It was like everyone in the town had come out to see us pass through. They stood along the sides, staring at my party and again looking like extras from some medieval movie. Except, it must have been a low-budget movie. The people’s clothes were ragged and dirty, their faces gaunt. Everyone seemed too skinny, even the children and babies held in parental arms.
My unease grew as we rode deeper into the heart of the village. I hated crowds and having eyes upon me. There was something discomfiting about this particular group. Their expressions were either completely blank or…well, terrified. Everything was dead silent.
“What are they scared of?” I whispered to Rurik.
He gave me an amused glance. “You, of course.”
“Me?” I squeaked. Glancing at my attire, I tried to imagine how out of place I looked here. Was my foreignness that frightening?
“You’re their queen. Everyone knows how you slaughtered Aeson—and that isn’t a particularly heartwarming tale. Likewise, Storm King’s legacy of terror lives on after all these years. You’ve inherited it.”
“So, what, they see me as some kind of tyrant?”
He shrugged. “You’re their queen,” he repeated, as though that explained everything.
I’d never wanted to be queen. I certainly didn’t want to be seen as some kind of despot queen either. I didn’t want these eyes upon me, these eyes that all seemed to be filled with apathy, judgment, and a kind of weary defeat. I breathed a sigh of relief when we reached what looked to be the halfway point. All of a sudden, a man stepped in front of us, bringing us to a halt.
He was an older gentry, tall and gray-haired. He was skinny and clothed only a little better than the rest, though there was an air of dignity and authority that made him stand out. When he saw he had our attention, he swept me a bow so low, his face nearly touched the dusty road.
“To Eugenie, great queen of the Thorn Land, I offer the most humble greetings of your servant, Davros.”
At least, that’s what I think he said. He was bent so low that his words came out muffled. I glanced uneasily at the others in my group, unsure what to do. They all remained silent and looked at me expectantly. Oh, sure. They were full of advice back at Maiwenn’s, but when it came to peasants groveling in the road? That was apparently all me.
“Please, um, stand up,” I managed at last. “Um, Davros.”
He rose, clasping his hands in front of him, looking totally overwhelmed that I’d used his name.
“Thank you, your majesty. I am the mayor of this village. Words cannot express what an honor it is to have you among us.”
Considering what Rurik had just told me about my reputation here, I wasn’t entirely sure I believed Davros’ words. I forced a smile.
“Thanks. We’re just passing through on our way back to the castle.”
Davros spread his hands wide. “I hope, then, that you’ll consider resting and taking a brief refreshment in my home.”
“Oh, well, that’s really nice, but—”
Shaya cleared her throat loudly. I glanced over at her. She gave me a pointed look that gave no question to what she wanted me to do. Grimacing, I glanced back down at poor, groveling Davros. Damn. I wanted nothing more than to get out of the Otherworld right now. I didn’t want to stop for teatime. My expression must have looked scary because Davros blanched and lowered his head meekly.
I sighed. “We’d love to.”
Mayor or not, Davros didn’t have a very big house. Only Shaya, Rurik, and I joined him inside, while the rest of my party milled around outdoors. From the village, Davros had invited a few other important officials, as well as his wife and two grown sons. We sat at a round oak table while his wife served us red wine and something that reminded me of baklava. I sipped only a little of the wine, not wanting to risk dehydration in this weather.
I wasn’t much better at making conversation here than at Maiwenn’s, but fortunately, there was no need for me to do anything. Davros and his associates kept the talking going, most of the conversation centering on how glad they were that I had come by, what an honor it was to meet me, how they hoped I’d call on them if I needed anything, et cetera, et cetera.
Which was why it was a bit shocking when Davros’ wife suddenly asked, “But if you would, your majesty, please tell us what it is we’ve done to displease you. We’ll do anything at all to make amends and gain your favor once more. Anything.”
I almost choked on the honey cake. “What do you mean…displease me?”
The villagers exchanged glances. “Well…,” said Davros at last. “There must be something. You’ve placed a blight on the land, stripping us of our water and food. Surely we’ve done something to warrant your most righteous displeasure.”
“You need only let us know what it is,” piped in someone else. “We will do anything you require to lift this curse from us.”
This was the most astonishing thing to happen to me all day—which was saying something. I looked at Shaya and Rurik for help, having no clue how to respond to this. For a moment, I thought they would once again make me fend for myself, until Shaya finally spoke.
“The residents had built their lives around the shape of the land when Aeson ruled it, when it was the Alder Land. When it transformed itself to you, their old ways no longer worked. Their crops don’t grow in this weather. The wells have run dry.”
I stared at her in shock. Never, never had this occurred to me—but then, it wasn’t like I’d spent a whole lot of time thinking about the Thorn Land. Most of my energy had been spent on figuring out how to avoid it. Studying Shaya, I wondered how long she’d known about this. I somehow doubted there was much that went on around here that she didn’t know about. From the looks of Rurik’s averted gaze, it appeared as though he’d known about this problem as well. Both knew how upset I got when forced to deal with any sort of queenly issues. So both had spared me the details while these people suffered.
I turned back to Davros. “It’s not a curse…it’s, I don’t know, it’s just the way the land is. The way I wanted it to be.”
Astonished looks met me, and I could only imagine what a freak I sounded like. When Aeson had ruled, this land had been green and lush, filled with forests and fertile farmland. Who in their right mind would turn it into a desert? Davros confirmed as much.
“But this land…this land is impossible to survive in,” he said.
“Not where I come from,” I told him. “This is like the land I grew up in. People live and flourish there.”
People also had modern ways of bringing in water and shopping for whatever other stuff they might need. And that wasn’t even taking air-conditioning into account.
“How?” he asked.
I didn’t know how to readily answer. I didn’t really understand the intimate details of my world’s infrastructure. I turned a faucet and water came out. I went to the grocery store and bought milk and Pop-Tarts. Desperately, I racked my brain and tried to pull out elementary school lessons about Arizona’s history.
“Irrigation,”
