She’s so, so cruel. Hearing her say those words hurts more than a knife to the chest. Because she can’t, and won’t.
“If you do, the dome will fall. The scouts patrolling around us will notice right away, and there’ll be an army on its way here within the hour. If you do, there’s no stopping our destruction.” I hate that I have to be the voice of reason. “We need to be ready.”
She sighs, defeated. “Read me another book? This one really is awful.”
I comply.
Four days later,I’m surprised to enter Vlari’s room and see a girl on the single chair. She’s brought a lute with her, and she plays our princess a cheerful song.
It occurs to me that I do know her—she’s one of the Thorns, Dekren’s younger sister, Mephesea.
I move to return to the door, but she turns to me, abandoning her instrument. “Don’t leave on my account. I’m about to go.”
I hesitate, not wanting to cut her visit short, but Esea is already packing up the lute.
“I didn’t know you played,” I say.
I have seen her many a time in passing. Her brother was my friend back when we attended school here, and we did stay in touch. He was a little indulgent for my taste, but I appreciated his easy laughs and easier jabs.
We lost him in the Shadow Peaks.
Vlari brought many among the court back to life, but there still were many casualties when the usurper attacked. The royal family. Many guards. And the boys who liked to hide in the shadow with a lover or two weren’t in the hall when Vlari used her power to revive our people.
Dekren may have survived it, but I’ve heard he was at court that day, and as he’s not with us, the chances that he might still be breathing are slim.
“I didn’t use to.” Her smile is filled with sorrow. “We’ve all had to fashion ourselves into something else, here.”
I find myself touching her shoulder as she passes me. “It was quite beautiful,” I tell her.
I see others in the next few days. Old acquaintances, strangers of low and high rank alike. A lord she saved in the halls. Though he never knew her, he tells me he comes and kneels in front of her every new moon, to thank her for the time she gave him. A chambermaid who used to polish the polar flooring of Vlari’s old home. Meda, once. Nero, twice. I do remind him he’s welcome at Ash if he ever fancies a bowl of gruel.
It is unavoidable that I’d meet the high queen, given how much time I linger in her daughter’s chamber, but I am never prepared. What am I supposed to tell her? What if she bans me from this room? I never know what to expect of Ciera.
I come in one day to find her brushing Vlari’s hair. My princess is dressed in a simple gown of blue gossamer, not unlike what my own mother could have worn on a special occasion. There’s no heavy, antique crown on the high queen’s head, and she wears little jewelry at all, save for a gold wrist band.
My eyes linger on the bracelet. I hadn’t noticed it before. I’ve seen ones just like it, though made of copper—on each of my parent’s right wrists. They’re seals, the kind that one exchanges in their bonding ceremony.
Most fae are long lived—some, entirely impervious to the passage of time. As such, our kind often form alliances for a hundred years or so, rather than lifetime commitments.
My parents decided to bond for life. It’s less uncommon among pucks and sprites. The great gentries almost never bond, unless they’ve found their own mate. Yet I know this is a true seal. Ciera and Nero must have chosen to bond. I don’t think they are true mates. For one, finding one’s true mate is incredibly rare, but when we do, our skin often bears the mark of it. Ciera’s exquisite gowns reveal most of her throat and arms—I’ve never seen a mating mark. They voluntarily linked in mind, body, and soul until the death of the flesh, which means that when one is killed, the other will soon follow to the grave. Unseelie folk, wild folk, shy folk, elven kind, and seelie often live a thousand years without experiencing a love like that.
I’m half tempted to ask what made her, a princess of the realm, favorite of her mother back in the day, decide to throw everything away for the love of a common fae. But I know. Insanity. She’s completely mad.
Does it run in the family?
I hide a smile.
The moment she sees me, Ciera’s eyes brighten.
“Rystan. Wait, I hear you favor Drusk?”
I shrug. “The high queen may call me as she pleases.”
Her laugh makes me think of her daughter. “Why, I never knew you could be charming. My daughter doesn’t speak much of her friends.”
I attempt no answer.
Her smile drops and she sighs, returning to her brushing. “I owe you, Rystan. More than I should say. We all do.”
