by Viola Rivard
High Maiden Ionia went on, “Circumstances have changed. I can no longer keep you here. You must return to your kingdom, now.”
Chapter Two
The evening went from nightmarish to merely surreal as Eloisa was led to the enclave. She wanted to believe that it was a dream, but she’d never experienced such a vivid dream and didn’t think her mind capable of contriving such a bizarre scenario.
The enclave smelled like High Maiden Ionia, which made sense considering it was where she spent most of her time. Lit by mirrors that reflected the moonlight, the room was cast in shades of blue. Eloisa was escorted to the High Maiden’s desk and sat in the chair that she was well-acquainted with.
Twelve times now, she’d sat across from the High Maiden in her enclave, confessing her transgressions and awaiting her punishments. Out of habit, her fingers curled around the hooked armrests in an attempt to anchor herself in the chair. If she escaped it without a lashing or time in The Dark Room, it would be a first.
High Maiden Ionia sat across from her, her tall form framed by the long window behind her desk. For once, she didn’t look imposing or imperious. She seemed unsure what to do with her hands, her fingers lacing and unlacing nervously.
“Understand that we cannot permit distractions amongst our understudies,” the High Maiden began. “For your first century, it is crucial that you learn to detach from your former identity, which is why it is our job as your superiors to manage the information that touches your ears. We do not speak of the events of the outside world because they are irrelevant, at least, they are to most of us. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
Either the High Maiden was being unusually ineloquent, or fatigue and overwhelm had claimed Eloisa’s senses, because it took her a full minute to draw a conclusion.
“You’re saying that you’ve been keeping things from me?”
It was no great surprise. Her entire youth had been characterized by a constant influx of intrigue and political maneuverings, most of which she hadn’t understood but had seemed of deep importance to her family and the members of her father’s court. Since arriving at the tower, she’d heard nothing of politics, except for those in the historical records she studied for her assessments.
She'd also received only six letters, four from her elder sister and one each from her father and her brother. The letters had arrived open, and after her first year, which she’d mostly spent weeping, the letters had stopped entirely. Refusing to believe that her family had forgotten her, she’d clung to the belief that the Sisters were burning the letters as part of some perverse effort to ease Eloisa’s grief. It had worked, to an extent. As the years passed, she thought less and less of her family, and her youth had congealed into a single, vague memory.
“From all of our Children and Daughters,” High Maiden Ionia corrected. “But in your case, given the nature of your background, we have had to take special care.”
The High Maiden paused and searched Eloisa’s face for something. Her lips formed a grim line, and then she spoke.
“King Kiryos is dead.”
Eloisa had not known she’d been bracing herself for that very news until it hit her.
“When did he die?” she asked.
The High Maiden seemed relieved by her lack of outburst, and she returned to her usual brusque manner of speaking.
“Five years ago.”
Eloisa swallowed a lump in her throat. “How?”
“He fell in combat.”
“Combat? We were at war?”
It was a measure of how insane the situation was, that the High Maiden did not correct Eloisa’s use of “we,” a pronoun that was forbidden to be used for anyone save for her fellow Daughters. To use it in conjunction with her former kingdom was considered aberrant and could have earned her a lashing under different circumstances.
“Atolia is still at war. King Philomen sits on the Suntouched Throne.”
Eloisa let out a breath. “Philomen? But he’s… Last I saw him, he was a boy.”
The High Maiden’s lip curled. “No longer. Much of his kingdom has been overcome and his house is gravely in debt. He needs allies and he has nothing left with which to barter. Only Cal’dara has offered to come to Atolia’s aid, and their alliance hinges on the promise of a marriage between Atolian royalty and their sovereign.”
Eloisa’s hand went to her mouth to stifle a gasp. “Lord Caleth? That horrible tyrant? Lusia will be forced to marry him?”
Like all of her family members, Lusia’s face had long-since faded from her memories. When she thought of her sister, she remembered her by her scent, so much like their late mother’s, and by the way she fashioned her hair in a high, conical bun that made her seem so much taller than she was.
Lusia had been only a year older than Eloisa, a rarity amongst their kind, where children were often born centuries apart. King Kiryos had married their mother less than a year before Lusia’s auspicious birth, and in the eight years of their marriage, she’d born him two more children, Eloisa, and then Philomen, whose birth she had not survived. Eloisa still remembered her uncle vainly attempting to bring her father from his grief, telling him that he should be grateful; he’d gotten more from his wife in eight years than many men got in so many centuries, and he would now be free to take any female that was to his liking, rather than choosing on pedigree alone.
It was no wonder she grew up believing her life had little value, hearing such callous statements on a daily basis. And now, poor, kind Lusia would fall prey to the same cycle as her mother, being married off to a man she did not know. Only, unlike their mother, she was not being married off to a man of fine nobility and esteem.
“Queen Lusia is already married,” High Maiden Ionia said, bringing Eloisa back from her errant thoughts. “She was married in her fifteenth year to an Agreian prince who has since ascended the throne.”
Her fifteenth year. In the tower, where she was a Child for five decades, it was easy to forget that fifteen was considered marriageable age among her kind. Upon reflection, she found the concept to be so objectionable that she nearly missed the first statement.
“If Lusia is already married, then how will the alliance be secured?”
Hours later, she would reflect on that question, rolling her eyes at its mind-numbing stupidity. However, in the present moment, the idea that it would be her was so inconceivable that High Maiden Ionia’s next words evoked hysterical laughter.
“The arrangement is between Lord Caleth and you, Princess.”
“That isn’t possible.” Eloisa wasn’t sure if the tears in her eyes were from mirth or terror. “I’m a Daughter of Phaeda. The day I set foot in this tower, I made a sacred vow that I would never marry, never know the touch of a man.”
The High Maiden put her head in her hands and slouched.
“I have explained this ad nauseam to King Philomen. Believe me, I have done everything that I can to circumvent this travesty. He’s been trying to remove you for years now, wanting to marry you off to one man or another; a sacrificial lamb on the altar of his shortcomings.”
“Then why now? Why to this man, this horrible man?”
High Maiden Ionia rubbed her temples. “There isn’t time enough to explain. When you see your kingdom, such as it is, you will understand. Without this alliance, Atolia will fall and into whose hands, I cannot say. King Philomen may be incompetent, but our tower resides within the confines of his land. He is our king, and better him than the alternatives.”
“No!”
Eloisa could hardly believe she’d spoken the word, but once it was out, it gave her the resolve she needed. She stood, her hands fisted at her sides, and glared down at the High Maiden.
“Philomen is not our king,” she said emphatically. “We have no kings or countries. Truth has no masters.”
High Maiden Ionia did not seem angered by Eloisa’s outburst, nor did she seem swayed by her logic. She stood as well, regarding Eloisa with a sad, half-smile.
&
nbsp; “Phaeda is Truth, not us. We are but her servants.” She reached across the table to place a hand on Eloisa’s shoulder. “You must go now. There are fliers waiting for you.”
Eloisa went with the High Maiden, but only because she could think of no alternative. She did contemplate running and screaming at the top of her lungs, telling Maidens, Sisters, and Daughters alike of what the High Maiden was subjecting her to. She had no doubt she’d find many sympathetic ears, and perhaps some who would even rally to her side as Sister Verity had done. Perhaps the High Maiden could be shamed into permitting Eloisa to stay.
But if what High Maiden Ionia was saying was true, then by staying she could be condemning all of the occupants of the tower to an uncertain fate. If a new ruler overtook Atolia, one with even less respect for tradition than Philomen, their order could be forcibly disbanded, and their women enslaved, or worse. Few nations looked favorably upon women with powers such as theirs.
As they walked through the doors that led onto the atrium, Eloisa was taken aback first by the harsh wind that assaulted her, and then by the sight of the men.
Six of them stood in formation with three lined up on either side of the pathway that led to an ornate gold and green palanquin. A seventh man was standing off to the side, and began to approach them as they stepped onto the platform, High Maiden Ionia once again pulling Eloisa along.
The High Maiden had to yell to be heard over the roar of the wind. “I present to you, Princess Eloisa of the Suntouched Throne.”
The man, whose armor bore the sun crest of Eloisa’s former house, did not bow or show any sort of respect to either the High Maiden or to Eloisa.
“So you say,” he responded. “Pull back her veil and let me see her face.”
Eloisa couldn’t tell if his voice was exceptionally rough or if all men sounded like him and she’d simply forgotten. She’d certainly forgotten how big they were. This man was so large that she was certain he could crush her neck with a single flex of his hand.
As she had that very thought, the man began to reach his armored hand towards Eloisa. She instinctively shrank back, while the High Maiden came to her defense.
“I am the High Maiden of the Order of Light. I do not bear false witness. If I tell you this is the princess, then you will not insult me with your doubt.”
The man sneered, but he dropped his hand and took a step back from them. High Maiden Ionia turned and pulled Eloisa into an awkward embrace.
“I am sorry, Eloisa,” she whispered into her ear. “We must part here. You must go, never to return. You are of man now.”
Some part of her had known that this departure was permanent, but hearing the words aloud made her head spin.
Eloisa was amazed that she could hold herself up once the High Maiden released her. She looked past the hulking men, at the palanquin that was meant to carry her away. Though it seemed as if the circumstances were beyond her control, she couldn’t help but bear the brunt of the responsibility.
She had kneeled before the goddess and uttered her foolish Truth, and Phaeda had deemed her unworthy. She knew that must have been what happened. How else could her wish be so swiftly granted, but with such a perverse twist?
Chapter Three
Eloisa declined the proffered hand of the soldier intent on helping her up the steps. She climbed into the palanquin on her own, her mind in a daze as the door shut behind her.
The interior of the palanquin was nearly as large as the room Eloisa shared with Selia. It was her first thought, and it ground all other thoughts to a halt.
Selia.
Her dearest and closest friend was likely still sleeping in her bed, and would wake in short order to find Eloisa missing—gone without saying goodbye. And what would the High Maiden tell her of Eloisa’s departure? Somehow, she doubted any Daughter would ever know the truth of it. By the time they were Maidens, some two centuries from now, and able to leave the tower as conscripts, she doubted any of them would think to ask as to her whereabouts. By then, even Selia might have forgotten her.
Eloisa gripped the handle of the door panel, but didn’t pull it open. Through the glass window, she could see the armored men begin to phase. The sight of them morphing into dragons of red and green was awe-inspiring, but not enough to quell her angst. However, she allowed the distraction, knowing that any effort she made to get to Selia would be thwarted by the High Maiden.
The palanquin was jostled as one of the fliers picked up its leads and lifted it into the air. Eloisa clutched her belly as a sudden bout of nausea took hold of her, and then staggered back towards the nearest cushioned seat.
“Are you unwell, Ma’am?”
Eloisa let out something akin to a whimper as she became aware of the other presence in the room. Her eyes darted around, until she found the female sitting on the opposite couch.
The woman was young. Eloisa could tell as much from her predominantly human scent. She had some dragonkind blood, perhaps from a grandfather, but it didn’t show in her features. She looked like any human female Eloisa could remember seeing, olive-skinned with dark hair and eyes, and a thin, but unobjectionable face.
Something about the way she held herself, with her back straight and her hands folded neatly in her lap, told Eloisa that she was a lady’s maid, though she wasn’t sure where she’d drawn the reference from. She couldn’t remember having a maid as a child, though she assumed she must have had several of them.
“To tell it true, I am quite unwell,” Eloisa responded.
“Is it the altitude, Ma’am? I am unaccustomed to flying as well, though in my case it is more my ears that are bothering me.”
The way the woman spoke evoked memories of Eloisa’s mother. It happened anytime she heard someone speak in the grandiose accent of High Atolian. As a child, it had seemed normal to her, the way everyone, herself included, put so much emphasis on each syllable, drawing out their words for as long as they could stretch them. At the tower, Eloisa’s accent had been deemed unbearably pretentious, and when they hadn’t been able to lecture it from her, they’d beaten it out of her.
Now, she could almost sympathize with the Sisters who had been so cruel to her. The accent truly was annoying. She particularly disliked how the pronoun ‘I’ was given so much stress, as if oneself was of the utmost importance.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Eloisa asked. She spoke in her clean, unadorned Atolian dialect, hoping that the woman would notice how absurd she sounded in contrast.
She didn’t.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I’m Lidia. I was sent by the queen to be your maid.”
“The queen?”
“Queen Milara. King Philomen’s wife.”
“Oh,” was all Eloisa could say. She still had trouble picturing Philomen as a man, let alone as a king with a wife. “You must pardon my ignorance, Miss Lidia. The last time I saw Philomen, he was a little boy pulling at my skirts and begging for me not to leave.”
Eloisa looked out the window as she spoke. It was a clear night, but already the tower looked like a needle in the distance, soon to be swallowed up by the ocean that surrounded it.
“I can’t imagine how strange this must be for you, Ma’am. Is it true that you have been imprisoned there for a century?”
“Imprisoned?” Eloisa asked, her head turning to regard the woman. “Clarification, please.”
Lidia looked confused, and Eloisa realized that the request that was so much a part of her day to day life might not be part of this woman’s lexicon. Still, she managed to pick up on Eloisa’s meaning without further explanation.
“I mean that you were there against your will, unable to leave.”
“I understand your perception, however to call it imprisonment is sensationalizing the truth,” Eloisa explained. “A child is not imprisoned in a room because it is their bedtime and a baker is not imprisoned in a kitchen because his shift is not yet over. The tower was not a prison for me. It was where I needed to be. Where I should still be, to tel
l it true.”
Lidia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. When she spoke, her hesitant words came out at tedious pace. “I was under the impression that, well, is it true that you can see things? Colors, around people?”
Eloisa remembered one of her maids, then. An older, half-breed woman who had taken up the task of caring for her as her mother’s pregnancy had advanced. She couldn’t recall the woman’s name, but she remembered that her hands were warm and felt like paper that had been crumpled to softness. Eloisa had held that hand as she’d been taken to observe her newborn brother.
Though she would later become quite fond of Philomen, she’d been utterly disinterested in the mewling infant that morning. She’d left the cradle where her father and the midwives where reveling in the new heir, and had dragged her maid to her mother’s bed, which smelled of blood, sweat, and other foul things Eloisa could not place. Her beautiful mother had lain stretched out on the bed with her eyes closed and her face pale. The maid had tried to pull Eloisa along, back towards the others, telling her that her mother was tired and needed her rest.
“Why is she so dark?” Eloisa had asked. She’d pointed above her mother’s head, where the vibrant aura of rose and sunflower yellow was supposed to be. “Where did her lights go?”
The maid had immediately alerted the midwives, but in spite of their efforts, her mother had passed away within the hour. That night, long before the idea of her mother’s death had sunken in, Eloisa had been taken aside by her maid and given a warning.
“You must never speak of what you see. Do not even let them catch you looking above their heads. Believe the words they tell you, no matter what their colors say.”
Even without that memory, Eloisa knew that her ability was reviled in most societies, and punishable by death in the rest. She’d studied history and knew that there had never been a time when her kind had been anything more than tolerated.
Despite this, Eloisa refused to lie.
