Tag: The Sorceress Of Citrindally

Back when I was still learning to command my lightning magic as a wain, I’d once lost focus from fatigue and accidentally charged it in the direction of my mentor Tellor Hinjk. We had been training by the ocean during a cloudy day and a truly narrow escape had saved him. I was so frightened by the idea that I had almost killed him that I had refused to come out of my chamber for the next whole day, let alone practice. Neither of my parents could convince me. Agnes was sympathetic to my cause.

In my distress, I’d hidden inside a big chest in my chamber along with my freshly born companion. Everybody had frantically looked around for me in the palace. But I did not want to be found. I’d fallen asleep inside it. The next thing I remember is waking in the embrace of my beloved aunt Romana as she was chiding my mother for not protecting my feelings enough. For the next two years, she insisted that everyone encourage me rather than pressure me. I was given the choice to make my own decisions regarding such matters that is until she got married and moved away. 

That was my first heartbreak. 

— Princess Kushiana van Larsson of House Valhades, Personal Accounts of the Valhades Heirs, The Great Hall of Learning

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The Northern High Prince had been in the kitchen making coffee for himself and Kushiana when he heard the rain hitting the large translucent window behind him. He quickly went over and checked that the latch was secure, since only nature could enter his villa without prior consent.

He added a pinch of cinnamon, cocoa and caramel cubes to the large porcelain coffee mugs before pouring in the steaming hot coffee. Kushiana had told him she needed a bath before they sat down to plan, and he had not raised any further questions — he too needed a minute to collect himself.

Mostly because guilt had clouded his mood. He was not the type to demonstrate his temper out loud. But he had been livid before.

The four males had already done once what they had intended to do to Kushiana. That female was practically a child in Caelen’s eyes — sixteen was too young to be subjected to such cruelty. Her jaw broken, the bones crushed, her bare bleeding body left to rot in a secluded corner of the hill.

One of the regal guards had found her during the search, after her parents went to the High Queen stating their daughter had not returned from her friend’s place at the time she always followed.

Xerata had ordered the perpetrators’ death immediately upon hearing the nature of the crime.

But one of the four also possessed cleaning magic — the ability to remove all scent and physical traces of themselves from her body and the surrounding area. Caelen laughed despite himself, thinking about it now. These abilities were extremely rare in Xerakeets. The chances of four of them having met were rare. Being friends, rarer still. But Caelen knew better than anyone how far males could go in their desire to dominate — the ambition alone forged a strange brotherhood amongst them, and they would do anything to accomplish it.

The prince, like everyone else in Xerat, had known nothing about the perpetrators until he ran down that mountain today, excited to give Kushiana his favourite fruit.

But she was not there. The footprints in the snow told him everything he needed to know. Without thinking he had stepped into the blue portal with urgency, visualising Kushiana, and landed directly ahead of her. It had worked, and she had slammed into his torso.

Fury like no other had burned inside him, reflecting in his eyes. Not only because it was Kushiana, someone he already felt protective toward — but because one single look at the males and the forbidden snare ribbon had identified them instantly. It was the only way they could have taken the young female from the city to the hill without attracting attention — by nullifying her magic and feeding her eel poison that seizes the voice temporarily.

He had used his magic only to restrict their physical movement. The rest was handled by the witch blood that descended directly to him through Xayla. He had cast the justice-in-death spell.

Pitrym Resquevir loosely translated to: May you burn with the intensity of the very sins you committed, for eternity.

The number of blood beads erupting were equivalent to the number of sins committed, and as they rained down, Caelen found himself wondering how many other females had had their lives destroyed with no family willing or able to come forward. Fresca’s parents had jumped from the cliff together two nights ago, citing in their final letter to the queen that they did not want to live in a world where their only daughter’s rapists and murderers could not be brought to justice.

Xerata, though deemed devious and power-hungry by Caelen, did not have it in her to remain unaffected by this tragedy or to not feel responsible for it. She had worked hard to maintain law and order in Xerat alongside her father while he lived, and harder still after his untimely passing. She lived to serve the sovereign of Xerat, and the monarch had been so devastated she had not left her chamber in a full day. Caelen had been called by his grandmother to see if he could get her to eat something, since she herself had failed.

He had visited the family home — the glass castle of Aflspire, high atop the central mountain — yesterday for that purpose. He found Xerata curled on her bed, her usually long sleek straight silver hair in a labyrinth of tiny unclean knots, probably tied one by one as emotions rose up. Perhaps a terrible memory from her own past had been stirred by this incident.

Her face looked dull, the charcoal around her steel blue eyes smeared. She was still in her long black night lotus silk robes. She remained still, not registering his presence.

“Mother?” Caelen said softly, closing the large double doors behind him. It seemed to break the spell on her.

“What are you doing here? Is something the matter?” She asked, confused by his arrival. Probably because he had not stepped foot in the palace willingly in two years.

“There is. Why are you refusing food?” He asked softly, settling on the opposite corner of the bed.

She stared ahead. “How is that your concern? You don’t care whether I live or die. You told me so yourself.”

He sighed deeply. He had many things to say. Now was not the occasion.

“I do care for you. Even when I don’t like it. You know it already.”

She did not reply to that, but something in her gaze softened just a little as she said “Sixteen she was. Her whole life ahead of her. She could have lived a thousand years. Seen so much. Done so much. She could have flourished.” Her voice broke on the last word. Up until now it had been clear to Caelen that Xerata had not cried, only gone without sleep — but now something was fracturing inside her.

The prince nodded, reining in his own rising emotion at the sight of his mother’s composure breaking. She did not break easily. “I know. It’s heartbreaking.”

A tear flowed down her cheek as she continued with a choke. “And now her kin is gone too. Did you know the child was born after fifty years of marriage. They had always wanted one, but the stars refused to align in their favour for that long.”

The prince lowered his gaze. “I didn’t know that.”

“That is the problem, Cae. We remain unaware of what is happening in our own sovereign. I was not far from Fresca’s age when I was dragged. But I had somebody to save me. She didn’t. I should have been that person. I have failed terribly as a ruler and she paid the price.”

Caelen felt immense pain at her words. “You almost were not saved yourself, mother. If Taerax hadn’t found you — don’t blame yourself for surviving. As for Fresca, as tragic as this is, it cannot be undone. But I promise you I will find whoever was involved.”

She wiped a tear from her glistening hooded eyes and scoffed. “Didn’t I teach you never to make oaths you can’t keep. The guards searched for traces all day knowing how furious I would be if they came back empty-handed. The bloodhounds found nothing. How will you?”

He ran a hand lazily through his hair. “For starters, I plan on keeping it. Secondly, I am your son. I have already made my calculations. Despite you thinking me an imbecile.”

She raised an eyebrow in silent challenge, but her worry had subsided a little with his words.

There was a momentary silence. “Keep me posted,” she said, clearing her throat.

He nodded seriously and got up. “Now will you do me a favour and eat something? Grandmother has been fussing and refusing to let Taerax eat either.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why not?”

Caelen clicked his tongue in amusement. His grandmother’s lack of patience for his uncle Taerex — Xerata’s twin, was diabolically entertaining sometimes. “She said he deserves to starve for not looking out for his younger sister.”

Xerata caressed her forehead lightly. “Why does mother keep saying that to him? He was born a minute before me and not of his own will.”

“Mhm. Must be difficult, living with a mother who doesn’t believe in you. I myself remain blissfully unaware of the feeling.” He taunted, cocking his head to the side.

“Don’t start throwing a hissy fit now. Close the door on your way out.” She dismissed him without opening her eyes.

“Bye, mother.” He cooed and moved to leave.

“And Caelen?” She called. He paused at the doorway.

“Yes?”

“Must you keep your hair like that? You look positively grotesque.” Xayla’s bloodline had always prided itself on long lustrous silky locks. Males and females alike. Caelen had kept his own short since his father died.

“It is nice to know your ability to hurl cruel insults at me remains unmatched.” The prince offered as goodbye before walking out.

He was grateful for the insult actually. It meant Xerata was not ruminating anymore. That she would eat.

He smiled to himself thinking about it.

“Caelen? Helloooo?” Agnes said musically, bringing the prince back from his reflection.

He turned from the kitchen counter. “Oh, I sincerely apologise, Agnestia. I did not hear you.”

“I thought we were well past using each other’s full names, wizardling.” She said with a slight tilt of her tiny head. The first time Caelen met Kushiana, Agnes had not trusted him at all. The second time, he had simply said “Hello Agnes” — and she had told him to use her full name. The one nobody ever uses.

He shrugged, easy as ever. “Fair enough. Also, I am a mage not a wizardling — and how did you know that?”

“I took a guess. It was clearly not magic alone, and your grandmother still holds the title of Barrenland’s Witch Supreme, does she not?”

Caelen smiled warmly and leaned back against the counter. “Highly astute. I wish I had a companion like you.”

“I thought your interest rested in my royal.” She said flatly, and Caelen laughed out loud.

“I will pass on that conversation for now. What did you come to ask me?”

“Nectar, please.”

He nodded. “Of course. I will bring some up with the coffee. Is Kushiana ready?”

“Yes, she is waiting in the sitting room upstairs.” Agnes replied before flying away.

The prince broke open the vixenfruit he had shelled for Kushiana earlier and began cutting it, arranging the pieces artfully on a cut-crystal platter.

“What exactly is this place?” Kushiana asked later on, her nerves had relaxed after the bath and feeding herself. Caelen had spread a map of Xerat’s outer boundaries across the drawing room coffee table.

The prince sat adjacent to her and pulled out the ink quill, marking a spot in the outermost corner of the highest peak — Ne’eryield.

“It is a temple established in honour of Tyrellah by my grandmother when Xerat earned its sovereign status.”

For the first time Kushiana appeared slightly hesitant, and he caught it immediately.

“We do not have to climb all the way up. My portal works until the last mile and a half.” He clarified quickly.

“But that is when the most gruelling part of the ascent begins, is it not?” Agnes asked.

Caelen nodded. “Yes, unfortunately. That is when the enchantment defences activate. They guard the blue sapphire pyramid resting atop her handwritten scripture, set at the heart of the temple.”

Kushiana raised an eyebrow. “Was the temple built to guard the scripture or the sapphire?”

He leaned back, resting an arm along the top of the chaise. “Both. The scripture contains certain spells passed down to my grandmother as a boon for her good deeds. She will hand them to the right person when the time comes — for the renewal and wellbeing of all creatures in our world and beyond. And the blue sapphire, as we both know, can unravel the effects of any curse regardless of its strength. Even Citrindalia’s orange hex can be nullified with it.”

Agnes chimed in immediately. “Holy objects of that much power will have significant supernatural defences. What is the price for taking them?”

“Of course, my highbrow birdie — there is always a price. But Kushiana can afford it. Her intentions are purely to break a curse cast upon her dynasty, one that the responsible ancestor — Lars — has already paid for with the ceasing of his own immortal existence and the collapse of his empire. Kushiana can make an oath to the goddess that she will return it once the Valhades are free of the affliction. The goddess will release it willingly if she finds no wavering threads in Kushiana’s moral making. She honours the oath, everyone is satisfied.”

Kushiana quietly noted that Caelen said nothing about the scripture. People might judge him as carefree upon a first meeting. But he was cerebral enough to know what to reveal and what to withhold. She also remembered that they remained political enemies because of their family history. Not a pleasant reminder.

She nodded lightly. “And any other layers within the enchantment I should prepare for?”

Caelen ran a lazy hand through his hair and briefly dissociated — something he did sometimes. Kushiana waited.

“Yes. There is Fenrira, the she-wolf, residing somewhere in the woods before the temple. Her den remains imperceptible to most. Though Kushiana might be able to track it with her extraordinary vision.”

The princess sighed. Caelen had discovered her heightened visual ability during their second meeting.

“She would try to kill us if she tracked us? And I presume our magic will not be working at full capacity within the enchantment barriers either?”

“Yes. We must avoid the denizen at all costs. She is usually asleep when the sun is out, but if we are unlucky she might hear or scent us. I can conceal our scents with a spell. But any loud movement and she may appear without warning and lunge. The creature is of ancient origin — thousands of years old — so I hope you understand we cannot kill her if she does attack.”

Kushiana did not question him on the spell casting, as Agnes had already told her about it. But she did not miss the implication he had slipped in alongside the rest of the information. An ancestor of hers had once killed a holy creature that Xayla’s bloodline worshipped — one of several reasons their families had been feuding from the beginning.

She leaned back against the chaise as well, crossing one leg over the other, and responded evenly.

“Of course. We are going there to eradicate a preexisting curse, not to acquire a new one. Besides, we Valhades are not as fond of killing unarmed creatures as you seem to think.”

He shook his head before breaking into an unusually charming grin. “Not true. When I first met you, I was unarmed — and you killed me with your transcendental resplendence.”

Kushiana rolled her eyes, offering no encouragement for the banter. Agnes cocked her head to the side. “My divine princeling, you do understand that deploying elaborate terminology is not going to advance your cause with her?”

He pouted at the phoenix. “In my defence, your royal is not easy to please.”

Agnes nodded solemnly. “She is a tough one.”

Kushiana rubbed her temples. She was surrounded by busybodies.

“Oh, by the way — I ran into your sister last night.”

Kushiana straightened. “Uliya? Where in the world?”

“At some tavern in Citrindally with a peculiar name. Andedod something. We only spoke for a couple of minutes but I have to say — she is delightful. Made me laugh.”

The princess raised an eyebrow. “That does sound like her. But did you tell her who you are?”

“No, of course not. Though she struck me as someone who would not snitch even if I did.”

“Presumptuous of you. But yes, your impression of her is correct.”

“Mhm. So my point being — are you sure she is your sister? She is of a remarkably sunny disposition.” He said with a wink.

“Are you sure she is your sister?” Kushiana repeated back to him flatly, in a perfect impression of his cadence.

Both the phoenix and the prince burst out laughing.

“Don’t leave me by myself, Zir. Please. I need your help. Who would I be without my love for you. You are my everything. Look at me. Don’t look at her. Look—”

A dagger was thrust into Zir’s back before he could register it. He moved his free hand — the one Sylveline was not holding — to reach behind him. It came back stained with blood. Her unmoved face was the last thing he saw before he dropped to the ground.

The prince woke with a gasp, his forehead and chest drenched in sweat.

Cecil stirred from his makeshift nest immediately, alert at once.

“What happened? Did you have—” The blue raven could not finish the sentence before Zir was already moving toward the balcony door, unlatching it and stepping outside.

Dawn had not yet broken but he stared out at the vast expanse of Citrindally shrouded in orange light. A chill wind pressed against his skin as he leaned against the balustrade. Cecil had flown out beside him and settled on the pointed stone pillar to his right.

Zir breathed in and out deeply for a couple of minutes. His silent way of reminding himself he was no longer in the nightmare.

“Have some water.” Cecil said quietly, and Zir turned slightly toward him.

“I need to tell you something. But you cannot be angry with me about it.”

The blue raven sensed his unease immediately. He only nodded.

“Yesterday — you could not see it from where you were perched, but Sylveline materialised a piece of paper in her palm. To summarise: if we do not help the Havburths find a way out of exile, she will have Kushiana informed of the truth about Evan’s death.”

Cecil had known of course, in the way companions always know. It had not been easy for Zir to carry this secret alone. Only his companion could be trusted with it.

The raven lowered his head, visibly upset that Zir had not told him sooner. “I would not put it past the Havburths. Of course she did. Regardless — what have you decided?”

“Nothing I have not already told you, bud. I did confide in Luminara about it though, because—”

“We cannot handle this alone and Luminara is the only ally who can be trusted with this. You do not need to explain.” Cecil completed for him.

“Yes. She did not take it well at first — she grieved too. But we will see her at lunch today and decide together.”

The raven nodded, regaining his composure. “Alright. What was the nightmare about?”

Zir scoffed, the fury rising again. “That bitch stabbing me in the back with a dagger whilst holding my hand.”

Cecil laughed so hard the nasal cawing echoed across the palace.

“Why do you laugh? Is the idea of me dying that entertaining to you?” Zir muttered, crossing his arms.

“I am glad you finally see her for who she is. I was tired of watching you defend her.” The raven said, and flew back to his resting spot.

Zir scoffed and followed, latching the balcony door behind him before settling back into his silky sheets.

“Oh, and Zir?” Cecil said from behind him. Zir had turned to face the other direction.

“Yes?”

“I woke just before you did. You were muttering something about loving Luminara. What was that about?”

A different kind of warmth rose on the prince’s face. He pulled the sheet over his head and said nothing.

“Interesting,” the blue raven murmured, and fell back to sleep.