Cramped inside the carriage with a half-mad elf and an entourage of guards, Myra Isidore was wondering how best to kill Medea.

It certainly wouldn't be easy-she understood that. Especially with the gods-cursed crown on her head, controlling her every movement. But there had to be some way. The sliver couldn't be impenetrable.

Over her hundred and eight years, she had learnt that nothing was impenetrable.

But how to do it? Even Lyra—for the Mother still watched over her, even now Dorgon was behind her—remained silent on that front. The crown wouldn't allow her to rip it off. Of course, even if she could, she had no doubt that the sliver would remain. Medea wouldn't risk her control for something as mere as a crown.

So, it was likely that only the Empress could remove the sliver from her brain. With her sons dead, she was the only one left with shadow magic. Neither the daughter nor the alchemist had the gift.

"Can you work against the enchantment?" She whispered to Layla so the guards couldn't hear.

"Oh, I'm sure I could," she said confidently. "If, of course, the crown would let me actually start Singing. The magic comes in after the first note or so. I have to actually sing for the magic to work. And right now, the sliver won't let me open my mouth if it knows I'm going to try to do just that."

"Great," she grumbled.

"There's nothing we can do," Layla said softly. "Nothing."

"There is always something," she growled at her. "There is always something. I will find something, gods damn it, because I will never give up on my people!"

The look that Layla gave her was so mournful, so devoid of hope that she wondered what had happened to the Elfin Queen to make her look at the world that way.

"What happened to you?" Myra asked her. "What happened, to make you so hopeless?"

"I lost everything, once," Layla said. "But that didn't break me. I destroyed my cities to save my peoples. I sacrificed everything for them to have a chance to get away. But that wasn't what broke me."

There was an unearthly silence as the carriage rolled across the barren hills.

"My aunt betrayed me. That wasn't what broke me. I spent five years in Dorgon. That wasn't what broke me." There was a single tear sliding down the Elfin Queen's pale-as-porcelain cheek.

"Do you know what broke me, in the end? It was that it was all for nothing, in the end. My parents died, my cities were destroyed, I was sent to Dorgon. I suffered it all, was willing to suffer it all. What broke me was that it was all for nothing. My not-aunt went and squandered it.

So, don't say I am betraying my people. Don't say I am giving up. I fought like you did, sacrificed like you did, gave everything and never gave up like you did. And do you know what my eighteen years have taught me? They taught me it was all for nothing.

"The Empress asked me five years ago if I would surrender and serve her. I said no. You did the same, I'm sure. And where does it leave us? Five years deep in that gods-cursed place with nothing to show for it. On the same path, despite everything we sacrificed.

"So, don't ask me to get involved in whatever hopeless plan you come up with. I wish you well with it, I truly do-but don't ask me to hope again."

A silence fell over them, and Myra stared at out at the window. Hopeless as Layla might be, she would not give up. Over her one hundred and eight years, she had learnt that not everything was for naught. She had fought with her fellow warriors for decades and earned her people those precious decades of freedom.

And she would believe, always, that they were right to have fought the Empress when she came. That if they knew were all doomed anyway, they should still have fought. There was value in standing up and fighting, even against impossible odds and to no real gain. There had to be. Myra had told herself that it had been worth it, even if they were doomed, because she could not bear it, after so many had been slaughtered, if it had been worthless.

The days passed like sand running through her fingertips. Kazimiar passed by, and Cobalt followed it. Myra and Layla were led, hooded, through the ports and unto a boat. Just like they had in the carriage, guards stood outside their cabins. She attempted a conversation with the Elfin Queen, if only not to go mad, but Layla was distant.

As the hours passed, she could only guess what the Empress had in store for the two of them. Time went on, and her fears festered. What would Medea make the Dragon and the Elfin Queen do, to further the destruction of their peoples? At night, Myra had nightmares of being forced to execute her own, to murder Kestra. The second, of course, made no sense. Kestra was already dead.

And perhaps, she thought to herself in her worst moments, that had been a mercy. Perhaps it would have been better if her beloved StarSoul had died five years ago, before this living hell could come across her nation.

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Layla

The seas of the Asrieli Archipelago carried the familiar scent of wild magic. Instead of being comforting, it was bitter. Layla knew what that wild magic was being used for in the isles she had once loved. Pooled into the Empress' already great power supply.

Medea had been careful to tell her everything of her people's suffering. But apparently, she'd been smart enough not to broach the subject with Myra. Layla, she knew, was too broken for the tales to enrage her. But the valkyrie general, the Dragon...if Myra was ever to know of what was being done to her precious Miras, then nothing, not even that gods-cursed crown, would be able to contain her rage.

It was Lysandra, not her mother, that came to greet Layla on the morning they arrived in Veron and Celeste. Her two beloved homes. Ruined beyond repair, enough that they brought back no memories. She could still visualise what the twin cities had once been. Beautiful marketplaces and theatres filled with music in Veron, flowing rivers and crystal skyscrapers in Celeste.

"You will greet your people today, Queen. Or are you a Lady, amongst Veronians and Celestials?"

"I am one of them," she replied simply. "Neither Lady, nor Queen. I am a daughter of the twin cities."

"Nice sentiment," Lysandra quipped. "Unfortunately, they won't be thinking you one of them after today."

"Where is my aunt?" She asked.

"She is working from Kallias to avoid...unpleasant business."

Of course. Because as a MindWeaver, Talia's conversation to Medea's side could be ignored. She was better off putting her powers to use. But as their long-awaited Queen...no, her 'betrayal' held sway over every elf in the archipelago.

"How shall I dance on your strings today?"

"Mother's written you a rather compelling speech to give to your people." Lysandra sniped. "They'll scarcely believe it. Their precious Queen, fallen so far."

"'Better a fallen Queen than a dog running after her mistress," Myra snapped. "Or do you think that being your mother's yes-woman is giving you any power?"

Lysandra burst into cackles.

"My mother's yes-woman?" She asked. "Oh, burning suns above, Myra. That is possibly the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"At least the previous heir had some spine," the general hissed. "But you-scampering after your mother like some trained pet."

"Markus was fool," Lysandra replied calmly. "And so are you, if you continue this way. Power shifts, Myra. Allegiances must change. Adapt."

"You are a spineless coward," she spat.

"Enough jabbering," Medea commanded, entering the room. Her black eyes glinted with hatred. "Daughter, prepare Layla."

————————————————

Two hours and an eternity later, Layla felt like a dressed-up doll.

Her moon-white hair, once ragged and matted was braided in typical elfin style, with moonstone and amethysts-the sacred gems of the Elfin Queen-tucked in the braid. She had so much make-up on her face that she wondered if any real skin was showing any more. Her purple eyes were brought out by something they called eyeliner. She was wearing a beautiful white and gold dress, paired with moonstone and amethyst jewellery.

On her head rested that miserable crown, overflowing with those sacred jewels.

If Layla had been anyone else, she would have been killed on sight for dressing like this. Only the Elfin Queens could wear amethyst and moonstone.

When she thought of it, the signs had always been in place. Purple eyes, to match amethysts. Moon-white hair, to represent moonstones. The most powerful magic in recorded history.

Of course, every Lord or Lady had the Elfin Queen's blood. They had been expecting the heir to come from those lines. So, it made sense perfect sense that the heir would come from two lines with the long-ago monarch's blood. Shivering slightly, she remembered the prophecy:

A worthy one shall rise, in a time of shadow,

As the islands rose with the first, they shall fall with the second

By the time the true heir reaches her thirteenth year.

A mirror of lightning shall stand beside her.

From fire and from ice, the Queen shall be born.

The time of shadow had to refer to Mede's rule, and the falling of the islands clearly meant the damage her Song had done five years ago. The fourth line referred to her sister, the fifth to her parents.

This was the thing about prophecies. You only figured them out after they had happened.

"Anything wrong, Layla?" Lysandra asked, in her too-sweet too-innocent voice. She didn't reply.

"Mother will tell you what to say, through the sliver," the princess explained. "Your people will be assembled in the square. Be grateful for that. You brought them an hour's rest from the Draining."

Layla does not reply. That is the game between them now. Lysandra will rip right into her, trying to make her respond. She will not speak.

"Come, my queen," the princess sneered, mocking and led her through the endless ruined streets. Someone had thrown a hood over her head at short notice; she would not be recognised.

When Layla saw what had become of her city-states, her beloved home, some part of her switched off. She refused to take it in. Refused to do anything but cocoon herself in a world where this hell on earth was not real. This could not be real. This could not be Veron. It was all a lie.

The guards led her roughly onto the stage, and Layla was vaguely aware she had taken the hood off. The people assembled before her gasped.

"The Queen is here!" Someone shouted.

"Layla Elenith will save us!" Another cried. One made a move to get onto the stage, the guards pushed him back. Suddenly the crowd was a wild, writhing thing, struggling against the human soldiers at every corner. Everyone was shouting that the Queen had come, that the Queen would save them. Suddenly, her will was torn to pieces by the sliver, and Medea began to speak for her.

"Stop." The word came from her lips, but she did not say it.

"People of Veron," said the girl who was both Medea and Layla. "End your struggles against our Empress."

Most of the crowd froze, shell-shocked.

"For many years, I thought as you did. But Empress Medea and her court showed me the truth.

"The Witchkiller is our saviour, not our enslaver. She is the true ruler of all the Lost Continent. She, who saved us from the witch kind.

"I am the Elfin Queen. The long-awaited heir of Aella Elenith. The voice of the Eldest upon the earth. I speak true.

Medea Crimson is the rightful ruler of all peoples, human, elf and valkyrie.

She is meant to rule all.

"For so long, I was as doubtful as you. But I have learnt from my mistakes. And as a token of her generosity, the Empress has allowed me to retain my duty, as a queen to you all."

Layla watched, as the faces of her people went from hopeful to shocked to angry.

"Pretender!" One of them cried out. "You're no Elfin Queen. Your parents would be ashamed." The rest of the crowd took up the cry. Someone began to throw something. The guards pushed them back again, and Lysandra dragged her away.

If she had considered it for more than half a second, she would never have had the opportunity to strike. For a single moment, Layla twisted away from the princess' grip and gave a desperate, pleading look to her people. Hardly anything. She only hoped that enough had seen it.

Once Lysandra had dragged her off the stage and into the same room where they had dressed her up and braided her hair, Medea slapped her, hard enough to sting.

"What were you thinking?" The Empress hissed. "If anyone had seen that..." Layla only raised her chin, defiant.

"I hope they did," she hissed at her. "I hope they all saw it. I hope that tomorrow they began to whisper that their Queen is enslaved and not dead after all. They will rise up then."

"Do you know the consequences of your actions?" Medea asked. Layla froze.

"You can do nothing to me," she replied. "I am already in your thrall."

"Oh, really?" Medea asked. "There's an awful lot I can do to you, little queen. Guards, bring in the one who threw the stone!"

"No," Layla begged. "I'll obey from now on. Please."

"You won't learn with apologies," the Empress hissed. "Filth like you only learn with blood."

In twenty minutes, an elfin man was dragged in by two of the soldiers. Guilt, it seemed, was a violent sick feeling in the pit of your stomach-or was that just because she was feeling nauseous.

"Kill him," Medea commanded. Not to the guards, she realised. No, she wanted Layla to do it.

Her will snapped like a twig under the weight of the sliver, and the Empress forced her to pick up the sword.

"Please," the man begged. "It was only a stone." It wasn't because of the stone, Layla knew. It was because of her.

"Do you see what happens when you don't behave, Layla?" Medea asked. "Do you see what happens to your people?"  The man continued to thrash and beg, and Layla continued to draw ever nearer, blade in hand.

"Do it," Medea hissed. "Do it now."

Everything. Layla pushed against the sliver with everything she had, a sheer wave of all the will she had left. Her hand still lifted the blade in the air.

She still sliced right through his neck.