Moonwake

Vaelithfelt the pain of the lie in her chest.

Itwas a weighty stone, cold and heavy and dragging her into deep waters. She didnot intend it to be a lie, not then and certainly not now. But things had shifted,and it was best that she left without a sound.

Shehad given herself this last daylight in Velithar;after that, when the moon settled in its place, her journey would begin. Shewould leave.

Caelion and Lythienne wouldhate her when they found the dwelling emptied and ready for the next warrior. Shewas no seer, but she did not need to be. She could already see them storminghere after a day's worth of silence, hasty and furious, wondering what couldhave possessed her to abandon their daily retreat.They would have waited the evening before, allowed the time to pass, retired totheir chambers in severe annoyance but nothing more. The next day they wouldwait again, but they would not dare allow Vaelithto miss it twice, so they would seek her out themselves.

Theywould be in disbelief. Just as she was. They would feel an emptiness so vastthat it silenced their frantic hearts. Just as she would.

Shesteeled her resolve, squeezing her eyes shut. There was solace there, behindthe dark lids; a fleeting moment of stillness and silence, where the sights ofthe world could not find her. The fire sung to the still air as it boiled thepot that hung above it, the last supper she would have in her home, on herlands. She opened her dark eyes once more and decided she would enjoy whateverit was that remained for her here. The stew, the air, the sun, the whispers ofthe realm outside of her door…the only family and home she had ever known.

Tonight,Vaelith would be meeting Caelion and Lythienne intheir Parlor, where they spent their childhood playing games of strategy and readingfor leisure and war. A singular painful heartbeat. She recoiledat the ache in her chest.

Vaelithconsumed her potage in silence. Although the sun was high, the people ofVelithar were winding down. The walls were thin and the streets were narrow in Caeithyriya, the warriors square of Vaelith, meaningshe could hear the bustlings of families eating their supper, their washingsbefore slumber, the soft click of bedroom doors. She heard the distantlaughter of younger warriors; the wind carried the joyful sound from the crestof the hill to the dip of the soil, where her small home rested on the southend of the cobblestones. They were to be gathering at Olhra’sTavern tonight, as they did thrice a week. Vaelithwas not among those who received an invite to such gatherings, being theoutcast of her lands. She had never minded this, so long as she was in thegraces of Caelion and Lythienne.

Adeep sigh escaped her full lips, slick with the fresh stew, cracked beneath theliquid.

Vaelithwashed her ceramics with the spout’s water, placing them in what was once awardrobe. Those in Caeithyriya were well cared for in Velithar, having accessto chambers with multiple rooms, suitable amounts of food and water, shade andlight, hearths in every home and buildings made of cooling soil, mud, and flora.Even being the Mongrel that she was, she was comfortable. This was more thanshe could ask for, considering her circumstances.

Shegrabbed her bow from where it hung by the door, beside her Shadow cloak. Shewould be using it soon, but not now. It was the last day of the Convergence.The last day of the age. Tomorrow the realm would refresh. The moon would wake,cooling the land, giving a crisp reprieve to its people; the sun would sleep beneaththe waters, revitalizing and transforming for a season. She relished in thedance of the sun and moon today, the last time she would be in their presencein Velithar.

Herleathers were minimal, only what was needed to hold her weapons. With her bowand quivers slung across her back, her dagger holstered on her thigh, and anotheron the opposite ankle underneath a single layer, she closed the heavy woodendoor behind her. Velithar was safe, but she would take no chances. She wasnever one to gamble.

Aelthyrewas just beyond Caeithyriya. It was not a long journey by any means, but it wasfiercely protected by the terrain in which it lay. Caeithyriya was situated onthe northeastern mouth of Velithar, by the stables, where the lands expandedinto neighboring territories. At one time, they were enemy territories.

Whilewar did not rage at current, the past was not soonforgotten for the Elves, considering their long lives. The same was truefor those among the Shadewastes and Ember Peaks. It was worth the cost to becareful.

Throughoutthe aeon, the people of Velithar had seen the rise and fall of multiple leaders,within and beyond their doors. No matter the changes, the Elves had neverfaltered in their protections: if their defenders could not keep an enemy atbay, the land would.

Violentpeaks and cliffs, steep walls of rock only the light-footed could scale,Whispering Willows to speak secrets of death, deep and winding caves enchantedto suffocate the impure, glistening streams to lure and devour. As it was,those of Velithar were safe from the manner of these, so long as they remained purein spirit and in heart. But they were not immune. If one were to muddle theirsouls with grime, they were to be destroyed. Their origins were of noconsequence.

Vaelithwas more aware of this now than ever before. Shespoke to the Willows, drank from the streams, felt the cliffs and peaks andwalls of hard packed rock beneath her calloused hands as she made her way to thebeating heart of the body. She wore a sad smile all thewhile. This was her home, after all. Everything that she had ever known washere. Everyone that she had ever loved….

Thefinal stretch was upon her, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Aelthyre.She had long grown accustomed to its beauty, but she looked upon it with fresh eyes this night. No sun nor star could outshine thecitadel. Not in hundreds of thousands of lifetimes. Gold glittered and beamed inthe blinding light, it littered each threshold, door, and window alike, peakedtowers adorned with crowns of it. Vines of ivy[TB1] climbed the cylindrical infrastructure, the jewelry atop bright stone, caressingiridescent glass.

Vaelithplanted her boots, barely breathing, her iris’ sore from so much light. Shecared very little where discomfort was concerned. She was firmly rooted to theground, needing the moment to capture what she was witnessing. Familiarity.Home. Love. Pain. Disappointment. Protection. All of this and more. She brandedthe sight into her mind, the ache of her chest into her bones, the memories ofher life here into her soul.

Shestood. Quiet.

Ashadow passed in the light of the Heirs Parlor. Her mouth twitched upwards, asmile tugging relentlessly. She took a deep, bottomless breath.

—

Lythiennewas the shadow in the Parlor, of course. Ever patient as she was, waiting forVaelith’s inevitable arrival.

“You’relate,” she grumbled. But she could not help the sarcastic smirk that adornedher full cheeks. Lythienne was never one for seriousness.

Vaelithcould not hinder her grin if she wanted to, which she did not. Full and wholly unapologetic. Lythienne did not even have totry anymore. Her large, warm, hazel eyes would gather a gleam, full of mischiefand jest. That was all it took for Vaelith’s steely exterior to dissolve intodust.

“Yes,I am,” was her reply. There was a pregnant silence as Vaelith crossed thethreshold of the room. The three of them spent the better years of their liveshere, their childhoods. Rich leathers and study tables, both large andindividual, were scattered about. Lamps with green, silver, and gold stained-glassshades decorated each dark corner. Gold candelabras molded into flora sat atthe center of each place setting. Circular in shape, walnut wooden bookshelveslined the perimeter of the room.

Lythiennesat at the center, a table large enough for six. She sat atop a cushioned,high-backed chair, dressed in juniper green garments stitched, elegantly adorned,and hemmed with golden thread. A stiff collar curled around her thin neck,plunging towards the top of her chest. Royal gold plates lay atop hershoulders, just as a swirling, thin, gold crown lay atop her head. Hergolden-brown hair weaved and fell in sparkling tendrils, her pointed ears debutingthrough the cascade. She holds a book in her hands, pretending busy-ness.

“Tellme about apothecary, Lythienne,” Vaelith urged, eyes expectant with a slight raiseof sculpted, dark, strong brows. She took the seat opposite of her, posturestiff and practiced, a stark contrast to Lythienne’s relaxed and fluid one.

Lythienne’shead dropped imperceptibly to the side; confusion etched into her face. Shelooked expectantly at her, awaiting an explanation.

Inresponse, Vaelith jerked her chin towards Lythienne, eyes boring into the coverof the book that she held. Lythienne turned the cover, reading the title inquestion. There is a brief pause before her eyes flit toward Vaelith’s. She hadclearly been discovered, and her expression did not hide this realization.

“Goon,” Vaelith encouraged. “I have been quite curious about the topic myself, asof late. What are your thoughts on the practice?”

“Whatpractice?” The voice was as deep as the sea, a rich baritone. Vaelith knew itsowner without a second thought. She would recognize him in an ocean ofscreaming men. Caelion’s heavy footsteps approached her in an unhurried manner,but they manage to arrive with impressive speed.Vaelith continued to stare at Lythienne, expectant. She would not allow her toget off on a flimsy distraction.

“Yoursister has taken an interest in Apothecary, it seems.”

“That,”he emphasized, “is the most absurd thing you have ever uttered, Vaelith. Andmake no mistake, you have spoken of many foolish things.”

Vaelith’sretort is purely physical. A sharp draw of the forehead, quick turn of herface, a blurry swing of the back of a hand. It lands where she intends, ofcourse, lazily thumping Caelion’s bicep as his hands grip the back of her seat.

Caelionnursed the limb, feigning injury with shameful acting. “You wound me!”

“Youjest, Caelion,” she said, relaxing her brows as her eyes roll in exasperation.“Come and sit.” She gestured towards the large rectangular desk, an indicationthat there was plenty of space. Too much space to justify his continuedpresence directly behind her.

Hestepped to her right side, his defined arm reaching for the chair beside her ashe pulled it toward him, coming down with a deep thunk. Her eyes met hisface, which beamed at her, brighter than any amount of suns. His mouth was widewith contentment, angular jaw conforming at the grin he wore. Caelion’s mossygreen eyes were nearly invisible as his lids squeezed inward, his high cheeksframing his features. He was deeply rose-colored this night, looking warm andflushed. The color brought life to the light brown distant stars that fanacross his straight nose, a trait he shared with his sister.

Vaelithsoaks this in. This is how, she decided, she would remember them come tomorrow.Brother and sister. Caelion’s charming enthusiasm, Lythienne’s animatedexpressions. Caelion’s unnerving need to be close to her, Lythienne’s unsuccessfulattempts at indifference. The bond the three of them shared, like a tether anchoreddeep within her, firm and strong and beautifully weathered. Vaelith’s lipspulled upward, enough to decipher the soft smile she offered Caelion in return.

Sheturned her face from him, sharing the attention and speaking to them both now,“Aside from Lythienne’s newfound interests,” she paused, a playful eyebrowraised, “what else plagues the Royal Shoulders this day?”

Caelionsighed dramatically, inducing a piercing death stare from his sister. Vaelithsmirked at the wordless interaction. “You are aware, Vaelith, that our othersubjects would not dare with such a satirical tone, yes?”

“Yes,”was her immediate reply, there was not enough hesitation for a heart to beat.

“Andyet you insist on such conduct?”

“Yes.”

Therewas a pause as she bore into Caelion’s eyes, a very neutral expression gracingher features. Caelion’s, however, was brimming with gaiety.

Caelion curled indexknuckle under her chin, raising her head, leveling her with him, “Never change,Vaelith. Not for a soul, Royal or otherwise.”

Vaelith’sshoulders relaxed, void of a tension she hadn’t realized she carried, and asmile graced her. This was her wordless reply as his hand left her chin to fall.

“Velitharis well,” he relented. “The last of the Hearthlands crops has been distributedto the villages just this morning. We set for our allies in a week's time to deliverour goods and services.”

“Whatshall we be providing this trip?” She asked.

“Goldroot,Sungrain, Emberwine, and Dawnspice. From our previous harvest during the Dawning,of course. We have an excess of Luminwood that we will provide as a show ofgood faith. The Peaks require Rootglass for the upcoming dark season.”

“CanVelithar spare it?”

“Yes.Last season was fruitful enough; we can afford six vials.” He was confident andproud in this delivery, almost boastful of a successful harvest.

“Thatis significant. I am pleased to hear of peaceful tradings with our neighbors.”

Caelion’seyes brightened at her response. No doubt, he was delighted to hear her takepride in their kingdom. It was a great honor to supply for those beyond theborders of Velithar, most especially for the Crown Prince. Vaelith had alwaysshared his perspective in such things. Success in trading meant peace. As a defenderof Velithar, peace was of great consequence.

“Willyou not speak of Veilwild, brother?” Lythienne broke her silence, her face twistedwith scorn.

Theypaused. Of course, Vaelith had already overheard of the unrest in Veilwild.After all, the warriors do speak of such things. Not to her, but amongst eachother. And, despite her Mongrel status, her ears were still that of the Elves.

Caelionwas not aware of her knowledge, however. This was even more so clear in the expressionhe wore as he regarded his sister. His eyes were wide and his lips wereflattened into a hard line. He may as well have told her outright to uphold hersilence; his face hid nothing at all.

Lythiennewas stubborn, though. Certainly, more stubborn than her counterpart. Her largeeyes narrowed. “Veilwild has as much to do with Vaelith as with us, Caelion.She has a right to information.”

Caelionremained silent. His eyes investigated his sister’s, searching for a compliancethat he would not find.

“Willyou refuse?” She challenged.

“Iwould like to, yes,” was Caelion’s mumbled response.

“Butwill you? Will you risk the safety of a warrior?”

Heatflashed behind those deep irises of his, “I would never risk the safety ofthose that fight in my name. In our father's name. Our fighters know what isnecessary,” he paused, contemplating. “Vaelith is the Crown’s assassin,Lytheinne. I fail to see the need to plague her with the qualms beyond thewalls of Velithar when her targets exist within its confines.”

Lythiennerose from her seat with indignation, “Is she not among those who reside inCaeithyriya? The square that houses the defenders of Velithar? That of which,as you say, fight in your name? Why does Vaelith not know what brothers-in-armsdo, Caelion? If Velithar went to battle tomorrow, would she not be among itsdefenders?” She seethed.

Vaelithdid not enjoy this part of the dynamic — when they spoke of her as if she werenot among them.

“Lythienne-”she began.

“No,”she interrupted, taking her seat once more. “Allow him to answer. He is theCrown Prince Caelion. He does not need your saving.” This delivery seemed like astrike at her, but she knew much better than that. This was artfully crafted towound Caelion’s ego.

Unsurprisingly,it worked as intended.

“Iwill not risk her safety, Lythienne!” He had effectively cracked.

“Sheis tasked with the defense of Velithar, Caelion! With the defense of thisfamily! It is a risk to her safety if she is uninformed and blindand ignorant.”

Theybegan to speak over each other, siblings battling for the spotlight. This was aspectacle Vaelith found herself in more often than not. As they have grown, it hadnaturally evolved, however.

Whenthey were young, they would relentlessly spar for the favor of their mother,the Queen. Later, when they began academics, their sights were ontheir shared Lærer. With age, their desires had grown. This day, the fight was forthe invisible force of vindication.

Any other time, Vaelith would have allowed bygones to be bygones.Caelion and Lythienne bickering was as natural as the stars inhabiting theskies. She would have allowed the fire to flame and naturally die, findingsomething else to occupy the time between. A book, sharpening her weapons, whittling.She would think those moments a good a time as any to be productive, the soundas common as the wind weaving between blades of grass.

This was not any other day.

The Royal Siblings did not know any better, but this would beVaelith’s last moments with them in this Parlor. It was more likely than not thatthey would spend the rest of their lifetimes without her presence at all. Afterthis, she would be nothing more than a fading memory.

If they knew what she did, they would regret the quarrelaltogether. Importance and validity were inconsequential. They would not beable to wind the hands of time.

But Vaelith knew what they did not. And, with that, she changedtheir course. She knew this would incite suspicion, but she would pay this noheed. Tomorrow, it would all be insignificant.

“Veilwild is in the throes of discord.” A statement, not aquery. There was no purpose in pretense; she knew as much.

Following such thunder, the silencethereafter was all the more deafening. Caelion andLythienne stared intensely at her, stunned into tranquil silence, mouths agape.There was never doubting that they were of the same blood, considering theirsimilarities. Dusted freckles, golden-brown hair, defined cheekbones, straightbrows, and their distinguished straight noses with a refined tip. Yet, if therewas ever a doubt, it would be perilously destroyed in this very moment; theywere mirror images of one another, identical expressions and all.

Still,the silence rang. Vaelith was never one to interrupt another’s processing, soshe waited.

Caelionwas the first to break the spell. This was to be expected. Lythienne’s goal wasfor Vaelith to know of this information. It was accomplished. What else wasthere to say?

“Whotold you?” he asked, still dumbfounded.

“Whatdoes it matter, Caelion? If we are to battle, then we are to battle. What doesit serve to know the details of how I came to acquire the information?” He ran arough hand through his shoulder-length tendrils in distress. “In any case, whilethere are those that would go through great lengths to keep me in the dark —yourself and other Velithians included — I have always made it my business toknow that of which is hidden. You should know this of me by now,” she playfullytsk’d in the direction of both siblings, warming the tensions that trembledin the air around them.

Lythienneremained silent as she dissected her brother's reaction. He was visibly perturbed.His worry was etched plainly across his face and evident in every line of hisbody.

“Whatis it Caelion? What is it you know that I do not?” She broke her restraint.

Itis Caelion, then, who upheld the flag of mutism. His head lay heavy in hishands, elbows propped on the table.

Vaelithmet Lythienne where Caelion could not. That is what they did, the trio. They tookcharge when the other could no longer go on. “An uprising brews, Lythienne. KingIthralor grows more paranoid by the hour. If the rumors are to be believed, thepeople have not seen the King in three seasons. Those that have report that heis riddled with an illness of the mind.”

Shepaused, gathering the thoughts that ran wild, deciphering the information that hadspread within Caeithyriya. “Veilwild’s borders are locked. There is word thatnot a single soul has been granted entry, not for barter or trade, andcertainly not for leisure. What’s more is not a single soul has exited. Thosethat remain within the walls of Veilwild are all but hostages, held by theirKing’s orders.”

Lythiennedid not calculate for long. Vaelith was sure that she had heard the whispers ofsuch things, but not the gravity of the issue.

“Isit true?” Her question is directed at her brother, the most trusted source.

Caelionpushed his hands through his hair. A deep, guttural sigh escaped his lungs ashe straightened. “Every word,” was his simple reply.

“Threeseasons…” Lythienne trailed off as she pieced the information together. “But…isthat not…three seasons ago….”

Caelionwas not the one to reply. “Yes. Three seasons ago was the last Quiver in Veloryn.”

“Westill have no understanding of its ramifications. Father and I have ordered asearch on every dusty corner of Velithar. Every book, every oracle, every Lærer, every archivist…there is nothing, Lythienne. Nothing.”

Lythienne shook her head, “You are wrong. Velithar holds therecords of the entire realm, the whole of Veloryn. Anything that has ever beenis here. You must be missing something. The unknown simply cannotexist.”

“It does now,” he barely allowed her to finish. “Father began thissearch following the first Quiver, eleven ages ago. We were young ourselves,much too young to understand. But you remember, just as I do. Things weredifferent in Velithar after. The harvest was not as plentiful, mothers werewith child infrequently, the invasion of the Shadewastes….”

Vaelith felt the memories in her muscles before they appeared inher mind. Her mother and father were alive before the Quiver. The soil hummed,the streets were full of young life, the flora held insects of silver light.

None of these things existed afterwards. Not the rich soil, notthe classes of children, not the silver insects. Most of all, not her family.

She hardened her mind against the pull. Reliving the past didnothing. Move along, she spoke to the images that played behind hereyes. Do not be weak, Vaelith. That was not your life. That was borrowedtime. She took a harrowing breath, slowing the heart that thundered in herchest, reliving the pain of the dead. They’re gone. You are here. Screamsrang in her ears. She could not make out whose they were, not that it mattered.They were the sounds of her ghosts.

Caelion reached out to her, grabbing her hand without so much asa glance in her direction. He knew her deeply, saw her gaping wounds that werenever given the opportunity to scar. She did not need to speak. He did not needto ask.

He entwined their vastly different hands. His engulfed hersentirely, her medium olive skin against his light golden. His touch steadiedher racing thoughts. He brought her back from the depths of herself, where shecould seldom escape on her own.

She squeezed his hand in silent gratitude as her mind quieted,focused on the feeling of her hand in his. The pressure in each crevice, themolded fit, the strength radiating from him and into her, his fire warming herchilled spine.

“What does father think?” Questioned Lythienne, a hopeful tiltin her voice. “The warriors?” Her head turned to Vaelith next.

“I cannot speak on the behalf of your father, but those in Caeithyriyabelieve that battle is inevitable. If King Ithralor continues his path, thepeople could rise. Or they could perish from lack of crop and supplies. TheKing could kill them himself for all that we know. Such an unclear future withsuch an unhinged Royal is cause for concern. The warriors believe that thiswill not relent and will inevitably worsen, resulting in Velithar’sinvolvement.”

Caeliontook the podium, “Father and King Ithralor were once as close as blood. Hebelieves that King Ithralor is dangerous now that he is unpredictable. Hebelieves the Quiver has a part to play and that if the source can be found andstabilized, King Ithralor will, in turn, also stabilize. The threat he poseswill be eliminated. But…well, like I said, we searched all of Velithar. Wecannot find anything even remotely relating to these anomalies. We have not a single lead as to where to begin in such aquest as finding the origins of the Quivers. All we know is what even thecommon folk knows: the first happened here in Velithar, eleven ages ago; thesecond occurred in the Ember Peaks, two ages ago; and the third in Veilwild,three seasons ago. Each had unexplainable repercussions. That is it,” hishead hung in defeat.

Theydid not know what Vaelith knew. No one knew what Vaelith knew. She madesure of it. They did not know that she felt each Quiver in the marrow of herbones, as if they were happening in her and not around her. They did not knowthat she felt the tremble of Veloryn six rests before the release. They did notknow that, even now, there was a pull of gravity from the center of chesttoward something entirely unknown. They would never discover this.

“Themoment we receive word of physical conflict within Veilwild, we will provideaid.” Caelion spoke matter-of-factly, sounding as if he were echoing words thatwere not his own. They likely were not; they likely were King Aeltharion’s.

“Aid to whom?” Lythienne surely knew the answer. “The people, orKing Ithralor?”

“You know father. He will do what is necessary to protect subjectsfrom a cruel ruler. Relationship holds no place in running a Kingdom. We willfight alongside the denizens.”

There was a tense silence as the implications settled amongthem. Fighting against a King is a declaration of war. When the other territoriescaught wind, it would invite King Ithralor’s allies to come to his aid.

War across all of Veloryn wouldensue. Potentially, that is.

“Nothing has happened, yet. Yes, we should be prepared for the worst.Let us also work towards the best. There may not be information here inVelithar, but we should look beyond our lands. We have allies, let us use them,”Vaelith was planting positivity in them. The chances were grim, finding asolution to the consequences of the Quiver, but they should have hope. Justbecause she knew better did not mean that her misery wished for their company.On the contrary. “You set for the Ember Peaks in a week, Caelion. In return forsix vials of Rootglass, request their expertise, their literature, their seers,their knowledge. The Ember Peaks hold creatures as wise as Veloryn itself, theymust know something. You are the Crown Prince to the land of growth and ancientpractice. You are the heir to the home of enlightenment herself, and we areallies at peace. I am confident that they would be willing to trade at yourrequest.”

Vaelith had since released his hand, afraid that the pulsebeneath her wrist would betray her as it thrashed with unnecessary speed andfervor. But she looked at him now with seriousness and authenticity etched inher face.

“Lythienne, you have a relationship with Princess Sylvara, doyou not? Royal obligations and all. You should write to her and send yourletter through the wind, ensuring it is untraceable. I know you do not have anatural affinity for subtlety, but you do have practice. I remember as suchduring my time as your handmaiden, spectating the teachings of Lærer Kilyan.Put your education to good use, will you?” She glanced between them both now.“There is not a need to sit and wait. We are no longer the children from the firstQuiver; we are defenders and heirs. We have position, now. You both can act.”

The fire cracked in the hearth on the east side of the sphericalwall. It was the only sound in the background as the three of them sat at the deepbrown table, speaking of the Veilwild and the Fey Court, of the Quivers, of strategy.Lythienne agreed to write Princess Sylvara and Caelion agreed to speak with thoseof the Ember Peaks. Lythienne would bargain with the Spirit of Wind and forwardthe Princess a letter of offering on Her wings. With the borders closed, this —or Raven Fowl — was the only way to send and receive messages in Veilwild.

The Ember Peaks were a gruff and generally untrusting people.Because of this, Caelion did not have high hopes of their cooperation. Vaelithreminded him that it was far better to try than to not. Their suspicion camefrom deep-rooted betrayal; no one could rightly blame them. Knowledge in thewrong minds could be a detriment to the entire realm.

She did not see King Aeltharion or Queen Kadia, not thatshe fully expected to. Being the rulers of Velithar, it was not a priority to visittheir Mongrel while she was under their roof. Still, regardless of King Aeltharion’sindifference and borderline cruelty to her throughout the years, Queen Kadiahad always treated her with respect and care. Even before the first Quiver. Itwas because of this that she decided to leave them a letter of gratitude beforeher departure from Aelthyre…from Velithar.

Shemade way to the shared study to complete her correspondence. The King, theQueen, and the Heir each had their own room for business here. In the centerwas a space designed for waiting; this was where Vaelith wrote. There was parchmentand ink on the low surface made of oak. She stood from the worn-in leatherbench and strode towards Queen Kadia’s large double wooden doors. She wouldnever dare to enter any of their personal rooms uninvited, not even Caelion’s,although she was sure he would not mind.

Theletter was addressed to the King and Queen both. She bent down, leathersstretching around her knees and thighs, and slid the paper under Queen Kadia’sdoor. She would hand the letter to the King when she was finished with it, anyway.Plus, it was more likely to be well-received to Queen Kadia than it would be toKing Aeltharion. She would let the Queen decide the best course of action for this.

Sheturned back towards the table, eyeing the sheets of blank paper that sat in thecenter of it still. Vaelith toyed with the idea of leaving something forCaelion, as well. She inspected the thought carefully. If Caelion foundsomething that sounded too much like a farewell from her too early, there was allthe chance in the realm that he would follow and catch her in a day's time. Ifshe left him nothing at all, he may never think fondly of her again. He may growice around the part of his heart in which the memory of her resided. Perhapsthat would be best, distaste for her; it would hurt less than the emptiness.Could she move on herself, though, knowing that her closest confidant thoughtsourly of her? In her last moments of breath, would she regret leaving nothingbehind?

Sheknew she would not be able to stomach it. She knew it would be her biggestregret.

Witha huff of air escaping from her lungs, she made her decision. She would write,but she would not leave it for them here.

Shegrabbed a parchment, scribbled with intent, and folded it twice over, slidingit into her breast pocket, completely sealed from view.

Vaelithtook purposeful strides to the threshold of the study, then turned her back againstthe frame. The pressure on her rear provided the comfort of a touch. She wasstill for a few moments, lids closed. They were warm over her dry eyes, and shefound solace in the contrast of temperatures. She inhaled deeply.

Thescent was of citrus, wood, and flora. Sweet, tart, and deeply warm. It feltlike her father's hands on her face and her mother's safe embrace. Moretangibly, it felt like King Aeltharion’s harsh expectations, Queen Kadia’s softsmile, Lythienne’s impish tendencies, and thesqueeze of Caelion’s hand around hers.

Itsmelled of safety and of home, two things that she was likely to neverexperience again.

Shebid Caelion and Lythienne farewell in the corridor outside of the Parlor withordinary embraces. As much as Vaelith wished she could have lingered just abeat longer, she did not want to incite wariness in them.

Caelionoffered to chaperone her back to her door, but she declined. She had asked, “Isonce an evening, every light for the last eleven ages not enough for you?” Shehad laughed at his serious response of, “It absolutely is not. I require yourevery breath.” Vaelith had insisted that she would make it back to her dwellingunharmed and promised that she would meet him again on the morrow.

Shethought of the lies as she journeyed away from Aelthyre for the last time.

Shehad told many of them before, really. Assurances that she was well after thepassing of her mother and father. That lie had been told countless times overthe last eleven ages. Then there was the manner of her birth. She had feigned disinterestin the way that others treated her: tainted, indecent, immoral. The truth ofthe matter was that she was not disinterested in the least. The truth was thatshe was unwell in many ways. But this was her burden to carry, and she wouldcarry it alone, without complaint.

Theselies did not weigh heavily on her in the slightest. After all, they hurt onlyherself.

Itwas the lies she told Caelion and Lythienne that slammed down on her shoulderslike slices of a sharp blade.

Theentire evening, she had refrained from telling them of her plans. She hoardedthe truth. This was a lie.

Oncethis evening, she had promised Caelion that she would meet him again on themorrow. This was a lie.

Countlessof times she swore that they would always be together. It was a promise theyhad made when they were but children. They had taken this with the seriousnessof life and death, even now.

Thiswas a lie.

Thetruth of this matter tasted like dirt, she thought, as she finally entered herdwelling. She was a liar.

Vaelithlooked around at what she had grown to see as her small home. A humble settee madeof tawny wood and woven greenery sat in the center of the room, a sea greenquilt folded neatly over the side. The hearth was cold and ashy, remnants ofthe fire that was once burning bright. Flagstone floors were littered withfabrics of shades of copper, sepia, charcoal, and moon white. Cabinetry linedthe western wall, leading way to a rather measly table-top for dining.

Herchambers were in the north corner, separated by a creaking wooden door. She reachedbeneath her cot, seizing the large, black canvas pouch her father had gifted toher when she was just a child.

Init, she stuffed extra clothing, smaller weaponry, raw fabrics, medicinal rootsand saps, gauze for wound dressings, rope, and needles and thread.

She grabbed her armory beside her cot. This was not Velithar’sarmory, of course. It would be unwise to sport such a blatant allegiance.Instead, it was her aged gold and silver pouldrons, breast plate, tassets, and herblack gorget. These were made with less metal and material than the Velitharianarmor, more movable and less constrictive. It would protect her less, but shedid not mind.

She slid open the drawer of the near-empty wardrobe tucked inthe corner of her chambers. She stared intently at what lay there.

A torc, made of gold, elegantly embossed with roots and lanceolateleaves. It was her mother’s, once. A gift given to her by King Aeltharion whenthey were much younger. Before the pressures of the crown rested on his head.Before her father was ever known.

On the underside, near the back where it tightly clasped, was anengraving she had come to intimately know.

A + E

Aeltharion and Erwyn.

The King and my mother, a Warlord.

She seized the torc roughly, placing it around her neck, and clampedit firmly into place. It dug into her collar bones, a shocking chill againsther skin.

Vaelith hurried to the entrance of her home, snatching her deepblue cloak and placing it hastily around her shoulders.

With grave determination, she fished the parchment from herbreast pocket and placed it neatly on the settee.

They would see it clearly when they came to look for her.

They would read it and know.

I love you.

There would be no doubt. She was gone.

The door slammed behind her, heavy with remorse.

The sun shone tamely on her cloak it faded; it protected her asit should, providing a warming temperature in the chill. The moon was coming,she saw. Halfway home. The sun, halfway gone.

She rode on the back of a stolen grey horse, out of Velithar andinto the lands beyond.

She did not glance back. Not even once.