Under the Takima Bush
A Queen’s Thief Fanfic
The Baron Erondites’s son was nervous, or so thought the young thief hiding in the branches of the takima bush above him.
Eugenides could be patient when he wanted or needed to, but watching the man scratch out words or mumble rhyming sets to himself was growing annoying. He was almost glad when the man cursed and tore his page, scattering the pieces on the ground where they glowed like silver in the moonlight.
Having nothing else to do, Eugenides settled back into the tangle of branches and closed his eyes, preparing to take a nap until Erondites the younger left the gardens.
“My queen!” the baron’s son shouted. Eugenides’s eyes snapped open. The queen was, in fact, walking the gardens. What was she doing out there at that time of night?
Erondites shot to his feet, the last two scraps of paper falling from his knees to the ground. “I–I apologize. I didn’t realize you were coming out here tonight. Give me a moment to clean up and I’ll leave.” He knelt down to gather the scattered paper.
The queen waved her hand. “No need, Dite. I only wanted to come out for a moment.”
Eugenides picked at a leaf on a nearby branch. The queen called the baron’s son by his nickname? Strange.
The queen gestured towards the paper scraps and a couple of her attendants knelt down to help Dite clean the scraps. One scrap caught the queen’s eye, and she leaned down to pick it up.
“Why does this have my name on it?”
Dite’s eyes widened and he stood back up. He ran his hand through his long hair and lowered his head. “Before I ruined it, the poem was meant for you, My Queen.”
“How kind of you,” the queen replied absently. She turned to leave, but Dite hurriedly stepped forward.
“My Queen!” She turned back, lips tightly pressed in a line. Dite drew up short at her iciness, but stammered out, “Would–would you hear it? What I have of it, anyway?”
“Very well.”
Dite ran his hand through his hair again and dropped his eyes from those of the queen’s. Eugenides grabbed a branch hanging in front of him so he could lean closer without falling.
As Dite began reciting his poem, Eugenides frowned. Now he saw why the other man had been so particular about it: it was a proposal. A delicate, finely worded one, but a proposal regardless. Dite broke off when he reached the end of the unfinished poem and waited.
It seemed to Eugenides that the whole night waited. The wind that had carefully woven through the trees disappeared now. All the flowers in the garden had their faces cast toward the queen. Even the moon peeked out from behind its cloud to listen. Eugenides’s breath caught in his throat and he leaned even closer, needing to hear her answer.
“That was a lovely poem, Dite. I shall be glad to receive it when it is finished.” The reply was neither cold enough to be a refusal, nor warm enough to be an acceptance. The thief shoved his knuckles in his mouth to keep from laughing aloud. Dite only stared.
“My Queen, is–is that . . . all . . . you have to say about it?” The queen carefully arched one brow and Dite winced.
“If you’re looking for flattery, I suggest you look elsewhere,” the queen replied, stony-faced. Eugenides snickered.
She whirled around, skirts flying with an air of decided finality. As she started to leave, Dite grabbed her arm. “My Queen!”
All amusement fell away and all the thief could feel was a deep, burning anger in his chest. At least, until the drop in his stomach as his hand slid off the branch and he began to fall.
“Remind me why I agreed to tell you this story?” the king asked as he scratched his head.
The queen arched an eyebrow. “I suspect so you could complain about telling it.” The king grunted, furthering her suspicion.
She narrowed her eyes slightly and studied her husband. She always had to take his words with a grain of salt, but when he told a story like this, though he might exaggerate, he generally told the truth. “Was Dite really proposing that night?"
The king gave that smirk that could be both infuriating and delightful at the same time. “He was. He tried again later too, but you never noticed.” She flushed and looked down, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt.
It’s a good thing my proposal was so straightforward, wasn’t it? Otherwise you might not have know what I was asking,” the king teased. Her eyes flicked up to his and she glared.
“What happened after that?” she asked finally. “I imagine I would remember if you had fallen out of that takima bush and landed at my feet."
Three things happened at that moment. The queen’s attendants, who had stepped back to give her some semblance of privacy, leapt forward, hissing commands at the young man to let their mistress be, but they needn’t have bothered. As soon as Dite’s hand touched her arm, the queen fixed him with such an icy stare that he jerked back as though he’d been burned. Meanwhile, unnoticed by the others, Eugenides grabbed another branch and clung to it.
The only evidence of his mistake was a slight rustling of the branches, which drew the queen’s gaze, though the wind stirred up again at that moment, disguising him.
He sucked in silent gulps of air and squeezed the branch tightly with both his arms and legs. He felt suddenly terrified. He had never slipped like that before, not unless there was something seriously wrong with him.
But it wasn’t the fall that scared him. There was the fear of what the queen would do to him if she caught him spying, yes, but more than that, it was the fear of why he had fallen, and of that deep anger he still felt burn in his chest.
For a moment, he wondered if a Thief had ever died of a figurative fall, rather than a literal one. The thought wasn’t pleasant.
Hesitantly, he let go of his branch with one hand and pressed it firmly against his chest, above his heart. He swallowed hard. He had been angry before, of course, sometimes even with the queen, but this was different.
He shook his head, trying to force the feelings away, but they wouldn’t go. He was still so angry. He wanted to kill Dite.
The thought made him sick. He hated killing people.
He realized the queen was gone. He hadn’t seen her go. Dite was still there, kicking the grass where the scraps of his poem had laid moments before. Eugenides looked away, clinging tighter to the branch, forcing himself not to do anything he’d regret later.
When Dite finally left the garden, Eugenides scurried down the branches of the bush and headed home.
Eddis would ask where he’d been, he knew. She always did. He had never been willing to tell her, though he had never quite known why.
With one last glance at the palace, he turned and headed home.