"There are ten rulers for every dynasty, ten chances for a dynasty to rise to glory or ride out history as an immense failure. We've yet to see a dynasty that did not, overall, rise to glory. And our Twelfth Dynasty, I dare say, has been the most glorious of all!"
--Lord Mynin Jadiar, from The Collected Speeches of the General Assembly, Fourth Edition
Dressa sat back, her whole body feeling shaky, wrung out. Ceorre would do it. If she gave her all for just those few moments, when Ceorre would need to confirm that she was, in fact, Arianna and telling the truth, and not under coercion, Ceorre would do it.
Dressa could do that, too. Be Arianna in truth. She could fully, fully be Arianna for those few moments, and then never again.
Dressa reached for a light healing trance to calm her body's responses, but it only soothed some of the pieces, not the whole of it.
None of this was fair. It wasn't fair to Ari, certainly, but then, it wasn't fair to Dressa. Why should her father punish her when it was Ari who was sick?
No, that also wasn't fair. It wasn't Ari's fault, and she didn't know who to blame, and that was part of the problem. Why should Ari have to lose her position through no fault of her own? Why should Dressa have to be the Heir, when that was the very last thing she'd ever wanted?
Was this the right choice? Couldn't she just hold out for a few weeks or months, be Arianna, and then resume her life? But what life, after those few months, would she have to resume? She couldn't make it that long. And Ceorre's arguments that Ari might not get better, or might always have a weakness for the nobility to exploit, were valid. Her father had also maneuvered hard for the marriage contract with the Javieris—it was vital that contract be signed.
She couldn't marry Lesander as Arianna. Absolutely did not want that union to be poisoned from the start. She'd seen the results of a sour marriage with her parents and would never do that to Lesander if she could help it. So none of this was fair to Lesander, either. Adeius, where did the unfairness end?
She pressed her hands to her lips, holding in the tension, trying to think. She had thought of this before, in her prep room—no, Ari's prep room—no, it would be her prep room anyway if she became the Heir, wouldn't it? That was always the Heir's apartment. And she'd thought of it on the way to the Adeium, and she'd made her decisions, but Ceorre had given her information she hadn't had before. But was there truly enough time to think it all through? This was the rest of her life. This was the future of the kingdom, and if she was going to do this, she'd have to do it now before her father could stop her.
What if Ari did recover? She'd come back to a life that no longer existed.
And what of Dressa, as the Heir? She would assume all of Ari's duties, and she'd have to take up her Truthspoken training again in earnest. Her father had let her training lapse these last few years—given up on her as a useful Truthspoken, she'd thought, and that didn't speak well for any of this.
She would, one day, rule the kingdom. She'd been trying not to think about that part of it, she'd set it aside as a problem that had years left to be solved. But here, in Ceorre's office, she couldn't ignore it. No matter what she'd said about this being temporary . . . she'd known it wasn't. Could she do that? Could she rule the Kingdom of Valoris and its one hundred and eighty-seven worlds, and all their various nobles and people and . . . everything?
Adeius, how did she possibly think she could do that?
Did she have a choice? If the only other choice was to traumatize herself so much she couldn't function, and the only other choice for the kingdom was to have an Heir and ruler who had a vital weak point their enemies could exploit, and the only other choice was to break or poison an engagement contract with the person who would be half of the next generation of Truthspoken—no, she didn't have a choice.
But it was wrong, all of it was wrong, as Rhys had said. The whole system was rotten—why couldn't Ari come back and resume her place when she was well again? Why did they have to hide the fact she was sick, and why should weakness matter? Why were the nobles such sharks, and was Rhys right there, too? Were they as bad as she'd been taught to believe?
She had to think so. She, and the kingdom, couldn't afford to think otherwise.
"What about my father?" she finally asked. "This will go against his orders."
Ceorre sighed. "I won't formally contradict him—and there are, of course, no formal orders to contradict. This is between Truthspoken, and because of that, within my purview and mandate to alter his course here. Though he certainly won't be happy about it. But again, publicly, there is little he can do."
That was a lie. Dressa sensed it, and had to know Ceorre was trying to convince herself. This was a much, much bigger risk than it looked like on the surface of things. While Ceorre did have the power as Truthspeaker to gainsay a Truthspoken ruler, a Truthspoken ruler certainly had the power to make her life hell, and to undermine her in any way he could. He could make a bid to replace her as Truthspeaker with someone else, too, if he could bring enough public evidence to justify the move. He would need to have a lot of unsubtle evidence, and he'd be airing his own ills in the process, but it was possible. Dressa had learned long ago not to underestimate her father in anything.
And her? How would her father retaliate for Dressa? She wouldn't be able to avoid him—they'd have the meetings on the direction of the kingdom, and training, and she just knew he wouldn't be pleasant for any of it. But then, he never had been.
A new thought took hold, a very dangerous thought. What if, if she did eventually become the ruler, she could choose to do things differently? Choose not to be her father. Choose to raise her children and train them with kindness.
Or not train them at all.
"I have to talk to Lesander," she said. "She must know what's going on. She must be able to make her own decision on if she wants to transfer the engagement contract to me. As the Heir." That, Dressa had already been planning to do after she left here. Truly, for all Ceorre had said, it hadn't changed her plans much at all.
Ceorre nodded. "We have spent enough time talking—haste is prudent now." She stood, picked up the heavy pendant, and slung the gold chain over her head with practiced ease, letting it drop into its authoritative place. And then, she was fully the Truthspeaker. The counterbalance to the ruler. The person seldom acknowledged to at times hold the most power in the kingdom.
She touched a button on her desk. "Ien, come back in, please."
A minute later, there was a knock, and the speaker who had brought Dressa in earlier came back inside.
Ceorre didn't look particularly happy to see them, but she motioned them over to her. "Forgive me—the others are in the city trying to quell the anti-magicker panic. You'll have to do for this. I hold you to your oaths of discretion and secrecy. Absolutely nothing you witness in this office will be repeated unless and until I tell you to do so."
Speaker Ien's eyes widened. They bowed. "Yes, Truthspeaker. I am ready to serve."
"Good. Witness." She tapped another control on her desk, and a holo popped up with a red recording symbol, along with the official knotwork seal of the Adeium, the same as on her pendant. "I, Ceorre Gatri, Truthspeaker of the Kingdom of Valoris, do hereby privately and officially relieve Arianna Rhialden of her duties as the Truthspoken Heir, though she will remain Truthspoken and second heir. This is my decision in light of present circumstances, and the safety and wellbeing of the kingdom. I now officially appoint Ondressarie Rhialden as the Truthspoken Heir, with all the titles and responsibilities that position ensues. This appointment shall be effective from this moment forward. A public ceremony with oaths will follow. So be it under the breath and will of Adeius. Decreed this day of Enei the Eighth, in the rule of the Ninth Seritarchus of the Twelfth Dynasty, 2968 New Era. Witnessed by—" She motioned, and Speaker Ien haltingly said their part.
Ceorre tapped the recording off. It felt like an ending, a seal on the life Dressa had lived before.
Dressa swallowed. And swallowed again as the gravity of what had just happened tried to settle around her. She was the Heir. Not as Arianna, but as herself. That was already done.
Speaker Ien had stiffened like a board and was now trying not to look at Dressa—they had of course by now recognized her as Arianna through the makeup. Cosmetics could only go so far, and she hadn't been trying to hide her own bearing in the last few minutes. Well, and whatever they made of that, in light of what Ceorre had just said, was up to them.
"Thank you, Speaker Ien. And I remind you again: utmost discretion. Dismissed."
The speaker bowed again and slipped out.
The door closed. And Dressa found herself caught in the Truthspeaker's gaze.
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There's been a lot of Dressa episodes, I know! One more to go here, then we cut to what the Seritarchus is up to. I'll also (mostly likely) be releasing twice weekly from here until the end of the season, which should be the next nine or ten episodes. Up next: Dressa and Ceorre discuss the terms of her upcoming engagement!
Sorry for the gap in episodes, friends! Life stuff got ahead of me. This will resume 3x/week M W F from now till...infinity? But planning to run for a while! <3 Scheduling a big chunk of episodes now! (And also, don't forget you can read ahead in Patreon!)