In the throne room:

“Your Majesty, we need you to authorize the use of force.” The Earl of Yellow Flame stared at Jullia with his mouth set into a stubborn, flat line. “Either that, or you must allow us to evacuate you.”

Jullia stared back at her cousin, her own mouth set into an identical, stubborn, flat line. “No. We will neither use force against our subjects nor be driven out of our palace by them.”

“Jullie, stop coddling that rabble. Force is the only thing they understand,” snapped the Earl of Black Crag.

Her uncle had sent so many messages pleading to be allowed to return to the capital that she’d relented. He was her father’s only brother, after all, and he’d been her favorite uncle when she was growing up. But she already regretted her leniency. Just because you had fond memories of someone teaching you how to climb a tree or ride a horse bareback did not mean he was a good advisor in a crisis. Or a good presence in the room in a crisis, period.

“Be firm with the rioters, and they’ll back down,” seconded her cousin, in accord with her uncle for once in their lives – and when she least wanted them to be. Normally she could count on them to argue polar opposite points of view on principle and distract the court while she chose the path she deemed best, but not this time. “Your Majesty, we’re not suggesting a massacre, but they will overwhelm the guards by sheer numbers soon. We must disperse them before it goes too far.”

Jullia’s fingers had clenched on the armrests of her throne, and she had to force herself to relax them. “No. They are our subjects and our vassals. We are responsible for their wellbeing. We will not authorize using force against them.”

“No, just throwing them down the gullets of demons.” The murmur reached her ears from somewhere among the courtiers who milled before her throne like panicky koi.

Jullia’s head snapped up. “Who said that?”

The courtiers traded sidelong glances and shuffled their feet, but no one pointed out the culprit.

Hand on the hilt of his sword, her uncle leaped off the dais, landing in a crouch at the base and glaring around the room. “Your QUEEN asked you a question!”

“Oh, Your Grace, surely that isn’t necessary,” objected her cousin, although Jullia noted that he didn’t budge an inch from his (safe) position at her side.

Steel rang and flashed. Her uncle spun back, sword drawn. “Not necessary! Not necessary?! The palace is under siege, your liege is under attack, a traitor in our midst stands ready to throw open the gates so the mob can murder THE QUEEN – and you say it’s NOT NECESSARY?!”

Their own swords drawn, Jullia’s Household Guards flung themselves in front of her, while the courtiers squealed and jumped back and tripped over their own hems. Jade Emperor in Heaven, never mind the rioters storming her throne room and attacking her nobles – her uncle was going to do it for them.

“Uncle! Sheathe your sword!”

Instead of obeying her command, he advanced a step up the dais, sword raised, eyes fixed on her cousin. “The biggest traitor has been right there at your side the whole time.”

Safe behind the Household Guards, her cousin laughed contemptuously. “I – the biggest traitor? Who was it that attacked one of Her Majesty’s most powerful vassals – against her express wishes? Who was it that was spared only by Her Majesty’s mercy and exiled rather than executed? Who was it that was permitted to return to the capital only by Her Majesty’s compassion?”

With a growl, her uncle charged up the remaining steps.

“Your Grace! Halt!” shouted the Guard captain.

“Cousin! Do not provoke him!” Jullia snapped. “And Uncle, I order you to sheathe your sword!”

For a heartbeat, the two men glared at each other across the row of Household Guards, and Jullia thought a fight might actually break out right there in front of her.

Then her uncle rammed his sword back into its sheath.

“As my queen commands.” His tone was grudging, and his bow shallow, but she decided not to reprimand him. At least, not just then.

As if to show how much better a servant of the Crown he was, her cousin bowed deeply to her. “Forgive me if I have overstepped in the defense of Your Majesty.”

Jullia suppressed a sigh. Given a choice between dealing with her relatives and the mob, she thought she might prefer the mob. It was certain to be more reasonable. “Now, if both of you are finished, as for our plan to calm the – ”

The great doors at the back of the throne room slammed open, and a disheveled Outer Wall Guard burst in, shouting, “Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

“Stop!” bellowed her herald. “You have to be announced!”

“The rioters breached the Gate of Heavenly Peace! They’re storming the courtyard!”

On the streets:

A simple melody. One that didn’t require vocal training. That was what we needed.

“Praise to the mighty Kitchen God,” my priests were “singing,” so off-key and so out of sync with one another that I could barely pick out the melody.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Like a festival-day parade, we were marching from the Temple to the palace at the pace of a baby snail spirit. Katu stood on his platform, carried above our heads so everyone could see the god-summoning, miracle-performing High Priest of the Kitchen God. The bear whom Dusty had smashed into the ground had been so impressed that he’d recruited his acquaintances as platform-bearers (haha). Unfortunately, they weren’t very steady bearers, so the platform pitched and rolled like a ship’s deck. But those movements meant that Katu’s robes fluttered, and the butterflies flitted around him, ready to save him if he fell, and it all made for a most dramatic scene.

“Praise to the mighty Kitchen God.” The rioters-turned-worshippers attempted to echo the priests, producing an even more off-key cacophony. On the outskirts of the procession, it was more of a chant than a song, because if even I couldn’t identify the melody, how could they pick it out, much less reproduce it?

Yes, we definitely needed a hymn that didn’t require an opera singer’s vocal range. Or, preferably, the ability to carry a tune at all.

From the way Dusty’s ears swiveled, he agreed with me. “What’s that song you used to sing?” he asked Floridiana all of a sudden. “The one about the sun going down but coming back up tomorrow?”

We were arrayed before Katu’s platform like an honor guard, with Floridiana keeping an eye on the child-priests. They kept craning their heads to gawk up at Anthea, who’d commandeered Dusty for her steed. I rather thought that if one of them pickpocketed her, she’d deserve it.

“Oh, you mean that children’s song? The sun sets but will rise just the same tomorrow morning, the flowers fade but will bloom just the same next year.” Floridiana sang the first lines softly so as not to confuse the priests, who were struggling enough to hold a tune as it was.

Although I’d heard Aurelia croon that song to her children ten thousand times, Lodia cocked her head to a side. “I haven’t heard that before….”

Floridiana’s face lit up in a very familiar way, and she pulled out her notebook right then and there. (I wasn’t going to warn her if she fell into a pothole. No, I would – she was human, after all.) “You don’t have it down south? What children’s songs do you sing here?”

“Oh, um…I don’t know…. The only one I can think of is the one about the house with the brook in front? I’m sure you know it….”

“I don’t,” Dusty butted in. “Can you sing it?”

“Right now?” Lodia cast a glance at the priests. The child-priests had given up on the hymn entirely and were watching us instead.

That was when a brilliant idea popped into my head – one that would solve all our problems. (Okay, maybe just my current problem, namely, the racket assaulting my ears.)

Yes! Why don’t you sing it, Lodia, and we’ll see if we can set the hymn to its tune instead?

“Oh….” Looking as nervous as she had when she met the queen, Lodia half-sang, half-whispered, “In front of my home, there’s a brook, behind it there’s a hill….”

As I’d expected, it was a very simple tune, requiring almost no vocal range.

That’s perfect! And this is a common children’s song? As in, everyone here knows it?

“They should…? I think…?”

Perfect! That’s just what we need! I called to the priests, Stop! Change of plan! Set the lyrics to the song “In front of my home there’s a brook” instead!

Their relief was palpable. And when they started singing again, it was at a much higher volume. The worshippers around them picked up the tune, and soon the whole procession was belting out, “Praise to the mighty Kitchen God, praise to the Kitchen God!”

More and more rioters stopped beating down gates to gawk at us, and after we passed, some fell in behind us, picking up the song too. “Praise to the mighty Kitchen God, praise to the Kitchen God!”

By the time I glimpsed the palace walls in the distance, half of Goldhill was marching behind us, and the other half was hanging out their windows to watch.

I was hoping that the palace guards wouldn’t make too big a fuss over letting us in – but when we came into full view of the walls, I realized that wasn’t going to be an issue at all.

In the throne room:

“They’ve only breached the Gate of Heavenly Peace! Everyone calm down!” the Earl of Yellow Flame shouted, which didn’t do a thing to calm anyone down.

“Your Majesty! Please!” The Outer Wall Guard started wading through courtiers, struggling to reach the dais.

For their part, the courtiers started screaming and pushing one another out of the way so he wouldn’t touch them with his sweaty armor.

“Reinforcements, Your Majesty! We need reinforcements!”

A pair of Household Guards dove at the man, knocked him to the marble floor, pinned his arms, and started to wrestle him out of the throne room. All the while, he kept howling, “Let me go! Let me go! I have to tell the Queen! Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

“Stop!” Jullia called, but in the commotion, no one heard her. She took a deep breath, channeled her father on the battlefield, and bellowed, “EVERYONE STOP!”

Gratifyingly, everyone froze.

“Guards! Release that man.”

At her command, the Household Guards obeyed, and the courtiers parted to open a corridor to the foot of the dais. Intimidated now that he had a chance to think about where he was, the Outer Wall Guard dropped to his knees and did his best to prostrate himself in his stiff armor.

“Speak,” Jullia ordered.

Without daring to look up at her, he reported, “The – the rioters breached the wall, Your Majesty. They’re over the wall. We – we couldn’t hold them back. We need help!”

“Jullia, I told you from the start that you needed to use force – ” her uncle began, but fell silent at her raised hand.

“You have done well to bring us this news,” she told the Outer Wall Guard. “Tell your captain that I hereby authorize the use of non-lethal force.”

“Non-lethal?” he gasped.

“Non-lethal? Jullia, what good is that – ”

“Non-lethal,” she repeated, fixing her attention on the Outer Wall Guard and ignoring her uncle. “We will not have a massacre of our subjects on palace grounds. Now go.”

“Thank – thank you, Your Majesty,” the Guard mumbled.

He bowed and stumbled back out between the ranks of silent courtiers. As soon as the doors slammed shut behind him, her uncle and cousin were at each other’s throats again.

Where’s Annie? Jullia wondered.

It was unlike Annie not to rush to the palace at the first hint of trouble, especially trouble like this. Even if the ancient spirit claimed that she’d had more than enough of politics and had no interest in getting mixed up in court affairs again for the rest of her existence, she still gave astute advice when necessary.

And this was a scenario in which it was very much necessary. Meaning that she should have been here. And she wasn’t.

What happened to Annie? Did the mob get her? Is she safe? Please let her be safe.

Jullia sent up a quick prayer to the Jade Emperor and, for good measure, Annie’s patron god the Kitchen God, before she turned her attention back to affairs of state.

In the streets:

“Praise to the mighty Kitchen God, praise to the Kitchen God,” sang my procession, but their voices faltered at the sight of the walls.

In the skies above them, bird, bat, and insect spirits dove at one another, the queen’s guards struggling to repulse airborne rioters. At ground level, the splintered main gates hung on their hinges, and landbound rioters charged howling into the courtyard beyond.

Anthea emitted a dying wail and collapsed over Dusty’s neck. “Noooooooo! Not again! Not agaaaain!”

We were too late. The rioters had already breached the palace.