Shattered Queen

I stand outside my youngest sister's cell, my decision for her to live or die made. Our Queen may not like it, but that's why she created me. To decide.

I insert the key and pull back the lever, releasing the entrance of the cell. My sister's never-ending cries of pain and sorrow instantly assault my ears. The walls are padded with thick wool blankets, held up around the ceiling and floor with melted wax. Not a nail or knife to be found. The floor is soft, the ceiling is soft, everything in here is soft, for more than one reason.

In the corner, curled into a tight ball is my sister. Born only six months ago when I decided Queen must move on from her all-consuming grief.

“It hurts!” my sister cries, her face half-buried in a pillow, her legs twitching every which way. Her hands claw at her chest as if in an attempt to pull out an invisible intruder.

“It hurts!” she screams again, her voice hitting such a high pitch, I flinch at the momentary ringing it creates.

That's why my sister is kept here, deep in the castle's dungeons, locked in a padded room. It's so Queen cannot hear the cries of her Grief.

So Queen can stay quaffed and well-appointed. So she can smile and command a room full of men asking her what she will do with no husband and no heir. It’s not what I thought she would do when I decided for her to move on from Grief. It was not the answer I had intended.

I remove the heavy scarf of midnight blue and golden-stitched stars hiding my face, a perfect duplicate of Queen’s, before lifting the torch I carry higher, letting the light cover the full extent of the tiny room.

"What are you doing here, Advisor?" my sister asks between sobs and hic-ups, her voice weak and raw from crying.

Her hair is taught and thin, pulled in multiple places. Her eyes are at the edge of wild; she comprehends who I am at least…though I fear just barely. I can see the struggle within herself to hold onto her sanity. Queen did Grief no favors by locking her in this windowless room.

"I am here to take you away," I tell her softly, hoping a gentle voice will soothe the pain of loss that consumes her.

I am not connected to my sisters, either of them. But Queen feels all three of us. I can only feel the tug of her, our Queen, the pull of the one who created me.

When just a young princess, in a moment of intense pressure from her father to pass judgment on criminals of the kingdom, I was born. She ripped me from herself, a shard with the sole purpose of deciding difficult things. A part of her, completely separate and yet... not quite.

We shards are a web of emotions with Queen at our center. If we cannot hold our emotions at bay, they creep into her. And Grief is going mad. A madness that cannot be allowed to spread to Queen.

"Away?" my sister asks, the word sparking something in her; making her half crawl, half stumble toward me as if I hold the answer to her prayers. "Are you going to kill me, sister?" She asks excitedly, clutching at the base of my dress. “Is it time? Will you do it? Will you kill me, please?” she begs, words running into one another, her eyes alight at the possibility.

I swallow, looking away from her fierce smile, an uncomfortable contrast with her tear-stained cheeks. I need her to come with me quietly, no one in the castle can know we exist. And I must bring my sister to Queen, as I worry Queen would not come down here.

Under normal circumstances Queen acquiescing to my decisions was easy, but since the arrival of Warrior four years ago, it has become increasingly difficult to persuade her of my rightfulness.

I kneel down to cup my sister’s chin like a child's. “Yes, I will kill you," I tell her, wondering if she knows a lie when she hears one.

But I needn’t have worried. She relaxes against me, wrapping her cold arms around my ankles, her cheek pressing against the thin fabric of my dress.

“Thank you, sister. Thank you.” She closes her eyes in respite.

I turn away from her peacefulness, I don't like it. No, that’s not quite right. I don't like that the thought of death is what brings her peace.

“Come.” I extract a second scarf and wrap it elegantly around her face, only revealing her water-filled eyes. It's a bit gauzier than my own, but perfect to match the relaxed bedclothes she's in. No one would think she were Queen, not with those wet, sad eyes.

I cover my likeness up once more. Two perfect living replicas of Queen cannot easily move about the castle, so instead, we must move as ghosts.

I guide my sister out of her cell. She clutches my arm as if she were a newborn fawn learning to walk. Then again, this may very well be her first time walking. Queen locked her away in that cell the moment she was born.

We leave the cold dungeon behind. Only a few steps and turns later, Grief tugs at my arm.

I turn to follow her eye line at what has caught her attention. A portrait of the young prince.

"That's him, isn't it?" she asks in wonder. "I've never seen him before."

In this particular painting, which had been forgotten when all others had been collected and taken into storage, the young prince was riding. The boy was always riding, some say he loved to sit in the saddle of a horse more than his own throne.

"Yes, it is," I answer coolly before pulling Grief forward, away from the image, not waiting to linger or risk attracting attention.

The young prince would have turned thirteen at the completion of one more sun rotation. But it was not to be. A fever struck him in the dead of winter, and he could not break it. Nor could any of our medicine men heal him.

He had gone, like a flicker of a candle, snuffed out in the night.

"Too young…" my sister moans softly, a fresh wave of tears flooding down her cheeks. Her unsure feet trip over air, forcing me to catch her.

I increase the pace, wanting to fix this now. As soon as Queen does as I've decided, and undoes the mistake that created Grief in the first place, all will be well.

We move through the rest of the castle without anyone questioning us. The most anyone gives is a quick glance. They recognize my thick scarf and know that I'm important to Queen and am to be left alone. Even still, a can see a few brave souls with curiosity in their eyes wanting a closer look at my sister. But I don't give them the chance.

We keep up our speed, climbing a dozen flights of stairs, before finally reaching Queen's quarters. I lead my sister inside to find Queen lounging on a well-appointed couch, my other sister standing at her side. The one I did not want to exist, inside or out, of Queen.

“Ah, Advisor!” Queen greets me with kind formality. I don't let my heart drop. It's been years since she has called me anything but my name. When we were both little, and I had just been born to bear her burden, there were many nights of close comfort in each other's arms. Many nights when she was the one, the only one, who called me sister.

Queen's polite smile sours quickly, her eyes landing on her Grief clinging to my arm. "What is this?" she asks as if I’ve threatened her.

“You must take her back,” I tell Queen.

"What?" squeals my youngest sister in betrayal, her nails digging into my arm. "You said you were going to kill me."

At the same time, Queen whispers a hurried, "No,” and moves further away, placing the couch between us.

Warrior steps forward in a protective stance, ready to fight and defeat anything for our Queen, including me.

I look between the woman and the shard. Four years ago, when Queen saw the wounded and dead of her people, she wanted to claw the eyes out of the enemy who had done this; to see them choke on their own blood. When her royal councilor asked, “what's wrong, Your Majesty?” as a gentle reminder of her place. She knew the people needed her to behave, to be good, so she split again.

Warrior was born of anger and hate and bound to do nothing about it. Her job was simply to swallow and bear Queen’s anger.

But fear is something Queen still feels as she backs away from the crying part of herself.

“You must take her back,” I say again. “She is going mad.”

“Yes, I know—"

“In that dark room you stashed her in, consumed with sorrow, there was no other option, but for her to go mad.”

“That is why I had you decide if she is to live or die. I did not offer her coming back.”

“Sister,” Warrior steps between Queen and me, “you are upsetting my lady.”

I stare daggers at Warrior. She had grown a tendency to call Queen 'my lady,' with the implication that they had a tighter bond. That she, Warrior, meant more to Queen than I.

If Queen was to be closer with any of us, it should be me. Her first shard, the one who decided things, the one who was wise beyond her years and called forth in a moment of crisis, not a moment of vengeance. The one who had helped her through countless difficult decisions. Me, not her.

“I have upset 'your lady' many times before,” I say in a dry voice, attempting to swallow my contempt, “and will do so many times again. She can handle it.”

“I am here to handle it for her,” my sister rebuts as she steps closer to me.

“You cannot handle this!” We face-off, and I swear she wants to unsheathe her sword. Why Queen even gave her a sword is beyond me. Why a shard, someone who is to stay kept away and whose face must always be hidden, would need a sword is beyond me.

“My lady, what say you?” she asks, not taking her eyes off me.

“Why?” Queen asks, instead of answering, from beyond the couch. “Why must I take her back?"

"Because—"

"I don't even know if I can!” she quickly adds cutting me off. “I've never done so. I've never even really thought about making you, any of you, you just…do.” Her eyes begging.

I know she wishes for a different answer, but there is none. This is why she created me, to decide the things too difficult for her and I've decided. "Grief must be felt, it is the only way to stave off the madness."

“I can think of another.” Warrior plays with her sword, her eyes inspecting the weeping entity, now hiding behind me, as if she's the enemy that needs defeating.

Grief's sniffles accent the room as the three of us face off about her fate.

“Why then, do I not have to take back Warrior? Or you?” Queen asks. “Why only her? I can separate you two and you stay sane, why can't she?”

“Grief is not the same,” I push. “And you cannot kill her—"

“Advisor,” Queen cuts me off again. “If I attempt this—" she looks sadly at her newest shard. “I will revert to who I was before I cut her out. I could not work, I could not function. I spent my days in this room, crying, you both can remember that all too well, I am certain.”

Warrior and I both nod.

“How can this be the answer to stave off the madness?” she implores.

"Because there is no other way," I tell her mournfully. "We cannot kill her. I do not know what the death of a shard would do to you. And she cannot be allowed to live, as her madness is real and spreading. Taking her back is the only option."

“How can you be certain I will not go mad anyway? I felt it. I felt it starting even before I cut her out! I can't do this…” she moans.

"I could do it," Warrior grumbles off to the side. "I could…" she repeats, tilting her head as if connecting something, though I don't care to know what.

“Yes, you can," I urge Queen, ignoring whatever moment Warrior's having. "You must feel your grief, you must work through it.”

I thrust the crying mirror image of Queen to face her. She shrivels back in disgust. Her own face, her own figure and form, crying and swaying on her feet.

“No! I will not take her back,” Queen says, stomping her foot down, acting as if a petulant child. “I created you; all of you.”

“Of course, my lady,” Warrior bends to one knee, bowing. “I am here to protect you.”

“You are here to weaken me," Queen hollers, lost in her fear. “You all weaken me!”

"I do not!" I say affronted and hurt. How could she say that? I'd been by her side for decades. Helped her through more problems than I can remember and she thinks I weaken her?

"Weaken you…" Warrior whispers still kneeling, that calculating look on her face again. I frown, what is she thinking?

“I do not want my Grief back," Queen continues her rant, "You have made a bad decision, Advisor. Now, go back and do it again,” she commands. With a sharp turn of her heels, she marches into her bed-chamber, accenting shutting the door with one last, "Again!"

"That didn't go well," I sigh, staring at the door Queen closed between us.

"No, it didn't," Warrior agrees softly, rising as she seems to come out of whatever headspace she'd been in.

Grief continues her soft weeping, now a puddle on the floor. Apparently, the act of standing is too draining for such a frail creature.

Warrior stares at me as if truly seeing me for the first time. "You're right," she admits solemnly, and my jaw nearly drops in surprise. "I will speak with her." Warrior steps toward the closed bed-chamber door.

I mentally shake myself from the temporary shock and step in her way. "What makes you think she'll listen to you over me?" I demand, not hiding my ire that it could be true.

"Would you let your pride stop you from letting me try?" she challenges.

"It's not my pride that is making me stop you." Not entirely at least. "It's that I don't believe you actually agree with me. You never have before."

"This is different."

"How?" I demand.

She tenses her jaw and clenches her fists at her side. Not dropping eye contact for a second. “Let me pass and I swear I will speak on your behalf.” She grits out the words as if they cause her physical pain.

I look her over. There is something different about Warrior's stance, but I can't quite place what. Perhaps a bit more stoic than normal? Whatever it is, it must have something to do with whatever she's been mulling over the past few minutes. Perhaps it was her realizing I was right after all.

I nod in acceptance of her promise without saying anything more and step aside, letting her pass into Queen’s bed-chamber.

As Warrior closes the door softly behind her, I still can't help but steam a bit. She's allowed in, while I'm left out. But she's right, it's not about my pride. It's about Queen's health and sanity.

A centering breath helps me return to focusing on someone I actually can help. I take up the spot on the couch where Queen had been sitting when I first entered.

“Come here, sister,” I beckon the youngest of us and let our young sister cry buckets of tears into my skirt as she lays her head on my lap.

I stare at the door. Warrior and Queen do not re-emerge. Had I misjudged Warrior? Is she going to come out of there, blade swinging for Grief's head?

I watch my hand methodically stroking Grief's hair, the act working as a type of metronome. But my eyes start to blur as if my sight was suddenly going. I hold up my hand, but that's not right. I can see the furniture beyond, the door I entered through, everything just fine. So why…? My hand. My hand is going translucent.

I look to the door where Warrior and Queen went through. “Warrior!” I rush to standing, dislodging Grief from her kneeling position. Banging on the door, at least as much as my fading hands will allow, I scream, “You can't do this!”

I turn to see how Grief is handling my absence, but she too is fading.

“You can't have her for yourself!” I pound the door creating merely soft 'whooshes' of air as I try to bat at the wood until my body becomes so in-between corporeal and not, that I fall through the door like a true and proper ghost.

Now into Queen’s chambers, I see Warrior also dissolving and starting to fade. Queen has her eyes closed, her face in peaceful concentration.

“What did you say to her?” I demand of Warrior, stalking forward, fully through the door.

“I did what I said I would,” Warrior states, not leaving her position of being on her knees, guarding Queen's bed. “She must take back Grief,” Warrior looks to me, "She must take back all of us.”

I shake my head, “We're too old. What will—?”

“She was right,” Warrior cuts me off. “You were right. We all were in a way. We weaken her by being outside of her. She needs the whole to process Grief. She needs us, sister.”

“You were never meant to be wise,” I tell her. Hating that she saw this answer when I did not.

“You were never meant to be a protector,” she tells me. “And yet here we are, doing both.”

I hear the soft sound of a surprised gasp from Grief in the sitting room, most likely just realizing she herself is dissolving as well. Then so quick and quiet I almost miss it, she whispers a relieved “Thank you….”

“See you soon, sister,” Warrior smiles knowingly at me. I wish I don't feel so impressed with her in our last moments. She dissolves in place, becoming a red light of energy floating up to meet a yellow one, which I can only assume is Grief, both pouring into our creator.

Queen opens her eyes a crack. “Thank you,” she says softly with strain, as if working to keep two doors open at the same time. “Sister.”

Tears form in my eyes as she calls me such she hasn't since we were children. I fully dissolve, and in a swirl of blue energy join my sisters. Returning once more from where we came.

A warmth floods over me as a sense of wholeness and home coalesces in my heart. Warrior was right. We will move through this pain together, as one.