The Conspirators of Krasnovska

8. Unwelcome Developments

More Amara, because for some reason I really love her...seeing a trend? (WHAT? I LOVE ALL OF MY CHARACTERS!) Image: I know Amara's supposed to have dark hair, but this is almost exactly how I had pictured the Wescognivan palace this scene takes place in, so I'm willing to make an exception.

"Your Highness!" The courier, little more than a child, ran to the princess as fast as his short legs would carry him. "Urgent message!"

"Thank you," Amara replied icily, plucking the scroll from his hand. Her face remained stonily impassive. She unrolled the scroll.

My Dearest Amara,

It is my deepest regret to inform you that our plan has been thwarted. Ambassador Narseth was stabbed by an agent of the Queen of Dosinskiya at the recent diplomatic meeting. This is an act of war, and we have lost a valuable asset. In addition, we have failed to secure an inside source of information. Thanh Keun requests Wescogniva's continued aid as we work through this obstacle to secure our mutually-desired ends.

Regards,

Emperor Rathajana

Amara's eyes grew wide. They dispatched our agent! I never knew they had it in them. She was pondering the best course of action to take when Alessio threw open her chamber door, white-faced and more disheveled than she had ever seen him.

"Alessio, what is it?" She asked, stone mask still firmly in place. This was not the time to let her burgeoning worry show.

"Come with me," was all he said in reply. Her eyes widened, exposing her fear for the tiniest fraction of a second, but she did as he said. The siblings rushed down the hall (as much as they could rush with the ever-present cloud of servants buzzing around them) until Alessio stopped at the end of a corridor that neither young monarch used often.

"Father?" Amara whispered, soft voice cracking with fear. Alessio would not have brought her here, to their father's chambers, if something were not terribly wrong. The King was not a man disposed to visitors, not even his own children.

A young maid poked her head out the door. "Your Highnesses, you are needed inside," she said, and then retreated back inside the room. Alessio stepped inside first, beckoning his sister to follow. A crowd of servants and doctors wielding an array of medical instruments and bottles containing who-knew-what thronged around their father's bed.

"They say he collapsed in a meeting," Alessio explained. "Nobody has been able to discern the cause. He has been weak and growing worse by the hour." Alessio's eyes held a tempestuous fear that she'd never seen before. Amara could only hope she was still able to veil the frantic shock in her own.

"Is...is he going to..." Amara choked on the question she couldn't bear to complete.

"Nobody knows, Mara," Alessio sighed. "That is the worst part. No one can fight what they can't see." A servant gestured them to their father's bedside.

Amara had been steeling herself for this moment since she had set foot in the room, but nothing she told herself could prepare her for what she saw. Her father looked more fragile than spun glass, swallowed up by his bed, sunken and pallid and covered in clammy sweat. He laboriously opened his eyes as they approached.

"My children," he croaked.

"Yes, father, we are here," Amara said, barely above a whisper, trying not to look at his gaunt, feverish face.

"Alessio, Wescogniva will soon be in your hands. Rule it well."

"I will do so to the best of my ability," Alessio mumbled, not even trying to sound like he thought he could back it up.

"And Amara?" He rasped.

"Yes?"

"If I do not live to see the day, you must win me Dosinskiya."

"Of course, father." Amara tried to sound brave, prop up her words with confidence she didn't feel, but her voice came out as unsure and tremulous as the unsteady beat of her heart.

"Good." He smiled pacifically.

"Your Highness, if-" a servant started, but cut off suddenly as the King inhaled raggedly. Tense silence hung in the room. Amara didn't need to look at her father to know that he was not going to exhale.

She could not, would not, let her composure break, not for this, not for anything. But she could not stop a single tear from escaping in liquid tribute to the father she would later realize she had never truly loved.

His final words to her rang out again in her mind. You must win me Dosinskiya.

Though she felt less grief than one in her position should, his dying wish sealed beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had to do what he had told her. It was going to take everything she had, but Amara Cavatina was going to take Dosinskiya if it was the last thing she ever did.