That, in itself, was nothing new. He had always heard what others could not. It had been that way all along the Snowtrail — murmurs that rose from the cracks within the stone, whispers that trailed the wind, songs that shaped the cold into meaning and then withdrew before he could understand; distorted and disturbing sounds that were never truly there in the same way that they existed everywhere, all the time.
Yu opened his beak and let out a long, dragging breath. A lot of spit came with it. It slicked his feathers, but he just let it flow.
Was that … all this was? Just … more of that same fevered hearing? Had he been so overwhelmed by the 
not because of what she was, but because of what he was?
What exactly had he heard?
Who, truly, was she?
The .
A queen.
The word was right there, but at the same time, the meaning was not.
Yes, there were queens in this world. The Southlands festered under various crowns. Kingdoms rose and rotted, and among them survived a handful of monarchs who still defied the King Brothers’ reach.
Could any such queen become a shaman? Almost anyone could, could they not? Not just commoners desperate to escape their broken lives, but royalty also. Not just weak people, but … powerful people also.
The Midlands held many powerful races, bloodlines and individuals. There were master wizards at the academies, witch-mothers who ruled the mountaintops and marshes, the ker who ate from storms, and many beastkin who roamed the southern forests and fens. Anywhere from the western swamps to the eastern sea, you could meet deadly ethereal beings with unfathomable abilities, such as sprites. Even lesser creatures like orks possessed crude workings of magic. The deflection pulse alone proved that there were individuals who could crush others with nothing more than the weight of their presence, without ever touching them.
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