Free Until Again by Lou Aronica

front of it.
    “Reverse! Reverse!” someone was saying from outside as the ground lurched again. He could hear the car’s tires spinning, but the shaking continued.
    He turned toward Folium to see her gaze locked on the horizon. Her eyes were wide, but her expression was unknowable. Until that moment, it hadn’t dawned on him to feel afraid.
    The tires squealed, and the ground beneath them rumbled. The car seemed to be gaining a measure of traction, and Plenium felt the vehicle moving backward a bit.
    Then the ground rumbled like some massive beast moaning in agony.
    And Plenium felt the bridge give way.
    The car lurched forward before turning upside down as it began its long plunge toward the bottom of the gorge.
    Plenium had never considered his own mortality. He never once imagined what this moment might be like. As he accelerated toward the ground, his back pressed against the roof of the car, the king closed his eyes.
    There he saw Miea, beaming, speaking unabashedly about love and possibility. I must have lived well, he thought, if I’m being granted this vision in my final moment.
    “Until again, my dear,” he said to the image of his daughter.
    “Until again.”

12
    For Miea, the past few days had felt guided rather than lived. From the moment she’d been brought into the administration building on campus, and Amelan told her what had happened to her parents on the Malaspina Bridge, Miea had let others make every decision for her.
    The car will take you back to the palace, Your Majesty. These are your new rooms, Your Majesty. Here is the address we’ve prepared for your subjects, Your Majesty. It is important to eat something, Your Majesty. Here are some more tissues, Your Majesty.
    She couldn’t think of any action she’d taken that felt as though it had come from inside her. This was probably for the best. Given her own instincts, she would have chosen the precise opposite of action right now. The couch in the receiving room, perhaps, where she could look out on the placid lawn and the local fauna interacting with the world without care. Maybe simply the comforter that exerted gentle pressure on her as she lay in bed.
    This morning, however, would be her first Kingdom Congress as queen. She couldn’t allow herself inaction there. Nor could she let others speak for her, as she effectively did by letting her advisors prepare the statement she made upon her return to Tamarisk City. Her great-great-great-grandmother had created the weekly Kingdom Congress as a way for all citizens of Tamarisk to know that the palace was willing to listen to their concerns, to sympathize with their challenges, and to celebrate their triumphs in front of all who’d gathered and all who listened in from afar. The kingdom needed to know that Miea would continue this practice with full dedication and full attention, even at a stage of grief that affected her on so many levels. It wouldn’t do to have others whispering her responses in her ears during something this fundamental to her future and the future of Tamarisk.
    Miea understood that these first steps as queen were important ones. The kingdom was dealing with more than a tragedy. If she suggested in any way that she was going to be a weak or unsteady leader, she could be creating enormous risks for all of Tamarisk. She owed the people she served her fullest dedication and her most acute wisdom. Others could appear devastated in public and uncertain about what lay ahead. Not the new queen. Especially not the new, young queen.
    She knew this Congress was likely to be an easy one in all ways except the most obvious. In all likelihood there would be little more than expressions of condolence from those in attendance. Few in the kingdom would be so callous as to feel that they should bring complaints to the very first gathering after the death of their beloved leaders. Larger matters, such as a full investigation of the events at the Malaspina Bridge and what Miea completely