AN: This is my first attempt at writing fiction in over 4 years. Please let me know what you think.

I am not Tamora Pierce. I own nothing.

She gasped, the missive almost flying out of her hands as her knees weakened and she dropped onto the couch.

"Rebellion in Copper Isles. Raka, luarin nobles unite under usurper Dovasary Balitang, 14. Gods intervene. Monarchs dead. No counter attack foreseen. Coronation Midwinter."

Her husband sat beside her, winded from hastening to deliver the news. "I got it from the emperor himself. It must have happened just after we left," he said quietly. "Did you know?"

She was about to answer no, but suddenly clues that should have been obvious- and would have been had she not been chasing this boy or that- became shockingly clear, as if the ghosts of her mother was speaking in her ear. The twice royal prophecy, raka bowing, the ever watchful servants, the unrest in the capital that summer…

Gods, she realized, it was supposed to have been me.

For a second in her mind's eye she saw herself clad in armor, leading troops, just like Queen Thayet or the Lioness; in beautiful silk on a thoroughbred, riding through streets of cheering, loving subjects; on a throne dispensing justice to luarin landowners, freeing slaves.

What had she done, running away? Had she ruined her destiny, betrayed her ancestors, angered the gods? Now her little sister would be queen in her stead.

"Sarai? Sarai?" Her husband's concerned voice pulled her out of her reveries. His hands on her arm were cool, a healer's soft touch even without magic.

"I am fine, Zaimid. It's just a shock."

"It is. Dove, queen?"

Hearing it out loud made the waves of shock roll over her once more. It was too sudden, too unexpected. Her head was in a jumble of emotion and nerves. She needed to think, to process.

"Zaimid, I'm going out for a ride."

Fifteen minutes later she rode out of the palace stables and through the city, finally reaching the barren areas where until recently the emperor's predecessor had kept one of the largest standing armies in the world. Now, as Kaddar reduced forces, there was room to race and gallop, something that had always been necessary for Sarai to let off steam.

And she realized, as she raced across the plain, at one with the horse and the wind, what she would have missed if she had not come to Carthak. The harsh beauty of the land and its fiery, vibrant and proud people. A newfound friendship with the Empress, who had taken pity on a fellow outsider. Living without the burden of her race. A new home, a loving husband and the tiny life that now grew inside her. But mostly, freedom. Freedom she would never have had at home, burdened by her race and the prophecy. Freedom that she needed more than anything, and would never give up now that she had found it, not even for glory and a throne. It was selfish, but she knew it was true to the core of her being.

Tears slid down her cheeks as she slowed her mare to a walk. I'm sorry mother, for letting you down. I'm sorry, ancestors, for deserting you. And I'm sorry, little sister, for leaving you to carry my burden.

As the sun began to set over the harsh Carthaki dunes, a much calmer Sarai turned her mare back toward the palace. A relieved Zaimid met her in their rooms and pulled her into a strong embrace, at once understanding and reassuring. Later as she blew out the candles to sleep, she whispered a prayer.

Gods all bless, Dove. Please be a better queen than I could ever have been.