Ten


The Queen Astrid swiftly cuts her way through the water, her bow parting the river, making it foam and froth up the dark brown wood and the painted golden ornaments twining around the long rows of restless oars.

Silently, dawn is breaking.

A hundred oarsmen's labored grunts accompany the singing of the birds like a choir that announces the beginning of the day, their maestro the rhythmic drums giving the beat. A similar symphony sounds out of the belly of Farore's Wind leading the way, but neither the crew of Din's Fire, nor that of Nayru's Love trailing behind can be heard on the deck of Queen Astrid, where Zelda stands and observes the Crimean countryside pass by.

Everywhere she looks, the lands are luscious and fertile, the deep green of the grass and shining gold of the crops well visible even in the still murky light of the morning. Cows and horses out to grass are colourful spots here and there, paying the already busy morning traffic on the river no attention.

Now and then Zelda spots tall figures in the green. Farmers are already out on their fields, working the land in the first weak light of the day, and somewhere between two villages, a paved road follows the river for a few miles before disappearing in the darkness of a thick forest.

There are a few villages on the riverside; accumulations of twenty to thirty houses where the flow is as broad as five galleys lined up from bow to stern, with an according amount of fishing boats tied to simple docks. Upstream, where the river branches out, fishermen sit with their fishing rods in the water, patiently waiting for something to bite. Most of them don't take notice of the four foreign ships passing by, the three frigates and the galley, but some stand up and observe the little fleet from afar: Nayru's Love with her blue sails and forty guns, Farore's Wind with sails the shape and colour of big leaves, Din's Fire with red sails that look like they're ablaze when they fly in the wind, and the Queen Astrid, the biggest and most beautiful of the four, with her dark purple sails and the golden figurehead that glistens in the light of both the sun and the moon.

The only gold these men have seen before is the one growing on their fields.

Zelda hasn't slept in two days. The whole journey east has been unnerving so far; she should be tired, but here on her galley's bow, the fresh wind is hitting her straight in the face and keeping her awake. Without anything to continuously distract her, she's had more time to think about what to say to her brother when she'll see him again after such a long time— still, she's uncertain.

Three days ago they left the never-ending tides of the ocean and entered Crimean territory though a narrow strait, at the mouth of which stood two gigantic swords reaching as high into the sky as the lighthouse in Castle Town: a golden one on the northern, and a silver one on the southern cliff. Once they had passed between the two monstrosities and the crew on deck had gone back from gaping to working, the ships had floated into the bay and a city unlike any other Zelda had ever seen: Port Toha, the Floating City, westernmost trading hub of the Commonwealth of Tellius, military haven, and dominion of Lord Ike the Wretched.

An economic and architectural wonder, only the historic centre of the city is built on the mainland. As the trade and with it Toha's importance and population grew, the village had, over the course of just five years, first morphed into a town and then a veritable city. Since the original small settlement was locked on three sides by cliffs and barren hills, the village had expanded into the only possible direction: West, onto the bay, where over eighty percent of the city now rests on artificial islets.

"I assume we're not to stop and stock up on provisions?" Lord Ronan murmured to Zelda after joining her on the upper deck to marvel at the sight of blue marble palaces, wooden shacks, pompous temples, and modest chapels protruding from the water.

There are no horses or carriages in Toha; the only means of transportation are one's own feet, and flat boats built purposely to navigate the streets of water.

Where the lagoon was deep enough, they passed gigantic, barbaric-looking warships with rows of round, colourful shields on the railings, and figureheads carved out of wood: Grotesque grimaces fashioned after both animals and men.

"No, not here," Zelda said, "what we have will have to suffice until we reach the capital." Both the queen and her advisor silently stood observing Lord Ike emerge from the lower deck. The waves in the bay are always more gentle than on the open sea, and his steps looked more determined than during the rest of the voyage, which he'd spent leaned over the railing, puking his soul out more frequently than a woman quick with child. He'd been forced to shave the shaggy beard not a week after leaving behind Hyrule, and by the time the coast of Tellius had been in sight, he had a lantern jaw.

"I wonder… I wonder why someone so seasick is lord of a city built on water, of all things," Ronan wondered aloud as the wretch leaned over the railing once more, this time to wistfully stare at a lively market on a big piazza to their right.

"Testament to the beorc senselessness."

Rubbing his old, bent back, Ronan looked up to his liege, apparently impressed enough to look surprised. "Huh. I admit, that does sound reasonable."

Of course it did, because what other explanation could there be? The wretch had already looked queasy during the stopover in Port Monnaie, a Hylian trading hub a week's worth of travel east of Sombra, where the massive Queen Astrid had had to cast anchor a mile away due to the shallow water, and queen, nobles, ladies-in-waiting, servants, and wretch had to reach the island itself via sturdy little boats.

The planks squeak under someone's footsteps, and Zelda's musings are disrupted. "There. Do you see it, Your Grace?" A man even older than Ronan steps to Zelda's side and points at something in the distance, something they are slowly approaching. Despite his age, the Queen Astrid's captain stands proud and tall, his broad shoulders and weather-beaten skin identifying him as a man who's spent his entire life on ships. He's served under Zelda's father and her father's mother already; his beard is thick and white and reaches down to his belt, and the tips of his ears already bend down.

Zelda narrows her eyes, and indeed, she can make something out. "I see… Lights. Yes." She grips the railing and leans over the edge. The wood presses against her belly, while the captain laughs the laughter of a man who knows more about water than he does about earth.

"Careful. I already had to jump in after you once, and I fear I was in much better shape twenty years ago. Cold shocks can be deadly."

"I don't remember."

"I'd be surprised if you did. You were small." He strokes his beard, as if suddenly being reminded how fast time passes.

Zelda digs her nails into the wood. As much as she wishes to dwell on better times, the future waits. "Is that Melior?"

"Aye, that is Melior. Can you see the blue flame?" It's more white than blue, a weak shimmer in the dark morning sky, but it is there, a single bright spot amidst the golden city lights. "On top of the castle. It burns whenever the queen is at home. We'll be there before the sun reaches its zenith."


As Zelda steps out of the carriage onto Melior Castle's courtyard, she can tell that the colour the flame on top of the highest tower burns in is indeed blue. A thin servant with even thinner purple hair solemnly offers Zelda his hand to help her out of the vehicle, but is left ignored.

And there he is: Link. Her brother stands on the wide steps at the castle's entrance, between a blond man and a servant woman— with a child in his arms. Oh, Goddesses.

Zelda's heart stops for a moment while she climbs the first set of steps. It can't be. He wouldn't do that to her, no. Link is a fool, but not an idiot.

But then the child turns, revealing rounded ears between thick strands of short green hair, and Zelda's heart rate goes back to normal. Link's superior Hylian genes would undoubtedly dominate. She does the math and remembers that it's not possible anyway; the kid, a little boy apparently, appears to be at least one year of age.

A man with a face Zelda remembers steps up to her first after she's arrived at the top of the stairs: Geoffrey of Crimea, King Consort. Dressed in a shining green doublet that looks just terrible with his sky blue hair, he comes to a stop a mere foot in front of Zelda and grabs her hand before she can react. "Your Majesty," he says, firmly holding on to her hand as she tries to rip it away, "I trust you remember me? It is an honour to welcome you to Crimea." Then he rips her hand up and places a wet kiss on its back, and Zelda fears she might gag.

There are two things Zelda wishes she could chop off right then and there: Her hand, and Geoffrey's head.

Geoffrey steps aside, and a tall blond man in a thick dark coat hurries up to Zelda. She can't place his face, and she's sure she would've remembered this portly man who moves with the grace of a dancer. He bows his head. "Your Majesty. The winds have sung tales of your arrival, and the day we welcome thee in our peaceful land has finally come. I am Bastian, Count of Fayre." While Zelda blinks in confusion at this man's pompous speech (yes, she definitively would've remembered him), Bastian eyes the queen's hands. She's firmly clasped them together, and she has no intentions to let this peacock lick her naked skin as well.

"It's- I am glad to be received at this court as one of you." Zelda's put on her smallest and politest smile. The lie tastes like sweet caramel on her tongue, and she rejoices at Geoffrey's frozen smile. He knows precisely what she thinks, she can see it— the exact opposite.

"My wife will greet you inside… Though someone else was quite eager to be amongst the first to welcome you." With a brief nod of his head towards the rest of the welcoming committee, Geoffrey gives a signal, and Link comes walking towards them with the child in his arms. "You seem to have lost someone on the way from the ships?..." Geoffrey cautiously notes after peeking towards the group of carriages Zelda and her entourage have arrived in.

"Oh, he's well and alive, ran to the next best brothel the moment we docked," Zelda informs the two men with a shrug of her shoulders, then furrows her brows at them sending her puzzled looks.

"Why— did no courtesans accompany you on your journey?" Bastian tentatively inquires.

Zelda snorts. "So we'd have to carry several weeks' worth of additional provisions? My ships are not travelling brothels, Count Bastian, however lucrative that would be."

Bastian seems to have swallowed his flowery tongue, and Geoffrey just blinks a few times until fixing his stiff smile.

Link has arrived —with a somewhat nervous smile— and the child in his arms is sucking on a thumb and eyeing Zelda with small, amber eyes. "Say hello to the queen, huh?" Link encourages the child… But all the thing does is chortle and stare.

Zelda's irritated. She doesn't care about some Crimean spawn, she is just wondering why her brother's holding it as if to shield himself from her. She's not a fan of grand physical gestures, but after so many months, she does feel a certain desire to have her brother take her hands and squeeze them, the way he would after returning from a long, diplomatic trip through Hyrule. "Say hello, Ellie. Say hello."

Geoffrey's smile suddenly turns genuine. "Eleonore insisted to come greet you with us."

So it's a girl, the Crown Princess, no less. Why it's dressed like a poor baker's boy, Zelda wouldn't know, but it does look like the bitch queen who is its mother. Heat flares up in Zelda's chest. This is what she should've gotten in exchange for Link, the heir, not some base-born murderer. Her gaze burns holes into the child's face, but the thing is oblivious to Zelda's boiling hate and decides to reach out to her after all with its spit-covered fingers, much to Link, Geoffrey, and Bastian's delight.

Fortunately, the brood's arm is too short to touch Zelda. And Link has enough sense not to take a step forward. "Hello. Ellie. He-llo."

The brood frowns. "He-lo." The small hand snaps back, and the brood sticks its thumb back into its mouth.

"Come here," Geoffrey laughs and gladly accepts the child as Link hands it over to him.

"She's a shy one," Link says, looking down. There is a wet glimmer to his eyes as he turns back to Zelda. "Half a year has it been."

Zelda doesn't say anything. She kneads her hands and smiles, feeling conflicted. All these sleepless nights, all these wasted thoughts, they've resulted in nothing. An answer— she'd give her realm for an answer, someone to tell her what to feel, for once. But if she had no realm, she wouldn't be conflicted either. Someone's heavy breathing reaches her ears. Ronan seems to have finally climbed up the steps, and with him the rest of the Hylian entourage.

"More or less," she finally utters, "but you don't even remember the number of Lady Leporida's daughters, so… close enough."

Then Zelda finds herself in a tight embrace from her brother. She unclasps her hands as she hears him sniffle, and she slowly places them on Link's arms. All at once, every last conflicting feeling has disappeared, like a chocolate cupcake left alone with Lady Fatface. Link's always been the one to openly display his emotions, but suddenly Zelda can't find it in her to let go of him.

"You haven't changed." His voice sounds breathy. "Sweet sister, I prayed to the Goddesses for your safe arrival, and it appears they have heard me."

And that's it. Zelda loosens her awkward grip on Link, and he steps back, rubbing his noise in embarrassment. A sheepish smile plays around the corners of his mouth.

"I need to introduce you to someone."

"You mean you need to introduce someone to me," she corrects him, and Link's grin grows wide. He takes her hand to briefly squeeze it.

"Aye. I've told her so much about you, and she cannot wait to meet you. I believe you will get along well; I prayed for that too. Come," he says, and with eager steps begins to walk towards the people waiting at the castle doors.

Then I hope you'll not turn a heathen, should the Goddesses choose to be deaf. Zelda takes a deep breath before taking her dress in her hand and moving to follow Link. She'll have to also have him meet the captain of the Queen Astrid— if her brother needs to so badly thank someone for Zelda's safe arrival, it should be the man who steered the fleet out of a tempest last week, not three figments who are given credit for every single hard working Hylian's accomplishment. It'll probably be a waste of time either way. She can very well imagine the captain joining Link in his praises to Farore for-

"Your Grace." Out of nowhere, Zelda's hand is locked in a tight grip. In a gentle but determined move, she's turned around to face the attacker: Count Bastian. His lips are wet as he presses them against Zelda's hand, and when he allows her to rip it from his fingers at last, she wishes his smile wouldn't be so shrewd.

Three things.

"Skin as soft as a newborn babe's. I feel secrets sticking on your hands, Your Grace."

"What you felt was your own saliva, my Lord. If you say it felt sticky, you should consider getting that examined." Perturbed and furious, Zelda automatically dries her hand on her one-of-a-kind dress and walks away. She's been to this city for half an hour, and she's hating it already.


Just as Zelda expected, the bitch has chosen to make the reception a demonstration of her power. She sits on a massive throne carved out of blue-veined marble.

The room seems to be bursting at the seams, Zelda notices as she marches towards its end, where the bitch makes no move to stand up and meet her guest at eye level. The throne is one bulky block, but as impressive as that is, it has a major flaw: It's not raised on a platform. Countless nobles have gathered like hens in a coop on the balconies and in the main hall; two long rows of soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder keep the nobility away from the centre. Zelda feels their eyes on her, striding past them.

So many people in here. It's like a rainbow come alive, a pink thatch of hair here, an orange one there— each colour is different, but there are comparatively little people with golden hair.

Suddenly Zelda isn't the anomaly anymore. Suddenly Link is.

She stops ten steps in front of the throne, hearing her score of Black Hands and even her brother come to a halt at a safe distance behind her. The bitch has gotten fat, Zelda decides, briefly taking in the sight of the impostor queen on her ostentatious throne.

"Have we ever met on a joyful occasion?" Zelda asks. Her voice is loud and steady, echoing through the colossal room.

Elincia smiles. "Is not a peace treaty a joyful occasion?"

"That depends entirely on the conditions of said treaty... And whether you're the party proposing or signing, mayhap."

"What about today?"

"This wedding is as much a cause for rejoicing as the treaty was."

"Then there is your answer." Elincia stands up at last; the thick damask silk of her dress straightens as she does so, revealing curves where there shouldn't be any. The size of her breasts, hidden behind the demurely cut fabric, seems to have doubled. "How do you like my Melior so far?"

She steps towards Zelda with her arms wide open, and Zelda in contrast starts kneading her hands again. "It's loud. Modern. What can I say after half a morning in this city?"

"Well, you got the gist. Everything's been rebuilt after the War of the Goddess, the birth rate's gone through the roof," for the first time, Elincia's smile reaches her eyes, "so of course it's loud."

Zelda's smile is honest as well. War of the Goddess. She hasn't heard anything half as funny for months. "I wonder what lovely view I have from my chamber, then. Overlooking any orphanages, perchance?" She hit the bull's eye, she can tell.

Elincia presses her lips together, and her smile grows hard and forced, but she steps forward. "Chambers in proximity of everything you could wish for," she promises. "It'll be as if you never left Hyrule. Just like at home."

Zelda can't pull away her hands as Elincia takes them into her own, not in front of hundreds of Crimean nobles, not in front of Link, so she takes a deep breath and smiles even wider at the woman before her. Something in the undertone of the bitch's words has made Zelda shiver, and she can only hope that her hands won't betray her.

Now they are soft and sticky alright, but it's not dark secrets. It's cold sweat.