilian stone at my feet.

“I will do my best for you, Salanda.” I held fate’s consideration in this whispering moment.

I swept the tails of my dark charcoal formal wear behind me and continued toward the east hall with new breath. This area is forbidden to others. A sole solitude in my existence of servitude.

“Your Highness,” Pencha said as I crossed the threshold. He let the lavender curtains fall back to cover my entry behind me.

I faced the waiting servants, statesmen, and sycophants, many never donning a true face. A necessary tool, this room.

“Thank you, kind sir,” I said. 

Pencha nodded, his chin down, eyes up. A good man, sure, graying at the edges and long devoted to the Salanda realm and our rule over the right-third galaxies in our care. But a player, nonetheless, in that loyalty. And has the ear of my father since Mother left us.

We walked together toward the primary table, all eyes watching without looking, certainly none appearing to dare listen. 

“The representatives from Kaldoor and Kuimert have arrived, early, your highness.”

I peered at the refreshments table with my left eye. Neither of them could resist a flaming spritzer, and there they were. “Well, I am sure they will be happy to hear our announcement tomorrow.”

Pencha stutter-stepped at my volume. His head swiveled toward the murmurs already rippling through the crowd.

“Your Grace,” he whispered, “such proclamations unrightfully overheard can too easily join the songs of the blackbirds in these halls.”

I held back a smirk and sat in the Primary’s seat. A tufted leather chair itself mostly like the others, except for the arms wrapped in lavender Luvoxian velvet.

More whispers. I only started using this chair the past few days, raising formal ire from the unscrupulous who might lose contracts if I indeed ascend. Father can be more forgiving of the moment for the sake of the long term. I thought myself without such temperament; today will tell. Some protested my selection of seating with hushes into the wind. I could hear in the crowd their prevailing notion that I should wait until Father’s formal announcement. He could, after all, pronounce my brother as successor. 

Oh, Reginald. The poor sap would relinquish half the realm if it meant not missing a polatcha match. There are too many to benefit personally from his feebleness. We all miss Mother’s firm and loving counsel, but she never would have indulged such excuses. I was too old to ignore her absence, too young to be her replacement to him. 

But this wasn’t about Mother. Reggie may be family and without a wicked inclination, but he is just not suited to service, and told me so, begging me to let my love go and end the silliness with Father. 

I can’t let her go. I won’t.

I might have to.

Parliament proceeded as usual. After the first cold-solar hour of pleasantries and statesmanship, we bore down to three and half second-solars of real governing as the warmth of the second sun brought in the quarterday. A few almost asked the real question on everyone’s mind. I could see it. Heads cocked, lips pursed over and again, their eyes raising up to mine with gentle intentions.  

Will I be named? And by gosh, will I forgo love and accept?

I met each honorable survey with a warm return. But none took the leap. This will be up to me and the songbirds.

Pencha and I moved to the kitchen, a welcome respite from the bustle of consequence. Garlic and leeks and our famous garden herbs wafted. Chef Montaine left us be, as usual, his sous and the rest working diligently around us. All of them with generous, tight smiles in their crisp whites, continuing their quiet banter as though we were on the line with them. 

Pencha prepared for making three orange chicken salads. Not particularly my favorite, but the best salad in the world. His mise-en-place in perfect placement before him, the man makes cutting lettuce a military exercise of order. Always so calm and in control.

“Oh, my favorite. Again, Pencha?” Selana glided into the room in muddy shoes and a lightly soiled saffron sundress clinging to her somewhat-stout frame. “You are a dear man,” she said, giving him a light side hug around the shoulders, her sunlit copper hair grazing his medals. 

He inspected them, pulling a sole hair from his charcoal dress. 

Selana chuckled with her munificent smile and an eye raised toward me, still holstering his shoulders. “Hey, boys and girls,” she said past us. 

“Hey, Ms. Selana,” the team replied with the near perfect unison of lilts and joy only possible from a well-drilled brigade. Chef grinned with the perfunctory nod. No surprise Pencha seems so comfortable here.

Selana pecked him with a quick daughter-ish kiss and glowed in it.

“Miss Se…” He flinched to stop her but failed, as if time could ever dull him so.

She released him and hoisted herself up a little on the Kleptorian stone counter with outstretched arms, peaking into his unfinished salad creation. “Are we there yet, General?” 

His hand moved ever so slightly to meet hers, but didn’t.

Her attention swung to me. “And you, Frank–um, your Grace.” She cleared her throat. “Did they get my berries for those spritzers?”

I wanted to embrace her. Life is never more perfect than holding her to my chest, the scents of her and the wild Salandan gardens embracing me. 

“No?” she asked. “But the cobalt nightingales were so particularly flammable this harvest.” She imitated a pop-pop-pop sound. “I’m sure quite the show!” 

The uplifting singsong of her voice could inspire the world. Would inspire. Will. I accepted what needed to be done.

I faded my smile, my face tightened. I looked past her to Jinko, peeling carrots, and stared at him. Took but a moment to garner his attention. His mate, Klara, could sing like no other, making him a useful measure in the tasked melody. 

Jinko’s soft face angled at mine, unsure. I could offer him no reason he would understand.

I returned my gaze to her. “Good quarterday, Ms. Selana.” I used my royal tone. The one she hates. The one she’s encouraged me to stop using, even in Parliament, even when appropriate. “How are your gardens liking the new sun?”

I’d not used this tone of distance and conformity with her, ever. I watched her realization creep in. The manifestation of a worst confided fear.

Her nose crinkled, not in her super cute way. Her eyes locked on me in a foreign stare. 

This song may be untrue, my love, but needed for the others. I’m sorry.

Pencha cleared his throat and placed beautifully-plated orange chicken salads in front of me and her. He took his to the other room, glancing back to us at the doorway. The kitchen silenced and watched, barely moving.

“The herbs are quite fragrant today, Ms. Selana,” I said. 

“Francis, what are you doing?” 

Her eyes slowly grew loud and she crossed her arms. 

“I am sure that your garden will make for a lovely formal engagement reception…” I paused, ready to stop, but did not. “...I suspect Ms. Lispora would love to consult with you on this.”

Jinko gasped and dropped his spoons. Klorinda smacked him across the arm, still fixated on us. Chef snapped his fingers, twice, and the brigade scurried. Pots clanged, things sizzled. Songbirds scurried off. Plans manifested. 

Her eyes glazed and her arms tightened around herself with a harumph. 

A legitimate harumph. New to me, for sure. 

She left sniffing between crystal tears, leaving a few muddy prints on the tile and a scar on my soul. 

I picked at my salad for a little bit until I felt my audience rightfully awkward and then headed to the outer patio. I passed Pencha, his hands on the table straddling his salad, staring at uneaten crispy bits still beautifully arranged. The next stanza awaited me.

He looked up. 

My answer intended for another. “Obligations, dear friend.”

He blinked. Just once, before I left, still sheltering his salad.

I stood at the patio’s edge for half a second-solar, looking out to the sea and its abundance, hoping Pencha understood. Hoping he will too.

“Your Grace,” a soft voice intruded from behind.

I turned. “Ah, Ms. Lispora, how lovely you look today in the halfday sun.”

“You flatter, your Grace.”

“Please, join me.” I returned my right-eye gaze to the glassy green. “The dolphoria are jumping. A splendid sight.”

She walked up to my left, her clean white linen dress flowing in the breeze, and pulled her wisping golden hair behind her right ear, inviting a glance to her slender neck. 

Subtle and graceful. Nothing less than expected from a woman of her training. 

“Unsolicited compliments might indeed be insincere flattery,” I said with my full gaze ahead, “if there was an audience to play for here. And they be observations not obviously and empirically true, m’lady.”

“Giving voice to such thoughts might initiate that which you seem to have reservations. My Grace.”

I paused, waiting for the calm in the rhythm of her breaths. “Objections hold little sway to obligations.”

“Hm. Yes. For others, may be. But your Grace, with such influence–”

“My voice is the most limited of all, Ms. Lispora. An unfortunate lesson learned by anyone to walk the Ascilian tiles.” I swallowed a bit of salty air stinging my tongue. “I am but a simple incarnation of an aged lineage, restricted like my Father by servitude to the realm and offered mere occasional opportunities for true grace.”

She revealed a gentle grin behind a staunch glance at me, stretched her arms on the stone rail and extended her gaze to the open sea. “I was told to expect otherwise from you, my Grace.”

I listened to the seaside sparrows as I waited for her revelation.

“I was warned, your Grace, that your character was of the highest order, but your heart not available. But there is more at stake here than matters of love.”

A keen mind, like what I was told. “Have the blackbirds already been singing to you, m’lady, even before this halfday has really begun?”

“Songs whispered can have the loudest voices, your Grace.”

“Indeed. But the things we say, and that which we truly commit to, do not always have the same tone.” 

I let my words sink in, listening.

She turned to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “I believe in your grace, my Grace. Please know that Drasdika will forever be in your service.” Her hand gently squeezed. “No matter the story along the way.”

There. It is done. An unspoken promise of fidelity to the realm over personal gains.

“Salanda thanks you, Ms. Lispora. I thank you.”

“I do not envy what must be done,” she said. “To her.”

I looked up to the suns for strength, sniffed.

“Right, of course. Your day has already vexed.” She raised her hand to the corner of her mouth. “After, please, you may both call me Alluria.” Her smile returned. “Now, I have my part to play. I must prepare my notes. Good halfday, your Highness.”

“And to you, m’lady.”

I stayed there for a while, watching the suns cross and change the light while the dolphoria played below.

Gentle footsteps brushed the ground behind me with a soft whistle. “You have been quite fastidious today, my son.” The bright blue and orange kingfishers echoed a return song from their perch in the green and reds of the sea almond trees.

“Hello, Father.”

He walked to the edge and looked down, nary a wrinkle in his silk copper-stitched midday casual wear. “Your mother loved it here at night, you know.”

I peered with him to the cliffs below. Water crashed and glowed fluorescent against the rocks. “I remember. I remember that time you held me over the edge. Never felt so scared and so loved.”

“Ha. I was lucky to have survived that week. You were barely four. She didn’t approve of such things, with all her formalities. Remember that trip I took to Fallapso Six for the boundary treaty right after that?”

“Yes, sir, I remember. Mother said you almost didn’t make it back when that Buljorian Tradesman beat up the Mistok ambassador. She was not pleased.”

“Son, we were all supposed to go on that trip together. She didn’t care about the Buljorian. Those guys are wimps and she knew that.”

“Wait, what? You tell me this now?” I shrugged. “I almost let the Buljorian Treaty fall apart last full-solar because of that.”

He smiled. “I know. I was apprised.”

”Right,” I laughed. ‘Of course. But what if–”

“Son, I know one true thing. Well, two, counting my love for your mother. But I know your commitment to the realm is pure. You wouldn’t let some personal grudge harm an entire world.”

I looked at him, unsure what to say, what would help or jeopardize today’s song.

“You were indeed busy today, son.”

I bit my lip. Does he know my plan?

He looked out to the green sea. “It’s time, son. It’s your time.”

“Father.”

“I have spoken to many of the ambassadors. From worlds in every corner of the realm. The important ones, and the ones we barely think of, but have some really pretty flowers.”

“The Hyphnotians?”

”The red ones that–”

“Turn iridescent when you breathe on them!” We finished the thought together.

“Everyone says you are ready,” he said. “Most say that you could exceed my leadership.”

“Oh, no, Father.”

“Oh, yes, son.” He placed his hands under my elbows, drawing me in close. “Allow me the notion that I’m the best father in the world if it indeed becomes true.”

“You are, Father.”

He looked me in the eyes. “Today’s songs have echoed to me,” he said. “Pencha sings your praises. Says you understand sacrifice deeper than anyone. The halls cannot stop echoing of your dedications.”

He shifted, angling to me. “Ms. Lispora will make a wonderful pairing to you. She could not speak more highly of you earlier. Wow, she is a pretty one. Smarter than most of my staff, too. Need to find something formal for her to do. Somewhere she can actually have an impact.”

“Father…”

“That could not have been easy with Selana. I know you place the realm above all. You did what you had to do to show me that you can lead our worlds. I trust you son, above all. I will announce–”

“Father.” I looked to the soaring palace behind us, caring not for its glamor, really, but rather for the opportunity of service it afforded. I questioned my motives. I questioned my love. Could I really do this?

He waited.

I looked at him, more aged and silvered than his years should require. Could I have the same lifetime of dedication within me without her by my side?

“Father, I shouldn’t do this. I can’t.” I jumped up and stood on the rail, the gusts nearly knocking me over. “Those whispers were mine. I shouted them for all to hear, for you to hear, bending everyone for the sake of my love for Selana.”

He looked up to me. 

“If she is not enough to walk beside me,” I shouted, “then I will find some other way to serve the realm. I will sow crops, make pottery, I will sweep the dirt trails on Jungan if they need it. As long as she is with me.”

He jumped up next to me on the rail. 

“Father, all those songs were of my voice. But you must know my plan. I must confess. I was going to marry her anyway, the day morrow either announcement you made. But I can’t do it like this. I wouldn’t be worthy of her if I did that to you. To the realm. For her. I love her more.”

Father’s wiry beard crinkled as a broad smile broke through. He started cackling aloud.

“Father?”

“Son, son.” He took a moment to contain his laughter. “I know, I know.”

My eyes nearly split apart.

“I know you, my son. And the depths you were willing to go to try and make this happen, I applaud you. You are a statesman like none ever before. Those whispers? They may have fooled the others. But I know you, son. I know your love for Selena. I recognize it. I loved your mother that way.”

“But the lineage,” I said.

“Lineage? Go get that girl, son. Govern with her strength at your side. Though you’re gonna need to do some fancy dancing to get out of this one with her.” His chest heaved from laughing. “She’s right crossed with you.”

I ran toward the door back into the palace with a new song. I stopped, turned back. “Thank you, Father.”

“Oh, right. And you need to figure out something to do with Reginald. Love him, but what a mess he would have made. Still, he is family and should have a role somewhere. I already initiated your ascension notification with the Parliament, by the way. They await you.”

“Father. But what if I hadn’t–”

“You’re my son. I know you. I have faith in no one more.”

My smile hurt.

“Now go to that woman before she hears the last of those whispers!”