The Ember Queen

Chapter Two

"My queen's judgment is just, and if her word is final I trust her in it," Gabriel replied without hesitation.

Fiona nudged his forearm with her elbow, as she inclined her head to her right, giving Gabriel a look. "Come on, give me your honest opinion, not the royal answer you were trained to give," She prodded playfully.

"I believe you shut them up well, and it seemed fair enough for the family. So, considering that you forgot to mention what would be the family's new source of income I think it went well." Gabriel said with a smirk.

Fiona slapped her forehead with her left palm. "Did I really forget that part?" She asked, feeling like an amateur. Gabriel nodded, schooling his features back to impassiveness.
They walked the rest of the way back to Fiona's chamber in silence, only the occasional servant acknowledging their queen's presence.

As Fiona slowed her pace and entered her parlor, Gabriel stopped at his usual post, assuming full guard position.

Fiona poured two glasses of Macula Berry juice and handed one to Gabriel, not knowing if he would drink it or not. He accepted it nonetheless but kept his gaze fixed on the adjacent wall. As she pulled a cushioned black marble stool from the bar Fiona sat no less than three feet away from Gabriel's position. She huffed, and reached out with her right hand, flicking Gabriel's chest plate.

"Hello? Anyone in that stoic, handsome, figure? Would you mind drinking the juice I poured you?" She paused with a disappointed smile. "Or I could have it," she said teasingly, but Gabriel stopped her hand as it reached out for his glass. He glanced at Fiona's fingers which were frozen on his palm, but he just put her wrist in her lap gently and clinked their glasses with a kind smile. After a sip, his posture softened and he leaned against the wall. Fiona grinned, satisfied.

"So," she said after a sip. "Will you be attending the Annual Fall Gala?" Fiona asked innocently.

"As your guard, yes," replied Gabriel matter-of-factly.

Fiona rolled her eyes. Luckily, a servant interrupted her just before she was going to humiliate herself.

"My queen," she said, stooping into a bow, "I have been sent to inform you that the R.S.A. has located Abraham Kin, the escaped rebel. They are tracking him now, and it appears he is headed east, toward the palace."

Near the Appalachian River:
Abraham couldn't get the last bits of sand from his hair, no matter how hard he tried to wash or shake it out. Stomping off the last bits of water from his pants, Abraham had pulled out his compass and headed east, following the cargo ships by day and the stars by night; headed to the Royal estates. From there, he would do what he could. Sabotage meetings, steal supplies and secrets... and survive as long as possible.

As he trudged through brush and pushed away branches, Abraham couldn't help but admire the peaceful beauty of the forest. The occasional seagull that he saw flying above him brought back memories of sailing when he was barely older than fourteen.

Just him and his small crew of three others. After one died of an unknown sickness, another left the group leaving just Abraham and his last crewman. Eventually, they agreed to sail to a nearby city and try to make a fortune together. But, a storm intercepted their journey, and Abraham was forced to bail ship after it was damaged beyond repair, however just as he and his last crewmate were so close to land, Abraham looked over his shoulder to see his crewman, his friend, disappear below the waves.

He'd been on his own ever since.
Crossing over yet another river, Abraham could finally see the peaks of the towers that lined the outer wall of the Royal Estates. Climbing to the top of the nearest tree, he dared to stick his head out of the leaves and saw a sight he never thought he would see.

The palace:
Security measures had been increased ever since the R.S.T. (Royal Search Team) had discovered the general vicinity of the famed rebel escapade. But, to the public's great approval, the Gala had not been canceled.
So, as was customary, the queen was to be fitted and ready for the gala the day before, and by mid-afternoon, Fiona was worn out beyond comparison. Her dresser had wanted to adorn her with the shiniest jewels and most flowing dresses, but Fiona had politely refused.

After hours of simply picking out fabrics, against her seamstress wishes, Fiona had picked out a silver sequin fabric for the top of her dress, and a thick maroon flannel for the skirt.
It had only taken her seamstress half an hour to put together exactly what Fiona had been envisioning. With half-inch straps and a v-neck, the dress was as beautiful yet simple.
Fiona didn't want to take it off! As she swished around the skirt she imagined herself dancing with Gabriel, then stopped herself. He was her guard, a loyal follower, she did not have feelings for him.

Taking a deep breath, Fiona let the hem of her dress swish around her ankles one more time and then forced herself to change back into her black jean capris and grey blouse.

Stepping outside, she motioned for Gabriel to follow-which was not necessary-as she headed down towards the great hall for dinner.

Just outside the wall of the royal estates:
Abraham had made it to the edge of the forest where there was a small expanse of plains that led up to the wall. He had camped there for the past few days, monitoring the guard shifts on the top of the wall.

Without more brush cover, Abraham would not be able to make it from the forest to the wall without being spotted; unless he timed it just right. He had forty-five seconds on average to get past the plains and to the wall. He had two minutes until the next guard shift came.

Clearing his camp and tightening his satchel around himself, he put on the weed coat he had woven to toss over his back in case of emergency.

Taking a deep breath, he glued his focus to the guards. The current squad of four left their posts single file, and Abraham 's countdown began.

Sprinting neck-down Abraham covered ten feet in five seconds. Another ten feet in eight seconds. Twenty feet to go. Twenty-four more seconds. His throat becoming dry from rough breathing, Abraham crossed another full fifteen feet in ten seconds. Realizing his pace was slowing, he put all his energy into one last boost. Just as he ran two feet and boosted himself in the air, the next four guards arrived, twelve estimated seconds early. Landing with a thud, Abraham rolled onto his back, his left side pressed against the stone wall. He had made it, and not eight seconds too soon.

Struggling to his feet, he shrugged off his pack, brushing off as much dirt and grime off his clothes as possible. Slumping back down onto the grass, Abraham rested his head on the wall, thoroughly exhausted.

Waves of heat were now smashing down on him, his tree cover almost forty feet away. Taking a deep breath, Abraham stood up and turned to face the wall. Not daring to back up far enough to where he could be seen, Abraham tested the wall for good grip areas. Finding a few small holds he sat back down to rest, planning to climb the next day.