The Harlot's Stage or a Gilded Cage

2. The Selection

    Natrize and Madame Biki accompanied Elona and Anova as they made the short walk to the Garden. Though the Queendom of Waecaris now boasted many different industries and technological advancements, it still honored its strong agricultural tradition. Located on acres of fertile rolling fields and in between two roaring rivers that were excellent for irrigation, Waecaris had grown strong on the backs of its farmers and their lush harvests, especially since so many other realms were crippled by rocky terrain or salt water. 

    Towards that end, the Waecarian capital of Waecarton maintained a garden at its center that grew multiple varieties of the different staples that had propelled the queendom’s prosperity. Only the best horticulturalists were allowed to work the Garden and only the most strenuously tested tech was allowed to be implemented. Not only was the Garden an homage to Waecarian heritage, but it was also a failsafe in the case of blight or drought. Should Waecarian fields be razed to the ground for whatever reason, there would always be healthy seeds to rebuild the kingdom just as it had grown the first time.

    After a brisk ten-minute walk, the Garden was finally in view. Since it was spring, early in the growing season, only the smallest bits of green poked up through the soil. Only a few dozen people milled around the edge of the Garden; they were early. As they approached, Elona was careful to give the soil of the Garden a wide berth. Not only would it have been potentially treasonous to tread on its loam, but it was notoriously fragrant. Its caretakers went to great lengths to keep it fertile - eggshells, manure, and sulfur were frequent fertilizers. As much as Elona respected the soil’s ability to nurture life and provide sustenance, she didn’t want it to permanently adorn her new dress. 

    Anova had stopped to look at some of the titles displayed in the book store, absentmindedly petting the little toy bird nestled in her hair as she perused. Madame Biki tugged insistently at her elbow so they could push their way closer to the front, but her short and stocky frame was no match for Anova’s lithe height. People had started to notice her revealing attire, though, mumbling among themselves and staring; the little bird in hair answered any questions they might have had about how she dared to wear such attire. She belonged to The Aviary. Wives stared daggers at their husbands for their wandering eyes, then stared daggers at Anova when their husbands sheepishly looked away. Though she kept her head held high, Anova could feel the malicious and rapacious eyes, so she let Madame Biki pull her along. 

    As they approached the makeshift stage erected in front of the Garden, Elona spotted the Queen’s herald in his tell-tale green and brown tunic emblazoned with a golden shaft of wheat, the emblem of the House of Kan, Waecaris’ current ruling family.

    “In just a few moments, we will begin the ceremonial distribution of rice bags,” the herald said. “The royal household will be arriving shortly. It is imperative that you show Her Majesty, her family, her advisors, and anyone else she deems to bring the utmost courtesy. Any disrespect for our great ruler will be dealt with swiftly and decisively.” He took a moment to meaningfully scan the crowd, as if to laser the proper courtesy into our brains or cut down potential rebels with just his gaze.

    “It is also imperative to respect the integrity of this great institution. As you all know, centuries ago, the royal family would exclusively marry foreigners to build alliances. This led to an increasingly out-of-touch monarchy that neglected its constituents. In protest, the Wheat Warriors staged The Grain Riots 200 years ago. Concerned patriots burned the royal granaries in protest to make the deaf royals hear their plight. In response, the Gracious Queen Vinova instituted The Reaping. She began this hallowed tradition by marrying her own daughter, the crown princess, to the leader of the Wheat Warriors ” Applause rippled through the crowd along with roars of support. Whatever issues people may have with the rest of the monarchy, Queen Vinova was universally beloved. She was well-known for listening to the people, often against the advice of her own counsel. The herald waited for the noise to die down before continuing.

    “The Reaping ensures that the consort of the heir to the throne is a Waecarian citizen. While other royals may marry outside of Waecaris for love or alliance, the heir is promised to the people. With the voice of the people as a constant companion, rulers will always have to keep the great people of Waecaris in mind. Since the inception of The Reaping, our citizens have never been better fed, educated, or healthier!” Another roar rippled through the crowd, although there was the occasional crossed set of arms or shaking head. Many had benefited, but those who needed assistance the most still suffered. They were simply pushed out of sight to preserve the illusion of utopia.

    The herald once again scanned the crowd for potential agitators before continuing. He didn’t notice the young men who had snuck closer to Anova and now tried to press up against her, but Elona did. With a swift kick to the crotch and the threat of further pain, she dispatched them into the crowd. Anova took her hand as they tried to turn their attention to the herald once again. “This Reaping holds special significance since it occurs on the 200th anniversary of the first. May Crown Prince Tynan find the partner that will help him propel Waecaris into the next age of prosperity!” As if on cue, the man of the hour came into view, followed by a long processional of the rest of the royal household. It seemed the herald was recounting the history of the Reaping to hedge until the royals finally arrived. 

    Rather than take center stage, the prince stood towards the back of the stage on the herald’s left. The sun shattered across the lighter streaks in his dark brown hair and warmed his olive-toned skin which was interrupted only by his almond eyes, full lips, and the shadow of a beard. He was flanked by his parents, King Firzen Lachrim and Queen Zannia of the House of Kan. It seemed Prince Tynan had inherited an equal mix of his parent’s physical features - King Firzen was tall with black hair and seemed to have passed his flawless skin on to his son. Queen Zannia, on the other hand, was pale like Anova. Her snowy skin was sharply contrasted by her dark narrow eyes and her black hair, though, making her seem as if she might be a beautiful sketch in some artist’s notebook rather than an actual person. Queen Zannia had selected Firzen at the last Reaping 21 years ago; at first, many thought they were poorly suited, but after 21 years of seemingly blissful marriage, they had managed to quell those rumors. Well, for the most part. 

    After the last of the royal processional had finally trickled in and taken their places behind him, the herald continued with his speech. “To ensure that the consort selected by The Reaping is representative of the people of Waecaris and is capable of fulfilling all expected duties, there are several stages of The Reaping. Today, we embark on the first: The Selection. Hands of the Queen, such as myself, have traveled to the very edges of the queendom to ensure all eligible Waecarians have a fair chance of participating in The Reaping and being selected as a Seed. As the Gracious Queen Vinova first declared 200 years ago, no Waecarian shall be barred from entry based on status or station.” Elona couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that line. In theory, it was supposed to be true that anyone from a prostitute to a beggar to a noble could be selected, but it was an open secret that the rich and the powerful had found ways to game the system. They paid bribes to the officials sent to select Seeds, planted their children in less competitive districts, and generally paid people to look the other way as they used whatever power and influence they had to claw their way into the royal family.

    Seemingly oblivious to Elona’s skepticism and the grumblings breaking out in the rest of the crowd, the herald pressed on. “As is tradition, all eligible Waecarians will receive a bag of rice in remembrance of The Grain Riots. Fifteen of these bags have been filled with the rare purple rice found only in the innermost garden of our royal family’s ancestral home, The Waecare. The lucky recipients of those bags will be invited to the Waecare to continue on in The Reaping as a Seed. They will be compensated for the time they spend away from their work in service of their queen.” Elona tightened her grip around Anova’s hand, making Anova’s fingers turn puce. Even if they didn’t win, the compensation they would receive should surely be enough to get them out from under Madame Biki’s thumb. All that she could think was one of them had to be selected, they just had to.

    Where before the herald’s tone had been pompous and somewhat bored, he gave the next edict with an air of menace that wasn’t present in his previous speeches. “A word of caution to the overeager. In the past, many have tried to bribe or thieve or deceive their way into one of those chosen bags. This year, there are more security measures in place to ensure the impossibility of such crimes. Both the bag and the rice it contains have been doused in indelible dyes that will only mark the first person who touches it. For this reason, only potential Seeds may approach the stage. At this time, I invited all unmarried young women between the ages of 18 and 29 to line up and receive The Reaping offering.” Madame Biki started shoving Anova and Elona forward before the herald finished the word “invited.” It was only Elona’s strong core that kept them from being pushed off balance and trampled. 

    Thanks to Madame Biki’s overzealousness, they were one of the first ten women in line. Elona watched the women in front of them receive their bags. Almost all of them opened them on the spot, only to be met with disappointment. Those with the least dramatic reactions broke out in tears or sank to their knees on the spot, asking the heavens why. A couple others poured out their entire bag, looking for even one grain of the elusive purple rice to confirm they were as special as they’d always known. One woman even grabbed at the herald’s sleeves, demanding that he give her more rice as she had surely gotten the wrong bag. Though Elona and Anova were next in line, they hung back at a safe distance until guards had rounded up the hysterical women and cleared a path. 

    Finally, when it seemed like they weren’t in imminent danger of being sucked in by the Scylla and Charybdis equivalent of hysterical rice flinging, Elona and Anova approached the herald. Anova stood slightly behind Elona to do what she could to preserve her modesty, so Elona held out her hand first.

    “That shade of velvet suits you well, m’lady,” the herald said as rummaged around in his crate to grab a bag of rice. Elona was taken aback. She’d never been called anything close to a lady before. 

    She managed to eke out a surprised “Thank you?” as she took the bag that the herald held out to her. The herald dangled another bag of rice by its string closures in front of Anova. Anova took it as closely as possible and followed Elona out of the throngs of women queueing for their own chance at a crown. Their swift quick departure didn’t stop the herald from getting distracted by Anova’s curves on display, but it did stop them from checking their rice on the spot. They were both more preoccupied with getting back to the relative safety of The Aviary. 

    Finally, they made it back to their street and had left the worst of the crowd behind them. Madame Biki and Natrize met them on the corner to accompany them the rest of the way back to The Aviary. The moment Madame Biki was close enough to hook an arm around them, she expectantly asked, “So?” She was practically buzzing with anticipation but Elona and Anova looked at her blankly. “The rice! Were you selected as Seeds?” She slapped an exasperated hand to her forehead. “Did you even check?”

    After all the jeering and taunting she’d had to endure today at Madame Biki’s insistence, Anova was done. “No, we haven’t,” she said through gritted teeth. “We were too busy running away from the crowd that was trying to MAUL me because of this humiliating excuse for clothes you insisted I wear!” Madame Biki took a few steps back at Anova’s uncharacteristic forcefulness. “And why? For these stupid bags of rice? There was no chance we’d become Seeds. See?” She ripped open her bag and dumped its contents on the street. White grains of rice clattered as they hit the stones and formed a small mountain at her feet. 

    “And what, you thought you might actually have a chance just because there were two of us?” She ripped Elona’s bag from her hands. Elona was too stunned to stop her. “That’s not how it works for people like us. People like us don’t. Get. PURPLE. RICE!” Anova ripped open Elona’s bag, ready to end her rant with one last dramatic pour. Instead, she stilled completely, staring wide-eyed into the bag, before letting it drop through her hands. 

    Elona leaned down to pick up the bag, trying to figure out what could have stopped her momentum so completely. Were there bugs in the rice or something? Natrize looked over her shoulder as she flipped open the top. 

    Little grains of rice the color of amethysts shifted and rustled in the bag. 

    Elona had been Selected.