The sun of Solterra blazed from above like a blade over the sea of desert, cutting the horizon in flames. The air was heavy, salty, and the heat was already making the metal of the weapons and cannons smoke. After days of marching, Luna Caelestis and her army, composed of Isolarian veterans and newly freed slaves, reached the top of the dusty hill overlooking the coast. Before them stretched Baia Infuocata – a white and golden city, mirrored in the calm waters of the Costa Azzurra, where the heat seemed to distort the very air.
The city had light-coloured walls, with reddish roofs and simple, old ramparts, lacking the grandeur of the fortresses of other kingdoms. Still, they stood firm, as if for centuries they had learned to withstand everything: salt, wind, and human ambition.
The flags of Isolara fluttered in a weak, lazy breeze. The army remained motionless, the ranks lined up under the burning sun, the soldiers' mouths dry and eyes fixed on that promise of rest – and of combat.
Luna watched the city in silence, her mount still beneath her, her face firm and her gaze following the outline of the walls and the distant harbour. The sea waters gleamed like sapphires. Yet, there was something unsettling in that calm.
The walls are low, Victória thought to herself, a light bombardment should make them fall before nightfall… but can we endure much longer under this sun?
Victória shifted her attention to Luna, who continued to observe the wall.
She must be feeling the weight of every life behind her, the cost of every decision. She does not wish for bloodshed or a siege that could drag on. No, she wants to take the city intact, keep the walls and docks undamaged, and, above all, their ships.
Luna turned her gaze from the wall and saw Victória standing among the banners. Her uniform was covered in dust, and her face was marked by the heat, but that was not enough to dim the sparkle in her eyes, full of energy and pride at having the ear of her queen. Luna beckoned her to come closer.
– Tell me, Victória – she began, in a low, almost confidential tone, – what do you see?
– I see fragile walls, Your Majesty… – she said, looking hesitantly at the city, – …and a harbour that would give security to the Caelestis – she paused, frowning. – But I fear its defenders could hold out if we trap them.
Luna tilted her head slightly, intrigued.
– And what would you do if you were in command?
– I would try to avoid a siege. A siege would kill the city and destroy any chance of having control over this area and the sea – she breathed deeply. – I would send a message to the governor… promise him mercy if he opened the gates and joined us.
A faint smile formed on Luna's lips.
– Mercy… – she repeated the word as if reflecting on a matter of life, absorbed on the thought. – That is a rare gesture these days, especially after what happened in Torre del Vento. They have probably already heard what occurred there.
Victória was about to suggest another plan, perhaps bolder than the previous one, but, before she could, Matteo interrupted her, his deep, impetuous voice cutting through the hot air.
– If I may, Your Majesty, we should send a mounted messenger to Livia. By now, she should have completed the repairs on the Caelestis, or, at least, be close to doing so. Ask her to bring your ship. A mere appearance of your royal ship at the harbour would be enough to intimidate these rats into surrendering before sunset.
When he finished, Luna did not smile. She remained still, her eyes half-closed under the cruel light.
– Intimidate, you say – she murmured, in an icy tone. – Tell me, do you happen to know the location of the Solterran fleet? The one that decimated the Marellian fleet? What if it is still patrolling the Costa Azzurra?
Matteo opened his mouth but hesitated. Luna gave him no time to answer.
– Do you wish me to expose the Caelestis in a harbour that does not even belong to us? – she continued, her voice low but steel-laden. – To leave it in these shallow waters, undefended, at the mercy of an enemy squadron that could appear at any moment? No, Matteo, I will not sacrifice my ship.
Matteo looked away, biting his lip, humiliated. A thick silence fell over the group. Luna noticed, after hearing Matteo's baseless plan, that Victória wore a pensive expression on her face.
– Do you have something to say, Victória?
Victória hesitated. The words felt too fragile for what she was about to say.
– Perhaps… perhaps I have a plan, My Queen… but I do not know if it could succeed, or if you would be willing to proceed with it.
– A queen must always listen to her advisors and those who wish her well – said Luna, in a firm tone, without irony. – Speak.
Victória took a deep breath and clasped her hands.
– When I was little, Your Majesty, I heard a story… it was told by old sailors, in the taverns of Baia delle Perle. They spoke of a hero whose name was forgotten, a commander who fought against the spread and advance of the Cult of the Eternal Sun.
Matteo exchanged glances with Victória, as if warning her not to speak nonsense, but Luna remained still, attentive.
– They said he venerated the old gods, long forgotten – continued Victória, now speaking with a firmer voice despite her initial timidity. – While besieging a Cult city, a siege that had lasted years, the hero died. Before dying, he sent a message to the enemy, saying that, in his final moments, he had summoned a Cult priest, who blessed him in the flames of purification, thus making him one of Solarius' children. In his message, he requested to be granted a funeral worthy of a member of the Cult of the Eternal Sun, on consecrated ground.
Victória's story was being listened to by some of the soldiers closest to them, who began murmuring among themselves. Luna raised her hand, silencing them.
– Continue.
– The city's priest, who was also the leader of the besieged, accepted the request. He ordered the hero's body to be taken to the main church – Victória's eyes now sparkled with an almost childlike gleam. – The coffin was escorted by his personal guard, as was customary for his people. They entered the city without weapons raised, without resistance. The bells rang. The gates closed behind them.
A wind suddenly blew, stirring the blue and silver flags.
– But during the ceremony… – Victória paused, looking into Luna's eyes, – …the hero rose from his own coffin. Alive. And, with his guard, he captured the priest in front of the entire congregation. He dragged him to the gates, opened them from within, and the city was captured and looted that day.
Luna let out a soft laugh, a brief sound, but filled with admiration.
– A corpse that conquers a city… – she murmured, her gaze lost in the distance. – It is a beautiful story, Victória – she said, in a calm, almost melancholic tone. – A hero who conquers death to take a city… But I fear it cannot be imitated – she turned to the young officer, her lips curving in a brief smile. – To begin with, we do not even have a coffin.
A light laugh passed among those listening, muffled by the sound of the wind and the rustling of the flags. Victória lowered her eyes, embarrassed, but Matteo stepped forward, his gaze alight with a spark of audacity.
– Your Majesty, forgive me for speaking out of turn once more, but perhaps we do not need a coffin – his voice was hoarse but filled with enthusiasm. – On the continent, the Solterrans… no, not only them, all the kingdoms know little of Isolarian customs. We could… we could invent one…
Luna raised an eyebrow.
– Invent? Explain yourself.
– Yes, Your Majesty – Matteo leaned slightly forward, like a merchant selling a dangerous idea. – Let us say that, among the Isolarians, the dead are buried in objects that connect them to the sea… like a barrel, for example. Wooden barrels, a symbol of the maritime passage, of returning to the womb of the ocean… here, on the continent, people are extremely superstitious, and they love to repeat nonsensical stories and impossible deeds, often without understanding them.
A curious silence fell over the group. Luna stared at him, motionless, and Matteo continued:
– We could find an empty powder barrel. Your Majesty enters it, pretending to be dead. We send a message to the city saying that the Queen of Isolara succumbed to the desert heat – a faint, almost insolent smile crossed his face. – We could say that your frail constitution could not withstand the burning and hostile climate of the desert.
Luna's gaze straightened.
– Dead… from the heat? – she said, in a low tone, almost a whisper.
– Yes, Your Majesty – Matteo continued, growing ever more confident. – It would be a tragedy that would move even the gods. It is quite likely that the Solterrans would believe it. They might even request to perform the funeral rites in their own church, to show magnanimity. If they do not, we shall request it ourselves. The governor himself would have to attend your funeral, to declare that his enemy had truly died. And while they mourn or celebrate your death… – he raised a hand in a theatrical gesture, – …the Queen is reborn.
– You propose that the monarch of Isolara crawl into a barrel like a drunken sailor? – Luna snorted incredulously.
– I propose that the Queen enter history as a goddess who deceived death itself – replied Matteo, casting her a striking look.
Victória's gaze met that of her queen. She was uneasy, unsure whether she should speak. Luna, however, was serene, and in her eyes could be seen the weight she placed on every detail of the absurdity.
– There is madness in what you say, Matteo – Luna said at last. – But sometimes madness is the only flame left when the sun seeks to devour us. If this is the madness that destiny demands of me… so be it – her words hung in the air, heavy and resolute. – Matteo, have a funeral barrel prepared for me. One that is clean, empty and… worthy of a queen.
Matteo smiled, satisfied, as he began giving orders. Empty barrels were sought among the carts, and one, large and worn, was chosen. Victória stayed close to Luna, her face serious, her fingers resting on the hilt of her sword.
– Are you certain of this, My Queen? – she asked in a low tone, with a note of sadness. – There is no shame in retreating. We could always try to return to the Maritime Republic, or seek allies elsewhere.
– Victória Navarca… – Luna murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder, showing her a glint in her eyes that seemed to contain the very sun. – Since you embarked on the Caelestis, you have been my shield and my sword when the world sought to end my life. If I have ever needed you, it is now.
Victória knelt, bowing her head like the ancient knights of the continent.
– I shall always be your shield until the sea dries, Your Majesty.
Luna smiled. It was a brief and sad smile.
– I want you to protect me, as you always have. You and my Sailors of the Eternal Lighthouse. If destiny wishes me in a powder barrel, let it at least place me in the hands of those I trust. Now, go. Tell the city the news of my death, and pray to all the gods that they believe it and open the gates to us.
Victória rose and headed towards the city. Her faded uniform trailed in the wind, and the sound of her heavy boots echoed on the sand-worn stones. She passed Matteo, who was supervising the decorative work being done on the barrel.
Each of her steps stirred a small whirl of dust. In the distance, the Solterran guards peered over the battlements, confused at the sight of a single woman approaching.