But as soon as the Sister passed, they began their cruel game again.

“Hey, stop!”

Aveline looked up and saw her best friend, Bruno Page. Like Aveline, he was thirteen years old. He had sandy brown hair that fell into his eyes and a round, freckled face.

The bullies turned.

“Oh, it’s only Doggo,” said Cynthia.

“My name is Bruno.” He gritted his teeth.

“Well, Bruno’s a dog’s name,” said Cynthia.

“You’d better leave her alone—”

“Or what?” said Quintana, hands on her hips. “Gonna tell your daddy on us? He’s just a commoner, not even a member of the Party.” This was a sore spot for Bruno, and Quintana knew it. Only the wealthy and well-connected could join the National Democratic Party of their own volition; the poor needed Sponsors to vouch for their integrity. Bruno hated to be reminded that he was from a lower-class background, that the only way he could attend a private school like Belfort Academy was on scholarship. He lifted his fist as if to strike her, and she laughed.

“You wouldn’t hit a girl.”

“You bet I would.”

Quintana waggled her fingers in his face. “I’m so scared, I’m shaking.”

Cynthia gave Aveline’s books a kick, sending them flying. “We’ll be back, so don’t get too comfortable.”

With that, the two girls sauntered down the hall, their heels clicking on the floor. Aveline trembled, her face red. Bruno gave her a hand and helped her to her feet.

“Thanks,” she said sheepishly. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to rescue her from the bullies.

He shrugged. “No need to thank me.”

Bruno picked up Aveline’s books and carried them for her. They exited the school building and went into the courtyard, a large square of grass surrounded by big shade trees at whose center was a tall marble statue of the Leader—Aveline’s grandfather, Alfred Fleur.

Fifty years ago, Alfred had founded the National Democratic Party and led a coup to overthrow King Reuel IV and take control of the country’s government, installing himself as its Supreme Leader and establishing the various ministries: the Ministry of Law and Peace, the Ministry of Civic Enlightenment, and the Ministry of Health among them. He had also established the state religion, the Sacred Order of the Monnag, named after the sigil of the Fleur family.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just use your grandfather—or your mother or even your uncle—to get Cynthia and Quintana off your back,” said Bruno.

Aveline’s mother was Allyn Monnag Fleur, Minister of Civic Enlightenment, or Lightminister for short. Her uncle Simon, Allyn’s younger brother, was Minister of Law and Peace, also known as the Lawminister. It was true that Aveline could have mentioned one of her relatives to the bullies because it was high treason to speak ill of a public figure, but there was no law against making fun of one of their descendants. Besides, the bullies knew exactly who Aveline was. They bullied her precisely because she did not look like a Fleur. She was tall and big-boned, with frizzy blonde hair and freckled skin and an upturned nose wide at the bridge. The rest of the Fleurs were small and dark-haired, with sharp features and paper-pale skin.

In response to his question, she shrugged. “It wouldn’t do any good.”

“If my grandfather were Leader, I would be shouting his name from the rooftops and nobody would ever mess with me.”

They both looked up at the statue. Alfred had been a strapping man in his youth, with a barrel chest and a mustache and a look of absolute determination in his eyes, which the sculptor had captured perfectly. Posed in the Salute of Loyalty, his right hand over his heart, he gave the salute back to the country he had saved from a tyrannical monarchy. Aveline and Bruno both saluted the Leader, lest any of the Sisters come out and find them staring idly at the statue without paying proper respect.

The two friends sat on a bench together, sharing the chocolate muffins they’d taken from the cafeteria at lunchtime. The Ministry of Education ensured that every school was well-stocked with food for its students. Even though Aveline’s mother had her on a strict diet at home, she could eat whatever she wanted at school, and thus never lost any weight—much to Allyn’s chagrin.

Aveline often wished she had been born into Bruno’s family instead of the Fleurs. How wonderful it would have been not to be scrutinized and judged at every moment! How wonderful not to be compared to the other members of her family and to her forebears! But she also knew that Bruno would have given his right arm to have been in her position as the so-called luckiest girl in the entire country.

“Want to play a game of cricket?” asked Bruno.

Aveline sighed. “I’m afraid I’ve got riding lessons today.”

At three thirty, a car came to pick her up and take her from school in the City Center back to the Fleur Estate. The driver, Elton, smiled at her in the rearview mirror. Aveline smiled back, though she’d never been entirely comfortable with being driven around in one of the black Party cars like a celebrity while Bruno and the lower-class kids from school took the bus or walked.

The driver caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “How’re things, Miss Aveline?”

Elton was a burly man in his early fifties with a heavy mustache and kind eyes. He’d been driving her and her family around for as long as she could remember.

“Not so bad, Elton. And yourself?”

“Can’t complain. It’s a beautiful day. I’ve got air in my lungs and my favorite gal in the back.” He winked at her. “But I can tell something’s on your mind. What’s eatin’ at you, Miss Aveline? It’s not those bullies again, is it?”

She sighed. “You guessed it.”

When he stopped at a traffic light, he caught her eye again and smacked his right fist into his left hand. “Boy, I’d just like to—”

“It’s okay, Elton. Bruno and I will figure out a way to handle them. I appreciate it, though.”

The car stopped at the top of a wide brick drive, each stone of which had been hand-laid, with the largest stone nearest the Great House bearing the Fleurs’ dragon sigil. Aveline exited the car and walked up the elegant marble stairs leading to the House where she lived with her family. Four stories tall, with nearly two hundred rooms, the House sat upon a hill and was the most opulent structure in the entire country of Alterra. Behind the House, as far as the eye could see, sprawled the emerald grounds of the Estate, with lawns and meadows and forest and ponds and a creek and a hamlet built especially for Aveline’s late grandmother Marie, and rolling hills all along the perimeter. A tall iron fence followed the curves of the hills, sealing off the Estate from the rest of Calador, the capital city.

Aveline followed a dirt path a quarter of a mile down behind the House to the large stone stables situated by a pond patched with water lilies. After quickly changing into her riding clothes in the carriage house, she proceeded to the stable.

Her horse was a brown shiny Dutch Warmblood called Paintbrush, for the dusting of white across his snout. In the stall beside Paintbrush was a black Oldenburg called Pacer, her mother’s horse. A champion dressage rider in her youth, Allyn had since given up the sport to work in the Alterran government.

Paintbrush’s reins in her hand, she stopped to watch Jem lead a new horse in a circle around the corral and hold his hand above its head and command it to lie down, docile as a puppy.

Jeremiah “Jem” Caslon was twenty-eight years old and had started his job only recently. From the Province of Lystra in the southern part of the country, Jem had never been to Calador before, much less to the Fleur Estate. He was tall and well-built, handsome and soft-spoken, a true horse whisperer. He had olive skin that tanned easily, the sun bringing out the gold beneath it. The sun also streaked his dark brown hair gold, and he wore it long, so that it moved gently when he turned his head and he tucked it behind his ears when working with the horses.

“Hi, Jem!” said Aveline brightly, waving.

“Well, hello, Miss Aveline,” he said, giving a nonverbal command to the horse to make it rise.

Aveline mounted her own horse. As Jem guided her through a series of exercises, she couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the young man who had left everything, his family and friends and hometown. She also knew that he desperately wanted to be a member of the Party but could not find a Sponsor. He wore a crimson ribbon on his lapel to signify that he was an Aspirant.

“Since my mother is Lightminister,” said Aveline, “perhaps she can be your Sponsor.”

He shook his head, laughing softly. “You have no idea, Miss Aveline, how badly I wish she could.”

“I could just ask her.”

“Oh, no, please don’t trouble her on my account.”

After her lessons, Aveline returned to the House and ran upstairs to her room. She saw that Jossie, her lady’s maid, had left out a black dress for her. She changed quickly and dashed downstairs and into the dining room, taking a quick sniff under her arms and hoping she didn’t stink of body odor.

Just as she was conducting her sniff test, her grandfather Alfred marched into the room. He never walked anywhere; he always marched, a vestigial motion of his soldier days. He was only about five-foot-five and had lost weight and musculature as he’d aged, but he retained the same powerful, dignified air of his youth, and looked much taller than he was. Now, instead of a mustache, he wore a salt-and-pepper beard, and still had a full head of white hair. With his sharp nose and thin lips, he didn’t even have to open his mouth to seem intimidating. Aveline immediately straightened up when she saw him.

“Good evening, Grandfather,” she said, just as the old Monnag clock chimed six, echoing throughout the dining room.

“Good evening, Aveline,” he said in the upper-crust accent of Calador, which Aveline had never truly mastered. “No time to bathe?”

“My apologies, Grandfather.” She looked down at her feet.

He lifted her chin with his forefinger. “Always look at me when I’m speaking to you. And thank you for your honesty. But please do be sure to bathe after your riding lessons. We don’t want our home smelling like a stable now, do we?”

Aveline, trembling inside, shook her head no, trying not to break away from his gaze. But he was no longer paying attention to her; his focus had shifted to his daughter, Allyn Monnag Fleur.

“Ah, Madam Lightminister,” he said.

“My Leader.”

They liked to play this game, calling one another by their public titles in private. Alfred also liked to address Allyn as “Monnag,” to emphasize that he had given her the family sigil name, as opposed to her younger brother Simon.

Aveline studied Allyn as she walked in. She was thirty-five years old and stood five-foot-two. Slender to the point of being almost emaciated, she existed on little besides coffee and pills. Her thinness was more a political statement than a lifestyle choice—as if to demonstrate that, living in a land of plenty, she would not indulge.

Allyn was beautiful in the way of the Fleurs, with a straight nose, high cheekbones, and large gray eyes that seemed never to blink. Dressed in a skirt suit and stilettos, she wore the Monnag sigil pin—a gold dragon’s head with the fleur-de-lis—on her left lapel, signifying that she was a member of the Party. At the end of her long chestnut braid she wore the crimson loyalty ribbon. Despite seeing her mother every day, Aveline never failed to be struck by her beauty.

Allyn leaned down and gave her daughter a kiss on either cheek. “How was school today, darling?” she asked in the same clipped accent as Alfred.

“Wonderful,” lied Aveline. She made it a point never to trouble her mother with her problems.

Just then, her uncle Simon and his wife Lilia entered the dining room, smartly dressed. Simon, aged thirty-three, was short and dark-haired and slightly plump. Lilia was strawberry blonde and pretty in a bunny-rabbit sort of way. Their children, six-year-old Lilia (called Lily) and four-year-old Simon Junior (“S.J.” for short), followed close behind. Aveline found it funny that her aunt and uncle had duplicated themselves. And they doted on their miniature selves, making sure they had the best of everything, and turning them into entitled little brats. Aveline was sometimes forced to babysit her little cousins, who treated her like the bullies at school.

The family members were seated in their usual spots, Alfred at the head of the table, Allyn to his right, and Aveline to her right. To his left sat Simon and his family.

Aveline felt her mother’s hand on her back, reminding her to sit up straight in the presence of her grandfather.

The footmen began serving supper, beginning with pea soup. Aveline, who was hungry after her riding lessons, wolfed hers down. Under the table, Allyn nudged her foot, reminding her to eat more slowly and gracefully.

Allyn herself simply stirred her soup with her delicate spoon, lifting it to her lips to blow on it but never actually taking a bite. This was the way she always behaved at meals, so the undiscerning would think she was eating although no food actually passed her lips.

The second footman swept away their soup bowls, and another footman came in with the salad course and then the main course. Because Allyn had instructed the kitchen staff that Aveline was to be on a strict diet, the footman brought her a special plate, with wild rice, a thin chicken breast, and steamed broccoli, while the rest of the family enjoyed red meat and mashed potatoes.

To Aveline’s left, Allyn scarcely touched her meal, taking a single bite of steak and washing it down with red wine. The first footman appeared to refill her glass. Aveline knew her mother’s routine: she drank coffee throughout the day to stay awake, pills in the afternoon when her energy began to flag, and alcohol at night to wind down. Sometimes, if she had to give a speech in the evening, she would skip the alcohol and continue drinking coffee or taking pills.

“Monnag.” Alfred set down his glass of wine. “What news from the Ministry of Civic Enlightenment?”

Allyn smiled. “Why don’t you ask Yrgess first?”

Simon looked displeased at having been called by his sigil name, the lesser dragon, pronounced “Air-gess.” But he cleared his throat and said, “Father, we arrested an enemy of the State today at the wall.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Simon nodded. “A youth named Sandor Hayes published an article against the Party in a small underground newspaper, and the Stam caught him attempting to flee the Federal District. He is now detained at the Lawministry awaiting trial.”

Short for Secret Tactical Arm of the Ministry, the Stam was the country’s secret police under Simon’s purview at the Ministry of Law and Peace. The Stam was assumed always to be lurking somewhere in the background, watching or listening.

Alfred, who had been swirling his wine in his glass, stopped abruptly and glared at his son. “When you say ‘against the Party,’ what exactly do you mean?”

“Well.” Simon cleared his throat. “It’s rather a lengthy screed, but in essence, he accuses us of corruption. He even goes so far as to name names.”

“You?” Allyn smirked.

“Very funny.”

“How many people have seen it?” said Alfred.

“We don’t know yet. But we’ve confiscated every copy we could find.”

“And have you arrested the printer, the publisher, and whoever funded this…newspaper?”

“We’re still looking for them, Father. But don’t worry. We will find them and bring them to justice.”

“What do you feel is an appropriate punishment?”

“Why, death, of course.”

Aveline shuddered and looked down at her plate.

“And you, Monnag?” Alfred turned his gaze to his daughter. “Do you feel that death is appropriate?”

“Absolutely not.”

“What?” Simon leaned forward. “Why not?”

Allyn paused before answering. “I agree that we must eliminate the Resistance, root, stem, and bud. However.” She lifted a finger. “The goal of the Stam is protection, not punishment. Mr. Hayes quite obviously has a moral compass. If he hadn’t known he’d committed treason, he wouldn’t have tried to flee. The best way to handle such a person is to make an example of him. To reform him, not punish him. He is a Party member, so a course of reeducation in the Party ideals should be sufficient. At the end, he will publicly reaffirm the Sacred Oath.”

“No.” Simon pounded his fist on the table so that the wineglasses clattered, making the children jump. “We’re talking high treason here, Father. Now is not the time to be lenient. If you let someone like Hayes off easy, he will do it again. And others will follow.”

Alfred shook his head. “Your sister is right. True power comes from having the ability to punish but choosing to forgive instead.” He turned to Allyn. “And how does the Lightministry propose to handle this?”

“We intend to portray him as a young man gone astray, one who admits his wrongdoing and sees the light. A timeless story arc. Then we shall refocus the public’s attention. What we need is a gesture of goodwill on the part of the Ministry. A personal gesture. By me.”

“What we need is a firing squad,” said Simon.

“Enough,” said Alfred. “No more of this talk in front of the children. Come, we’ll continue this discussion in my study.”

Allyn stood and kissed Aveline on the top of her head. “Be good, my darling. I have to return to the Ministry tonight, so don’t wait up for me.”

“Yes, Mother.”

She watched as her grandfather, mother, and uncle disappeared into Alfred’s study to drink brandy and talk politics.

****

In bed that night, Aveline closed her eyes but could not sleep because of the strong moonlight through her window, bathing the comforter in white. She clasped her hands and prayed to the God of the Sacred Order of the Monnag, a State God who presided over political affairs and blessed the country’s leaders.

Please keep Grandfather and Mother and Uncle Simon safe, she prayed. Then she added, as she did every night, Please bring Mother a husband and me a father.

She hardly remembered her own father, a colonel in the Air Command who’d died in battle when she was only two years old. His name was Christopher Llewellyn III. Because he had the same name as his father and grandfather, everyone had called him Kit. Upon his marriage he had taken the Fleur name, as was customary for those marrying into the ruling family, whether male or female.

A black-and-white photograph of him in uniform hung above the mantel in the Great Room. Aveline’s resemblance to him was striking; she had inherited his round face and broad nose and blond hair. She’d heard stories about his bravery and loyalty from her grandfather, but her mother never spoke of him, as though he’d never existed. Without her father, Aveline felt that she was missing out on half of who she was. Perhaps, had he lived, she wouldn’t have turned out as such a cowardly person; she might have been someone who could stand up to the bullies at school.

Thank you for listening, God.

Her prayers finished, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep in the light of the moon.