The Tyrant's Queen

53: to repent

Four years after Thalia's disappearance

Squatting, Thalia peered into the pond. Waves of blond hair cascaded down her shoulders, almost to her elbows.

Maika had never asked Thalia any questions. Thalia, too, never asked Maika any.

But it was clear as day that Thalia was Aesnanian and wanted to keep a low profile.

After Thalia had become fluent in Shahark to converse freely with Maika, she had several times been tempted to ask- "What is your relationship with Lady Casarine?"

But she never had had the courage to. 

With Maika's recommendation, Thalia regularly dyed her hair blond.

Brown hair was not a common sight in Shahark, and Maika's residence was in close proximity to the borders separating Aesna and Shahark- which meant, they were frequently near patrolling soldiers.

The rocks surrounding the pond were rough, damp and algae-laced under her fingers.

Four years. About four years had passed since her departure- or rather, abrupt relocation- from Aesna.

With blond hair almost the same shade as Lucien's. Living in the country Lucien had for most of his youth.

Speaking the language he spoke. Eating the traditional Shahark food he would've- although perhaps, a tad more luxuriously in the Shahark palace.

Yet, without him.

All of this still felt strange. Was "strange" the word to put it?

She was now twenty-nine. Lucien would be thirty-one now. Karlieus, too.

The one and only time Thalia had asked Maika for any news about Aesna, it was that the new queen had given birth to a son.

After that, Thalia never asked Maika anything about the country again.

The gentle prodding of the morning spring sun seeped through even the canopy. Hoisting the chopped wood on her back, Thalia weaved her way through the forest.

"Please don't leave me."

To have pleaded that, and not long after, to have replaced her so quickly with Casarine- and to have even had a child with her. Wasn't that precisely what Thalia had hoped for?

Wiping water droplets from the leaves off her clothes, Thalia approached Maika's wooden attic.

Greeting her first was the sound of sheep, then that of laughter.

Her grey hair pulled into a ponytail, Maika was peering down a well she'd built in the front yard. Next to her was Mohan, soaping dishes in a blue rubber basin.

As soon as Mohan saw Thalia, he ran up to her, wiping his soapy hands on his pants, and took the wood from her back.

"Told you not to do the heavy lifting work," groused Mohan, dumping the wood on the front yard.

"Look at this brat. Used to visited his old aunt once or twice a week. Suddenly comes over almost every day."

Raising a corner of her mouth theatrically, Mohan closed the lid of the well with a chortle. "I wonder what has changed."

Smiling, Thalia took up the basket of laundry that had been basking under the sun and started hanging them with clothespins.

Mohan and Maika looked more like son and mother rather than nephew and aunt.

Their resemblance was uncanny, with their olive-colored skin, crescent-shaped eye smiles that curved downwards, straight noses and heart shaped faces.

The only difference was that while Maika was a round and petite woman, Mohan was tall and well-built.