by Katie Macey
Tears fell into his large hands, now empty. His wife slept on, but a single tear dribbled down her cheek. He had orchestrated this. He held authority but gave it away.
The child would be hidden, and when he died, only then would the heir’s true identity be revealed.
✽✽✽
Blue designs spread from her wrist, past her elbow. It looked like she'd dedicated months to dying intricate filigree designs on her arm. What did it mean? And another vision? There really was an heir? Niamh shook her head. What was she even outside Oplijah for? Pressed against the glasshouse wall, Niamh hesitated. A crescent moon lit the night sky…ah, she'd seen Veayre sneak off! Why had she been out there, sneaking off into the forest, right when Jomen’s room had been attacked?
Niamh needed answers. Suddenly all of Veayre’s actions seemed suspicious, and she wondered why none of them demanded an explanation earlier. She darted across the grassy clearing and into the trees. The roar of crashing ice-burgs and the ocean's wind made it difficult to hear anything else.
Ducking from tree to tree, trying to stay out of sight, Niamh swung between feeling ridiculous at suspecting Veayre and feeling furious that she'd behaved in this way. A candle's flame flickered ahead. Niamh slowed her breathing. Who could Veayre be talking to?
A flustered voice carried on the wind. The flame vanished.
"On behalf of my father, I thank you."
Niamh scowled, but then she sucked in a breath. Someone ran straight past her. Niamh couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d had a clear view of Veayre’s conspirator. The crest of Lord Gleriledd reflected in the moonlight. But more than that, she’d caught sight of his face. Memories of the jetty, and the handsome young lord, the fishing supervisor.
“Finn?” said Niamh to herself, as a flash of royal guard’s uniform flew by.
✽✽✽
Candelabra decorated long tabletops and hanging chandeliers lit up the banquet hall. No expense had been spared. A small band played bright music and a string of couples danced. The presentation of lavish foods seemed endless.
"So you admit it!" the High King boomed.
The jovial dancing and banter ground to a halt. Each face turned towards the king's chair. Nobody moved a plate.
"Guards!" the King bellowed. "Take him away!"
Women teetered and reached for their goblets. The Lords watched on, unwilling to choose a side just yet.
"Your heir is long gone,” said Lord Gleriledd, thumping his goblet down. “And my control only increases.” He leant back in his chair and touched his chin. “I already have a secret weapon in place…"
"You liar!"
"Very smart little king, but the kingdom will be in better hands. My Veayre will make sure of that!"
"Your mistakes can be unmade,” said the King, standing suddenly. “Our allies will return to us! Gag him!"
"Yes, your majesty!"
Lord Gleriledd kicked and pulled at the guards, resisting each step. The king hung his head. He knew he was dying. And what had he done? He had no one to succeed the throne and enemies at every corner. He was surrounded.
✽✽✽
“Aarin is anxious to speak to you,” said Caeednce, as Niamh re-entered the dining hall.
"And I, him. I feel sick, Caeednce."
"The truth,” said Caeednce, “sometimes it aches to come out."
Niamh nodded and went looking for Aarin. They would confront Veayre together. Aarin's face hardened when she whispered what she had seen. Together they found Veayre standing outside by the cliff's edge. She looked out to the sea, calm and ready. When she turned to face them Niamh realised, stunned, that Veayre was prepared for what was coming.
"Aarin, Niamh," said Veayre. The facade of friendship had vanished. "Academic research," Veayre scoffed.
Niamh winced.
Veayre stared at the horizon.
"And really. As if you could ever be the heir to the throne."
"Me?" Niamh touched her hand to her chest.
"Your ambiguous ancestry, your mother, the whole flying thing...you think no one noticed?"
Aarin looked at both girls, confusion clouding his face. Niamh was only just keeping up herself. Someone thought she was the heir? And they sent Veayre after her?
"Being able to confirm or deny your lineage was worth risking my life apparently, but I'll take that up with my father once I've returned home."
"Who were you speaking to?” said Aarin. “Why are you working with the enemy?"
"Who are our allies?” said Veayre. “Who is our enemy? It’s all fluid, Aarin. The world isn't black and white.” She drew a loose strand of hair out of her face. "That Niamh attracted enough concern to warrant this trip will never cease to astound me. My father's errors are piling up around him."
Niamh frowned.
"The king is already dead,” said Veayre, making the most of their stunned silence. “There is no heir. Why is so much effort being spent on a fool’s errand?"
Niamh had enough. The rumours only caused problems. She had tried to save her family, and she would do that, tonight at sunset. But where were the leaders standing against this injustice? Where were the educated? What did they do but scheme and plan? Niamh fumed, but all of her thoughts bottlenecked and she struggled to put what she thought into words.
"As if the Fates could be bothered with you,” said Veayre.
Niamh didn't understand what she meant. The Fates? They were in the old tales and influential through a thousand years of their kingdom’s history. Not that she knew many details. It was only in recent years the Fates had disappeared into oblivion...what could Veayre mean?
Niamh wondered just how much Veayre knew. She wouldn't put it past her to act like she knew it all just to spite them.
"What of the message you sent?" said Aarin, stepping towards Veayre.
"My father will arrange for my passage home,” said Veayre, unbothered by Aarin’s question. “And my task is done. You're not the heir."
"I never thought I was! Stop saying it like that!" said Niamh. "But, what about everything we've all gone through? You'd leave Jomen, even now?"
"My safety is paramount, Niamh. Muspary means nothing to me."
"But I thought-" said Aarin. His voice wobbled.
Another scoff was all the response Aarin got. Was that a tear? Niamh stared at Aarin. What had she missed? Had she been so focused on her feelings for Jomen that she hadn't noticed other bonds in the group forming?
"Don't be stupid Aarin,” said Veayre. “As if you and-" but her voice wobbled and she stared at the ground.
"But they're using weapons Veayre, and bows and arrows were outlawed generations ago!"
"To our detriment! But I won't argue about the kingdom with you, Niamh. If only the sea wasn't so dangerous, I'd sooner sail home than travel with the soldiers over land...goodness knows I’ve done enough of that with you."
Aarin coughed. Niamh allowed him to believe he'd disguised his pain well, though she knew better than to reassure him.
"Come on," said Niamh as she touched Aarin's forearm. "Let's go back."
"Yes,” said Veayre, “go back to your friends. Our paths are set."
✽✽✽
"Hey, come here."
Iilen pulled Niamh into a warm bear hug. For once, Niamh let herself relax into it and sniffed against his shoulder.
"I'm not usually like this," said Niamh, whispering into his shoulder.
"None of us are. None of this is usual."
Iilen patted her head. It was an awkward gesture, but Niamh appreciated it all the same. She drew back and lifted her tear-streaked face.
"This feels harder than it was supposed to be."
"Yeah, well, you didn't count on going on the road with the likes of us,” said Iilen. “You didn't count on Jomen."
"But my vows. I came to take them, and it’s time," said Niamh.
"Why the exclusivity?" Aarin interjected.
Niamh stepped away from Iilen. She didn’t know if she could ma
ke them understand. She barely understood it herself.
"It's just the way it is. Being a Priestess… I'll save my family, but I don't get one of my own."
"And your aunt was okay with asking you to do this?" said Aarin.
"It was just always expected I would..."
"That's not okay, Niamh. You get to decide.”
Niamh wrung her hands and tried to voice what she’d thought while they travelled.
"The longer I've been away, the more I’ve wondered at my aunt,” said Niamh, staring at her feet. “Who was she before she found me?”
"Seems like a big call to make,” said Aarin, “when your family didn't talk that much."
"Yours did?"
"Of course,” said Aarin, “telling their life stories was a favourite pass-time. Why do you think I wanted to be a guard so badly?"
"But I have no choice,” said Niamh. “If I don’t, Veayre's father will send my sisters away."
"I know you're very protective,” said Iilen, “and you've come all this way to do this, but what if you're making a mistake?" Iilen folded his hands carefully.
Niamh took a breath.
"But I can't back down now,” she said. “I've trained since I was a child for this. Aunty made sure I was ready."
"But what is her name, Niamh?” Aarin stood. “What do you know? You’ve spoken in riddles since we met you. You're passionate and obedient, but you don't know why. You scare me. What else could you be convinced of without any evidence? Would you sell us out just like Veayre did?”
Niamh flinched as Aarin stormed from the room.
Iilen sighed.
"The trouble is, he's right,” said Iilen. “You're willing to take a vow for your whole life, and you can’t really say why."
Niamh trembled. She had been asking herself the same questions since she'd left home. Niamh felt the security of her aunt’s stories unravelling. But her original plan…
"And I know you're used to thinking of others,” said Iilen, “but has it occurred to you, that your vow might affect other people too? People like Jomen?"
"But I..."
"I'm just saying, Niamh. Veayre's gone. And we will go home. But don't take the vows just because that was what you thought you'd do. Decide for yourself, Niamh."
Offended and ready to argue more, Niamh opened her mouth. But Iilen had already left. Was being a priestess the wrong choice, like he said? She looked up at the ceiling and sighed.
✽✽✽
Pulling on a robe woven with gold, Niamh looked out to the sea. The ice-burgs crashed into each other, spraying white foam. Pressing her lips into a hard line she tied the sash around her waist. She’d made it this far. Whatever her doubts, and whatever she felt for Jomen, she had to do what she'd come to do. What was she, if not a priestess?
CHAPTER 16
An apprentice priestess directed her to the open door. Niamh’s eyes swam and she hesitated. But she had come here for a reason, and she couldn’t back out now.
The ceremony hall wasn't a great hall with seating for thousands, but the ceiling still stretched to the highest point in the temple. Sunset’s glow filtered down.
The three remaining priestesses rose in silence.
One held a scroll. Another opened her mouth to speak. Niamh knew what to expect. She'd rehearsed this many times. They'd even played it as little girls. Aunty had cheered for them as they took turns being the one at the centre of the ceremony. Of course, Niamh always knew the others would never do it. But the games were harmless, and now here she was. Aunty. Niamh’s mind wandered. Aunty who? Why had she kept her name a secret?
The question suddenly felt important, like Niamh should know the answer. Like she should have known it for years. The truth of her aunty's secrecy hurt, and the weight of her imminent decision crashed down on her. She staggered, dropping to one knee.
"Niamh!"
Was that Veayre's voice? Was it Caeednce? Or a priestess?
Grey smoke billowed around her and blocked out the last rays of the sun. Something was happening. Niamh’s wrists burned, and her mouth felt dry. She tried to call for help and though she tried, her efforts produced no sound at all.
An icy wind whipped the smoke into a grey vortex around her. It rushed and roared and drowned out all other noise. Trapped inside it, Niamh looked straight up, desperate to understand anything about what was going on. She felt helpless, in the eye of that tiny storm. Above her, hung a perfect circle of light. How had a storm kicked up inside Oplijah? Why was it only affecting her? Her wrists stung. Looking down, her eyes widened. The wind roared. Her skin prickled. Something pushed her…
Then all at once- nothing.
The smoke, the wind, the rushing noise, it all vanished. Niamh stood before her friends and the others, having no clue what had just happened.
"I've never been to a ceremony before," stammered the youngest priestess. The older one wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her away.
"That wasn't it, don't worry, yours won’t be anything like that." She threw a glance at Niamh and escorted the young one away.
Looking to her friends for support, Niamh’s stomach sank when she saw their faces.
Aarin stared. Iilen had cocked his head and Caeednce was weeping.
"Niamh..." Caeednce stepped forward, but she had her hand placed over her heart.
Niamh abandoned the centre of the room. Aarin and Iilen remained silent, their stunned faces still frozen.
"I don't understand,” said Niamh. “The ceremony..."
"Well, you're not the heir,” said Iilen, “Veayre was right about that..."
"But what,” said Aarin, unable to finish.
Finding the corner of a bench seat, he sat down still staring. Niamh felt self-conscious. What had gone wrong?
Caeednce approached her calmly, saying, "My Lady, please, I might be able to explain..."
"Why are you talking like that? What happened just now? Did I fail the test?”
Caeednce knelt before her. Niamh shrank back. None of this was anything like she had rehearsed.
"I think you're more important than any heir could be," said Caeednce, with an air of confidence that Niamh didn’t recognise.
"Look at you,” said Caeednce, “you're no mere royal, Niamh."
"But what of my vows? What of my promise to Aunty? I don’t understand!"
Caeednce led Niamh up a flight of stairs she hadn’t noticed before, to a locked door. She handed Niamh a shining key, its filigree handle woven with the symbol of the sun.
“One thousand years…”
The key slid into the lock easily, despite the dust. Caeednce hovered in the doorway, her curiosity getting the better of her, but she didn't cross the threshold.
An elaborately decorated room greeted Niamh, with gold and red and pale blue designs everywhere. A giant bed, a crystal tub, and so much more.
"Why am I allowed in here?" said Niamh.
"We thought the old arts were dead Niamh, don't you see?"
"Yes, but what has that got to do with me?" Niamh traced the curve of a gold design on a carved chest.
"You're back,” said a priestess, standing nervously at the door. “The Silver Fates controlled whoever was King for centuries, Niamh.”
Niamh swallowed. Hanging on the wall was a painted portrait of the three fates. Niamh took a closer look at their faces. Something about the one on the right was familiar...
"Your hair is gold!"
Iilen's excited tone broke into the dusty room.
"I can't bear to look at myself," said Niamh, touching the ends of her hair.
But Iilen was ushered away by the young priestess. Niamh smiled gratefully. Even just a few moments alone would help. She wandered around the room. A giant mirror hung on a far off wall, and she purposefully avoided it.
A peek inside the joining bathroom proved that Oplijah had more secrets than she thought. A mosaic of tiles and crystals, laced with gold glimmered on every surface. The hem of her skirts dragged acros
s the shining floor, as she walked away from the bathroom, and she found herself in a study, with a ceiling made of pure glass. A view to the heavens.
"You probably know what to expect,” said the priestess, “your grace."
"I really don’t."
"But the teachings, the stories? Every child in Guthaecia..."
"Aunty hid this from me, okay?” said Niamh, feeling lost. “It seems she knew more than she let on..."
The priestess hurried away, mentioning other books Niamh would want to see. More than surprised at her transformation, she felt a fool. Had Aunty truly planned this? Had she really hurried Niamh into her vows to prevent her true destiny, becoming the third Fate – the Golden Fate?
✽✽✽
"I wish you'd stop staring."
"I can't help it,” said Jomen. “You look so different!"
"Yeah, well, I'm still me you know,” said Niamh, pretending not to notice how much effort it took him to stop his hands shaking.
"I like your golden hair,” said Jomen. “It's very...regal. And I don't know anyone with golden eyes like yours, but it looks great."
"But it's not just how I look Jomen, I think I'm actually different now. Watch this..."
Niamh moved her hands in a small circular motion. Smoothly lifting off the chair, she hovered with perfect control. Effortless.
"I spent years practicing air manipulation against my aunt's wishes,” said Niamh, “and I never got close to this kind of control."
Her bottom lip trembled, so she clamped her mouth shut, in case she began to cry.
"You say it like it’s a bad thing,” said Jomen.
"I was prepared to be a priestess. And what do all these strange extra powers do for me, except make me strange?"
"Maybe you're meant to be more than just another priestess? Niamh, the world is changing. What if you're meant to do something important?"
"Me? Aunty wouldn’t even let me- I was schooled at home, Jomen. This adventure of ours is the first time I’ve ever gone away from home. And you think I could be important?!"
"Oh,” said Jomen, “I'm sorry."
Niamh felt a little faint. Hands in her lap, she looked over the pattern woven into her skirts: golden flowers, ruby-red butterflies and silver beads adorned every square inch. It gathered tight about her waist, then draped in loose long sleeves and skirts that out-billowed anything even Veayre liked to wear. Niamh inhaled. She didn't want to be different. Her golden locks shone to the point of sparkling and tumbled over her shoulders as she dropped her face into her hands.
