Tag: fantasy

  • Chapter 12 – The Reimagining of Inevitable Doom

    The most powerful houses in the continent’s history remain Valhades, Aerhull, Thrymcrag, Yverein, Austerhelm, and Sinnasetta. These families are said to wield the purest forms of magic, each lineage blessed by a Demiurge or an Ascendant God—Sun, Moon, Venus, Jupiter, Saturn, Pluto, or Juno.

    When a union is forged between these bloodlines, the most potent heirs with amalgamated abilities are brought into the world. These unions are divinely orchestrated before times of great unrest, when only novelty can defeat primordial injustice.

    — The Foundation of Fyrgen Archives, The Great Hall Of Learning

    Uliya was beyond exhilarated to finally reunite with her friends. There in the back booth of the tavern they shared large glasses of Citrindally’s infamous silver wheat beer. These were her childhood friends, kept in touch with during the few council meetings she had attended over the years — all but Daphne being from noble families that visited Ivorvale often. Daphne’s father had died four years back and her mother had given up all material pleasures to swear in as a priestess at the Central Spire of Demiurge’s Church in Citrindally. The allowance granted by the crown to all priestesses for their services had helped Daphne complete her studies and establish herself as a historian at the Great Hall of Learning.

    Kira Redcoven was a towering eighteen year old with light burgundy hair cascading in waves just below her back. Her big round pale green eyes were complemented by a stark red lip today. She had chosen a matching azure tunic and trousers with a thin brown belt at the middle and contrasting white boots studded with silver all over.

    Smith, on the other hand, was the beloved third heir of House Cerilington. His father, Lord Ronald Cerilington, served on the King’s Council as the Warden of Commerce and Ports, overseeing the realm’s trade routes, merchant guilds and harbours. He was the same age as Uliya and only a few inches taller, but had over the years built an extraordinary amount of muscle through early training in preparation for a future in the army. His light brown hair had been neatly cut short.

    “So how does it feel being back for good, princess?” Smith asked with a grin that reached his grey eyes. Uliya could see it in all of them — they had been waiting desperately to see her. The emotion was right there in their faces, barely contained.

    She leaned back on the worn leather sofa and twirled a stray curl around her finger. “Well, it had a rocky start. But much better now that I am getting absolutely shit drunk with you lot!” She roared the last part, and the whole table erupted.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    It was around eight in the evening and Zir was struggling to get himself out of the bathing tub. Cecil, now comfortably perched atop the wooden toiletry cabinet, said “Are you ever going to get out of there?”

    “Shut up or I will throw water at you again.” The prince replied with clear irritation. He felt exhausted after the long day. He looked out from the large window adjacent to the tub at the twin moons outside, the beautiful stars scattered all around them, and felt a moment of peace.

    “You told Luminara you would stop by her chamber at half past eight. Should you not be a gentleman and show up a little early?” Cecil offered in a softer tone, well aware of the kind of day the prince had endured.

    Zir placed both hands on either side of the lapis lazuli tub and stretched his back muscles slowly. “I know. It is just that I have to be the bearer of news that I am not sure she will handle well. I made a blood oath back then on my own, without taking her feelings into consideration. And it is not something Lume and I have ever brought up to each other since. She might be waiting to hear it. She might not. I am scared, Cecil.”

    The blue raven sighed quietly before speaking. “Do not overthink it, Zir. She deserves to know. And it should come from you.”

    The prince looked up at the large clock hanging above the bathing chamber door. Twenty minutes. Finally he pulled himself up, warm water dripping as he summoned a towel with his magic and wrapped it around himself.

    “What should I wear?” he asked casually, walking into the bedchamber.

    “Not your burden to carry. Her majesty forcefully assigned a lord in waiting for you with special orders to work like a wraith.”

    Indeed, an immaculate silver and jet black three piece hung by the armoire door.

    A small smile touched his lips. “After two decades my mother has finally gotten accustomed to my likes and dislikes.”

    “More like she finally cared to acknowledge them. Regardless, please wear your hair slicked back. You are not in the human lands anymore.” That was the last thing Cecil said before flying out for his own dinner plans with his bird group.

    “Are you implying something with that statement?” Zir turned to ask, only to find the raven already gone.

    He ended up doing his hair that way a couple of minutes later.

    Sometime later,

    Luminara had adorned a stunning yet simple sleeveless honeydew gown that spiralled around her legs in rose-shaped pleats. Her hair was left in its natural curls, fashioned into a loose braided bun. Dainty shimmering silver jewellery sat at her ears and throat.

    She was seated idly in the armchair of her bedchamber, humming to herself, when a knock came at the door. She opened it with her magic.

    The prince stepped through the threshold, hands resting in his pockets. Luminara was in awe immediately.

    “Oh, Zir, your hair looks amazing. Why do you not keep it this way always?”

    A casual shrug. “Does it look nice? Cecil thought I should go back to the neater look.”

    She rose and stood closer, gently inspecting his hair with her fingers. It was only then that Zir noticed how radiant she looked herself, her striking light brown eyes dusted with blue glitter today. Additionally, she smelled like strawberries and rosemary. 

    “Really good, actually. Listen to the raven more. He is better at this than you.” She said with a smile, once she had finished smoothing the edges.

    He smiled back. “Mhm. I will take that into consideration. Shall we go eat?”

    She nodded and led him toward her private dining room.

    Luminara had rung the small bell and the kitchen maids made a brief appearance to serve the pair with several first course options — small servings of mushroom tartlets, wild berry and goat cheese salad, and crusty bread with garlic-cashew butter. Zir would usually eat without much regard for taste, treating food as little more than sustenance. But he knew Luminara genuinely enjoyed her meals and loved trying new things, so he had informed the cook a day in advance to prepare something special for them.

    “This feels like Demiurge handcrafted it himself and took his time doing it.” Luminara said after savouring the caramelised wild mushrooms, her eyes widening with the first bite.

    Zir laughed lightly. “I am glad you like it.”

    “Like it? If I could commit myself to this food and nothing else for the rest of my life, I would.” She said quickly before continuing to eat.

    He paused over his blackberry wine, resting his chin on his knuckles, and watched her quietly for a moment. “I believe you would.”

    “Oh, by the way — Uliya and I are starting training together the day after tomorrow. I am rather excited about it.” She added once she had moved on to the goat cheese salad, the small happy movement of her head and shoulders saying enough on its own.

    He smiled. “Thank you, Lume. You are probably the only person in the palace she would be comfortable doing this with. And she really does need to train.”

    She paused mid-bite and rolled her eyes. “You do not need to thank me. If anything, Ul and I are closer than you and I are. I like her more than I like you.”

    He scoffed, buttering his bread. “Good to know your talent for casual cruelty toward me is still fully intact, moonborn.”

    She stuck her tongue out before turning her gaze to the stars overhead. They had chosen to leave the oculus in the vaulted ceiling open tonight.

    The pair continued through the main course — herb-crusted chicken, mashed potatoes and beef stew — discussing nothing in particular, with the occasional bicker between them.

    Luminara was halfway through the berry custard pie she had insisted on sharing before Zir finally brought up what he had come to say. She had claimed she was too full to finish it alone, and he had agreed despite having little of a sweet tooth himself. In truth he had spent most of dessert searching for the right moment.

    “Lume, I have something to tell you.” He said softly, deliberately avoiding her eyes.

    “Yes? What is it?” She said absently, still looking up at the sky.

    He cleared his throat, already uncomfortable. He did not want to stir up anything painful and tried to choose his words carefully.

    “So — remember the blood oath I made to—” He began, and when he looked up Luminara had already turned her full attention on him, pinning him with a stare.

    Fear closed around his throat, but he managed to continue despite having no read on whether she wanted him to.

    “The Draumfell. Cecil connected with my spies recently for another matter, and as it turns out he is being released early. Citing good behaviour at the prison—”

    He was cut off by a short laugh from her. A laugh that carried nothing close to joy. Colder than Xerat.

    “Good behaviour?” she repeated, and the hostility in her voice shook him. A faint golden light flared at the corners of her eyes, and it was no coincidence that two glass lamps in the far corners of the room burst from the pressure a moment later.

    Her eyes were full of fury now. He leaned in and wrapped his hand over hers. “Lume, hey — I know it is complete nonsense. I just wanted to tell you and ask how you would like to proceed. I am not going to push you into anything. It is your call. He is being released two days before the Noctilune Ball.”

    She did not answer, clearly still livid. She pulled her hand away and walked out quickly. Zir stared at his empty palm for a moment before closing it. His shoulders sagged and he briefly considered leaving the hall entirely rather than face the walk back to her chamber. Not because he wanted to avoid her anger — but because he could not bear to see her like that. Still, he got up and made his way back, fully expecting to find her locked away in her bathing chamber, and prepared to plead with her from outside the door.

    But when he arrived he was met with a different sight entirely. Luminara sat with a large piece of paper spread across the centre table, covered in map markings. Beside it sat a feather inkpot, a large water tumbler, and the bejewelled pink hunting knife — the one he had last seen on that horrific day.

    He knew exactly what this meant. Luminara herself sat quietly, breathing in the scent from the lemon-chamomile balm jar she used to calm the anxiety that occasionally overtook her.

    “Moonbug?” he whispered.

    She did not look up — likely to avoid showing him whatever was reflected in the glassiness of her eyes. “Why do you not come back wearing something more comfortable. It is going to be a long night for us, Zir.”

    He pressed a silent kiss to the top of her head and left.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    The weather in Citrindally was harsh, the rain switching between drizzle and downpour every half hour. The usually thriving crowds of Terracinder had retreated indoors to taverns, cafes and restaurants, the shops shuttered for the day. The average Fyrge carries enough magic to keep their stores waterproof during rain, but unseasonal weather is considered a blessing from Demiurge, and most choose to close for a few hours in his honour when it arrives.

    An unusually tall stranger, wrapped in a thick pine-green cloak and white leather trousers, made his way through the heavy rain across the otherwise empty market square. He passed several shuttered cafes, stores and restaurants before stopping in front of the open entrance of a tavern. He looked up at the sign above and repeated the word back to himself in a quiet whisper. “Andedod.” On a regular day he might have asked the owner what it meant. But the world had been particularly unkind to him today. He simply pushed back his dry hood and walked inside.

    People were dancing and drinking throughout the tavern. Busy, certainly, but nothing overwhelming. He assumed the weather had driven some of the usual crowd elsewhere. He hung his cloak on the large hanging tree in the corner alongside the others and made his way toward the ale seating, where the bartender was currently attending to a row of Fyrges.

    He took a seat and the bartender’s eyes landed on him almost immediately. Apparently he had a distinct enough look to draw attention quickly.

    “Evening. What can I get you?” The bartender offered a polite smile.

    “Would the Weeping Tresses liqueur be available? I understand it is off season, but I am willing to pay whatever the price.” The stranger asked, and it was clear to the bartender that he had travelled some distance just to get hold of it. The liqueur could only be made during one specific month in winter, when the waters of the Weeping Tresses turned from their usual red to grey. That water was then used to ferment pomegranates and millet, producing a deep maroon liqueur strong enough to bring down even the mightiest in under three glasses. Its seasonal scarcity made it a luxury few could access outside of winter.

    The bartender nodded and disappeared into the back room.

    Soon the stranger held a wide crystal glass, half filled with the strong liqueur. He sipped slowly, working through a bowl of complimentary salted and spiced almonds.

    He did not bother glancing at the crowd even once. He was in a sombre mood. Sombre enough that even drunken sex would not fix it.

    “Oh, so you can give it to him but not to me?” a silken voice complained from beside him. Close enough that the stranger understood she was, in fact, talking about him.

    He looked up to find a pretty golden-haired youngling to his left, dressed in a smooth corseted teal gown with heavy gold detailing along the hem. She was addressing the bartender with narrowed eyes. The bartender had bowed deeply before responding. “I apologise, your highness. I did not feel comfortable lying about the unavailability. But her majesty gave special instructions to every tavern in Citrindally not to serve you the red liqueur after the previous—”

    She rolled her eyes, and it became increasingly clear she was a teenager, no older than eighteen, possibly younger. She took the seat beside the stranger and leaned in to whisper to the bartender. “Must you be so dramatic about it? Just pour me half a glass. I will not make a scene and I will never tell a soul. My friends are already three drinks in. This stays between us.” She glanced briefly at the stranger and added, “And this gorgeous foreign male, who looks smart enough to keep a secret. But that is all he is keeping.”

    That was when the stranger understood exactly who he was sitting beside. The youngest princess of Citrindally — Uliya Van Larsson Valhades — was negotiating expertly inches from him.

    The bartender hesitated. “Your high—” but was cut off by the stranger’s deep voice. “It is fine. Why not bring me another glass as well. I am allowed to offer the lady a drink, am I not? That would not break any rules.”

    Uliya grinned at him before turning back to the bartender. “No issue then, right, Gus?” She was clearly a regular.

    Gus gave them both a forced nod and left.

    “Oh, you have no idea what you just saved me from. Thank you so much.”

    The stranger laughed. “Is silver wheat really that much of a downgrade?”

    She pouted, turning fully toward him now. “Of course it is. Silver wheat is what you drink when you want to feel good. Red liqueur is for when you want to let go of every inhibition you have.” The last part came out with a delighted squeal that lifted his spirits more than anything had all day.

    He laughed. “Yes, I can vouch for that myself.”

    Gus returned with her glass. She snatched it and took a greedy first sip that left him quietly impressed. The girl clearly knew her liquor.

    “So what is your name?” Uliya asked casually.

    “Armond. Yours?”

    He would have addressed her properly, but something told him it would be better not to. She had likely come here to escape the title in the first place. Just like someone else he knew.

    “Uliya. I am a regular here.” She said, halfway through her second sip.

    It was only once the bartender had disappeared again that she said, “Oh, right — here,” reaching for her coin purse.

    “No, it is fine. Really. It is on me. I am glad I could help.”

    She tried to protest, but he was the better negotiator. Eventually she gave up and rose. “Thank you. I will remember this kindness. I hope we meet again, Armond.”

    “I hope so too. Enjoy your evening.” He offered with a grin, and just as he attempted a chivalrous bow, she pulled him into a quick hug instead and was gone.

    The stranger walked out of Andedod smiling, in a far better mood than when he had arrived. It was only once he reached the dark alley behind the tavern that he made a mental note to ask Kushiana how her little sister had such a sunny disposition when she herself was always like a dagger waiting to strike.

    Then the Northern High Prince stepped into the emerging blue portal and returned home, to Xerat.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    A small black trunk packed with essentials sat stuffed in a corner before the eldest Valhades made her way to the family’s private dining room. Her mother had sent Nysleon to check her availability for dinner — just the two of them, to her surprise. Kushiana and Lena rarely ate alone together. They had a good relationship, but Kushiana had always been closer to her father. Regardless, she obliged. She needed to make sure her parents suspected nothing before she left for Xerat tomorrow.

    She put on the first ironed maroon gown her new lady in waiting, Isa, had brought her. The female had been chosen that afternoon by the queen, once Kushiana confirmed she had no interest in interviewing anyone herself.

    The princess walked briskly, realising it was barely two hours to midnight. The queen occasionally kept very late meals due to an overfull schedule, and today had included a distant cousin’s early morning wedding celebrations and a long meeting with the Council’s organising committee for the Noctilune Ball.

    She stepped into the dining room to find Lena sitting alone at the head of the table. Nysleon was nowhere in sight. Her mother’s expression carried fatigue — rare, to see the solar queen anything less than radiant.

    “How was your day, Mother?” Kushiana asked, settling into the seat at Lena’s left. The table was set, but aside from the large garnet vase of blooming carnations at its centre, only a bottle of fine cotton-blue wine and two glasses sat before them.

    Lena snapped her fingers and the bottle lifted with her magic, pouring equal measures into both glasses. Kushiana raised hers toward her mother for a quick toast, only to find Lena had already taken a generous sip from her own. It was only once Kushiana drank from hers that her mother spoke.

    “I have become deeply concerned by a distance I only recently noticed has grown within our family.”

    Kushiana would have choked had she not already swallowed her wine. For a brief moment she feared Lena meant her dealings with Caelen — but her mother sighed and continued. “It pains me to see you and Zir constantly arguing. What happened between you two that was so serious?”

    The princess loosened her grip on the cutlery she had instinctively grabbed, releasing a breath. “Oh — that. You worried me, Mother. We are fine. We spoke today and cleared up a misunderstanding. He thought I was angry with him. I told him there was no such thing.”

    “Why on earth would he think that of you? You adore your brother and sister.” Lena asked, confused.

    Kushiana did not feel entirely comfortable discussing something between herself and Zir, but the concern on her mother’s face made her decide it was better to speak.

    She leaned in, taking another sip of wine while choosing her words carefully. “Back when Zir was with Sylveline, I found out she had been with someone else at the same time. I was angry and said things about her that he was not ready to hear. He told me not to meddle in his affairs, so I kept a respectable distance to let him work through it on his own. But he thought the distance meant I had not forgiven him. He carried that until today, when he finally came to apologise.”

    Kushiana looked up to find several emotions crossing her mother’s face — raw distaste, indignation, and what might even have been a rare flash of anger in her eyes. Lena clicked her tongue once and leaned back further.

    “You are telling me that on top of every disrespectful and treacherous thing her family had already attempted against ours, she also destroyed my son’s love for her with such deliberate cruelty?”

    It was a rhetorical question, and Kushiana knew it. Lena simply needed to hear the words back to fully take them in. She was no longer looking at Kushiana, her gaze fixed on the far end of the hall instead.

    Kushiana answered by laying her palm over her mother’s hand and giving it a small squeeze. “It is in the past, Mama. Zir is not hurting anymore.”

    But Lena’s gaze did not waver. “I will see every remaining Havburth hanged before I am laid to rest.”

    “All of us will. Together. I promise.” Kushiana replied softly, and Lena seemed to gather herself, remembering the actual purpose of the dinner.

    “Anyway — that is not what I wanted to speak to you about. Today, at the wedding, I was introduced to a fine gentleman.”

    The moment the words left Lena’s mouth Kushiana rolled her eyes and began mentally discarding everything that followed, already certain where this was heading and knowing she was going to need considerably more wine before the night was over.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    Luminara and Zir were sprawled on opposite ends of the large green velvet sofa in her chamber. Cecil was perched atop a lavender vine falling from the canopy of the bed — Zir had fashioned it into a makeshift swing for him at some point, and the blue raven was making full use of it while the two laid out their plan.

    “You are going to need to come up with a herb combination that knocks him out for a couple of hours. Even with our magic we will have to move him all the way from the Odolith to our meeting spot. I cannot use palm travel because he would be unconscious and unable to consent.”

    Luminara snorted. “The magic should really make an exception for someone who clearly has no relationship with the concept of consent himself.” She noted something down on the small piece of paper in front of her at the coffee table, mauve ink quill in hand.

    Zir stretched, resting the back of his head against one bicep. He had come back changed into a white silk georgette pyjama shirt and trousers with a silver sleeping robe over it. Luminara had let her hair down and changed into an off-shoulder dark green linen nightgown.

    He looked at the clock behind Cecil. It was almost midnight. 

    “Mind indulging in some strong coffee?” the prince asked, his eyelids were getting heavy.

    “How endearing that you religiously follow your bedtime princeling. I’ll pass though.” Luminara said tauntingly without looking up from the paper. 

    He scoffed and shot up, closing the distance between them to tug at her arm lightly. “Please. It’s unlawful behaviour to not accompany your friend when they want to have a beverage.” 

    She rolled her eyes. “So dramatic.” But eventually rang the bell for the kitchen maids working overnight. Two perfectly warm cups of cinnamon coffee were soon sent to their room. 

    “Alright so everything else in our plan is air tight. We just need to ensure that the herb combination works. Otherwise he could attract attention easily. Since almost everyone in Citrindally will be gracing Odolith that night.” Zir said energetically an hour later, while pacing on the floor.

    “I suggest mixing in a little worm poison, that’ll get the job done.” Cecil advised, finally stopping his swinging. 

    “Worm poison, seriously? You think it’s sufficient to unravel a man of his stature just because it knocked you out once?” Zir retorted instantly with an eyebrow raise and Cecil turned his head in Luminara’s direction. “He’s right actually, the effects are dicey. Let’s test it on Zir himself first.”

    Luminara exclaimed “Cecil, I am not feeding poison to my friend to test your theory!”

    But Zir immediately snapped his finger. “Brilliant idea bud, but I have training early morning with Ilias and he won’t budge. So we’ll try it tomorrow night.” 

    “That is your concern in this scenario!?” Luminara cried out. But the other two simply tilt their heads in unison, visibly confused. “Why not?” They ask together.

    “You two are weighing his life like it means nothing Demiurge help me. I am surrounded by morons! Argh.” The moonborn said irritably before burying her face in the sofa cushion. It’s only when she hears. “And she called you dramatic.” “Right!?” That she looks up and rewards the duo with a death glare. 

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 10 – The Grim Making Of A Moonborn, Part Two

    The queen takes a moment to collect herself before calling for Nysleon, who appeared beside her immediately.

    “Yes, your Majesty.”

    “Where is the child?” she asks, an edge still prominent in her voice that Nysleon can easily sense, even though she has buried it deep to appear neutral.

    “Noorani the healer was called as soon as the child arrived. She is treating her in the first chamber of the eastern wing, per the king’s request.”

    “I wish to see the child once she is done. Let Noorani know. And tell her to give the child something that helps with slumber if she has not already. She must be shaken.”

    Nysleon nods once. “Of course. Do you wish to see the prince in the meantime?”

    “What is he doing?”

    “He took a bath and demanded a feast as soon as he was done. So I suppose he is still eating.”

    The queen raised an eyebrow. “Zir demanded a feast? The wain who barely touches his food?” Then, as the answer came to her even as she asked it, she shook her head. “Nevermind. Inane of me to ask. Of course he did. After using his newly sprouted magical abilities, he must be famished.”

    “Shall I take you to him?”

    “No. Let him eat uninterrupted and rest. I will see him this evening.” Nysleon bows and leaves at once to deliver the message to the healer.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    Luminara blends into the warm woollen laycloth of the bed when the healer finally leaves her in solitude. She stares at the canopy absentmindedly as the thoughts that had been a hassle earlier finally begin to quiet.

    She does not recall much of what happened after the prince rescued her. Only fragments. Her panting and her hammering heart as she rushed through the hall trying to get hold of any weapon, anything to save herself from what was coming. The savage satisfaction on the Draumfell heir’s face as he commanded that the first five to strip and force themselves on this recently orphaned child would win a portion of the estate’s treasure and the chance to marry her — if they found her of any value after the said activity. The greed and lust on the faces of every single one of those barbarians as they frenzied after the eleven year old. How she had luckily found the grappling hook and rope that helped her aim for the chandelier and climb with everything she had. She had not known she could climb that fast. She supposed the ability had been hidden by Demiurge to surface on a day of doom exactly like this. She remembered the cutting rage on the prince’s face as he swore retribution to Skarde Draumfell. Had Zir meant it? Or had it been the heat of the moment? She had been left wondering.

    Not for long, as a knock came at the door. She lurched for anything within reach that could serve as a weapon.

    “Do not be afraid. It is me, child. The queen.” A beautifully melodic but firm voice came from the other side of the door in a way that made it seem as though its source was already in the room with her. As though she had already seen her reaching frantically for something.

    “May I come in?” she asked gently.

    A soft affirmative slipped from Luminara’s lips after a moment of silence.

    The doors opened slowly and the queen walked in. Radiant as day, even in the dim lamplight of the room. She had the most beautiful golden curls flowing halfway down her tall stature. Her almond-shaped eyes were a striking golden yellow that immediately put Luminara at ease with the calm they seemed to carry. The luscious maroon lips seemed to mirror Zir’s. The queen was naturally beautiful in the most regal sense, with her high cheekbones — like she had been born to be exactly what she was. She wore a golden and silver-lined satin-silk gown with heavy pleats, the kind Luminara had always imagined having made for her own mother someday. A heaviness touched her chest at the thought, and it seemed like the queen saw straight through it. Because she turned and told the two ladies in waiting flanking her to wait outside. They nodded and left, pulling the large oakwood doors closed behind them.

    Luminara gave a half bow from the bed, mindful of her injured leg — a gash on her thigh from the chandelier icicle before she had climbed up to it. The queen simply smiled and settled beside her.

    “So you are the friend Zir would not stop talking about when he came back from the carnival last year?” Lena asked with a gentleness Luminara had not been sure, until today, that royals were capable of. Except the prince, of course. He had always been kind to her.

    “Yes. My name is Luminara, your Majesty.” She answered with a visible trace of hesitation.

    “You have a remarkably exquisite name. I think it signifies that you are meant for a greater purpose in this world.”

    She managed a small smile. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

    “You do not have to smile at me if you do not want to. Ever. Though I am certain your genuine smile would be a delight to witness.”

    Luminara freezes momentarily at the warmth and kindness extended to a lowborn like her. They had always expected royals to be smug and unfeeling. And again, as though she could read the child effortlessly, Lena took her tiny hand inside her own with a comforting stroke.

    “Since you are a friend of Zir, you can stay here as long as you would like. Even if it is forever. The palace will always have this chamber lit up for you.”

    “Thank you, your Maj—” Luminara’s raspy little voice broke even on those few words as a tear escaped, then another. And before she knew it she was bawling. But the ugliness of the day had long subsided, because through her falling tears she realised she was in the warm embrace of a mother. Not her own, but someone’s mother. Not just a queen. Comforting hands patted her back and head as she sobbed through the painful memories of the past two days.

    Moments passed, and before she noticed she had stopped. She felt lighter already. Considerably better. As she broke the embrace and met the queen’s eyes, a small smile appeared on both their faces at the same moment.

    “I did not give birth to you. But as of today I will always consider and treat you as my own child.” Lena said, and gently pressed a kiss to the child’s forehead. A kiss that healed a larger part of the pain than either of them realised — the kind the child would otherwise have suppressed and carried growing up, without ever knowing it was there.

    Luminara did not answer. But the small smile from earlier had stretched into something much longer and entirely genuine.

    The queen asked her ladies in waiting to bring a feast for the child afterwards, and fed her herself. She put her to sleep right after.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    Kiev had nearly dozed off on the maroon velvet chaise in their bedchamber after several glasses of wine when he felt a hand caress his cheek gently. He looked up to find Lena standing over him.

    “My love, sit with me.” He said, straightening, and she did. Despite being half-drunk he could read the anxious expression on her face immediately.

    “Why do you worry? Is something the matter?” he asked, wide-eyed and fully alert now.

    “The prophecy has come true,” she replied, and Kiev’s eyebrow rose immediately.

    “The prophecy? Which one?”

    Lena did not answer directly. “How could we have missed such an important detail?”

    “Relax. Which one?”

    “The birth of the moon-blessed child.”

    “The birth—” He stopped himself halfway, eyes showing clearly how staggered he was.

    “Luminara?” he asked carefully.

    “Of course it is her, Kiev. She is only eleven and has already lived through the twin catastrophic events the prophecy describes. That means in the coming two decades there is a strong likelihood of war.”

    He exhaled deeply, sitting with the weight of it. Moments passed before he spoke.

    “It will be all right. I will meet with Evan first thing tomorrow, then the Council. We will prepare accordingly. This is not the first time ruling has asked something difficult of us.”

    “About that — please do not let anyone other than Evan learn of Luminara’s identity. The child has been through enough. If people find out what she is, they will never treat her the same. Some may come for her blood.”

    He nodded solemnly. “I promise. But only until the next decade. We will have Hinjk train her in the meantime. She will learn to defend herself and explore the depth of her abilities.”

    She nodded, relieved. “I will tell her to keep this to herself until then. She is a bright child. She will listen.”

    He caressed her head gently. “Of course she will. Why would she not? You are the greatest mother a child could ask for.”

    She swallowed the praise quietly and moved the conversation forward. “I found out just after putting her to bed. I was leaving when I saw a glowing light emerging from the centre of her chest. I followed it outside and found it was perfectly aligned with the twin moons’ rays.”

    “Extraordinary,” he said softly.

    The king wrapped an arm around his beloved, and together they gazed silently at the twin moons, radiant in their full glory.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 8 – Tragedy Often Leaves A Trail

    As a wain, my magical abilities did not fully emerge until I was somewhere between nine and ten. I vividly remember sitting in our private dining chamber wanting a chocolate soufflé for dessert rather than the flan everyone else was having. My mother declined to call the servants on my behalf, saying I needed to grow out of my shyness and learn to ask for things myself. Before speaking I rehearsed it quietly, imagining the kitchen maid standing right beside me. “I would like a chocolate soufflé, please.” “I need one, please.” “Could I have some, please?” I settled on the last as the most polite. The moment I opened my mouth, the kitchen maid appeared with vacant eyes at an unnatural speed, placed three plates of chocolate soufflé before me and said “Do you require anything else, my mistress?” That is how we discovered my primary magical ability was placing anyone in a thrall through words and visualisation alone.

    — Princess Uliya Van Larsson of House Valhades, Personal Accounts of the Valhades Heirs, The Great Hall Of Learning

    ~ Uliya ~

    An intense black light bleeds in from behind the curtains of my pastel pink room, painting all four walls with it. “Oh crap,” I mutter as I wake, covering my eyes with my arm. “Yer, what is all this?” No lightning quick response comes. I drag myself out of bed, making out objects by touch, calling her name again and again until I feel the light seeping through my closed eyelids. I try to reach for my power and find nothing there. So I open my eyes slowly, met first with pitch black, then with a deep and revolting red that stretches as far as I can see.

    Then I hear breathing.

    Followed by the voice I thought I had buried long ago. “Uliya my love, why don’t you come play with me?” My body locks up, a strange sensation crawling all over it at once. No. No. It cannot be. Apateus. His voice seems distant at first, then — “I can always be closer than you think” it is no longer a whisper and it is coming from directly behind me. I feel warm tears streaking down my face. “Let go of me!” I demand, met only with vicious laughter that pierces my eardrums and makes my heart collapse entirely. And then like a phantom wind he is right in front of me, wide eyes meeting the curve of his mocking smile perfectly. “I said let go of me, or I will rip your eye socket out. You filthy piece of scum.” I say it through clenched teeth. The colour drains from his face. The smile falters and he steps back. It takes me a moment to realise he is not looking at me at all, but at something behind me. I turn halfway and am met with an intense yellow light and Apateus’ deafening cry of fear reverberating all around me.

    Before I can process it, I wake up in my own bed. Sweating through my clothes, panting. Yer hovers over me immediately, a wet cloth napkin held in her beak, cooing “You are fine, Ul. You are fine.”

    I cannot stop panting but sit up and grab the water tumbler to my left, pouring it straight into my mouth without bothering with a glass. Once hydrated and fully aware of my surroundings — my bright, cosy bedchamber with the pink accents, I finally let the panic go.

    “Did you have a nightmare?” she asks, settling casually on top of the left footpost.

    “Yes,” I practically whisper.

    “That is peculiar. You have not had one in six years. Your first night back and this happens.” She cocks her head to the side.

    I sigh and get off the bed, ringing the bell for Agatha, the new lady in waiting assigned to me. I was sad to learn yesterday that old Esmeralda had died of a plague that took many poor Fyrges last year. “Maybe it is my body adjusting back to Citrindally’s air.”

    “Fair enough. What was it about? I could only catch flashes of bright golden light in my mind.”

    I stop walking and turn to face her directly. “Nothing. Can we speak about this later? I do not want to start my first morning home on a dull note, Yer.”

    “Of course! Do you want me to fetch your correspondence? Agnes told us a great many citizens have written to welcome you back.” She squeals and I laugh, giving her a small nod before she disappears through the window.

    I stretch to shake off the last of the anxiety, interrupted by two quick knocks at the door.

    “Come in,” I answer. The door creaks open and a meek looking female steps inside. Her hair is a beautiful flame-kissed shade, gathered into a large fishnet bun behind her head. She is petite, dressed in a drab white collared silk dress paired with a sea green lace apron — the usual attire of the ladies in waiting at the royal palace, unless they wish otherwise, as Fyrges hold a superstition about certain colours being unlucky for their health.

    She greets me with a prolonged bow, the kind reserved for a first meeting between a lady in waiting and her princess, then says, “Your Royal Highness, if I may introduce myself?”

    “Please do. And try calling me Uliya when we are behind closed doors. Being addressed as Your Royal Highness at all times might make me an even worse royal than I already am.”

    A small smile escapes her before she schools it. “My name is Agatha. Starting today I will be at your service for all matters, official and unofficial, that a lady in waiting should attend to. I also excel at sewing, altering and customising garments.”

    “Perfect, you can assist with the seamstress work as well then, Agatha. I would like breakfast in my antechamber this morning — please let my mother know. And bring a couple of gowns for me to choose from for lunch.”

    “Of course. Is there anything else?”

    I start to shake my head and stop. “Actually yes, one urgent matter. Could you stop by and give Prince Zir a message on your way? His companion is not around today.”

    She nods and moves to the desk, lifting a piece of paper and the ink-dipped feather.

    “I am certain his Royal Highness would be pleased to hear from you. What is the message?”

    “Tell him that the first thing I thought of this morning was that specific time eight years ago when he picked up Mama’s sword for the first time, could not handle it, fell straight into the fountain, and I could not stop laughing. Also tell him he is a prick.” I say it with complete seriousness.

    She raises an eyebrow slightly, then immediately bows when she realises I mean every word.

    “It is fine, he will know it is from me.”

    I smile and dismiss her with a casual wave and she is gone.

    Later that afternoon,

    I am the last to arrive at our private dining hall. My mother and father are already seated at their respective ends of the rectangular table, making conversation with Zir and Kushiana, who sit opposite each other and are very clearly attempting civility.

    The moment I take my first step inside, all eyes turn to me — scanning for whichever emotion they have learned to expect from me. Anger. Sadness. Nastiness. Indifference.

    “It is essential for a princess to respect the timing of supper, Uliya,” my mother says, firmly but politely, by way of greeting.

    I hastily pull out the chair beside Zir, next to her. “Sorry. I could not sleep at all last night.”

    “It is alright, child. I am simply glad we are all eating together.” Father smiles and rings the bell with a flick of magic, sending the servants into motion around the room.

    We eat in the silence considered appropriate for royals. Demiurge help me, I am going to miss chatting with Yer over meals. The food here may be better but it is doing nothing for me when she is not at the table. My family is perfectly tolerable but nothing compares to her.

    I unenthusiastically carve up the baked seasoned potatoes on my plate when I feel Kushiana’s gaze settle on me. “What?” I mouth. Her eyes move deliberately to the untouched pile of vegetables beside them, then back to mine. A silent question.

    I sigh. Then spend the next few minutes slowly burying the ash-like food in the depths of my mouth.

    “If you do not mind,” Zir says suddenly, setting down his fork, “I have an urgent matter to attend to. May I take leave?” As usual, Mister Busy has somewhere to be. This is the same man who faked employment for years in the human lands. Nothing surprises me anymore.

    “I certainly mind. What is this urgent matter pertaining to, Ziruth?” Father’s voice carries the weight of a king this time.

    “It is Zir, so probably something to do with abandoning his family and kingdom.” Kushiana adds in that feather-light voice of hers, the one that appears reliably after two glasses of blackberry wine. I sometimes wonder if she would need that many drinks if she stopped shouldering responsibility for everyone around her.

    Zir tilts his head slowly, smiling like a feral cat. They are absolutely going to start.

    “Is that what you are wishing on? So you can keep fishing for another opportunity to self-sacrifice?”

    Her answering snarl splits something in my chest. A small crackle of lightning flickers from her fingers. Father exhales deeply.

    “Enough.” Mama’s voice is sharper now, carrying real weight. “Need I remind you both who you are seated before?”

    Both of them straighten immediately, eyes dropping. So completely at odds with the argument they were building toward seconds ago.

    “Good. Zir, you may go. But let us avoid abrupt departures during the limited meals we have together as a family. We must learn to stay together.”

    He nods. “Yes ma’am. I will see you both in court this evening.” He rises and leaves.

    Mama extends a finger toward Kushiana. An invisible thread attaches to her half-full glass and lifts it smoothly across the table into Mama’s waiting hand.

    “I was still drinking that—”

    “Yes, and look at the state of you already. It should have stopped after the first glass. Drunk is not a flattering look on a queen.”

    Kushiana bursts out laughing, clearly out of spite. “And dead is?”

    Father coughs. Mother’s eyes register as much shock as they allow themselves.

    I stand and take my older sister firmly by the arm. “Up. We are getting some fresh air.”

    “I do not want—”

    “Now, Kushiana.” I say it in the rare assertive way I rarely do.

    She yields.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Zir ~

    I had written back to Syveline the same night, while still in the human lands, asking her to describe Nivun’s ailment in detail. She responded the next morning and I immediately sent Cecil in search of Noorani, our family healer who gave up her practice to focus on teaching children. She could not be found. Cecil has gone to Tyutir again today, to her kin’s place, still looking.

    Until then.

    I have just escaped a painfully prolonged supper with my family. They take unusually long to eat and it is unbearable. How hard is it to finish soup? No chewing required.

    I head directly for the eastern wing’s second floor and knock on the large heavy oakwood door. The smell immediately stirs up childhood memories.

    “Hello, who can I expect?” Lume’s deep voice answers from inside.

    “It is me, Zir. Open up.”

    The door swings open by magic and I step into the antechamber. The eastern wing bedrooms are considerably more airy than the rest of the palace. Luminara’s in particular is the finest, her antechamber leading into a large bedchamber connected to a generous hanging garden balcony for her herbs.

    The scent of rosemary and dill drifts around me as I take in how the antechamber has been remade to reflect her grown interests. Several neatly organised shelves hold glass beakers, vials and containers of herbs in careful rows.

    Her adjoining bedchamber and private dining hall have minimal furniture — a large blackwood canopy bed with lavender vines falling from it and wrapping around white curtains beautifully. Her study desk sits in front of it, covered in correspondence written in cerulean blue ink. A large triple armoire of whitewood faces the bed and contrasts beautifully against it. A single green velvet sofa with a round coffee table, books stacked in piles underneath. Tiny lamps are mounted across the ceiling. No chandelier like the rest of us. I feel uneasy for a moment registering that, then swallow it down and push open the double doors to the garden.

    The semi-circular ground is covered in trimmed grass. Large and small plants crowd every surface, flowers and herbs blooming to the point of overlapping in places, making the stone boundary of the balcony nearly impossible to locate.

    It takes a moment to find Lume somewhere in the middle, her head popping up from where she has been kneeling, working a new plant into a round mirror-glazed ceramic pot.

    She has her hair in two long braids falling over her shoulders and has chosen black overalls over a green tunic, white rubber gloves and thick boots.

    “Hey, I was not expecting you until this evening. Is something wrong?” She asks, nonchalant, attempting to push stray strands of hair back from her sweat-beaded forehead with her elbow. Her gloves are covered in dry soil.

    I move toward her and push them back behind her ear.

    She lets out a quiet sigh of relief, shoulders dropping. “Thank you. It was driving me mad.”

    I smile. “I need your help, Lume. Could you come back to this later?”

    “Of course. Give me a minute.”

    I nod and settle onto the sofa, pouring her a glass of water while she cleans the soil from her hands and tosses the gloves into a corner.

    “Tell me,” she says, sitting on the settee across from me and drinking.

    I lean forward. “Alright, so—” and stop, realising the balcony and antechamber doors are still open. As if every soul here doesn’t have better things to do than suspect their prince of casual treason.

    She catches where my eyes go and snaps both doors shut with a flick of her fingers.

    “I have already sealed all my chambers with sonancy magic. You can say whatever you need to.” She adds the reassurance because she knows my wariness extends to even locked doors. 

    I wink. “I knew having a smart friend would pay off eventually.”

    She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you were that calculative even in your first decade. Now go on, princeling. I have healing herbs waiting to be bound.”

    “Alright. I cannot get hold of our old healer Noorani, and I need medicine made without my parents learning of it.”

    She leans back and crosses her legs. “What kind of herbs?”

    I bring out the paper describing the ailment and the medicine name and hold it out to her. Or so I think.

    She raises an eyebrow and holds up what is actually in her hand, an amused smile playing on her lips.

    “I do agree with Uliya that you are a prick, and I cannot wait to hear more about this sword incident, but—”

    I realise I have handed her the message Uliya sent to torment me through her maid earlier. I snatch it back, shove it into my pocket and produce the correct paper.

    She keeps laughing but skims through it quickly and nods. “I can make this. But it will need sun-dried salted aloe vera which takes two days to prepare. Three days in total.”

    I do not argue about the timeline. I already trust she has found the fastest way.

    “That works. Thank you, Lume.”

    “A thanks will not cover it. I need five tiny rubies in exchange.”

    I scoff. “Do not be absurd. That would barely make a bracelet. I will get you twenty.”

    We look at each other seriously for a moment before she laughs. “You need to learn to negotiate, princeling. Anyone could take advantage of you. I was joking anyway.”

    I stand. “Negotiation is for dealings with others. Not the friend who never asks why I need something. I suggest you start asking for more.”

    She pauses before she rises. And when she looks up I notice her eyes are a little glassy.

    “I missed you, you know.”

    I feel my own emotions rise. “I did too, moonbug.”

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Kushiana ~

    I regain consciousness at the cost of a throbbing headache that ascends to the crown of my head and then descends again in nauseating waves. I manage to open my glassy eyes. I am in my bedchamber but not alone.

    “She does not even listen to me without snapping. What am I supposed to do?” Zir mutters to Uliya from the leather armchair in front of my bed, gazing thoughtfully out the window.

    “Well she needs to listen. And you are older so you have to say it.” Uliya says, arms crossed in the adjacent armchair.

    “Ah, no? Where did that rule come from suddenly. Especially from someone who breathes to talk.”

    She tosses her hair back, the portrait of manufactured innocence. “I am the youngest. I involuntarily have the least authority.”

    “You had our mother build a staircase from my balcony to yours by lying that you were scared. She did not even ask me before imposing.” Zir seethes.

    Uliya laughs. “That was purely to annoy you actually. I am proud of that one.”

    “If I could strangle you and get away with it, I would. You live to create trouble for me.” He delivers it in the sweetest voice, as though reciting poetry.

    “Cry to Demiurge about it later. Now listen — when she wakes up.” Uliya points in my direction and I close my eyes immediately, feigning sleep. “Tell her she does not have to do this. Our parents cannot force her to sit on that throne and would ultimately be more worried about her wellbeing than anything else. That is all.”

    These two worry about me so much. Now I feel guilty.

    “Fine. But she is not going to listen easily in a thousand years. So if she does not, you better produce those deceptive tears and cry like your life depends on it. And if you do not, I will make you.”

    “That is so mean, Zir. I am barely seventeen. How could you say that about me?” She suddenly bursts into tears and I am about to sit up and end this circus when—

    He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes. Exactly like that. Well done.”

    Uliya drops her hands from her face. Dry-eyed.

    These two happen to be exceptionally gifted at scheming and theatrics. I need to put a stop to their antics today. Caelen would withdraw his help the moment he sensed political danger, so I can afford to be honest while withholding certain details. That way I will not feel guilty either.

    I sit up slowly and they both immediately rise and come to settle at opposite ends of my bed.

    “What are you two doing in my room?” I ask, frowning naturally while rubbing an eye.

    “When I brought you back here after supper to talk, you passed out the moment you lay down,” Uliya says carefully.

    “And?” I gesture to Zir for water. Uliya says nothing until he fetches it. They are really committing to their respective roles.

    “And we thought — instead of fighting, the three of us should do something fun together.” Zir adds pleasantly, handing me the glass.

    I drain it before looking at them both.

    “Fine. But let me say something first.”

    “Oh,” they say in unison, visibly thrown. Probably expecting a threat.

    I sigh and snap all doors and windows shut with my fingers. “I am not going to sit on the throne. I know how to get all of us away from it. But that is all I can offer you right now. The curse is very real, I believe in it, and I will ask for help only if I need it before the crowning. I have it handled. Please do not push me for more.”

    I look up. They are both staring at me.

    Silence for a moment before they erupt simultaneously.

    “You had a plan the entire time and said nothing while we worried ourselves sick?” Uliya shrieks.

    “What do you mean we cannot push for more information. This affects the whole family, not just you.” Zir says in that quietly disappointed tone he reserves for occasions like this.

    I roll my eyes. “Do not make it my funeral now. Can the two of you not simply trust me? Have I not handled things before when I said I would? Is that what you think of your eldest sister?”

    I resort to my own theatrics, layering in a few well-placed sentences. I even briefly consider attempting Uliya’s fake cry, but it is too risky. I do not have the practice or her emotionally expressive face. They would see through it instantly.

    It works beautifully regardless. They both pause, let the words settle, and when they speak again the temperature has changed.

    “Fine. But do not do anything that puts you in danger. I refuse to watch you die for something stupid.” Uliya says, clicking her tongue, arms crossed again.

    “I will not interfere. But find a solution quickly because I am not letting you sit on that throne under any circumstance. That is not negotiable.” Zir says flatly, rising from the bed.

    “Thank you for trusting me. And I should not have to say this, but this stays between us.” I add with a small smile they reluctantly return.

    “Of course.”

    “Yes.”

    “Good. Do we still have anything fun planned for the three of us?” I emphasise the last three words, poking gently at their terrible intervention opener.

    “Do not act smart,” Uliya mutters and walks out.

    “I will still be watching out for danger,” Zir says. I nod. That seems fair.

    “Also, unrelated but can I borrow some of your lightning beads in a couple of weeks? It is for—”

    “Of course. I do not need the full explanation. I trust you.” I cut him off before he can finish.

    He nods and disappears with a steady hand of magic.

    Crisis averted, for now.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 6 – A Timeless Tale of Fox and Deer

    Over the centuries, the folklore, fate, and folly of the Fyrges have been altered significantly through events caused either by their own actions or by the hands of Demiurge.

    An ancient saying, coined sometime after the death of Lars, sought to encapsulate the ever-changing nature of life on the continent:

    “A fawn so absorbed in the twig between its teeth that it ignores the rustling leaves behind it invites death. But so does the fox that lunges at a fawn too cavalier to run.”

    — The Foundation of Fyrgen Archives, The Great Hall Of Learning

    ~ Kushiana ~

    A chill crawls down my spine as I stand before the large black wall that spreads miles, dividing Fyrgen and Xerat. The reason is not the atmosphere but the conversation with my father earlier. I had asked him if it would be possible to shift my crowning by a couple of weeks. He neither denied nor approved it outright, but said he would convene a meeting with the members of the Council. They decided against any further delay today. The night the twin moons turn blue comes once in three millennia and is considered an extraordinarily propitious occasion for a new heir to be crowned. Unfortunately, that is only six months away.

    “Nothing will hurt you. You are going to be fine,” Agnes says lightly, keeping her reassurance casual. She knows I hardly listen when my thoughts start spiralling, but it does not help that I have ruminated in silence since leaving my father’s chamber.

    “Maybe. But I have to be prepared.” By suffering through it in my own mind before it actually happens, it might hurt less.

    Before Agnes can counter or add to the dead conversation, fast frigid winds begin blowing all around us until a portal of blue light opens slowly before us, and the icemale steps out as effortlessly as ever.

    “Halló, sweet dame.” Caelen’s warm, heavy voice is always such a contrast to the graveyard of ice and stone he was raised in. A male of enduring charisma, standing a couple of inches over six feet. The crimson lips beaming against his pale skin always have me transfixed, and his piercing silver-lavender gaze slices through me like I am a mere block of nothingness in his cold world.

    His eyes never leave mine, but I can tell he scans me from foot to crown as he says, “Highly appreciate the precision with which you are undressing me mentally, but I prefer greetings to be exchanged first. Perhaps a little dialogue before we proceed to…”

    I fix him with a challenging glare, daring him to finish that sentence. He responds with that shameless, maddening grin instead.

    “You have got to stop feeding the straying delusions of your mind.”

    “Endearingly sentimental, as always.” He flashes his crooked grin before wrapping his hand around mine and pulling both Agnes and me into the portal.

    Hardly a moment passes before we land in his safe house. A truly cosy, firelamp-lit retreat for us to scheme in. It is so remote that only Xerata and Caelen know its location, though it was merely a gift to him since she has not bothered to appear here in over a decade. I imagine her choice of comfort no longer extends beyond the diamond throne.

    “Any specific agenda for your visit today, princess?” he says, pouring cranberry wine into one of the two glasses already levitating in the air between us.

    Agnes lets out a disapproving coo, which prompts him to arrange a bowl of sweet nectar for her. She disappears into the corner.

    It is hard to believe we have only met twice before. The first time I ran into him was by accident, at the autumn ball, while I was trying to avoid the court ladies who kept pressing me to seek a lover. It did not help that I was already miserable because of Zir and Uliya’s absence, announced at the last minute through correspondence. My corset felt tight, like it was designed to choke me. I rushed toward the back alley of the Odolith and collided with him. The close contact with a stranger startled me, but his scent was so fresh, cedar-filled and misty, that I could not help but look up. Despite the mask, it was obvious this male did not belong to Citrindally. He sensed my distress quickly. All it took was him asking, “Are you alright there?” for me to burst into tears. I simply could not bury my emotions any longer, and as embarrassing as the outburst was, he got me out of there fast, to my preferred stargazing spot on the hill behind the palace. We sat in silence. Neither of us said anything. I felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders, like I could breathe easily for the first time in a long while.

    “Who are you? I can tell you are not from here,” I asked him eventually.

    “Someone who should not be here at all. Yet I have no choice,” he replied calmly.

    I did not press further. Eventually I rose, realising the guards would be looking for me. He offered to walk me back to the palace gates. We made our way down the hilly path until I heard my guard Slovak’s voice calling for me, growing closer. By the time I turned to thank the stranger, he was gone. I found myself wondering if he had ever been there at all.

    The second time…

    “Ally with me against the cursed tradition my family has held for centuries,” I say outright, before Caelen has even had the chance to hang our coats on the stand.

    He raises an eyebrow but arrives at a tone of agreement with surprising speed.

    “And what is in it for me?”

    “I will find your sister.”

    He cocks his head, then laughs. “You realise if it were that simple, she would be sitting beside me right now? There are countless Fyrges out there. How would you even identify her from the brief description I managed to get out of Xayla?”

    Xayla’s his grandmother, one of the most powerful witches in our world. She’s also the only one who bothered telling him he has a sister somewhere in Fyrgen—on the condition Xerata not learn of it until after he’s found her.

    I grin, pure sarcasm probably evident on my face. “You should be more worried about whether she would stay once she learns how obnoxiously arrogant you are, snowflake.”

    He considers this for a moment, well aware that I may be the only one with the resources to find her. His eyes soon darken and his expression turns grave. “Your plans are perilous enough to set the entirety of Fyrgen aflame, Kushiana.” It is the first time I have heard him say my name, and I find it vaguely unsettling.

    “Is the frost giant afraid of a little adventure?” I offer the words with a bite, the kind that gets under his skin immediately.

    He swallows whatever retort he had and collapses onto the couch with a whoosh of wind, patting the spot beside him. “Run me through your ideas. Best we eliminate all the ridiculous ones straight away.”

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Zir ~

    I walk into the parlour the next morning to behold an interesting sight. Uliya is reading aloud from my hideously worn scroll of Fyrgen’s oldest folklore while Yer and Cecil listen eagerly from the top of the mantelpiece.

    “And then the male cursed the entire royal bloodline with—”

    “It appears to be a good morning indeed. We are already discussing cursed bloodlines.”

    She scoffs with disdain and folds the scroll lightly, declaring, “We will continue the session once he is gone.”

    “From here, or for good?” Cecil adds begrudgingly. The great thing about close relations is that you often find them cross with you for no good reason. But life goes on. Especially for our kind.

    I smile and pour myself some water with a snap of my fingers. “So what are your plans for your last day here, sister?”

    She rises, dismissing the question with a slight wave of her hand. “None that concern you. I am free to bask in my last shred of human-disguised liberty tonight.”

    “Fair. Just be here by morning.” I respond with indifference while hydrating. Uliya may be up to no good as per habit, but I have a full day ahead to keep myself occupied.

    She lands one of her sweetest defiant smiles on me and a chill travels down my back like a rush of water from a mountain. Demiurge protect her. I cannot deal with her absurdities today, so I simply smile in return.

    “I will leave now,” I bid her goodbye.

    Cecil perches on my shoulder and I circle a steady hand around us, making us emerge directly outside the ministerial estate.

    “Go keep yourself busy. Only answer if I call.” I murmur to him and he disappears into the nearby forest. I quickly straighten the lapels of my blue blazer and walk inside toward my office, where I find Estella, a warm-faced woman in her mid-forties with ink-stained fingers and a holy locket she touches more often than she breathes, attempting to sort through a tumbling mess of land treatises. Two slip from her hand, only to be caught in my grip as she stumbles backward.

    “Oh, sire, apologies. We were not expecting you this early.” She bows, sporting her half-embarrassed smile.

    “Thought I would do you all a favour by making an early appearance on my last day.”

    “Not your last! Your last day here. God bless you with a long life ahead, sire. Perhaps rephrase that for the rest of the day?”

    She touches her holy locket to her forehead and says a quiet prayer. How comical, to have her praying unknowingly to one god to save another. She never changes.

    I laugh and head into my office to collect the last of the papers I am to review and stamp. Or pretend to review and stamp until she disappears for some errand. My powers allow me to do it with the flick of a finger. I usually only keep up the theatrics until my office is clear of all human life. When I first joined here as an apprentice to another retired minister, they were in considerable awe of my pace in sorting everything out. With magic, navigating the job ladder proved easy enough. Initially, I felt like an imposter hiding my abilities, but eventually there was simply nothing else to do. So, for the past five years, I have been playing the role of a diligent worker.

    A few minutes into the act, Estella appears after a knock, holding an envelope with my name on top.

    “We received a letter for you this morning. No address or stamp on the outside. Only your first name.”

    I nod. She hands it over and leaves quietly, closing the door behind her.

    The name is handwritten not just in red ink but in one smeared with intoxicating nostalgia and the scent of wild poppies, the kind that captures my soul and almost stops my breath. A tear slips out and falls over the name, but the “Zir” stays intact. Havburthian blend.

    I steady my sinking heart and open it with unsteady fingers. My blurring vision threatens to make it impossible to continue, but I bring myself to read on.

    Dear Z,

    I hope all is going well for you. You must think me shameless to write after all these years, and I reckon I am. But you are the only person I could bring myself to think of at this moment.

    I cannot bear to explain everything, but my precious father has caught an illness deemed untreatable by the forest healer Hjalati. It has been catching on to him slowly for the past three months. Initially he showed some recovery through the lejonese herbs, but his condition has only worsened this past week. Hjalati believes he is on the brink of death. It may come to claim him as soon as the next full moon.

    As you already know, we are not permitted to step outside Lejonet because of our strained relations with the Council. My family thinks it vain for me to write to you or any member of the royal household at all. They have slowly accepted his death even before it has come.

    The ink appears smeared over the next lines, likely by a tear.

    But I beg of you, Zir. Please do something. My father is the most pristine soul alive. He should not be punished for the sins of my ancestors. It is unjust and deeply cruel. If you can find it in you, please forgive me. And speak to her royal highness. Please.

    I will wait for your reply. Hopefully it will not take as long as the years I took to write back to you. But it is perfectly alright if this is beyond your reach. I would still love you the same.

    Sylve

    I realise the letter has crumpled slightly in my hand from how tightly I held it. I cannot turn my back on her. Nivun deserves to live. I will find a way, even if my parents do not approve. I am gifted with a paper cut while hurriedly folding it back and shoving it inside the envelope.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Uliya ~

    I find myself standing on the dewy cobblestones. Mrs Fairweather must have watered her garden sometime before dawn. It is harder to say my goodbyes than I expected. All the friends I have made in the human world are a door away, waiting for me to come to my own farewell party. I did not use magic to get here today. I took the local carriage, one last time.

    I left Yer behind as well. Even though I have told everyone here that she is my pet dove — they doubted whether doves made appropriate pets, then assumed it was possible among the affluent. She would have soothed my nerves. I have been standing here for the past fifteen minutes, and with every minute that passes it becomes harder to take the steps. Neza, Ariel and Liliana have each come and peered out of the window one by one, awaiting my arrival. And here I am in my mist form, hiding behind the tree in their garden, too much of a coward to become corporeal.

    I consider running back to Zir’s mansion to hide. They cannot come looking for me there since they do not know I have a brother. I still have my apartment, but that is a risk.

    Then suddenly I feel her warmth all around me and straighten my posture. “Mama, are you here?” I ask inside my mind and my mother’s image appears. She is in her private dining chamber taking her supper, Nysleon resting by the window beside her. “My darling child,” she responds in her ever-sweet voice. “Why are you not going inside? Your friends are so eagerly waiting for you.” I must have been extraordinarily anxious for her to sense it and reach out. The sun god gave her the gift of reaching into the minds of those she loves, but she seldom uses it. She deems the idea deeply invasive. Everyone believes the Queen of Citrindally values jewels and status above all else, but the family knows my mother values nothing more than individual freedom and the people she loves.

    A tear slips out. “It is so hard to say goodbye, Mama. They are bidding farewell to a crook. I was never honest with them about where I come from. My immortal Fyrgen life that ages a hundred times slower than theirs, my companion, my royal family. I feel so ashamed. They are my friends and I have been utterly dishonest with them at every turn.”

    “Never. I raised a brave, sweet child who makes everyone’s day a little brighter. As Fyrges we have been taught since birth never to reveal our origins to humans. A human who learns of our world trades their life for it. You have done the right thing, do not blame yourself. And I did not invade your thoughts, but it seems you share a great many colourful memories with those girls. Hold tightly to them and walk through that door.”

    I frown. “You are right. I was overcomplicating it. I do not know why I do that.”

    She sighs. “A trait inherited from your father. It was a moment of weakness and it has passed. Go and rejoice with your friends. Your heart is not pumping quite so fast anymore.”

    “Thank you. I miss you, Mama. Save me the warmest hug for tomorrow.”

    She smiles. “The warmest one is always yours. Your brother has real ice running through his veins, so do I even need to say it?”

    I shake my head. “No. I already know you love me more than the other two.”

    “Absolutely,” she offers as goodbye and vanishes from my mind.

    I grin to myself, step into my corporeal form and run toward the doorway to see my girls.

    We end up celebrating well into the night, all of them wildly optimistic about my future as a jewellery heiress in the citadel. Because yes, I had to kill off the affluent fake aunt I invented, as an excuse for my sudden departure from the village. Ironically this is the lie I feel the least guilty about. Perhaps because we Valhades are so accustomed to the concept of untimely death, particularly ones we orchestrated ourselves.

    My friends baked me a strawberry and raspberry cream cake as a goodbye gift. We danced all evening at the local tavern and spent the rest of the night laughing and revisiting memories from the past few years. In the morning they bid me farewell, and I returned to the mansion.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 4 – The Coldblood Paradox

    The only thing Fyrges value more than their myths are the prophecies written by Dacre Van Valhades II, a prince who gave up his title long ago to live as a saint in the mountains, training his exceptional seer abilities to perfection.

    The primary prophecy, written centuries ago, long before the death of Citrindalia and the events that followed, states: “On a fateful night, an unsuspecting family would find themselves on the brink of death, caused by the last person they could expect to be the perpetrator. They would die without knowing what caused Demiurge to turn their back on them. The last thought to flash across all of their minds would be the same — where is the fourth member of the group? Are they alive? The question will be answered in time, the day the land splits and the ravens cry out, for Demiurge has not two eyes but four. Two to watch, and two to see.”

    — The Foundation of Fyrgen Archives, The Great Hall Of Learning

    ~ Zir ~

    The clock strikes eight and immediately draws my attention. The Citrindally Codex has occupied me longer than intended. Where is everybody?

    “Cecil!” I summon him and he flies out from under the fireplace.

    “What foreign business were you carrying out in the chimney?” I ask as he shakes ash all over the carpet.

    “Saw a juicy frog, couldn’t help but follow.”

    I rest my tilted head over my palm out of pure boredom. “You never caught it, did you?”

    “You try catching food that moves that fast someday, then we’ll talk!”

    “Whatever. Can you check in with Yer? Uliya should have shown up an hour ago.”

    “AN HOUR AGO? And you’re telling me this right now! What if Yer is in danger! Damn you, Zir, I—”

    All it takes is throwing the rest of my water at him to pause his meltdown. He shakes it off and gifts me his death stare. I return a smug smirk in his direction.

    “Exactly the vigilance I wanted from you. Now go be of use.” He disappears through the window in a matter of microseconds. I should use Yer being in danger as an excuse to get him moving more often. It is evil, but Cecil can pester me mercilessly at the oddest intervals.

    Another hour passes. Until I find out about Uliya’s whereabouts, then time seems to slow down immensely.

    Beyond disgusting. Is this how humans usually smell when they are packed together for their evening affairs? I might throw up.

    I walk a few steps inside from the back door of the tavern and find myself among an intensely buzzing, inhumanely loud crowd. Fyrges have ten times the smelling ability of humans, and there is nothing in the world I despise more than that fact right now. Demiurge help me. Cecil and Yer are so lucky to be up on the roof. I keep my hands inside the pockets of my black three piece to avoid the horrifying likelihood of further physical contact with anyone. Most men and women are dancing freely with their arms wrapped around each other. Others drink and flirt at the bar counter. My eyes get busy scanning the large room for any sign of her, only to be forcefully halted by a woman who is half buried in my chest by the time I notice.

    “Hello. A handsome young man like you must fancy someone special tonight?”

    She appears close to my age and meets every standard of conventional beauty, from the captivating blue eyes to the luscious brown curls swaying past her corseted waist. She seems to be a lesserborn from the material of her tightly fitted blue gown and the fake gems encrusted on her hairpins. Not that it would have mattered if she were wealthy. I do not sexually engage with humans, never have and never will. It is a principle.

    “Clearly not you, then. Excuse me.”

    Her smile falls immediately. I brush past her and move further into the crowd.

    Four more women try and fail to start a conversation with me before I finally find her at the far end of the room. Uliya is sitting remarkably calm for this hellhole of a place, the source of her relaxation being the two women seated on either side of her, whose lips she is switching between every few seconds. I cut to the chase immediately, because I would rather perish than be subjected to the sight of any family member’s intimate acts — and she has clearly progressed well beyond kissing, judging by the way her hands are tracing their half-exposed figures in those uncomfortably tight reedlinen gowns.

    “Stop that right now.”

    I stand directly in front of her and, for once, register genuine surprise on her face as she breaks the kiss and moves her hands back into her lap.

    “Zir? What are you doing here?” She stands quickly as the full realisation hits her.

    “You were supposed to be at my place an hour ago. At least inform me if you do not intend to come.”

    She raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Can’t you see I am occupied? Go back.”

    “Not without you. We need to talk.”

    I make sure to bring out my most no-nonsense voice to make the point clear. She rolls her eyes at me, utterly unfazed.

    “Right, like I answer to your wishes now.”

    “Uliya.”

    “Stay if you can bear to watch your little sister explore every corner of their bodies, because I sincerely plan to do exactly that tonight. I am not leaving until I do.”

    Filled with rage to the brim, I am forced to use the alternative. Only my sister can push me to this point.

    I focus on the ice rising in my veins and aim it across the room with my third eye, sweeping from left to right just as she turns her back to sit. Every sign of human life in the room freezes, thick blocks of ice encasing them where they stand.

    She turns and looks around in shock.

    “What did you do?”

    I respond with a cocky smirk. “Say another word, and every human here melts into nothingness with the snap of my finger. Including those women you clearly enjoy so much. It is already warm in here, so I suggest you make a quick choice, my darling sister.”

    She knows better than to argue. She lands a glare my way before giving a forced half nod.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 2 – Hope Does Not Feed The Famished

    Certain aspects of Fyrgen history were destroyed from our Great Hall of Learning after the war. Leaders from older generations said it was a necessary step to lead our continent to a rebirth.

    But with all the time I have spent reading, I have had the privilege of accessing every single one of the chronicles detailing the events that led to the formation of Fyrgen as an independent state. And it has only ever made me believe the defunct treatises were the real deal. That all of what we know in the present is nothing but a well-fed lie by the great creator, Dyxs Havburth.

    — Prince Ziruth Van Larsson of House Valhades, Personal Accounts of the Valhades Heirs, The Great Hall of Learning

    ~Zir~

    The parlour room is well lit by four yellow lamps of the finest craftsmanship from Tyutir. My mother had graciously sent them without a thought for how I am supposed to explain their origin to the people who often come to see me at my manor in the human lands.

    Fortunately, they agree with whatever story I give them, readily shoving all discrepancies surrounding my life here in the direction of the obnoxious wealth I seem to be hoarding. “Wealthy people like the minister are different from you and I, pal,” they say to each other, and instantly divert from the topic.

    Cecil sits in his usual spot on the mahogany mantelpiece behind me, busy fussing with his wings.


    “My dearest Cecil, could you kindly put a stop to that? It’s distracting me.”


    The blue raven lets out three disapproving caws. I look over my shoulder at him.


    “There’s no human here. Can’t you speak normally?”

    “I cannot put a stop to that, because Yer will be here soon. She was rather harsh about the twig stuck in my wings the last time we met.” Yer is Uliya’s assigned royal companion, a delightful dove who, unlike my own companion, never hovers.

    I turn back around with a scoff of disdain.

    “There should be a law keeping the companions of our kin from fraternising in the first place. It feels like incest and disgusts me.”

    “Thank the lords you’re not going to be crowned anytime soon. You have the potential to be remembered as a destroyer of romance for centuries to come.”

    I am about to land a delicious riposte about how romance will never be on the cards for him since Yer will never accept, but Uliya’s misty spirit emerges in the middle of the room, followed by her corporeal form in a fraction of a second, Yer resting on her shoulder.

    “Well hello, forgotten royalty.”

    She accompanies the snarky greeting with her brightest smile, as per tradition. Uliya is infamous among our kind for having the sweetest voice, but that is only because others never encounter the foul mouth she reserves exclusively for family.

    “Hello, Uliya.”

    My fingers pause from turning the next page of the tome set on my lap, more out of surprise than welcome, as I take in her appearance from top to bottom. She has her long golden curls loose today. Out of the three of us, Uliya is also said to possess the most striking beauty, even though we resemble each other so closely we could be mistaken for triplets were it not for the age gap. What catches my attention today is how dull and frail she looks. She has adorned a brand new pale pink silk gown with the thickest lace black corset over it, but I caught on to it immediately.

    “What’s new? When are we expecting her?”
    She lazily drops into the opposite velvet recliner, and Yer and Cecil slip out the window together immediately.

    “Anytime now.”

    I set the tome on the centre table and rest my head on my knuckle against the recliner’s edge, trying to appear as casual as possible.

    “Uliya, have you been alright?”

    She brushes her hair back, sitting even straighter than before.

    “Yeah, why?”

    “You seem lankier than the last time I saw you.”
    She raises an eyebrow in silent challenge.

    “Which was when, exactly? When you got your heart broken, or some other time during all the years you’ve spent recovering since?”

    She always carries the deadliest swords at the back of her mouth, ones that never falter when sensing intervention.

    I let out a sigh of disbelief.

    “Got the message. Do you want a drink?”

    Her glassy eyes clear and she responds with a relieved nod. “I did not expect her to accept the invitation so soon.”

    I pour some wine into a glass and hand it to her.

    “She probably thinks we’re in some sort of trouble.” She bites her lip, then continues before sipping. “Sometimes I wish we were, more often. So I’d get to see y…” She stops halfway. “Her. Once in a while, at least.”

    I cock my head to the side in genuine confusion, more at her admitting it than the situation itself she has decided to bring up. I am more than aware that I am not the best brother.

    “Do you feel like you can’t come to see me unless there’s a problem?”

    She shrugs. “Do I?”

    I contemplate for a moment.

    “Well, that’s…”

    The ambiguous question is left unanswered as thunder rumbles through the sky to announce her presence. We both rise, anticipating her to emerge from the lawn door to our side.

    But in true Kushiana fashion, she rings the doorbell instead. I snap my fingers to open the doors and close them once she’s inside.

    The sound of her footsteps bounces off the marble floors until she is standing at the parlour entrance, clad in a matching violet shirt and trousers with contrasting brown boots, her dark brown hair plaited back into a thick bun. Her piercing green eyes lock onto both of us the moment she finds us, scanning for any discomfort or strain in our expressions and posture. Once the assessment is through, her lips curl into her prettiest smile.

    “I miss seeing you two. Sorry Agnes didn’t drop in to say hello, she sensed her bird friends outside and flew straight to them.” Her voice is heavy but not restricted.

    Uliya drops the act entirely and rushes to her, pulling her into the tightest embrace possible.

    “I missed you too,” I chime in, as I go back to fetch Kushiana a glass.

    “Have you changed something about your appearance?” She asks me right after.

    “Uh, no?”

    “Strange, your hair seems blacker, like you absorbed some from the night sky or something.”

    Uliya giggles and I don’t respond to that, because truthfully I do not know how to.

    Once we are all settled in our usual spots, Kushiana raises the inevitable.
    “What made you ask me here, Zir?”

    It catches me off guard. I lean back awkwardly and glance around the room as though eagles have suddenly begun soaring overhead.

    “Oh lords, he wants to ask you about the crowning. We’re worried about your decision.” Uliya adds without hesitation.

    Kushiana’s expression barely registers any change. She has always been good at masking it. She simply nods and replies in an assertive, measured voice. “Fyrgen demands a monarch. Citrindally’s throne has sat idle for far too long, and I have decided to bear my weight upon it as the eldest.” Her words are careful, shaped to make it appear as though it is a choice she genuinely wants to make, but we are both aware it haunts her as deeply as it haunts us.

    I bite my lip and say, “With what happened to the last ruler who tried, I cannot fully support the decision. We cannot bear to lose you. We have already strayed far from the great doors of Fyrgen. You are all we have left.”

    She glares at me. “Do not speak as though our parents’ lives have ceased to exist for the two of you.”

    Uliya scoffs, crossing her arms. “Maybe not that, but everything else has, if you haven’t had the privilege to notice.”

    “I have had everything but privileges, Uliya, which you would know had you actually taken the time to understand the current state of our continent.” Her voice remains cold, though her temper flares slightly, and Uliya quickly falls silent.

    I take the opportunity to add, “All we are saying is, you don’t have to sacrifice yourself for our sake. We have enjoyed our time here far too long. I would step in for you, if it came to it.”

    Kushiana barely raises an eyebrow. “By all means, Zir. Enlighten me on how you plan to save your meek older sister from the burdens of responsibilities you never cared to even learn about.”

    “You do realise I have spent all my time here reading about the orange hex?”

    She flashes the most sarcastic grin possible and replies mockingly, “So you’re telling me you’ve spent years researching a mere myth, while I was dragging myself to training, council meetings, and classes every single day? Glad to know one of us actually had privileges.”

    “It is not a myth. Qaaj had to pay for the sins of our ancestors and went insane, and none of those things you mentioned will protect you when you catch the sempiternal illness.” I say it through clenched teeth, and Uliya cuts in immediately.

    “Will you two stop!” She turns sharply to Kushiana. “Can you not be so guarded? We barely called you here to have a discussion, not to impose anything on you. Zir is only trying to help.”

    But Kushiana simply stands, her phoenix companion Agnes flying in to perch on her right shoulder. “He is not helping. And neither are you. I have no choice in this matter, which should have been clear to both of you had you shown up to our quadruple discussions with the Council as promised. You both act as though Fyrgen abandoned you, when you were the ones who made that choice. A choice I pay for every day. So forgive me if I am being short, but I have no interest in feeding your delusions or pretending I am not deeply pained by your continued absence from our family. If you are tired of being godlings, give up your titles and let Demiurge handle the rest. Goodbye.”

    Before either of us can react, lightning crashes through the ceiling, enveloping her, and she is gone, as though she was never here at all.

    “Did she really just storm out on us like that?” Uliya’s voice catches on the third word. But she steadies herself when her eyes meet mine. A tear slips from her right eye as I reply.

    “We are already losing her. She could not be away from Citrindally for even a few hours without the hex taking hold. We must return to Fyrgen for good, or she might truly die, Uliya.”

  • Chapter 1 – Blood Is Thicker Than Doom

    Fyrgen legend says that the Oprendelse was destroyed by a great shaking of the land. An act of Demiurge to bring King Lars to justice for his abominable actions, which led to the death of the two lovers. Over the years that followed, the royal dynasty of Valhades slowly restored their power, and the beautiful all-white marble castle of Ivorvale was built. A picturesque fortress amongst the teeming city of Citrindally, born out of a political debacle that led to the formation of Fyrgen as an independent continent, ruled by the Valhades and the Council.

    — The Foundation of Fyrgen Archives, The Great Hall of Learning

    ~Zir~

    Growing up, I always hated the sound of my name rolling off tongues. Deemed it too commonplace in our lands and faith. Being somebody who always wanted to be extraordinary, I despised that my parents chose it out of the myriad of names that would have suited me far better. I often brought it up to them, reasoning that if they wanted to identify me in a bustling crowd by shouting it out loud, a minimum of fifteen males would answer — and none of them would be me, by the way. Because I hate crowds. Anyhow, their answers remained: “Hardly anybody would refer to you by your name, son,” and “I would love to lose you in a crowd if that means you’d stop asking me that question.” Regardless, I kept popping that question until I turned ten.

    Because that’s when I first heard my name from her mouth. The two syllables turned into an enchanting melody that held me in its wake — as though that were the most beautiful thing I had ever heard uttered. But then again, Slyveline Havburth has a knack for turning everything mundane into the most exquisite experience. Or she did. Who can tell? It’s been five years since our last exchanged letter, and ages since her kin made the dreadful choice that tore us apart.

    My thoughts are cut short by the ringing of the telephone on the side table. I set my tome down and lean off the edge of the sofa, pulling it by the string.

    “Hello?”

    “Please don’t tell me you’re up thinking of her at this hour again.”

    One sentence in and she’s already thrown a jab my way. Perfect start to yet another harmonious conversation with my sister.

    “I’m not — and you certainly need to find a better way to greet your older brother, Uliya.”

    “A stark white lie, uttered confidently in the darkness of the night. You do love finding contradictions everywhere, older brother.”

    She makes the last two words sound worse than any profanity in history.

    “Hold your delightful tongue for a moment and tell me why you called. I have no desire to be met with your absurd enquiries past midnight. Or ever, for that matter.”

    An image of her clicking her tongue flashes in my mind as she takes a slight pause, then continues.

    “Easily triggered, as usual. Regardless, we have bigger issues at hand. I received some correspondence from Father today.”

    “Yeah? What did he say?”

    “He wants us back home for the festival next month.”

    “Why is he making a request as though it’s something special this year?”

    “There was no request, and it is special. Kushiana is old enough to take over. We’ll have her crowning ceremony soon.”

    A complete daze clouds my senses at her words. How could I forget?

    “Are you still there?”

    “Yes, yes. Forgive me. I don’t know how it slipped my mind.”

    “Probably because you lather it so thoroughly with the past.”

    “Save the cruel jokes for another evening. This is a big thing. Have you heard from her?”

    “Not in the last two weeks. She mentioned finishing her final trial then.”

    “I should speak to her. She’s stepping into something she might end up resenting for life, if we still have her after it.”

    Her dramatic sigh is audible through the phone.

    “I doubt it will make a difference. She’s set her mind on it. Earlier I believed she was willing to sacrifice her own freedom in exchange for ours, but now I’m certain she’s doing it out of pure intention. She’s weirdly hopeful about the choice.”

    “Well, that’s her decision, however inane. But I should at least make the attempt — and if it falls against her unwavering commitment, so be it. She already carries the responsibility of being the eldest so gracefully. The least we can do is support her if she still chooses against our wishes.”

    The voice on the other end has worn out considerably under the weight of our conversation. “Hmph. Let me know how that goes.” Uliya adds quietly, and hangs up.

    ~ Kushiana ~

    Here I stand, staring out the window of my bedchamber, wondering where I might be headed today for my training, when a double knock at the door brings me back to reality.

    “Come forth.”

    As per tradition, Katherine appears from the other end. The years may have brought a speck of maturity to her facial features, but her childlike innocence still gleams the same within them. If it weren’t for her drab, straight silky gowns, she could easily be mistaken for one of our kin. With the thick crown of black hair woven tight enough to bring the right amount of exposure to her soft features, she’d fit right in. I noted that a long time ago. It might be helpful someday.

    She bows in greeting.

    I turn back to the window, too drawn to the peaceful sunny sky to look away.

    “What news, Katherine?”

    “Your Royal Highness.”

    Her voice is its usual melody, blending into the atmosphere as though she were a part of nature itself.

    “Master Hinjk has politely conveyed that today’s training session stands cancelled. He’s left for Tyutir to tend to his ailing mother.”

    I let out a quiet sigh of relief. I may have grown accustomed to training as a means to keep my mind alive over the years, but any break that comes my way, rare as it may be, is wholeheartedly welcomed. Of course, this shan’t be a problem once I’m crowned — I doubt I will live long enough to fight anyone afterwards.

    “Very well. Any message from Father?”

    “I’m afraid not. He’s still sitting with the council.”

    “Alright. I shall rest then. You may leave.”

    “Apologies, but there’s a messenger for you.”

    I turn around in surprise. Only because it has been so long.

    “Send them up immediately.”

    She nods and slips out with a subtle bow, quick enough on her feet to put lightning to shame.

    Seconds later, a serene ultramarine blue raven appears on the balcony banister. The sunlight bounces off the sapphire fixed at his neck as he bows in greeting.

    “Long time no see, Cecil. I hope my brother is keeping well?”

    “Certainly, Your Highness. I bear no bad news.”

    Raspy as his voice is, it is music to my ears. He is my brother’s truest companion, and it has been ages since I last heard from him. The longing is exceptionally cruel when you are separated from someone you were used to seeing every day.

    “Speak freely.”

    He nods once.

    “Prince Zir has requested your presence at your earliest convenience. He’d like to convene in private with you and Princess Uliya. He apologises for not coming in person. Prior commitments make it impossible for him to travel until the coming full moons.”

    I take a moment to consider it. What could the two of them possibly want to discuss so promptly?

    “I shall be available there this evening. Tell them to clear their schedules. I shan’t stay long. That’s all.”

    “Duly noted.”

    I offer him a brief smile of dismissal, and he flies out immediately.

    Royal companions cannot lie, so I know it is not bad news, but he could always come bearing a cry for help. Demiurge, protect the tiny ones from deals with the wicked.