The blood of countless queens stains my hands. The scourge to which they fell awoke from its dormant state, looking for the blood of our queen, Lalita, My mother. It added my mother's soul to its collection.
It is my task to avenge them, to lead the people against this army of the north, but I wait. While the people cry for revenge and cry for the blood of the soldiers in the army of Calscuri, yet I block their cries from my mind and stay locked up in the palace. The villagers do not understand the hopelessness of our situation, even the army that grows steadily at the keep's feet has very little chance of changing the outcome of the coming war. I stay, the only chance our country has in even surviving the coming slaughter is strategy, tactics and knowledge of the land. I knowledge I must learn. And quickly.
The winter snows will soon have us in their cold embrace, concealing us from the searching gaze of the Calscuri, buying us a little time. With the spring I hope to have enough knowledge to save us. Regardless, in spring I must lead our warriors to almost certain death and possibly join them in that honour. It is expected, for I am their queen and the lives of our country lie in my hands, the ability for extracting vengeance rests also, solely, on me. I am young in years but old in the ways of war. I am their leader, their matriarch.
I sit on the throne of blood until I can purify it through war, when it can finally convert to the throne of honour and bravery.
I am the law, this is my word. Queens will be avenged; our people will find freedom or die trying. I am their hope. I am Anwyn.
The moon still hung in the sky, while the sun struggled in vain to free itself from the bonds of cloud that held it tight behind a veil of fog. The clouds had fellen to the ground bringing with them a damp chill that permeated all. They lay unmoving on the cobbled streets, swallowing everything that came near them. The villagers walked slowly, each holding a lamp to light their way. None could see the other in front of them, although they were close enough to fall over each other, the lamps barely sharing enough light to see by. The fog spread around them, spreading like disease, covering them in sweat and chilling them to their bones and adding to the despair that hung over each person.
The murder of Queen Lalita was still fresh in the minds of the people, from the smallest child to Muna's oldest priest. The scent from the pyre still floated softly in the air and served as a constant reminder to what they had lost.
The four assassins responsible for her death hung from the wall of the main castle, their corpses bloated and a pale blue. Crows gathered in flocks around them, their eyes were missing leaving dark cavities in their faces.