![]() The river burned away to a dry vein of rock. The reckless prince was crowned and when his queen grew heavy with their second child, the rains ceased. But then, in the year of that terrible summer, the old king died. His wife gave birth to a round-cheeked princeling, who gurgled merrily in his crib and grew more beloved with every passing day. The people were amused by his antics and charmed by his lovely wife, and for a time the new couple was content. ![]() It pleased him to rile his father by choosing a peasant bride instead of marrying to forge a political alliance, and his mother was long dead, so he went without sage counsel. That was before the prince became a king, when he was still wild and reckless and hunted every afternoon on the red pony that he’d done the work of breaking himself. We all know the story of how the queen became a queen, how despite her tattered clothes and lowly position, her beauty drew the notice of the young prince and she was brought to the palace, where she was dressed in gold and her hair was woven with jewels and all were made to kneel before a girl who had been nothing but a servant bare days before. That year, only the flies were happy, and trouble came to the queen of the western valley. ![]() ![]() The tall grass withered to ash beneath the unforgiving sun, and animals fell dead in the parched fields. IN THE YEAR THAT SUMMER STAYED too long, the heat lay upon the prairie with the weight of a corpse. ![]()
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