by Cat Bruno
“Father! Hide us!” Cassian screamed.
But, it was too late. Leaning on the frame of the door, flushed and breathing heavily, stood their nurse, and both boys suddenly stopped laughing.
Winded, the woman said, “Forgive me, my lord. The boys have just finished the evening meal, and I promised them some play time. They were not supposed to disturb you. Let us go at once, boys!”
Crispin looked to the windows and noticed that the sun was nearly gone from the horizon. He had missed the evening meal yet again and would have to have a tray brought to him, certain that Lillia would complain when he arrived back at their rooms.
“Tessalan, the boys are fine. In fact, I am finished for the day. Would you mind going to the kitchen and seeing what is still available?”
The woman, a Planusian by birth, was barely more than a girl and had only recently started tending to the children. Her father also worked on the castle grounds, a well-respected tutor for many of the older children. So far, the girl had greatly pleased both he and his wife, although had Lillia realized that the girl reminded Crispin of another Planusian girl he had once known, several moon years before, she would have dismissed her immediately.
But she knew nothing of Nicoline, few did. However, Crispin could not forget the woman that he had once loved, still loved, if he was being honest. His father had other plans for him, and those plans didn’t involve a young novice from Planusia. As he watched his two young sons dance about his office with their toy swords, Crispin could not stop himself from wondering about the fair-haired girl with navy eyes and a freckled nose.
The two had met by chance, and he could still recall the day when he had encountered Nicoline. He had been riding with his cousin Willem, and the two had decided to leave the city limits, heading toward the coast. Their horses were well-bred and hardy, and they had arrived around midday. Both men enjoyed playing in the waves that rolled in toward the land and stayed long on the beach. When the sun began to set, they had climbed from the water, soaking and shivering without the sun’s heat to warm them.
Neither he nor his cousin had brought extra clothing, and so they were forced to ride to the nearest town to find a merchant. After they had arrived at the clothier’s shop, Crispin had realized that they had no coin with them either. Just as he had been about to explain to the merchant who he was, a soft voice had called out behind them.
“Excuse me, sirs. I might be able to help.”
Both cousins had turned to stare at the woman with the delicate voice, who stood quietly behind them with her head held high and deep-blue eyes sparkling brighter than any gem Crispin had ever seen. At her feet had lain a bundle, but Crispin could not take his eyes from her face.
Willem had noticed his cousin’s reaction and had quickly stepped toward the girl, saying, “My lady, we would be forever indebted for whatever aid you could offer us. We have a long ride ahead of us, and no coin to pay for new clothing.”
The girl had smiled, and Crispin thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful.
While he continued to stare she had answered, “Once a moon, my sisters and I distribute clothing that we have made to those who need it most throughout our country. We are only visitors here, but we brought this moon’s wares with us, thinking that there might be many here in your own lands that would be in such need. I had just entered this man’s shop to see if he had anything to donate when you arrived. It seems that we have met at the right time.”
Crispin had finally spoken, jarred from his stupor by the girl’s words and her generosity, “My lady, we could not take such clothing from you, as we have no real need, only temporary discomfort through our own folly. We thank you for your offer, but we cannot accept it.”
He had been surprised when the girl laughed, and said, “You are dripping water all over this poor man’s floor! I would say you have need. And, anyway, the clothes that you are both wearing are clearly finer than anything this man has in his shop. If you would agree to a trade, then we shall all be satisfied. Although, I fear that you will not be as comfortable in the clothes that I offer.”
Her smile had not disappeared, yet a mocking touch edged it, and her eyes openly teased both men.
Crispin had looked at Willem and then nodded before stating, “You are as wise as you are generous, and your offer seems fair. What have you in that bag that will fit the two of us?”
The shopkeeper looked on, although he seemed to be disappointed that he had not thought to trade with the two men, for he could have certainly made a profit after selling the men’s clothing, having known who they both were.
The girl, wearing nothing more than a simple robe of a lightly dyed blue, kneeled down and opened the large satchel that had been at her feet. After she had untied the twine around the top of it, she reached into the bag and pulled out two pairs of coarse, unbleached linen pants. Then, after some more searching, she placed two full-sleeved shirts of the same color and fabric beside the pants.
“Will these do?”
“Yes. They will be fine. Sir, is there a place where we could change?” Willem had answered.
When the man nodded and pointed toward the back corner of his shop, Crispin and Willem had gathered the offered clothing and headed toward the rear of the shop.
Crispin could still remember, over ten moon years later, the way the rough cotton had felt next to his skin, and how itchy it had been. Yet, he had never before received a gift he had liked more, nor had he ever before met a girl as captivating as the one who had given him the clothing. After they had emerged, with their own wet garb dropped in a pile at their boots, the girl gathered their wet clothing and placed it into an empty cloth bag. Still smiling, she had curtsied before walking toward the door.
He could remember feeling like time had slowed down as the girl stepped further away from him, and his feet felt implanted in the ground, as if he had grown the roots of a tree. He recalled glancing toward Willem, who had always been closer to him than his own brother, and saw him nod toward the door, encouragingly. And, then, before he could think about what it was that he was doing, Crispin had run for the door, chasing after the Planusian girl, watching as she walked down the narrow, paved street.
Within moments, he was upon her, “May I have your name, my lady, so that I can properly thank you?”
“I am called Nicoline, and I am a priestess-in-training at the Temple of Our Lady Luna, in the town of Verielle, in southern Planusia.”
When she had mentioned that she was to be a priestess, Crispin could not hide the disappointment from his face, as all knew that the women who served the goddesses never married, devoting their lives to the temple. Nicoline would be forever out of his reach.
“And what is it that they call you?”
Disheartened, he had responded, “My name is Dalain, and I come from a family of horse breeders. Again, I thank you for your kindness, and I will be certain to send a token of my gratitude to your temple.”
With twinkling eyes, Nicoline had replied, “A pleasure to meet you, Dalain. And, if the goddess wills it, may we meet again.”
Crispin had bowed to the woman and retreated back into the shop where his cousin had remained. Then, the two had resumed their trip home, arriving well after dark, to the worry and concern of half the palace. As punishment, his father had barred him from attending the Festival of the Leaves, yet had changed his mind soon after, which had mattered little to Crispin, whose thoughts were elsewhere.
The sounds of muffled complaining, as the two boys both claimed victory, roused him from his musings, and he turned his attention back to his sons, opening his arms to Juliano, who had tears running down his face. Once the tears were dry, Crispin led his sons back to their rooms. When the boys were settled, Crispin carried the tray that Tessalan had left for him into his sitting room, unsure where his wife was, but grateful for a few moments to himself.
After he and Nicoline had parted on the streets of the fishing village, Crispin had believed that he wo
uld never see the girl again.
A few days later Nicoline had entered his life for the second time. The memory of that day was as fresh now as it had been then, and as he ate the carved beef and boiled potatoes that the evening cook had sent him, Crispin recollected on his history with Nicoline.
His father had been seated on the Throne of Vines, so named because it was only used during the Festival of the Leaves. The wood had been carved to resemble a tree during the autumnal solstice and had been painted the reds, oranges, and yellows of the coming season. He and Delwin were standing beside their father, rather uninterested, while his sisters were performing, with some other girls from the royal families, a welcoming dance for the guests, from all parts of Cordisia, who had traveled to the King’s City for the festival. Crispin barely recalled the dance, yet he had expected his father to rise in welcome when it had finished. However, another dance had started instead.
It was then that he really began watching. His body tingled as the floor emptied. His eyes were clear and he stood taller, engaged. When he looked again, four girls were making their way onto the vast stage that had been erected outside the temple while the audience watched from all sides, looking down upon the scene. The four were dressed to represent the four phases of life.
The first girl was young, younger even than his sister, who was ten moon years younger than he, Crispin had thought. She wore a bright gown of the most striking green, and water rained upon her lightly as she danced through an awakening, a birth. Spring emerged, fresh and alive.
Then, she vanished, replaced by a girl only slightly younger than himself, in full bloom, petals about her face, concealing most of her, except the eyes that had captivated Crispin. Her gown was a brilliant purple, and she moved with a liveliness and freedom that only belonged to the young as she danced and leapt about the stage. Summer had come, in brilliance and abundance.
When she finished and disappeared from view, another woman took her place. Older and wiser, the maiden slowly danced across the stage. Crispin, along with the rest of those watching, gasped in disappointment. He had leaned forward, gripping the railing in front of him, searching for Nicoline, the summer blossom with the striking blue eyes.
But, she had gone and in her place danced the woman dressed as a leaf, red and deep purple, her body swaying as if a wind blew her about the stage, until, finally, she floated off and out of sight.
The audience waited in hushed silence as the stage remained empty. Whispers soon could be heard about who would be next, until an old woman, stooped and leaning onto a walking stick, wobbled into view, her white hair long and edged with glittering snowflakes, her gown a dull gray. She took a few shaky steps until she reached a small cot. First, she had sat upon the cot and seemed to be deep in thought. Then, she curled onto her side, closing her eyes, reflecting and waiting. Winter, the crone, slept.
When a curtain had circled the stage, Crispin had nearly jumped from where he stood. He had forgotten the blessing that had come next, but after the show had concluded, a feast had been set out in the largest of the castle dining rooms. It was there that he had finally faced Nicoline once again.
Crispin had spotted her, still costumed as the iris blossom, across the room, giggling with a few plain-robed girls, and rushed toward her, dropping a slight bow to her and the girls around her.
She had smiled and dipped her head to him, causing the petals she still wore to conceal her eyes as they bobbed about her face. He could still remember what she had said to him, even after so many moon years.
“So, the goddess has willed it. But where is your horse, Dalain?”
His face had colored red as her words reached him, but when he looked at her, she smiled, the petals around her face twinkling in the mage-light. Nervously, he had adjusted his crown of thorns, a small, rustic piece that his father had insisted that he wear, embarrassed by the lie that he had told her. Before he could stop himself, he had grabbed her hand, blind to all those around them, and led her away from the group.
“Please forgive me, Nicoline. I thought that I would never see you again, and that it no longer mattered who I was. But here you are, and I feel like the gods have given me a second chance. Let me formally introduce myself. I am called Crispin de Mannacore, Sovereign Prince, heir to the Rexterran throne, and son of His Highness, King Herrin. I have many more names, too, if you have time to hear them all.”
Crispin had finally smiled then, letting her hands drop from his, as he once again bowed to her, crisply. When Nicoline had begun to laugh, Crispin relaxed, hopeful that the beautiful acolyte had a forgiving heart. As he looked up at her, Crispin understood fully what was happening. Her eyes, the color of twilight, locked onto his own, and he knew that she could see the fire that now edged his gaze. His skin burned, but with more pleasure than pain. His fingers felt as if they were streaks of lightning, and Crispin had been afraid to touch her, as if his fingers would burn and scar Nicoline’s delicate, pale skin.
He had stepped away from her, his body more aflame than it had ever been. Dropping his eyes to the floor, Crispin struggled to control himself. The Planusian girl stood quietly, yet before he had looked away, he had noticed confusion.
“Nicoline, I do not know what you have heard about those of us with the blood of the first fire in our veins. Do my hands appear normal to you?”
Startled, she had answered, “Of course they do.”
What she had done next still surprised him, as she had closed the distance that he had created and grabbed his hands. Her touch had been cool, and when he tried to pull his hands away, still fearful that he would harm her, she had refused to let go.
Then, she had said, “I may be an acolyte, Prince Crispin, but I have long enjoyed reading. I would daresay that I know as much about Rexterra as you do. And a great deal more about what lies outside of Cordisia. You are fire-touched. But, my lord, I am a child of the water, even though I have chosen to serve our fair Goddess of the Moon. Your touch could never damage me. Follow me.”
And he had. The two of them weaved their way through the crowd, and he followed her as she led him to a door to an empty courtyard, far from the festivities. The sun had long set, and her goddess looked down upon them, bright and nearly bursting.
“You have fire-blood, an ancient magic, powerful and fierce. Yet, uncontrollable and dangerous, as harmful to you as it is to others. I watched as you started to blaze. Then I saw you extinguish it. Nicely done, sir,” she sung, with a half-curtsy.
He had been the one confused then, and she laughed at the surprised look on his face, her laughter loud and free, echoing through the courtyard. Crispin had realized then that there was a wildness to Nicoline that he would never be able to tame, and, rather than be worried, he loved her more for it. Before he could question her, she had started speaking again.
“I never knew my father, Crispin. My mother did not know him, either,” she added, laughing again, “but I have his gift.”
Everything had changed for him then. It was as if his life before he had met her had never existed, and he would not exist without her either. Nicoline had raised her hands to the sky, and Crispin’s world exploded.
With her eyes closed, palms up and shimmering and pale against the deep-blue sky, Nicoline started to hum, a soft and soothing sound that both lulled and excited him. He had watched, amazed and shaking, as her hands and hips swayed, extended high. Transfixed, Crispin continued to watch as the clouds above them thickened, then darkened. The sky had been nearly clear, yet thunder now boomed overhead, and still Nicoline had hummed.
When she opened her eyes, the skies opened as well, and a soft rain fell upon them, mist-filled and gentle.
“Not bad for a girl born in a brothel, wouldn’t you say, my Prince?”
This time she bowed to him deeply, and he had never seen anything as beautiful as Nicoline, standing under a halo of rain, glistening and glowing.
They had spent all night together in the courtyard under a sky that had once again c
leared, and Crispin learned much about her, and also her mother, who worked at a pleasure house in Rannberg, the largest city in Planusia. It was there that she had met Nicoline’s father, a man who had never given his name, yet had the same sparkling eyes as his daughter. It was not until Nicoline was several moons old, and her eyes were as clear and brilliant as the stranger’s that her mother had realized who her father had been. But, by then, it had been too late to find him, so Nicoline spent the first part of her life in the brothel. When she was near six moon years old, her mother had died, and Nicoline had been sent to the Temple of Luna, having nowhere else to go.
Once there, she had thrived, learning to read and quickly becoming a favorite with the older priestesses. Yet, none knew that she was water-touched. She herself had not fully understood her talents until she had begun visiting the town library and stumbled upon a book about the earth-touched, the Elementals. Her kin were few, she learned, and feared, as little was known about them or their history. So she had kept her secrets to herself and explored her skills away from the temple. Nicoline had only recently mastered what she had shown Crispin and drawing forth the rain had taken her several moon years to learn.
When the sun had risen on them the next morning, Crispin had vowed to marry her, and Nicoline had agreed, promising to leave the temple as soon as she could. For several moons, the two were often together, and Crispin had secured a small house west of the city for her. While he was at the castle, Nicoline would explore the city, visiting the great palace library as often as she could. Each evening they would meet, and he had never been as content as he had been during that time.
Yet, his happiness had ended soon after his father had met Nicoline.
She had refused to lie about her past, and when the king had learned of her mother, he forbade Crispin from seeing Nicoline further. He had defied his father, and the two continued, with his cousin Willem’s help, to see each other as often as possible. When his brother had discovered what was happening, he had told the king, who had become more enraged than Crispin had ever seen him. It was then that Crispin was given a choice: end all contact with Nicoline or his father would have her killed.
