[Shieba]

There was no luxury in being a wife of the Magelord.

She watched the seemingly harmless book on the table, the one that granted her power even though she had none at all. Her subordinates bowed before her, yet she knew how insignificant she really was.

She was the Second Empress Consort, though she could have just as well been the last. The First Empress Consort was loved by the people as the Commander-in-Chief of the forces of the Magedom and she was the one who sat next to the Magelord during all events. And the third one had been royalty from the beginning, bringing the army and money of a small kingdom with her into the marriage and then bore the Magelord a son, a heir.

And what did she have? What had the Magelord given her? The Arcane Academy. She had always been ambitious, had studied the arcane arts so long and for some time, she had thought that being granted the position of the head of the academy was all she could wish for. That researching the Chronicles, which all the magic they had were based on, was the greatest honor of all.

How wrong she had been.

[Shieba]

There was no glory in a research that took years to bring results. It was nothing like returning victorious after a battle at the head of the army and it was nothing like being the smiling wife able to present the prince, the future to the Magedom, to the cheering masses. The only way to keep her standing was producing results, researching more. Seeing more people die in front of her eyes.

Even after all the years of research, she still had no idea why only so few people could bear the power of the Chronicles and why even fewer of those got the ability to become Readers; to extract the information they – she – needed so much, just to perish a few years later from the strain.

It had been twenty years since she had started to study at the academy. In this time, she had seen twelve Readers die. Three of them had done so under her own orders, with her watching as their superior every day how they struggled, how they fainted after the spell and how she then had ordered them to cast it again until the sun waned and she left them alone for the day, their ragged breathing haunting her even after she had returned to her own chambers.

All these days, she had always been glad it was not her who was wielding this power.

Though power was what this was all about.

And research was still slow.

[Shieba]

When she became pregnant, she thought the tides had finally turned. With the First Empress Consort still childless, the Magelord would surely see that a son who would get the best education at the Arcane Academy would be a better heir than one raised by a spoiled noblewoman.

Nine months later, the doctor congratulated her to a healthy daughter and left her with a baby in her arms and the thought that she would always be only the second best.

She had not wanted to think about getting a girl, yet it felt oddly easy to find a name for her. And while she left her little Manaril with nursemaids during the day, while she herself researched and watched people die slowly in front of her eyes through her orders, she could not keep herself fully detached from the baby. In the end, she drowned the memories of the ragged breathing of the dying by singing lullabies for her child, who looked so much like her and nothing like the father.

As if to give her peace, Manaril grew up to be different from him, too. She kept her daughter in the academy most days, wanting her to stay uncorrupted by the Magelord and the conceited other Empress Consorts. But with the years, it turned out that Manaril was different from her as well. While the princess learned to read at an early age and was curious and willing to learn everything new, there was no trace of the ambition her mother had; only a girl who happily waited for her to come home, who wanted to make her smile and never was rude or loud.

She took Manaril with her to her early duties for the first time as the princess had just turned nine.

When she looked away for a second to speak with her subordinate, the girl touched the Chronicle, thinking of it as another book to read.

There was a flash of light.

Four hours later, she learned that her daughter had gained the ability to be a Reader.

[Shieba]

She went to the Magelord afterwards, not able to order the thoughts in her head and yet unable to think of a single thing but the fear of what he would say.

She could not believe it was her who calmly told him about what she had discovered, could not believe how he praised her and told her she had done well – 'done well'? – after all and how he would give the academy more support, could not believe how she explained that the later Manaril started with Reading, the longer she would live, that the current two Readers were still holding up rather well and how she would start mental training with Manaril right away.

She did not sing a lullaby for her daughter that evening. Instead, she whispered stories of helping the Magedom, of Chronicles and their power and what good a Reader did. She whispered of good girls who helped their parents so much and how proud she would be to be the mother of such a girl. And Manaril looked at her with shining eyes and promised to be happy to do everything for her.

The first Reader died after twelve months, the second one two years after that.

No new ones besides Manaril had been found.

She knew she would always remember the hours before Manaril's first Reading. Always remember how the girl would clutch the Chronicle, eager to finally begin what she had been prepared for the last years, happy to finally make her mother and father proud of her. Always remember how they would walk down the stairs into Manaril’s new chambers, with the magical circle for the spell in the middle and the bed just two meters away to collapse in.

Always remember how Manaril chanted her first spell, screamed in pain and fainted a few seconds later.

But she also knew that she would remember nothing more clearly than the moment Manaril opened her eyes again and there was no terror shining in them, no fear and no panic. Just tears which flowed freely when the girl sobbed how sorry she was for disappointing her and promised to do better next time.

When she stood in front of her mirror that evening and thought about how she had left her daughter in the room deep inside the academy, right next to the Chronicle, she realized that the cruelest mother was not the one who had no love for her child, but the one who could brush it aside with so much ease.

[Shieba]

As the Magedom went to war, strong, undefeatable, legendary, she stood on the balcony together with the Magelord, the other wives, the prince and her daughter and saw how Manaril smiled shyly at the people cheering below, shouting how much they loved their princess and what a heroine she was.

None of them knew what a Reader really went through. None of them knew how much more Manaril had to do each day now, how many times more she had to call upon the Chronicle she clutched even in her sleep since she knew what a treasure it was. None of them knew how the girl still assured her mother that she loved doing what she did, barely able to get the words out as breathing got harder and harder each time.

Just as none of them knew about the competition between the Empress Consorts and how the fight to keep their positions, keep their standing, was woven through the imperial family.

She kept telling herself things would look up. They would find a new reader soon; a better one, someone more experienced. And then Manaril could rest and she would still be a hero and her mother the head of the academy and all would be well.

But there was war, they needed the Chronicles and their powers and there was no new Reader to be found.

And what was the life of a single girl compared to the life of them all?

She tried to not think of Manaril when she didn't have to be with her, now only seeing her for the Reading and without any lullabies left to sing for a girl who fainted instead of slowly falling asleep. Instead, she busied herself with strategies and war, with supporting troops and casting magic.

To end the fighting. To ease the strain.

[Shieba]

She took on the challenge of the final battle. Took the order to charge the magic cannon of the academy and aim it straight at the left flank of the enemy, their weak point, while the First Empress Consort led the troops around and charged at the same point from the south and the Third Empress Consort ordered the army from her homeland to do the same, bringing them all the end of the war.

She hated the plan.

Hated to cooperate with these women who only knew glory and riches and not the suffering and pain and screams of a girl that followed her into nightmares she would deny having in the morning.

Hated to see the glorious armies with these women as shining heroes in front while sitting in the academy, forced to watch through only a spell. There was no glory to be found in these walls.

She could not stand this.

She ordered to aim the cannon at the very center of the enemies' troops.

The First Empress Consort attacked to the west.

The Third Empress Consort did so in the east.

The spell ended a few minutes later, her last impressions of the battle being slaughter and blood.

[Shieba]

She wrung her hands which she kept only in gloves these days so she wouldn't have to feel the cold skin of her daughter. They all had disobeyed, every one of them, surely the Magelord would not punish just her. And she would do well the next day and bring them victory and she would cooperate, she was a mage and a scholar, getting ruled by emotions was weak.

A shout from the entrance ripped her out of her thoughts. Suddenly there were screams and warning bells and horrible sounds in the air and this could not be.

She stared at the door until the soldier standing in front of it suddenly rushed out to meet someone with a drawn blade, then she whirled around and ran down the stairs, throwing the heavy door shut behind her and placing the strongest seal on it. Her blood pounded in her ears, though her mind was blank. There was no escape down there, but the doors were built to guard the Chronicle, the most valuable thing in the Magedom and they had food for days.

She ripped open the door to Manaril's chambers, but even that couldn’t wake her daughter and she had to shake the child until Manaril opened her eyes. It took long, painful seconds until the girl was able to stand up, never letting go of the Chronicle, the very same thing that caused her so much pain.

Then a man with a sword entered through the open door. She whirled around and cast her most powerful spell, bringing him down and then another and six more, until she could cast no longer. Her daughter was shaking next to her, clutching the Chronicle and her robes as more soldiers approached and no more magic streamed from her hands.

There was no use to run to the corner when there was no escape and she felt frozen to the spot anyway. The soldier raised his blade.

She pushed Manaril behind her as the weapon pierced her heart.

Forever would she hear her daughter's scream of terror.

Forever see the cold face of the man who killed her.

And forever would she wonder what, instead of defending herself, she had so futilely tried to protect with her last movement.

Her daughter or the Chronicle?

[Shieba]

She has always been something she never was.

When she thinks about how she grew up in her kingdom near the beach, with people calling her 'princess' and her father and mother 'king' and 'queen', she sometimes has to smile. And then she remembers it has always been a lie, for more than twenty years before her birth, they had become part of the Magedom and she has never been a princess at all.

Just a lie. Just an insignificant girl in an insignificant place, where people remember old times when their leader was not just Viceroy but a true ruler so fondly they still call him by his old title – another lie, for in the next sentence, they talk of how their country has flourished since back then.

So when the Magelord speaks of making her his empress, she listens eagerly, wishing to be something more, something real, something not just an illusion like she and her home have been since the beginning of her life.

And then she leaves her smiling people and her loving parents and her home by the sea to live in the Mage City. The wedding is grand, with everyone cheering and shouting and waving. In this moment, it does not matter that she is only the Third Empress Consort now, for an empress she has become.

[Shieba]

At the end of the day, a maid shows her her new quarters, smaller than the ones she had back home. She stands there, in her wedding dress, not believing what she sees. Still not believing when the Magelord calls her to his bedroom, still not believing when he laughs at her when she thinks she is allowed to stay the whole night with him.

In the end, still insignificant.

Still she wants to build her new home in the city and so she seeks out the other wives, wanting to talk, to become friends, to have a family again. She finds a garish, vulgar woman leading the army and a somber, sly witch in control of the Arcane Academy, their smiles haughty and cruel and the looks they give her those one gives a child who tries to talk with adults.

For she has no army and no academy. She only has a home, days of travelling away, full of smiling people.

But then the Magelord whispers to her about men and money and support from that home and she is allowed to leave, to go there again and she rushes back. The sea is still beautiful and just as welcoming as the people and when she speaks to her father about helping her, he sends a small army with her to serve the Magelord.

Still she cries when she has to go back, for the Mage City is big and cold and devoid of friends and she is nothing more but a hostage there.

[Shieba]

The Magelord gives her jewelry and the finest clothes and she wears them with great pride, even as the golden metal of her necklace seems to choke her when she learns that the soldiers who had come with her to help her are now under command of the First Empress Consort.

But she survives.

And she bears the Magelord a son.

Her child is beautiful and looks just like her. Once more, the people are cheering and the Magelord is proud of her. When the doctors allow her to leave, she is taken to a palace now, a present from the Magelord to his son.

Not to her.

But it does not matter anymore, for even if she is insignificant to him, her son is not and through him, she finally has become someone important.

The glares of the other Empress Consorts have turned to ice and hate.

[Shieba]

At first she revels in that, but then she realizes that she still has no army and no academy and paranoia sets in. She starts to believe she sees assassins in the dark and behind the windows and it makes her cling to her son, her Shams, her only light.

Her visits to her home become rare and it is even rarer that she takes her son with her, for she gets escorted by the soldiers of the First Empress Consort and she is scared. Her parents love her son and so do her people, but she has no time for the smiles anymore. All that matters now is to increase her standing, to keep Shams and herself safe, and so she asks for men and money again and again.

She herself still smiles when Shams grows up smart and kind, when the child of the Second Empress Consort is just a girl and when the First Empress Consort, who stays with the Magelord the most, remains childless.

Then she finds the letters Shams secretly writes to his half-sister in the academy. For a moment, she rages, but she also pities the girl who is stuck with that witch of a mother and she says nothing more.

[Shieba]

When two nobles plot to overthrow the Magelord and they and their son are to be executed for their crime, her son suddenly jumps in front of the executioner and demands that the boy is free of guilt and should be spared. And she is afraid, so very afraid that he will fall from grace now and so will she, but the Magelord laughs and orders to free the boy from his shackles if he vows that he will serve the prince as retainer for the rest of his life.

The boy agrees and goes home with them, scared and alone and not a noble anymore and she remembers it had been almost the same for her. But she is the Empress Consort and he just a servant now and while she secretly likes him, she leaves it to her son to deal with him.

She sees how Shams treats the boy, who is just his age, with so much kindness and how loyal the boy is to her son in return, eager to give his life for the prince if he has to. And it hurts to see how her son and the boy are all she had been once and then look at her own, hardened face in the mirror.

Just like the faces of these other two women.

When war is upon them, she goes back to her old home just once every six months. She never tells Shams, rather facing the guilt of worrying him than having him want to come with her and witness her speaking to her parents.

Her father's face has grown old from time and worry and when he tells her that he has sent all the money and men he could already, she does not think anymore if this worry has been about her.

[Shieba]

Instead, she rages loud enough that she can be heard on the street; rages that her father cares not about what happens to her anymore, about how highly the Magelord thinks of the support she brings to him, that it is only for a short time longer until Shams will become Magelord, how all would be in vain if she falls from grace now and how her people should support her.

She is angry and she is scared, but she cannot tell anymore if it is because of Shams or because of herself.

When she leaves, she hears how her mother whispers to her father; hears how the aging woman expresses her sadness that her once sweet girl has become so selfish, but that she probably had to in order to survive in the Mage City.

And she knows it is true.

But it does not matter anymore.

War rages on and the First Empress Consort is glorious with her army and the Second Empress Consort with her academy while she sits in the palace of her son, safe and insignificant and so afraid to fail.

Then there are whispers about a possible Fourth Empress Consort.

[Shieba]

When the final battle is upon them, she goes to the Magelord and talks of her people, how they would support him if she would be the one to give the command to attack, how they would bring victory to the Magedom. And glory to her, but that is something she does not say.

Her smile is smug when the Magelord agrees and she walks past the First Empress Consort. But then she hears about how all her troops and the army and the academy should aim for the same, left flank of the enemy's forces. About how, in the end, the Mage Company would return to the city as one, under command of the First Empress Consort, again. About how she still does not matter at all.

When she goes to the soldiers, they greet her with the same smiles and loyalty they have always shown towards her, just like the boy treats her son. But she can no longer offer the kindness Shams radiates in return, just an empty smile in its place. Briefly, she wonders if she treats Shams the same by now.

As she is about to enter the officer's tent, she hears the men talk inside how an attack from the east sounds much more promising than the idea of the First Empress Consort.

And the plan forms in her mind.

It is the very same thing she, who has no idea of bloodshed and war, orders when the men are about to leave. The soldiers hesitate, but they trust her and she tells herself it is also for the best of them if they bring glory to her.

[Shieba]

She waits with the people in the Mage City, leaving her son and the boy with the Magelord. Her troop is the one closest to the city and she is sure they will be the first to return, bringing the news of victory and the end of the war, ready to follow after her to the Imperial Palace. Her being the first, not the third for once.

An hour passes, then a messenger storms through the gates, announcing that not a single soldier has attacked the left flank of the enemy.

She snarls when she realizes that the other two Empress Consorts had the same plans she had, but in the end, she is sure that even that will not foil her plan.

Her smile is radiant when finally, soldiers approach the entrance of the city.

It falls from her face when they are clad in the colors of the enemy.

Suddenly, there are screams and shouts and bloodshed all around her. She whirls around and flees as the soldiers gallop right past her towards the Imperial Palace, never giving her a second look, insignificant even to them.

Her clothes tear as she rushes through narrow alleys, her goal the same as the one of the invaders. She has all but forgotten about her men probably dead on the battlefield, their smiles forever wiped from their faces. All that matters to her now is her son. She knows he is there, she knows the boy will protect him with his life and that, with Shams right next to his father, all soldiers of the Magedom will try to keep him safe as well.