And yet, one pierce of a blade laced with some invisible dread brought the mighty Northern King down as well. Something on that knife set a rot in him that spread, and within a week, in our green valley, two kings were laid to rest.
One in the light.
The other in the dark.
As they lived, so shall they lay in death.
Grief took me for years. My father’s steward and dearest friend and advisor, Zacharias Farraday, stepped in and took over. He kept the kingdom from falling into ruin as I sat stone faced, staring out the window, knowing I would need to rise one day and take my father’s place and yet, there was nothing I wanted less.
After his death, my once lyrical voice disappeared, the memories of singing for my father the only thing left of what he had called his greatest joy.
There was tumult within the north that mattered to me not, and yet, Zacharias told me of every detail. Making sure I understood, one day soon, when I came to age, I would take the crown, and the reins of the kingdom. I needed to learn to think like a ruler, not the orphaned and grieving daughter of a dead father and a mother she never knew. A mother who gave her own life for mine, who took her last breath as I took my first.
As my birthday approached, news spread of the Northern King’s sister and her son, arriving in preparation to take the throne from the now dead brother of King Harrig, a good man who had maintained the peace negotiated by his elder sibling. Here in Aramoth, it would have been the younger sister to take the crown, since both men died without child, but women in their society are not allowed to rule, so it was instead that the king’s nephew would be crowned the night of the next full moon.
Zacharias felt the time was right to bring our kingdoms together. As I would rise soon to rule Aramoth, and a new king was coming to Dennith, he wisely saw fit to bury all the grief and prejudice, and move into the next chapter of the story.
That we did. The breeze was blowing that day as the minstrels played, two enormous tables of food, steaming and full. Theirs piled high with raw meat, sour-mash ale and all manner of sea creatures harvested from the ocean that borders their kingdom to the east. Our table full of roasted pig, oxtail soup, vegetables, bread and wine, showing how different we were from our northern kin, and yet, how alike as well.
“Calliope.” A soft voice comes from behind my left shoulder as I listen to the whispers and footsteps of my other maids retreating through the curtained doorway into the hall of the castle. “You are thinking of him again, aren’t you?”
“I’m always thinking of him, Meina. You know that.” I give her a tight smile. She’s my lady’s maid, but she’s also my friend.
My only friend.
I once had another, a best friend, dark to my light. Odette, the daughter of a witch who was not only accepted as part of our realm, but came to be called upon for potions and tinctures and healing. Not the dark magic of centuries past. And yet, it was that very dark magic her daughter conjured to create my prison, and his as well.
“You worry too much. Your concern should be for yourself. The chemist is working day and night to try to find a cure for your curse. Odette has…”
I snap my head around at the sound of my former friend’s name. “What about Odette?”
Meina tenses her shoulders on a frown. Her dark hair in a neat bun, held in place by golden pins adorned with pearls. Her round face shows her youth, but her rich brown eyes are those of a woman twenty years her senior.
“Nothing really,” she admits. “They’ve exhausted all the options trying to find a cure from the old witch and Odette. The old witch no longer has her mind and Odette, they believe she has not the skill of her mother. The old book written in Flashinel cannot be read by anyone but the witch. The Dennith are holding Odette still, trying to force her to tell them her secrets, but according to my sources in the Dennith capital she still claims it was a sheer miracle her potions worked on you and—”
She stalls, knowing the mention of his name guts me like a ragged sword. I close my eyes, listening to the wind in the trees of the forest across the field, knowing he’s still there. Pacing, watching, ever present.
“It could be worse.” I open my eyes, the golden glow of the room oppressive as the skies outside darken to night. “I could have been cursed to live with worms or spiders. Or my old tutor Sir Thomas with his foul breath and never-ending speeches about how times were better when he was young and how we should all be frightened of the coming dark winter.”