Chapter 82 Faes of the lower districts

Chapter 82 Faes of the lower districts


They took me inside.

The mill was worse than I had imagined. The walls were patched with rotting wood. The floor was slick with grease and grain dust. The air was thick and choking, and the only light came from a few guttering lanterns that cast long, wavering shadows.

"We've been asking for repairs for two years," the leader, his name was Bram said. "Two years of petitions. Two years of promises. Two years of nothing." He gestured to the collapsed ceiling. "And now Maren is dead. Crushed by a beam that should have been replaced months ago."

"I'm sorry," I said. "Truly."

"Sorry doesn't feed our families. Sorry doesn't bring Maren back." Bram's voice cracked. "We're not asking for much, Your Majesty. Just a safe place to work. A fair wage. A chance to live without wondering if today's the day the roof falls in."

I looked around at the faces of the workers. Men and women, young and old, all of them marked by the same weariness, the same grief, the same stubborn refusal to give up.

They were not "lesser Fae." They were not "discontented commoners." They were people. My people. Cardan's people. 

"What do you need?" I asked.

Bram blinked. "What?"

"What do you need? Specifically. Not petitions. Not promises. What do you need to feel safe again? Tell me all of it." 

The workers exchanged glances. Then a young woman stepped forward, barely more than a girl, with sharp features and calloused hands and eyes that had seen too much.

"We need the mill repaired," she said. "Properly, not patched. New beams. New roof. New floors." She took a breath. "We need compensation for Maren's family. She had a daughter. The child has no one now."

"We need a guarantee," Bram added. "In writing. That the council will inspect the mill every season. That they'll respond to our complaints within a month. That they won't just ignore us again."

"And wages," another worker called. "Fair wages. We're paid a quarter of what the palace servants make, and we work twice the hours."

The requests came faster now, tumbling over each other. Better conditions. Safer equipment. Medical care for injured workers. Schools for their children. Clean water. Decent housing.

I listened to all of it. I didn't interrupt. I didn't dismiss. I just listened.

When they finally fell silent, I said: "I can't promise all of this will happen overnight. I can't promise the council will agree to everything. But I can promise that I will try. I will fight for you. I will make sure your voices are heard."

Bram studied me. "Why? Why would the Queen Consort care about a bunch of mill workers in the slums?"

"Because you are citizens of Aurelia." I looked around at the cracked walls, the collapsed roof, the desperate, hopeful faces. "You deserve to be treated as such. To share in the same benefit as others."

I stepped forward, meeting Bram's eyes.

"I am the Queen of Aurelia now. And I'm telling you that you matter. Your lives matter. Your children matter. And I will not rest until this kingdom treats you with the dignity you deserve."

The silence stretched. And then, slowly, Bram extended his hand.

"Then we'll hold you to that, Your Majesty."

I took his hand. His grip was rough and calloused, but his eyes held something I hadn't seen before in Aurelians.

Respect.

\-——————

I spent the rest of the day in the lower districts.

I visited the homes of the workers. I met their families. I held their children. I listened to their stories, they had various stories of hardship and loss, but also of resilience and hope. They showed me the cracks in their walls and the leaks in their roofs. They told me about the water that made their children sick and the air that made their elders cough.

And slowly, gradually, they began to warm to me.

"You're not what we expected," a young mother named Elowen, a coincidence of names that made me wince internally, said. "The palace folk never come here. They don't want to see how we live."

"The palace folk are blind," I said. "I don't intend to be."

By the time I returned to the palace, the sun had set and my feet ached and my heart was full of a strange and unfamiliar feeling.

Purpose.

\-——————- 

Cardan was waiting for me in his chambers.

He looked up when I entered, his silver eyes searching my face. "You were gone all day."

"There was a lot to see."

"And?"

I sat down beside him. "The lower districts are worse than I had imagined. The people are starving. The buildings are collapsing. The children are sick. And the council has been ignoring it all for years."

Cardan's jaw tightened. "I didn't know about that."

"Neither did I. That's the problem." I met his eyes. "We've been so focused on the northern border and the Umbral Host and Elowyn's schemes that we've forgotten the people right outside our walls. Our people. They're suffering, Cardan."

"What do you need? What would make it all better?" 

"We would need funds, materials and supplies. A formal investigation into the mill collapse." I paused. "I want to help them. Not just the mill workers, all of them. The lower districts. The slums. The forgotten corners of this golden city."

Cardan was quiet for a long moment. Then he took my hand.

"You're going to be a great queen," he said. "Not just a consort. A queen in truth."

"I know. I already am." 

He laughed softly. "I love you."

"I know that too."

He pulled me into his arms, and for a while, the weight of the kingdom fell away.

\--------------------

The following week, I returned to the lower districts.

Not as a formal visit this time, no guards, no ceremony, no official proclamations. I went with my handmaidens and a handful of trusted workers from the palace, dressed in simple clothes that would not draw attention. I wanted to understand the rhythm of the place. The way the people lived when they weren't performing for a queen.

What I found broke my heart and hardened my resolve in equal measure.

The mill workers had returned to their posts, but the mill itself remained unrepaired. The collapsed roof had been covered with a tarpaulin, a temporary fix that did nothing to address the underlying structural problems. The workers had no choice. They needed the wages. They needed to feed their families.

"Nothing's changed," Bram told me, his iron-gray hair damp with sweat. "The council sent an inspector. He looked at the damage, made some notes, and left. We haven't heard anything since."

"The inspector came from Lord Castellan's office?"

"Aye. A thin man with a thin smile. He said the repairs would be 'evaluated in due course.'" Bram's voice was bitter. "Due course. We've heard that before."

I felt my shadows stir. "I'll speak to the council. Today."

"With respect, Your Majesty, the council has been speaking for years. Speaking isn't enough."

"Then I'll do more than speak. Just watch."