I grabbed him by the shoulder and looked into his eyes.
“I had a dream too!” I exclaimed. “I dreamt of these…”
I reached up and touched the antler spikes delicately, recalling the image of the growing trees, the words of the old fortune-teller.
…a happy place of two growing trees…
“You must be joking,” he said in disbelief, putting a hand on my shoulder too.
I shook my head energetically.
He laughed and looked down. I couldn’t believe he had dreamed of me too. And I had dreamed of him; it was undeniable.
And all this time I thought fortune-telling was a farce… the implications were too much for me to really comprehend.
Herace looked back up at me with intense eyes. A tremble shivered through me as his gaze met mine – but I did not look away. I was confused by the feeling, but not frightened. Not anymore.
“From the moment I saw you I knew nothing would ever be the same,” he whispered.
A flood of warmth passed through me. I’m not sure why; I didn’t know what it meant. What any of it meant.
But I was here, now; I knew it was important. I knew it all meant something. My future was here, right here; not in any place, but with this being before me – whatever that meant.
Herace stood up suddenly. He wandered to the doorway.
“I should let you rest,” he said.
I opened my mouth to protest, but held my tongue. I wasn’t sure what to say – or how to say it.
“Food’s on the table. If you need anything I’ll be down in the main hall. Or just ask a servant, if you can find one,” he said.
“Thank you,” was all I could manage.
He nodded with a small smile and turned to leave.
“Wait,” I finally said.
He poked his head back in expectantly.
I hesitated; I wasn’t sure what I was planning to say, if anything. I think I just wanted him to stay.
“Water? To wash,” I said instead.
“I’ll get a servant to draw you a bath,” he replied. “Just stay here.”
And with that he left.
The rest of the day passed by in a weird state of malaise; I felt myself vacillate between peaks of ecstasy and lows of uncertainty. Two servants did come, one rolling in a caulked wooden basin and the other carried buckets of steaming water. They filled the basin with round-trips of hot water and quickly dispersed.
I guess this was how they bathed around here… I think the stone baths of Ashrahaz were the only things I would miss about the place.
I bathed and watched the sky turn to dusk outside my window. It was a striking orange evening.
With the last light of day I dried off and slipped on the dress. As I thought, the hem didn’t even touch my knees. It was a little tight, but not uncomfortable. There was a drawstring around the waist that I did up.
I checked my reflection in the mirror as the sky darkened – I looked so different in a dress. I spun around and smiled. Different but good. Then I slipped it off and laid it carefully onto the bed.
Then, with nothing but Herace on my mind, I went to sleep.
***
I opened my eyes to gentle sunlight pouring in through the windows. Motes of dust floated in the air.
I sat up on the edge of the bed, placed my bare feet upon the cool stone. The wooden bath was still by the window.
I stood up and pulled on the dress once again. It was mid morning.
I walked to the doorway and looked up and down the hall. Not a being in sight. And for the first time since my arrival, I walked out of my room.
I wasn’t sure where anything – or anyone – was. But I had a vague idea of where I wanted to go. Vague but strong.
I walked down the hall and found a flight of stone steps that led down. I followed them into a spacious hall; it was well-lit by grand windows. Long tables ran through it.
Sitting at one of these tables was Herace. He was hunched over, working on something. He was wearing a green shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
He raised his head and turned around as I walked down the stairs. He put down whatever he had been doing and watched me approach. As I neared he stood up, facing me.
We both paused just out of arm’s reach; I looked into his eyes. Herace looked into mine. There was nothing to say – there was nothing more that needed to be said.
We both knew why we were there.
I stepped toward him as he stepped toward me.
I embraced him; he wrapped his arms around me. He was strong, his grip firm but gentle. My lips found his. I had never kissed before, but that didn’t stop me. It wasn’t something you had to learn.
I pulled him closer, until there was nothing in between. I was lost in him. He was lost in me. We kissed until he was falling backward, catching himself on the bench.
I took his face in my hands and we locked our gaze; his eyes burned. He grabbed me by the dress and pulled me toward him and I fell too. We laughed. The two of us were tangled up in each other’s arms, a mess on the long table.
And that’s when I knew what the dream meant. I was confused in the best way; lost in a warm fog that I never wanted to escape.
I tugged on his antlers and smiled; he smiled back.
This would be my happy place.
My happy place of two growing trees.
63
Dawn
I walked down the corridor, alone. The oil lamps in this wing of the keep were always unlit.
For the first time in a long time I was wearing a real court dress – it had an extended train that swept the stone floor behind me. The collar swept down over my shoulders and the sleeves were impractically wide – it was made specifically for the occasion, specifically for today. And specifically in my favourite shade of emerald green.
But the big day had not yet begun. Not the important part, at least. So I was free to do as I pleased for the time being.
I slowed my walk as I approached the mausoleum. I hadn’t visited since my father’s death. But today, of all days, I felt I needed to see.
I gathered myself before pushing open the double doors.
On the other side was the high-walled mausoleum garden. It was untended; grass grew wild and long. There was no semblance of order or planning; no brush was cut back. It was a forest, a wilderness, ensconced by a curtain of stone.
Death was a wilderness. Death was unplanned, unprepared for. And no one had control over the dead – there was no way to soften its grip, ease its pursuit. Death came for all and no one could stop it.
And out of death, as always, came new life. Life to death, death to rot, rot to soil, soil to life…
These were the things said at my father’s funeral. It was very Old Sylvan in its atmosphere – no sense of struggle, no insistence on memory or emotion. Death simply came. And once you were dead, the Sacred earth upon which you had lived and toiled swallowed you back up.
I wandered through the garden, past the trees – and caught sight of a kneeling figure.
It was my mother. She did not turn.
“I knew you would come here,” she said without moving.
She patted the ground next to her. I was surprised to see her, but not surprised that she would be here, today of all days.
I walked over and knelt down next to her. Her hands were folded in her lap and she looked serene in her high-collared dress and silver chain crown.
We sat in silence for a while. We both looked up to the immense maple tree under which we knelt; laying before it was a pillar of marble, carved in the likeness of my father’s face.
He was depicted crownless, eyes closed. It didn’t really look like my father – the sculptor clearly didn’t know him that well. But of course, no one had been prepared for his death.
A small inscription, written in both Old Sylvan and Urvish, read:
Returned to earth is High King Aral, First High K
ing of Céin Urthia
There were no dates; no list of achievements. His whole life was all summed up in one short sentence.
It was hard to grieve for my father. His death shocked me; it saddened me. But I was never devastated by it. It made me feel guilty that I wasn’t as bereaved as I should have been.
We had never been close; he was always distant, always busy. State came before family. It was out of necessity – there was a kingdom to run, a confederation to consolidate. I did not resent him for it – he only did what needed to be done.
A royal family is always royal before it is family, as it was often so gracelessly said.
So now, staring up at his dissimilar likeness carved into the stone, it was hard to be inspired by him as a father. It was easier to remember him as a king – as High King Aral, First High King of Céin Urthia.
In some ways I hoped to be like him; his strength, his sense of honour, his perseverance. There could be no doubt that he had achieved much. There were many positive characteristics to emulate.
In many ways, however, I hoped to be unlike him. I didn’t want to put family second – I didn’t want my every thought dominated by the crown. I didn’t want to rule alone; I couldn’t rule alone. I would need help.
“Do you know why Naraya is named Naraya?” my mother suddenly asked.
“Uh, no, actually. I don’t,” I replied, taken off-guard by her unusual question.
“Naraya isn’t an Old Sylvan name,” she said, still looking up to the maple tree. “It’s Urvish. It means ‘centre of trees,’ just as ‘Vindaya’ means ‘centre of water.’”
“Really? Why would someone give it an Urvish name, and not Old Sylvan?” I said.
My mother smiled.
“It was your father. This whole keep was just a small fort between Tir Urth and Céin Ifith – his kingdom and mine. The town was just a backwater, a pig-run,” she said. “Your father, though, was wise. He built this hamlet up into a new town, constructed a palatial keep on top of the old one, and renamed it Naraya.”
“That still doesn’t answer why it’s an Urvish name and not Old Sylvan,” I said.
“It was on purpose; the same reason why he had a new capital built during the years of confederation,” my mother continued. “He was always looking to the future – to the wider world beyond the Sacred woods. He anticipated that, one day, Naraya would become a great capital – and he wanted it to sound that way.”
I furrowed my brow. It was starting to make sense.
“So… he wanted Naraya to be the equivalent of Vindaya…?”
My mother nodded.
“In a sense, yes. He was more occupied by building his roadways, opening the borders to trade. It was hard, of course; it still is. There are many who prefer to remain insular, who say the sylfolk should tend to the ground the Maker placed us on.”
“Like the Orders?”
“Yes. Many of the Orders hold this view, such as the Sylbrethren. Others, such as the Guardians as you are well aware, are more than eager to fight for the world beyond,” she said. “But that isn’t quite the point I’m making – what I am trying to say is that while your father was not perfect, he was a good ruler. A wise king. And, my daughter, I believe that there is much for you to learn from his example.”
I contemplated what she said. Could I really be as great as my father?
“So… you think I should keep working to bring Céin Urthia into the wider world?” I asked.
“Yes. I think that is a worthy pursuit – one your father would have wanted. It is why we named you Dawn – a new beginning. Light shining where once was naught but haze…” she said. “But of course, be careful; there is a balance that must always be kept between tradition and change. Heed council, but do not bend to it, especially on the most vital of matters. Such as the magickal college – there will need to be concessions to the nobility, but do not let them halt your ambitions outright.”
“So you do think that a college is possible.”
My mother smiled again.
“Perhaps. It will take much convincing for some; Bram and Majira are seen as outsiders bringing in strange magick.” she said, then looked over at me and placed her hand on my lap. “But you, as the High Queen, you know the threat that gathers; it threatens you directly. If you are strong, if you are genuine, you may yet rally enough support for a college. It is entirely within the realm of possibility.”
I nodded. My mother was right.
“You’re right. I think I can do that,” I said. “A college. And trade with the League.”
“Well, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves…” she chuckled.
“One step at a time?” I asked.
“Yes. One step at a time,” she agreed. “But first you must take the crown.”
I nodded. I wasn’t nervous about the coronation – I felt I was ready.
“So all I do is walk to the throne, right? Is there anything else to the ceremony?”
“Walk to the throne and take the crown. None can place the crown upon your head – only you have that right, only you have that authority. A High Queen of Céin Urthia bends to none in the Untouched Wood,” she said with a soft smile.
We sat there for a moment longer. I listened to the call of a bird, whose song echoed off the high walls.
My mother made a move to stand up. She was pregnant, her belly swollen. I helped her stand.
I wondered how things would change when the baby was born… then I quickly pushed that thought away. There were more pressing matters at hand.
Like my coronation.
We walked back out of the high-walled garden and into the keep. I cast one last gaze into the tangled greenery of the mausoleum – then shut the doors behind me.
***
I exhaled a shuddering breath. I was nervous; I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. I was holding my bow in both hands, held like an offering before me.
I was at the great, sweeping doors of the keep; an early autumn afternoon glimmered behind me. My knees were still a little damp from kneeling in the mausoleum – I took courage in my mother’s words.
She stood right behind me; a selection of influential merchants, nobles, and representatives of the many Orders formed a long line behind her. The line ran down the stone steps, even into the grassy field beneath the keep.
I looked to the guards who waited at the doors. I was ready.
I nodded to them; they swung the doors open wide, and I began my steady march to the throne.
We were flanked by hundreds of folk; commoners, nobles, foreigners. So many antlered heads, horned heads, even bare heads. They held their silence as I made the long walk up the graduated steps to the Etala Chamber.
The grand chamber was packed with onlookers. Two full weeks had been spent constructing benches that were now filled; I had to stop myself from marvelling at the gathered masses. It was their moment to marvel at me.
The sound of hooves and feet resounded upon the polished stone floor as I made my way to the throne. The procession behind me stopped as I reached the bottom of the shallow steps that lead up to the throne. I left my mother’s side.
I knelt down and placed my bow at the foot of the steps – a symbol that I would protect the realm at any cost. By my own hand if I must.
A band of trumpeters began a tune; it was joined by a rising strain of harpstrings. I stood and walked up the low stone steps.
I reached the throne. Upon its seat was placed a beautiful silver crown, designed to rest upon my head between my antlers. It was a crown unique to me; a sparkling emerald was fixed to its centre and flanked by inset amber. Delicate chains of fine gold hung from the sides.
I lifted the crown from off the throne. I turned to the onlooking folk – to my subjects.
The music faded. Silence reigned. I surveyed the awaiting faces, full of anticipation. My hands still shook, but I presented the crown to the chamber anyway.
“I stand
before you today,” I began, fighting to keep my voice from trembling, “as a princess. As Princess Dawn, daughter of High King Aral.”
My voice echoed through the Etala Chamber.
“The High King was a great ruler,” I said aloud. “But I will be greater still. Not because I rule alone, by my own strength - but because we will rule together, as a realm united.”
I paused. I caught sight of Ortham in the crowd; his hat was off. He smiled at me. Herace was right next to him, seated on the bench. He nodded reassuringly.
I completely drew a blank on what I had prepared to say. An entire speech vanished, leaving my head completely empty. I stalled. Everyone looked to me expectantly, probably wondering why I was letting this dramatic pause linger so long.
I looked at the crown in my hands. It glinted in the afternoon light.
I placed it on my head.
The trumpets rang out again, blaring a triumphant tune. A wave of cheers erupted; the chamber echoed with a roar of eager applause.
A flurry of flower petals were released from high in the ceiling. They fluttered all around like snow, mixing with the jubilant crowds.
I caught sight of Ortham and Herace once again – they seemed to be cheering the loudest. Herace lifted the veil of the lady seated next to him and kissed her. I laughed.
Then I took a seat in my father’s throne – in my throne.
And just like that I became High Queen.
Dawn, High Queen of Céin Urthia…
That would take some getting used to.
***
The fanfare died away. Day turned to evening, which bled into night. The keep was slowly emptying. The rest of Naraya, however, was still deep in revel and libations.
I left the Etala Chamber. Magus Bram was waiting behind the throne room in the small antechamber. As usual he was dressed in his rough mountain garb. He nodded to me as I came into view.
We walked together deeper into the keep. We had been planning this for weeks now – he said my concealment was strong enough. With the energy available to me, I could power the thickest shroud to hide behind – an impenetrable defense. And with energy to spare – enough to break through the defenses of others.
Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2) Page 51