Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Blue
Motto: What’s yours is mine
Desires: To ensure that her line succeeds to the throne
Weapon of Choice: Crown
Description: My father sat upon his throne, and on his right sat his wife, Fastia. Her lips curled as if she smelled a foul odor. “What’s that blood splattered over your face?” Laran leaned forward as he questioned me. “Hmm, what have you done, boy?” I’d not washed Ati’s blood from my face. I told him, “It’s your blood, Apa.” He recoiled a little, his head twisting sideways and brow pinched in a look of puzzlement and fear. I’d not called him Apa since I was a tiny boy. Perhaps the word itself had stricken him. “You see?” Fastia lifted her chin as she spoke and looked down her narrow nose at me. “He threatens you, Laran. It’s as the priest says.”
Discussion Questions For Fastia?
- Why does she hate Leures so much?
- Do you have a favorite scene?
- What’s your best-loved quote?
- What is going to happen to her at stories end?
“As long as Fastia breathes, we’ll be slaves, Ati,” I’d said one winter night as I watched my mother dip a wedge of coarse bread in her bean soup. Her hand had hovered above the bowl, broth dripping from the bread’s edge as she studied me. “That sounds like a curse on the queen, Leures.” I’d stared into my own bowl and sighed. “Why shouldn’t I curse her? She’s cursed us . . . She’s forever hissing lies in Laran’s ear. If he didn’t fear the gods more than her family, I’d be in the mines. If the gods truly gifted me, why put her in our way?”GATES THE HOURS KEEP