Prologue
I stare at the imposter on the throne.
Her ankles crossed with practiced poise.
Her hands clasped in casual elegance.
Buried beneath, a betrayed heart stutters.
Hidden deep, tarnished hopes fray.
She does not look backward at a broken past.
She stares unflinching at an uncompromising future.
A stolen destiny.
A sordid empire.
* * *
Halfway through myfourth year of primary school, my class took a field trip to the medieval ruins at Easterly. There’s a castle there — what remains of one, anyway. Turns out, after fifteen-hundred years of decay, what remains is not much. It looked more like a grassy mound of mossy stones to my nine-year-old eyes. Only one wall still stood upright; the rest of them had long ago tumbled down, crude puzzle pieces from a game played by the ghosts of Germania’s past.
Underwhelming, to say the least.
Perhaps if I’d paid attention to our history teacher’s hour-long lecture on the bus ride to our destination, I would’ve been better prepared for what awaited us. But instead of listening to Mrs. Fiero drone on, I’d spent that vital hour conspiring with Owen over our weekend plans for adventure in his tree house. Of utmost importance: the development of a secret knock to bar any undesirables from entering via the trap-door. (Namely his meddlesome little sisters, who made a habit of injecting themselves into our every Saturday afternoon, whether we wanted them there or not.)
My class poured out of the bus onto a gravel road and made a slow trek up the dirt path to the historical site. But as I took in the view that lay ahead of me… my excitement fizzled into vapor and fled on the crisp mountain winds. After all, Mrs. Fiero had promised a fortress. I’d been anticipating majesty. Some royal flair. A bonafide castle, with gold-paneled ballrooms and stained-glass secrets glittering in the early-spring light.
I’d been expecting… Well…
A fairy tale.
How utterly disappointing to come all this way to see a bit of real, honest-to-god history up close, only to be met with this pile of inconsequential rubble.
It sounded more exciting in the textbook,I thought somewhat bitterly, kicking dandelions with my shiny patent shoes.Can this really be all that’s left?
When the rest of my class broke off to eat their paper-bagged lunches at picnic tables in the adjacent field, I remained by the ruins, oddly fixated. As though the stones might offer up an alternative if only I studied them hard enough.
“Let me guess,” Mrs. Fiero murmured, coming up beside me with a knowing smile. “You were hoping for something a bit more impressive?”
I flushed, embarrassed to be caught sulking. “I just thought…”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“I thought there’d bemore.More left.”
“Why? Because the people that lived here were royals?”
I nodded.
“Nothing lasts forever, Emilia. Not stone castles. Not the peasants who built them brick by brick. Not the soldiers who defended their walls with spear and arrow. Not even the kings and queens who lived in them. Time erases us all eventually.”
“That’s sad.”
“Is it?” Mrs. Fiero’s lips twisted. “I guess I think it’s sort of beautiful. No matter who you are, no matter what legacy follows you when you leave this earth behind… in the end, all that matters is what you do while you’re here. You can’t change it after you’re gone. You can’t shape the story others tell in your absence. History belongs to the living; the dead have no use for it anymore.”
My brows furrowed. “So… you’re saying it doesn’t matter?”