Free Dearest by Alethea Kontis Page B

The pair of white pigeons in the branches above them twittered a hello at her approach.
    Without a word, Queen Sunday leapt up from the ground and into Friday’s open arms.
    In that embrace, Friday understood everything that Sunday wanted to say but could not. The weight of being a queen rested heavy on her young shoulders, and though she was brave enough to bear it, it exhausted her. Crowds of people had always exhausted Sunday, and with the country in turmoil, the audiences had been never-ending. She gathered strength from having Rumbold by her side, but Rumbold, too, was wearing thin. Such decisions they had to make—decisions about the fate of so many. There was no time for deliberation. The people of Arilland loved her and hated her, but they listened, and they carried on. Day by day, issue after issue, Sunday was feeling just as lost at sea as all those assumed perished.
    Friday squeezed tightly, reminding Sunday that in this small shadow of the world, under this small tree, she was just someone’s little sister. That someone would love her unconditionally, no matter what choices she made.
    Friday kissed her sister on the cheek. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
    Sunday let out a halfhearted laugh. “I almost don’t recognize me either, these days.”
    Friday clasped her sister’s hand and they plopped back down on the grass next to Sunday’s basket. Friday put on her most dazzling smile; she was sure Sunday had seen little but tears and scowls in the course of her new profession. She could already make out a permanent crease of worry between Sunday’s fair brows. Sunday returned the smile, closed her eyes, and breathed in the fresh air all around her. Her scarf slipped aside and the breeze danced through her golden hair, and in that moment she was a lazy little woodcutter’s daughter once again, skiving off work.
    Friday turned into the breeze to see Elisa across the pond throwing crumbs to her swans.
    “Cheeky,” Friday mumbled under her breath. “So,” she said to Sunday, “what did you bring me?”
    The big blue eyes opened and the worry lines deepened. “A bribe. A meeting. A favor to ask. And company.” Sunday lifted the cloth off the basket to reveal some freshly baked bread, a few thick slices of game bird, some berries, and a bottle of cider. Friday was honored that Sunday had come all this way just to seek her advice, but even Mama would have included more than this in a basket for the queen of the land.
    Between the contents of the basket and Sunday’s furrowed brow, Friday knew that things were far direr than they seemed. “Your company? I’ve missed that so much, it’s worth a trade for all the others. So, tell me what’s on your mind. I’m sure you don’t have much time.”
    “I’m the queen. I have all the time I want.”
    “Then it won’t be long until Erik or one of the other guards finds you.” In her joviality, Friday remembered too late.
    “Erik’s vanished with Saturday to gods know where—on that sea, or beyond it. Papa and Peter are still hard at work building a ship. It isn’t as much of a mission for Papa as it is a distraction.”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you.”
    “It’s not you, Friday. The citizens of Arilland remind me every single day.” Sunday offered Friday the basket. She took nothing for herself.
    Friday tore off a chunk of the still-warm bread; it was sweet and divine. “What can I do for my queen?”
    Sunday leaned back against the trunk of the willow tree and curled her bare feet up beneath her skirts, just as she’d done as a child. The Queen of Arilland would always be a woodcutter’s daughter at heart, most at home when surrounded by trees. “Sister dearest, of all of us, you have the unique ability to make divine creations from nothing but scraps.”
    She was referring, of course, to the patchwork skirts Friday created for herself from the bits of cloth left after making clothes for the poor out of tithed remnant