by Alexia Purdy
Today was her coronation to second in command. So young, but she had succeeded in taking all the tests her mother sent her way. There was nothing to do now but to hand the position to her daughter, much to her mother’s chagrin. Nothing made Aveta smile more than seeing her mother hesitate when she looked at her now.
No, not even the queen could deny the position of power to a powerful royal. Still, Aveta had to watch her back. Avoiding the Queen was easy enough, she had her field of poppies to disappear into, beyond the labyrinth where no one treads. It’d become not only her sanctuary, but a place of pure solace and peace, a trait she could not find anywhere in the Withering Palace.
Nowhere here?
Aveta turned, hearing the wall’s soft whispers as it whined its protests to her for always leaving to the poppy fields.
“Your palace is solace to me, old friend. Just not while under her rule.” Her answer was well taken and the walls of the palace quieted down into its normal, quietly whispered banter. Ever since she could remember, it had been a deep comfort to have the walls speak to her. No one else could hear it, no one else knew of the ancient magic controlling the very castle they resided in. Not even Queen Elisandra.
Which was another reason she was being inducted into the position of second in command at such a young age. She knew things others didn’t and knew them because the walls had eyes everywhere. Hence the ease of avoiding punishment since that long ago day of torment before Eladril led her into the labyrinth, deep in the gut of the castle and to the poppy fields below. No one would ever touch her again. No one could ever get close enough again.
“Well, I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She smiled at her reflection, knowing how she was already turning into a woman. Her beauty was subtle, but striking. Her long, black as ink strands laid straight over her shoulders and down to the small of her back. Held in place with a thin, diamond encrusted, black-vine metal band, she looked every bit the princess.
This would make her mother’s blood boil. Knowing how well loved Aveta was amongst the Unseelie would unhinge her even further. That’d been the plan from the beginning, since the moment she’d emerged from the darkness of the labyrinth with Eladril fussing over her like a mother hen, she’d known that the darkness of the labyrinth had taught her one thing above all else. She would have to strip her enemy of all things precious to them, including her family and her dedicated army. The Withering Palace would be hers for the taking, one day, and Elisandra, her cruel, unloving mother would be no match for her when the time came.
Entering the Royal chambers where mother sat atop her stone dais, the woman’s cold stare did nothing to break Aveta’s spirit. In fact, she stood straighter and focused her gaze right back at the ruler. This inherently maddened the Queen even further as evidenced by her whitened knuckles as her fingers grasped the edges of the arms of her throne. Her jaw was taut, and her long dark hair hung in long, straight bunches over her shoulders and down her back. Funny how similar they looked, but where Elisandra exuded cold and frigid with hardened black eyes, Aveta was calm, unmoving and so very much alive.
Maybe Elisandra had been alive too long. Her mother was six hundred years old. In all that time, she had no children until Aveta’s birth. Whatever the reason for waiting so long was a mystery to her. Maybe it was Aveta’s father’s wish. Maybe something changed in the woman, but one thing was for certain…Elisandra regretted it with every fiber of her being.
“My daughter.” Elisandra stood and held out her hand. Aveta’s father, Seritus, stood as well, but did not move from his position to the left of Elisandra. He didn’t even so much as meet eyes with Aveta. He’d been so aloof and cold, sometimes Aveta wondered if he’d been mind wiped into submission. It was entirely possible and she relished the fact that she hadn’t been tampered with and would never allow herself to become vulnerable enough for Elisandra to do such a thing.
“Mother,” Aveta curtsied and ascended up the stone stairs, taking each one slowly as to not trip down the steep aisle. Nothing short of embarrassment for her here and her mother would enjoy every second of it. Nope, she’d never give her a chance to enjoy such a thing.
“Today, she turns fifteen, a young woman, but a ruler none the less. Today, my very flesh and blood becomes anointed as my second in command, Second only to me, Queen Elisandra of the Unseelie Court.”
Aveta slipped her fingers into her mother’s and squeezed firmly, staring the Queen in the eyes as she let her smile slide across her face. Elisandra returned it, but it was tight and didn’t reach her cold eyes. The frigid exchange was nothing uncommon between them, but Elisandra let go first and turned back to sit on her throne.
“You may take the chair to my right now, Princess Aveta.”
“Thank you, your Majesty.”
*****
Cranston plucked the petals off the poppy, letting it flap softly in the breeze only to let it go as it swirled away into the gusts of wind. Making his way through all the petals, soon all that was left was the wilted stem, which he promptly discarded to pluck another poppy from the ground.
“You’re killing them for your amusement?”
“Why not? We crush them when we walk over them all the time.” He grinned, his large teeth protruding from his soft lips, white as the clouds on a summer day.
“You’re wickedly cruel.”
“I litter the world with poppy petals. Could be worse.”
Aveta rolled her eyes and laid back onto the soft pillow of flowers beneath them. The poppies grew like weeds like a thick blanket in the field. Though poisonous to most faeries, Aveta and Cranston were immune to its sedative effects. The lovely scent of the flower wafted in and out of her nose as she breathed in the perfumed air. It was light, yet prominent, but it made her relax when this scent came rushing at her whenever she left the cavern exit from the labyrinth.
The labyrinth was nothing to her now. She could walk right through it without a thing bothering her. Eladril never returned to it, but this wasn’t her sanctuary, it was Aveta’s.
“So your mother was less than pleased about your indoctrination to second in command huh?” He smashed the petals off this poppy, rolling them in his fingers until the sweet scent leaked all over his skin.
“Oh yes. She hates my guts. I enjoy seeing her seethe at me surviving this long.”
“When will you challenge her?”
Aveta turned away from staring at his curly, golden brown locks that snarled unruly about his ears and across the back of his neck. Most faery men let their hair grow long and lush. But Cranston was no ordinary Faery man. He was a farm boy, working hard on the fields of this other land of Faerie, toiling much like the humans did to coax the land to bring food and bounty for his family. His mother and siblings depended on his hard work. The soft glow of a tan kept him looking different from other pale faeries. But that was okay with Aveta. She’d loved him from the moment they met, long ago under the cherry blossoms the second time she had come here.
“I don’t know.”
Cranston turned over, leaning his head on his palm as he handed her a new flower, freshly plucked. “Well don’t wait too long; she’ll expect it when you’re of age. Do it when she thinks she still has time.”
Aveta nodded, grinning softly and accepting the cut flower, sad that it would die soon, but happy to receive any gift from Cranston.
Her mother would never accept this boy to marry her only daughter. Their love was never to come to anything, and this fact alone kept Aveta coming back for more.
“I’ll know, when the time is right, I’ll know.”
He grinned at her, letting his fingers tangle in a long strand of her obsidian hair. “I know you will. I just fear for you.”
“Don’t be afraid. I have so much more power than she’s aware of. I’ll be fine.”
He looked away, staring beyond her in a trance, sadness spilled into his eyes. “I hope so.” He let her hair drop and began to draw tiny circles in the dirt. “You can stay here y
ou know. She’ll never find you.”
Aveta reached out and let her fingers run through his hair. The touch itself sent electric shocks up her arm and made her heart jump. How this ordinary farm boy could make her insides turn to mush was something of a mystery to her.
“I know. But that’s not my destiny.”
“I wish it were.”
Aveta giggled and laid back down on the ground. She wished it were too. How easy would life be here? To indulge in manual labor sounded dreadful, but to have peace and love would make it worth more than anything in Faerie.
“The Withering Palace is mine, I’m destined to claim it from her.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I must.”
“But why?”
Yes, why? Why did she have to challenge her mother to the death for the power of a Queen? Deep down inside she felt it, and knew it was what she was meant to do.
“I have to.”
With that she sat up, pulling herself to her feet and brushing the dead leaves and dirt from her skirts. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Cranston studied her as he pulled the last petal off the barren stem and let the wind suck it into the whirl of air flying about them. “I just wish you could stay here, with me. Be safe and not deal with the treacheries she imposes on you.”
“It’s not that bad anymore. I think I frighten her now.”
“All the more reason to jump ship.”
Aveta turned toward her friend, filled with warmth for the young man whom she met that horrid day so long ago. He was her rock, her comfort in this life filled with darkness and pain. Only Cranston understood what she went through, he was the only one who really knew her.
“How ‘bout some lunch? I’m practically famished.”
Cranston lowered his eyes to the ground knowing full well she just avoided the topic again. The sadness in his face was obvious, but Aveta turned away, not wanting to see it, not wanting to know about any kind of feeling except happiness in this place.
“I caught some fish from the river earlier today. Let’s head to my place and we can get that steamed with some rice.”
Aveta smiled, watching Cranston stand up to hover over her, holding out his firm hand. She took it and with one quick motion, he had her in his arms. He may only be sixteen, just a year ahead of her, but he was strong, sturdy. Owning a body only a farm boy toiling day in and day out could manage. He swung her around until they were dizzy before he put her back onto her feet. She liked his arms around her, they felt like the safest harbor she could ever find.
They made their way toward his quaint, but cozy home, where his mother would embrace her with a love she had no idea could exist. His siblings were the same, adored her with grins and hugs. She knew it could all disappear one day, but for now, she cherished the hot, cooked lunch, seasoned with love, hope and peace. It was all she needed right now, and it was everything that would keep her sane for the days to come, when it was impossible to visit Cranston, and the nights turned into chilly frost all alone.
Chapter Six
Queen Elisandra watched her daughter ascending from the lower regions of the castle. That girl was up to something and she would discover it sooner or later. As Aveta took another turn down the hall, and headed to her chambers, Elisandra looked away and stared at the stony portrait of her own mother staring at her from across the way.
The cold eyes that matched her own dark ones drilled into her, as if telling her all she knew about the treacheries lying within Elisandra’s cold, cold heart. Her mother had been kind, loving and supportive. What had made things as they are now? Elisandra had challenged her mother for the position as ruler of the Unseelie, but it had not gone the way she’d hoped. Her mother, Queen Analise had watched her daughter approach her throne, throw out the challenging words and had never flinched. She’d stood, taken her sword, which Elisandra had never actually seen her use, and had softly padded down the steps to stand in front of her only daughter.
“I knew this day would come. I am honored to die by the hand of my only daughter. But, do answer me one question before we begin.”
Elisandra had stood there, waiting impatiently, ready to impale her mother with a virulent air. How so few words, calm like the eye of storm could disarm her so made her fume at the thought of it now.
“What is it, mother?” Elisandra had spat out, lifting her own sword as she readied to slice it through the body of the one nurturer she’d ever known.
Analise peered at her daughter, sadness finally surfacing in her dark, pretty eyes. The beauty of their line was never surpassed by any Unseelie. They were the untouchable in their looks, where other Unseelie would usually be consumed by the darkness of their kingdom, the rancid evil and treacheries that lingered over them, cursing them to this region of the Land of Faerie, Analise’s line had no such affliction. Their beauty was never marred, no matter how defective the soul within had become.
“What will you do when it is your own daughter standing before you as you do now before me?”
Elisandra had taken a step back, shaking at the formidable question her mother had just asked. How dare she assume her daughter would do such a thing to her if she would ever have one. How could she know if that would even happen?
“I’ll never have children. I’ll rule forever.”
Analise laughed. Her throaty defiance rang across the throne room, vibrating the place with its crisp sureness. It only angered Elisandra to be spited so by her own mother, but she waited, willing her fingers from tightening their grip on the sword and swinging it across her mother’s chest.
“You’re a fool to believe such things.” Analise ceased her laugh and inched forward, never lifting her weapon. “One day, you will have a daughter, one with hair as dark as the raven’s feathers, and a soul that will end up much darker than yours. You’ll never see it coming. You’ll torment her, but she’ll never break. You’re the fool if you think this is the end of it all. No, she will haunt you from the moment she’s born until she cuts you down with her own magic and leaves you to wither and rot, just as you’ve done to me.”
With that Elisandra roared to life, lifting her sword and swinging it toward her mother. Analise met it with the sword she carried, her sadness gone. Her love, gone. Everything between them faded with one millisecond of betrayal and it stung Elisandra more than she ever could’ve imagined.
“I’ll take your throne, if it’s the last thing I do.” Elisandra hissed. Her unfounded hatred coursed through her veins, and she herself feared what she would do with it.
“You’ll never be the true Queen of the Unseelie. The ruler is chosen, not made. You are not the chosen. You’re nothing but an imposter.” With that Analise stepped forward, dropping her blade as she allowed Elisandra to sink her sword into her chest.
Elisandra was shocked at the ease of it all, along with a collective gasp throughout the throne room as the watchers whispered amongst themselves at the exchange of power. With that, the swirl of energy claiming the downed royal as queen left her as her body began to crystalize and wither away to nothing but ash. It then hurled itself into Elisandra, coursing through her veins and slamming its power into her soul.
It was disorientating, especially since it had not been done willingly. The power found her distasteful and protested as it bonded with her being. This forced unity made her sick and she fell to her knees, feeling the rush like a nauseating whoosh. Once it was done fusing, the silence surrounding her made her feel suddenly very much alone.
And she would be, and would remain so for several hundreds of years.
Chapter Seven
Aveta sat on the balcony of her room. The Withering Palace stood high above the ground, on the edge of a treacherous mountain that surveyed the lands beyond the Unseelie borders. The black taint darkened the trees here, kept a constant gloom hovering over the castle and land as if it was a funnel of black smog like the cities of humans had. But it wasn’t smog. It was the evil power, which
left a sort of scar on the land, marring its beauty, marking it as the territory of the impure.
Aveta didn’t see herself as impure. She wondered why the Land of Faerie would be so prejudice and hold such things against her people. They did rage war a lot, but that was Elisandra’s doing. With the amount of land they had acquired from the Seelie, Aveta would be mighty content to rule it for a very long time. Maybe it was different after ruling for so long. Maybe after a while, it got boring and a ruler had to amass even more to stay happy. What then? What then when she grew tired of all which had been obtained? Would she change? Would her soul darken into a withered echo of itself, much like her mother’s had?
She hoped not. Pushing the thick braid of her hair over her shoulder, she cherished the sunset, a rich gold and peach color that reminded her of the poppy fields with Cranston. It’d been three years since she’d seen him. She had been confined to her chambers by her mother for unknown reasons three years ago upon returning from the fields beneath the Withering Palace.
Locked in a tower, alone.
This had made her bitter, angry and lonely. Elisandra’s time was coming fast. Aveta knew this better than anyone else.
Even Eladril had been forbidden to see her. No one came in, no one left. Her meals would appear out of thin air, probably casted into being by Elisandra from the other side. No servants to clean up or help Aveta into her clothes. The place would be magically perfect when she’d awaken in the mornings, no matter how trashed she’d let it become. It was enchanted. A bubble of purity that left her an immaculate prison. No escape, no interactions.
How long could she tolerate this without going mad?
