It Isn't Easy Being Queen

28. The Vessel and the Heir

Not smacked into, really. More like sank into.

I opened my eyes.

And immediately regretted it.

Because they burned. The stench was overpowering. And it was dark. And moist. And slimy.

Oh, no!

I'd fallen onto a compost pile!

I couldn't even crash properly! Instead of a quick splat, I was now to be buried alive, which would mean a long, painful, nauseating drawn-out demise!

On the plus side, I'd stopped falling and my stomach returned.

The broomstick slipped out of my grasp as I sank.

The upper layers of the pile were chunkier and smelled like rotted fruit and moldy lettuce and old chicken bones. But as I descended, it smelled like rich loamy soil.

The good thing about being buried in compost was that because of the microbial breakdown of organic material, it was a lot warmer than it was outside. Also, at least the evil kingdom was being environmentally friendly! (Always try to see the upside, right?)

But the soil was dense, and that meant no breathing. I tried to swim back to the top, but there was no purchase, nothing for me to press my feet against, so my efforts meant sinking further.

Rowen, ask your familiar for help, my annoying logical inner voice advised.

No! I can't do that after I ignored his advice! My stubborn inner voice replied.

Would you rather be dead or right?

Can I think about it?

Wait! I was magical. And this was the kind of magic I excelled at! Destruction! All I needed to do was blow up the pile.

Even with the lack of oxygen, I focused on the magic buzzing in my core, forcing it to the surface of my skin where it sizzled along my arms into my fingertips. I silently willed it to burst out of me.

Magic exploded out like a firehose.

Dirt, decaying vegetables, and gnarled bones jettisoned into the night sky. I gasped for breath, welcoming dirty air into my lungs. Then I choked and coughed while the dirt pile rained down onto my body, burying me once again.

My limbs quivered like when you've done too much exercise, and when I reached back inside to locate my magic, it was a limp, tiny thing, barely clinging to life.

No magic! Lungs burning. I was running out of options and time.

So, you would rather be right than dead? My logical inner voice piped up. Wow, she sounded smug.

I really, really wanted to say dead just to prove her wrong! But that would just be dumb.

Do you agree?

Fine! You win! I snarked.

Always do, she crowed.

Black spots drifted over my closed eyelids. I think this meant I was about to black out, and if I was going to make it, I'd have to stop arguing with myself. I wondered if lack of oxygen made you argue with your inner voice. And speaking of inner voice... with the last speck of magic inside me, I begged ...

Vermeil! Vermeil! Calling Vermeil! Are you there?

No reply.

Uh, oh! Maybe I took too long, and I didn't have enough magic left to communicate with my familiar. I dug deep. Deeper than I ever had before. I located a speck of magic somewhere between my belly button and my appendix scar.