Control Comes from Within

“Mama, mama,” her youngest uttered, tugging at the edge of her dress to draw her attention. “Wha’s that man doing?” she pointed out one of the participants in the stadium, who appeared to be performing a breathing technique…in the midst of the pandemonium revolving around him.

“He’s just tired, baby, so he’s closing his eyes and resting,” she said softly, gently patting the tiny hand still attached to her dress.

“I’d wager I’m far more tired than him. May I be excused to close my eyes and rest as well, Mother?” Her son’s cordial tone did little to hide his frustration, if he had resorted to even asking such a question. He was usually far more subtle and amusing when he became irritable, oftimes not reacting at all, but last night’s conversation with his father had apparently pushed him past the line of subtlety and into forthright petulance, not to mention the necessity of rising before the sun to oversee the latest in a long line of spectacles, each of which was practically identical to the last.

The result was that she and her children, save for her youngest who always went to bed early, were a combination of bored and sleepy, something that never boded well.

Even if she were bored, it was practically second nature for her to wear a mask of polite interest at all times, especially during moments when she'd rather be literally anywhere else.

Though, now that something mildly interesting was pointed out to her….

“Olyria,” she said, calling her oldest daughter to her side, “That student, the southerner doing his breathing technique.”

Her daughter narrowed her eyes as she focused on the projection of the stadium, more specifically, the student she had pointed out, before responding. “He’s the same one who was involved in that…incident, correct?”

The mere mention of that episode was enough to drive the queen into a well-deserved rage. The nobles had always been above the common people, and for good reason, but now their very nobility would be called into question if their heirs had attitudes like that. It was unfortunate, but it appeared the boy’s malice was not unique to him, and was just the latest symptom of the condition plaguing the kingdom called noble privilege. Preventative measures would have to be taken to strangle the threat before it poisoned even more generations, and she was not looking forward to the outraged patriarchs and matriarchs of the noble houses rebuking her for inflicting a collective punishment on them all because of one boy who had lashed out.

Turning her mind back to the present, the queen nodded in response. “I do believe they are one and the same, yes. Have your friends heard anything about him?”

Her eldest daughter was an avid gossipmonger and was well-informed about the goings-on in the capital. At times, the queen was unnerved at how her circle of friends and associates sometimes exceeded the capabilities of the kingdom’s official intelligence agents.

Perhaps, once she had accumulated a bit more experience and grown up, Olyria could be entrusted with overseeing that department. It would be a better use of her time than a political marriage to some oaf, locked away in some garden save for the occasional tea party.

“Actually, it was Aunt Olyn who – “ Olyria began to say.

“Who’s On-toe-lin, mama?” Mazhaan cutely interrupted, completely butchering the name of her wayward cousin-in-law.

“She’s your father’s sister, baby,” she said, “Hush, baby, mama needs to talk with your elder sister.”

“Mmm,” her youngest mumbled, turning back to the pretty lights and flashes of color erupting all over the projection.

Olyria whispered in her ear, informing the queen about this southern villager and his almost contradictory existence. The boy had an almost unbelievable list of accomplishments, yet tried not to draw attention to himself, not knowing his very existence drew attention.

“...and he’s befriended the heirs of the more moderate nobles in the academy,” her daughter concluded.

“Hmmm….” the queen resisted the urge to tap her fingers on the armrest of her chair. It was a sign of contemplation that her etiquette tutor had long ago chastised out of her, claiming her political rivals would see it as a sign of a weak mind.

“Keep an eye on any rumors about him going forward. I have a feeling about that one,” she commanded.

“Yes, mother.” Olyria bowed her head in deference, as was only proper, before returning to her seat and observing the children at their playing.

Suddenly, the queen’s sense of danger spiked, and her calm facade cracked and broke, as she felt the essence in the arena swirl and gather at an unprecedented rate.

“Guards, inform the judges to be on alert.” she ordered, as one of her men rushed to relay the order. “Have them ready to evacuate the spectators if necessary, and keep a few men free to turn on the barrier.”

“Your Highness, the barrier is –” one of her guards began to caution her before she interrupted him.

“I know what it is. I will not take any chances when it comes to the lives of my people or my children.” She fixed her stare on him until he bowed and heeded her command.

“Mama, what is it? Why awe awl the nights running?” Mazhaan asked, and she almost envied her youngest and the blissful ignorance she lived in.

“It’s nothing, baby. Just keep watching the game. Something fun is about to happen,” she said, placing a kiss on her baby’s forehead to placate her.

“Fun?” As she predicted, Mazhaan instantly turned back around and began bouncing in her seat, her eyes glued to the projection in anticipation of the fun thing about to happen.

What happened…was far from fun.

Legendary was more appropriate.

No sooner had the essence reached a concentration that almost rendered it solid, than a majority of it was firmly grasped and…pierced into the land, lancing further and further down like an arrow flying towards its target. She could hear the sound of the ground cracking from here, despite the distance between the palace and the stadium.

The few seconds of silence were almost agonizing, as the queen debated switching on the barrier or not, when finally, the purpose of the veritable spear of essence was made clear.

And an expression of rage made its way uncontested onto the queen’s face.

Is he mad?

A pillar of lava shot out of the ground, and the instigator of this…idiocy took control of it, rapidly dispersing the lava and merging it with the remnants of the collected essence and the gases in the air to form a structure the queen had only seen artistic renditions of.

Where before there was a flat and barren wasteland, now stood a brownish-black dome surrounded by a moat full of lava, which caused half the competitors to surrender out of fear, or perhaps just good sense.

“Captain,” the queen said, barely restraining her anger as she summoned her guard captain.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he said.

“When the festival ends, bring that…fool…before me. I would have words with one so…capable,” she ordered, her words dripping with venom.

“Yes, Your Highness,” her guard replied, before returning to his post.

“Mama, mama, how did you know?” It was a poor time for her youngest to pull at her, but children rarely understood the concept of priorities until they matured. Even worse, she was praising that madman who had just done something with no thought to the consequences of his actions.

“That man, he, he, made the fame go boom! And he made the spikey’s! And that little house! Can you do that?” she asked, her joy and wonder at the magic on display thankfully overshadowing her attention to the one who had performed it.

“Perhaps your father can, for your birthday,” she compromised, hoping her youngest would forget about it when the time came.

Only the Mother knew if she would be able to handle two diplomatic catastrophes in quick succession, and with a race that already had tenuous relations with theirs.

“Children, stay here. I need to have a word with your father.” she said, adjusting herself before she abruptly left the viewing balcony, the projection screen showing that foolish southerner being eliminated from the competition due to a boulder knocking him out.

She walked through the halls of the palace and headed past the throne room and her husband’s council chambers. Her husband needed to be recalled from the northern coast and made aware of what had happened in his absence.

There had been few sightings of their enemies approaching from the north, and the threat of a very real diplomatic crisis took precedence over a job that could be done by thousands of soldiers.

Once more, it seemed the king needed to clean up after one of his subjects had made a mess.

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The crown prince, heir to the throne and the next ruler of the kingdom, lounged in his cushioned seat as he took in the sight of the latest competition winding down. The participants were awarded their prizes, and he smirked uncontrollably when he saw the ignorant southerner handed a potion bottle.

When the beastfolk tribes found out what happened today, and they would find out eventually, the elder’s council would demand to meet with him, to see him themselves. After that, there were only two possible endings for the little villager.

Brotherhood…or burial.

It had been a long time since a human was afforded the privilege of joining the tribes in anything but name, according to the history books, but supposedly, the outsider would be truly accepted in their society, a reward as vague as it was unhelpful.

Perhaps he could arrange to ‘accidentally’ bump into him on the street, and take his own measure of the man?

“Win-win, look, lighting!”

Mazhaan’s tugging interrupted his planning, and he pulled her out of her chair and into his own, hoisting her onto his shoulders in a decidedly un-princely fashion.

“Can you see better from up there?” he asked, tickling her as he did so.

“Stop it, stop it!” she managed to say between giggles, ineffectually swatting at his hands.

“You know mother will scold you once she hears of this,” his younger sister said, though he noted she didn’t tell him to stop.

“I know. It’s fine. I just want to enjoy these few moments we have together before duty pulls us apart,” he said somberly.

The three royal siblings watched the lightning competition and the fire competition before Mazhaan fell asleep, necessitating the call for the guards to escort the youngest princess back to her room.

They only had to endure three more of these children’s games before the festival would be considered over, and then they could return to their normal days of fending off proposals, poring over the legal code, combat training, and…whatever Mazhaan did for fun.

Perhaps they could bake a cake together?