Concerning: Notes on The Cerulean Queen

This is the last of a series of commentaries revealing my allusions and intentions in a volume of The Nine Realms. Spoilers ahead. Also, I hope, insights.

In the very first draft of the series, I didn’t know that I was going to write this final book. Generally, the prince or princess succeeds in gaining the throne—time for rejoicing. But I realized that changing leaders and repairing the past was hardly so simple.

Since The Cerulean Queen contains more music and dancing than the other volumes, sometimes I thought of it as my musical. To switch metaphors, if A Broken Queen is the slow movement of a symphony, Book Four is the finale, all crashing chords accompanied by cymbals and percussion. 

Most of the feeling of finality comes from the unveiling of all the secrets characters have been keeping from one another, revelations and reunions that cause both joy and pain. (One of my family members started weeping when Thalen and the Raiders march into the Throne Room, and I must confess that I have often reread that chapter myself—not to edit it, but just to bathe in its emotion.)

We see Cerúlia come into her own and discover that holding onto power involves not only dressing the part, but also seeking the truth, and developing a degree of ruthlessness. Her mother was a nobler (and softer) person. Cerúlia murders Lolethia with her own hands, leaves Matwyck to suffer and die, and poisons General Yurgn. I hope that while readers see the necessity for her actions, they also start to recoil from the main character.

Meanwhile, Thalen, who has commanded men in battle, moves toward mercy. He has suffered “moral injury” from the war. Only by saving his Oro captives from being lynched (a scene inspired by To Kill a Mockingbird), does Thalen start to recover. 

I intended that Clovadoska’s assassination attempt and Belcazar’s treachery come as surprises, and I tried to distract readers from the Oro army’s inevitable invasion as long as possible. The whales joining as combatants sprang from Moby Dick (of course) and the seagulls’ late intervention harks back to Hitchcock’s The Birds. Wareth’s and Thalen’s conversation at the end of the battle is a tip of my hat to the melancholy dialogue at the end of The Seven Samurai. 

Stahlia is probably no one’s favorite character but mine. Her contribution to the long adventure is modest—all she does is “mother.” She raises Percia, Cerúlia, and Tilim as best she can under sometimes harsh and dangerous circumstances. Yet I made her a weaver (like Penelope), who pulls together all the threads, which is why she gets the point of view chapter after the Battle of Cascada Harbor.

My own favorite bits in The Cerulean Queen include such moments as Stahlia’s vision of a tapestry she calls “Cerúlia and the Catamounts;” Cerúlia’s confrontation with Ciellō where we learn that his devotion has curdled; Destra’s calm perception of Belcazar’s treachery; the unflappable trumpeter who attends Wilimara, and Catalina’s toddler mouth full of apple. 

Concerning Catalina, perhaps readers noticed that the whole series includes more children of varied ages than the typical epic fantasy—this was intentional, a part of moving away from the tropes of many male-centered fantasies. Conflicts between realms don’t merely involve men of fighting age, but also women (of all ages) and children. 

The peace reached at the end is equivocal because no victory brings ever-lasting end to conflict.

I was sorry to leave The Nine Realms, but the final chords faded away.