“I’d like for us to discuss the matter of the barrier,” Nathaniel says, voice wavering slightly, likely because he knows this is a sensitive subject. I stiffen, not wanting to get into this conversation now. Several heads now nod enthusiastically in agreement with Nathaniel, encouraging him to continue. When he speaks again, his words are steady. “Surely after three hundred years, it’s time to lower it. The people want to be able to leave Thayaria. Our isolation causes unnecessary fear.”

“I’m not discussing this matter with the Council,” I say firmly and with all the queenly command I can muster. “This is my decision. It’s not time.”

Tension fills the air, the unsaid remarks as loud as if they’d been yelled. The Council has advocated strongly over the years to drop the mist—it’s the only topic we regularly disagree on. But they don’t know—can’t know—why the mist won’t come down any time soon.

“If you won’t drop it entirely, then perhaps we should allow more people to leave. You have the ability to let small groups cross the barrier. Surely, we can let those who’d like to leave do so without dropping the barrier entirely,” he adds. More murmuring and head nods make their way through the Council.

I resist the urge to sigh. This is yet another thing I can’t be fully honest with my advisors about. Yes, I can grant entry to small groups or merchants entering and exiting the mist, but it’s draining. Not to mention it makes me feel a little like I’m losing a part of myself every time I do it. The mist is an extension of me, and I think when I part it, I’m somehow altering or slicing open some magical source deep within me. But it’s hard to explain to a room of advisors that I fear allowing mass crossings might have negative impacts on my psyche. Instead of admitting all this, I give the hollow excuse I’ve given hundreds of times before.

“As I’ve explained multiple times, I’m not capable of allowing more than a few crossings a day, and we need to reserve those for dock workers bringing in shipments.” The looks of skepticism turned in my direction make me inwardly squirm, but I keep my expression unwavering.

“We have no more topics for today’s meeting,” Nemesia offers quickly, saving me from questions I can’t answer. Wary eyes study me, but I ignore them, despite the angry side conversations I know the dismissal of this topic will cause once the meeting adjourns.