The Librarian and the Crown

     It had been designed—and renovated over the centuries—with beauty in mind. The walls were painted in soothing tones of lavender, pink, and off-white; paintings by some of Neopia’s most talented artists hung on the walls; gleaming decorative vases and finely-carved statues lined the hallways.

     But now, as Seshatia walked into the entrance hall (on crutches today, not her wheelchair; it wasn’t one of her bad days), her heart twisted.

     Most of the rubble from the catastrophic fall of Faerieland had been cleared away from the entrance hall; it was one of the more public parts of the castle, and so had it had priority for cleanup and repairs. But the damage was still plain to see—damaged artworks had been removed, some of the hallways were taped off, and workers with hard hats and tool belts were buzzing about.

     She almost envied those workers. Their task was difficult, but mostly straightforward.

     Hers…

     ...well, that depended on Fyora, didn’t it?

     As Seshatia made her way inside, she spotted an air faerie—one of the palace aides, Kessabel daughter-of-Learene—fluttering towards her.

     “Hello!” said Kessabel, a little too brightly. “Queen Fyora is expecting you—I can escort you to the Pearl Meeting Room, and she’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

     Seshatia summoned up a smile. “Thank you. Lead the way.”

     Seshatia knew where the Pearl Room was, of course; she knew the palace better than most. Still, she allowed Kessabel to lead her there.

     “How’s—how’s the library?” Kessabel asked as they walked.

     “Damaged, like everything else,” said Seshatia. “But since I’m here, I know you’d placed a book on hold, before… all this. How to Knit Petpets. It had just been returned, and I confirmed that it survived the fall.”

     “Oh! Um. I… I don’t know when I’ll be able to pick it up,” Kessabel said.

     “I can give it to you now, if you’d like,” said Seshatia. “You don’t have to take it, but I think many of us are in need of some distraction these days.”

     Kessabel’s eyes grew suddenly watery; she blinked a few times, then swallowed.

     “Thank you,” she said, quietly. “I’d really appreciate it.”

     “Think nothing of it,” said Seshatia. She closed her eyes briefly, summoning the book from her library, and it appeared in a puff of lilac smoke, hovering in front of Kessabel for a few moments before the air faerie took it.

     “I won’t be upset if you keep it a little past the due date,” Seshatia added. “Given the circumstances, I’m waiving overdue fines for the time being.”

     “Thank you,” said Kessabel again. She took a deep breath. “A-anyways, here we are.” She opened the door for Seshatia, waving her in with a little bow.

     “And thank you,” said Seshatia, walking in, letting Kessabel shut the door behind her.

     The Pearl Room was one of the smaller meeting rooms in the castle—the table could sit about six, though today it only needed to seat two.

     Seshatia had asked for a private audience, and Fyora had, as always, granted it.

     Seshatia wondered if Fyora knew why Seshatia wanted to speak with her. Most likely she did. They’d known each other for centuries, and Fyora was one of the very, very few to know just who Seshatia had been before taking up the role and powers of the Library Faerie.

     Seshatia seated herself, pulled a book of Roodoku puzzles out of her bag, and waited.

     She’d gotten about halfway through a puzzle before Fyora teleported into the room in a puff of pink magic.

     “Ah, Seshatia,” said Fyora, smiling. She sank into the chair directly across from her. “It’s always nice to see you—I’m sorry I haven’t been able to stop by the library.”

     “I didn’t expect you to,” said Seshatia. “I know how busy you must be right now.”

     “How are matters with the library and bookstore?” Fyora asked.

     “Well enough,” said Seshatia. “There was a great deal of structural damage, of course. We’ve been going through the books in the worst-damaged areas—seeing which need repairs and which must be replaced. None of my staff were badly injured, thank Neopia. The Neopets evacuated in time, and the petrified faeries were sturdy enough to come through mostly unscathed. But you knew this.”

     “Yes,” said Fyora, nodding slightly.

     “I never would have imagined your former student would do something like this,” said Seshatia.

     Grief flickered on Fyora’s face before she smoothed it out, re-donning a solemn, Queenly expression.

     Seshatia was quite familiar with the metaphorical masks a Queen had to wear around others.

     But veiling her emotions now, with just me? thought Seshatia. Hm.

     “Nor I,” said Fyora. “I wish I’d seen the warning signs sooner. Seen her pain.”

     “The past is unchangeable,” said Seshatia. “Hindsight is more perfect than any foresight could be. It is only in the present that we can act.”

     Seshatia looked steadily into Fyora’s eyes, at her too-still face.

     “Fyora,” she said. “I’ve heard a troubling rumour.”

     “There are many of those swirling around,” Fyora replied, with that calm, solemn mask of an expression.

     “I pray this one isn’t true,” said Seshatia, keeping her own expression calm, her voice even, her gaze level with Fyora’s. “I’ve heard it said that Xandra remains in your keeping. Alive.”

     Fyora’s expression didn’t change at all; she had been expecting this. “It’s true,” said Fyora. “She is petrified and will do no further harm. I hope, in time, to find a way to neutralise her magic and remove the petrification so that she can be rehabilitated.”

     Seshatia raised her eyebrows. “It seems to me that there’s a way to be absolutely certain that she’ll do no further harm.”

     “I’ve done what is necessary,” said Fyora. “The wraiths are being banished from Neopia. Repairs are being made. Xandra has damaged Faerieland, but she didn’t destroy us.”

     “She meant to,” said Seshatia. “She would have let all of Neopia be devoured by wraiths in our absence.”

     “I don’t believe she knew of them,” said Fyora. “The wraiths are an old, old thing that our kind has rarely spoken of. Too rarely, perhaps.”

     “Because wraiths are dangerous,” said Seshatia. “The knowledge is out in the world, now, and it’s only a matter of time before some fool of a wizard thinks she can turn them into a weapon. We had good reason to keep the knowledge of wraiths to ourselves.”

     That was one reason Seshatia had taken up a book-related role once she left her former occupation—to collect and safeguard information that could be dangerous in the wrong hands.

     “But that’s beside the point,” Seshatia continued. “You claim Xandra is no longer a threat. But you have not, I hope, forgotten the last threat to all Neopia you turned into a statue. I’ve heard another troubling rumour about her, as well.”

     “If you mean the Darkest Faerie,” said Fyora, “Then no, I haven’t forgotten her, but yes, her statue has gone missing. King Altador and his people are leading the search for her; we hope to have her back in safe custody soon.”

     “You hope,” said Seshatia. “And if you hope in vain? If she was freed from stone when the rest of us were—or if someone finds and frees her—she nearly crashed Faerieland into Neopia’s surface last time she was free, and if she attacks us now, with Faerieland weakened…”

     “We have no reason to believe she was freed in the fall,” said Fyora. “Jerdana’s Orb would have remained in effect even after Xandra’s spell was undone. I do regret not taking further measures to secure her, but we are taking every precaution we can to keep Faerieland—and the rest of the world—safe.”

     “Not every precaution,” said Seshatia.

     Fyora frowned. “I appreciate your concern,” she said, evenly. “But I won’t give up on Xandra. She was my student, once. For all the harm she’s done, I don’t believe anyone is beyond hope. If she chooses, she has the potential to do great good.”

     “She has the potential to destroy Neopia,” said Seshatia. “She tried to end all of faeriekind. Even if she failed at that, every last one of us now lives in the knowledge that we were almost wiped from the face of Neopia for the crime of being a faerie. Tell me, Fyora, how many of your staff have had nightmares? How many of them have broken down weeping during their shifts?”

     A few days ago, Seshatia had found one of her assistants—a fire faerie just a few years out of the Faerie Academy—hunched over a book cart, sobbing. Seshatia had calmed her down, then sent her home for the day.

     Fyora closed her eyes briefly. “I know that people are suffering. Please believe that I am doing all I can to help them.”

     “I’ve been speaking with Marina and some of her colleagues,” said Seshatia. “We’ll be putting together some support groups for those traumatised by what your beloved student did.”

     “I’m aware,” said Fyora. “One of Marina’s assistants met with me yesterday. I’ll be providing funding.”

     “You could provide more than funding,” said Seshatia. “You could provide peace of mind.”

     “That’s beyond my power,” said Fyora. “We both know I’m not omnipotent. Even if Xandra were… removed from Neopia, someone like her could always rise again. And… as extreme as her actions were, Xandra had reasons for acting as she did.”

     “Reasons,” said Seshatia, flatly.

     Seshatia was not especially quick to anger. In her distant youth, she’d burned hotter, but the passage of centuries had given her greater patience.

     Yet Fyora—who Seshatia had known for almost all of Fyora’s life, and who Seshatia truly cared for—was rapidly wearing through it.

     “Even before,” said Fyora, “when she was younger, and we were closer, Xandra argued that faeriekind could do more to help Neopets. I explained the importance of balance—how faeries must let Neopets find their own way without imposing our will on them. But she never seemed quite satisfied. We drifted apart, and then… you know what came after.”

     “Oh, of course,” said Seshatia. “We weren’t doing enough, so she saw to it that we could do nothing at all.”

     Fyora shook her head. “She called us tyrants, though I can’t quite agree—a tyrant would seek to rule the world, and we… I’ve done my best to keep faeriekind well away from the abuses of power that have stained our kind’s past. Perhaps I pushed us too far in the opposite direction.”

     “You,” said Seshatia, “Are the Queen of Faerieland. You are not the Queen of Neopia. It is not your duty to solve the entire world’s problems—and if the world wanted you to solve their problems, don’t you think they’d ask? Do you think Neopets want a flock of meddling faeries swooping in, uncalled for, to solve the problems we think they have?”

     “Xandra asked,” said Fyora. “And went unanswered, to all our misfortune. Times have changed. I believe that faeriekind has gotten better over the centuries. It may be that we’re ready to take more responsibility, not just for the safety of the world, but for the people within it.”

     “If you want to talk about responsibility,” Seshatia said, “perhaps you should start with your responsibility, as Queen, to make difficult, painful, ugly choices to keep your people safe—faeries and Neopets both. Xandra certainly didn’t spare the homes of Faerieland’s Neopet residents.”

     “Xandra is, as I’ve already said, no longer a threat,” said Fyora. “Her statue is kept under tight security. Even if she were freed, she would no longer have the artefacts she used to wreak such havoc. Faerieland is safe from her.”

     “You thought Faerieland was safe from the Darkest Faerie, too,” said Seshatia. “And if it weren’t for two children, we’d have faced disaster all the sooner. And worse, there was no reason for it, because if you’d just done the right thing in the first place we would never have had to worry about her again!”

     Fyora held Seshatia’s gaze, infuriatingly calm. “No one is beyond hope,” said Fyora. “I truly do believe that. The one now called the Darkest Faerie once founded, and helped rule, one of Neopia’s finest cities. And if something within her changed… she can change again, if she chooses. I won’t take any life unless I’m forced to.”

     “And how many of your people must suffer for the sake of two—and not just any two people, but two people who have harmed so many others?” Seshatia asked. “Should all your subjects live in fear for the sake of your convictions, because you won’t make the difficult choices that would keep them safe? You are the Faerie Queen. Act like it.”

     Fyora took a deep breath. “I respect you greatly,” said Fyora. “And I honour what you’ve accomplished. But may I remind you that I’ve been Queen for centuries longer than you ever were.”

     “And I was the one who made you Queen,” Seshatia snapped. “I was the one who built Faerieland! I was the one who united the warring faerie clans—and I did it by making sacrifices you never had to.”

     After Seshatia (though she’d gone by another name back then) had abdicated in favour of her protege, believing a faerie raised in peaceful times would be a more fitting ruler for a time of peace, she’d cast a spell to hide her identity from almost everyone save Fyora. Now only vague memories of the First Queen remained; her original name and appearance had disappeared from all written documents as well as the memories of most of those who’d known her. And then, after taking on a new name—one inspired by ancient Lost Desert mythology, a topic she’d rather enjoyed researching when she gained more time to read for her own enjoyment—she took up a new job that would give the new Queen an excuse to call upon Seshatia when Fyora wanted guidance from her predecessor, and that, yes, could largely be done from a seated position.

     Seshatia had found she quite liked being a librarian. Ruling the Faerieland Library System was somewhat less stressful than ruling all of Faerieland; it was highly unlikely that any library-related decisions she made would plunge Faerieland into armed conflict. It felt ironic that the “bad days” when she could barely get out of her wheelchair—or sometimes even out of bed without medication—became fewer when her job became so much less urgent. I

     “Yes,” said Fyora. “You did. You were the First Queen, and I honour you for that—all the more because almost no one else can. But I am the Faerie Queen now, and the choices I make will not always be the ones you would. You questioned me when I let the Darkest Faerie live, back when we thought she’d destroyed the city of Altador, but you accepted my choice in the end. Faerieland endures, broken but still strong, and I will do no less for my former student than for my former colleague.”

     “You at least had an excuse with the Darkest Faerie,” said Seshatia. “Using Jerdana’s Orb and not shattering the statue afterwards could at least be seen as respecting Jerdana’s last wishes. But this…” Seshatia gripped the edge of the table. “You’re letting your pointless guilt for your fallen student stop you from ending her threat, once and for all.”

     “I’m not you,” said Fyora. “You chose me as heir because I wasn’t you—because vengeance isn’t something that drives me, or else I might not have forgiven the difficult choice you made about my mother.”

     Seshatia couldn’t quite hide her flinch.

     Fyora hadn’t thrown her mother’s fate—one more loss in a time of conflict, not at Seshatia’s hand, but through her orders—in Seshatia’s face like that since Fyora’s adolescence.

     Shortly after Seshatia had become the Faerie Queen, she’d come across a young faerie girl—one who looked strangely familiar—mediating a conflict between two of her peers. She made inquiries, learned that the girl’s name was Fyora, and discovered whose daughter Fyora had been.

     Adopting her had been penance, of a sort. Fyora had been too young when her mother passed to have any real memories of her mother, but Seshatia had told Fyora everything when she invited Fyora to live with her in the palace.

     It was something that had always hung between them, but Fyora… had accepted it, and accepted Seshatia’s explanation of why she’d done as she had. And Seshatia had done her best—not to replace Fyora’s lost mother, but to stand in, as best as she could, to raise her.

     “I did what I had to do,” said Seshatia. “I took the path I judged best for faeriekind. As is the duty of the Faerie Queen.”

     “And I have done my duty for centuries,” said Fyora. “If you still wore the crown, I know you would have destroyed some whom I have spared. But you don’t. You gave it up of your own accord.”

     “And I wonder,” said Seshatia, “if I should regret that.”

     Fyora’s gaze never left Seshatia’s.

     “Does your old life call you, then, Queen Titania?” Fyora asked. “Will you take up your sceptre and spear again? I’ve kept them safe in the palace armoury; you could summon them to your hand in an instant. If you broke the spell-of-forgetting, I’m certain you’d find faeries who’d rally to the First Queen’s side to depose me. It’s an opportunity some have been eager for—I hold no illusions that I’m loved by all. And yet there are plenty who would remain loyal to me. It would be another ugly conflict, faerie against faerie, and to the victor go the ruins.”

     Seshatia took a deep breath to calm herself.

     Then another.

     And another.

     Then she took her crutches, shoved herself to her feet, and said “I have nothing more to say to you, Your Majesty. If you have need of my library’s resources, send a messenger.”

     Without waiting for a response, she turned towards the door.

     “Be well, Seshatia,” said Fyora.

     Seshatia stood still for a moment.

     Then, without another word, she left.

     Once she was safely back in her office at the library, she let herself sink back into her chair, burying her face in her hands.

     Fyora, you foolish child, she thought. I hope you haven’t doomed us all.

     I hope I haven’t doomed us all.

     It would be a long time, she thought, until they spoke again.

     ---

     Epilogue – The Wraith Resurgence

     The Wild Woods were dark and uncomfortably damp, and an infirmary was never a pleasant place to visit, but despite the fact that Seshatia knew she’d be of no practical use—that if anything, she’d be of more help in her library, doing research about the new wraith, or pseudo-wraith, threat—she couldn’t bear to stay away.

     “How is she?” Seshatia asked.

     Taelia paused before answering, which was never a good sign.

     “The Queen doesn’t seem to be getting worse,” Taelia said at last. “But she hasn’t fully woken up since we found her. Sometimes she stirs a bit, but she doesn’t respond when spoken to.”

     Seshatia nodded. “May I see her?”

     “Yes,” said Taelia. “Of course. We’ve been having someone sit with her at all times in case there’s any change in her condition, but I can ask them to step out to give you a few minutes of privacy.”

     Taelia knew that Seshatia and Fyora were close. Even after their fight after the fall of Faerieland, Seshatia remained documented as one of Fyora’s next-of-kin able to make medical decisions if Fyora were incapacitated, though of course Taelia didn’t know the full truth behind their shared past.

     Seshatia entered the little “room”—a small area separated from the rest of the infirmary by curtains that offered at least a gesture towards privacy. Once the infirmary worker vacated the chair next to the bed, Seshatia sank heavily into the seat.

     It wasn’t one of Seshatia’s bad days today. But it wasn’t exactly one of her good ones either, and with all this cold, damp, stress, and strange magic in the air—plus the little twinges she was already starting to feel as she moved—she knew she’d be spending tomorrow in her chair.

     But that was tomorrow.

     Seshatia reached out and took Fyora’s hand. Fyora’s eyelids fluttered a bit, but the Faerie Queen made no other response. It was possible that even the fluttering of her eyelids just now had been pure coincidence.

     She cast a quick spell to keep her words from being heard by anyone but Fyora, if Fyora could hear at all.

     “Fyora,” said Seshatia. “I don’t know if you can hear me. But…”

     She took a deep breath. “I don’t want the last time I spoke with you to be… what it was, years ago.”

     Faeries could hold grudges for a long, long time, as befit their long, long lifespans—and that argument at the palace had, indeed, been the last time Seshatia spoke directly to Fyora.

     As Seshatia had demanded, Fyora had sent messengers when she needed something from Seshatia or her library, and Seshatia had continued to do her duty towards Faerieland—research, most often, and sometimes using her wide web of contacts to locate rare and ancient texts.

     But now…

     “I don’t understand why you went off by yourself,” said Seshatia. “I know I taught you better than that—never to let your guard down, not to leave your guards behind, and never to be an easy target. But… I suppose now isn’t the time.”

     Fyora’s chest continued to rise and fall, her breaths soft and steady. That was something to be grateful for, at least.

     “If you wake up,” said Seshatia, “I’ll… I won’t promise not to scold you. Because I will. But I’ll spare you the worst of it. Just… come back to me.”

     Fyora continued to stare up at nothing.

     “Please,” said Seshatia. “Speak to me. Curse my name, if you want. Say anything. Just tell me you’re still in there.”

     Fyora’s face remained still, her expression perfectly blank. Like a mask—and not the Queenly one. Seshatia would have welcomed that. She’d have been thrilled to be greeted with cold formality or unveiled anger; either one would be better than this empty silence.

     “You’re the only family I have,” Seshatia said, leaning in. Her own mother had passed long, long ago, years before Seshatia—when she’d been called Titania—had become the first Faerie Queen, and Seshatia had no other living relatives.

     “You’re… I never let you call me mother. But you’re the closest thing I have to a daughter,” Seshatia said. “I don’t regret making you my heir. Truly. I’ve disagreed with some choices you’ve made, but… you’ve held Faerieland together for centuries. You’ve maintained the peace I fought so hard for.”

     She swallowed.

     “If you don’t recover,” said Seshatia, “I don’t know what Faerieland will do.”

     She closed her eyes.

     “I don’t know what I’ll do,” she whispered.

     Fyora’s hand remained limp and still. Seshatia released it gently, letting it rest on top of the blankets once more.

     “Come back to us, Fyora,” said Seshatia. “Come back to me, and I swear I’ll never go this long without speaking with you ever again. Whatever happens… you mean the world to me.”

     Still no response. Still no movement beyond the subtle rise and fall of Fyora’s breath.

     She placed her hand over Fyora’s, one last time.

     “Please. Get better. For everyone’s sake,” said Seshatia. “Including mine.”

     Leaning in, she gently kissed Fyora’s forehead.

     Then, carefully, she got to her feet and made her way out of the room, out of the infirmary, back to her old familiar library.

     There was nothing to do now but wait.

     The End.