by S D Simper
Perhaps someday. But not this one.
Instead, she pouted, her mind mulling over her trip to the Theocracy. “So, I don’t have to make any decisions?”
Thalmus shook his head, his expression kind. “No, Flowra.” The use of her nickname spread a shy smile across her lips. “Be whatever it is you want to be, and don’t worry about gods or fate.”
A difficult task for one prone to worry, but Flowridia felt some comfort at the words. “I should stop being vague.”
“Marielle told me about the miracle in the cathedral. Be aware, Meira will start pushing you to pledge to Sol Kareena. But also be aware that I will stand behind you if you choose not to.” His lip twitched, a grimace threatening to mar his pleasant demeanor. “As will Etolié. Her life belongs to Eionei.”
“I’m glad to know I have allies,” Flowridia said, her posture caving as her hands grasped each other behind her back. “But let’s say I did claim Sol Kareena. Can I claim multiple gods?”
“As I said, it’s not unprecedented. It would depend on who you are already pledged to.”
The turn in conversation churned her stomach. Memories of a demon in the woods passed behind her closed eyelids. “I don’t know where Demitri came from,” she admitted. “And my first familiar appeared to me when I wandered out into the woods one day. I couldn’t have been more than three. But if I unknowingly accepted a god then, can I be held to that?”
“Gods work in strange ways,” Thalmus muttered, his rough voice barely audible, “but a god who would coerce a child into an agreement would be a wicked one.” Quiet animosity descended onto his face. He placed a hand on her waist and led her to a bench beyond the heat of the kiln. When he sat, she joined him, leaning into his protective touch.
With her bare feet dangling above the ground, she said, “Perhaps accepting Sol Kareena would offer me some protection.”
“But protection from what? Perhaps your patron is no god at all, but a higher acolyte. Not all demons are gods. And many demons have good intentions, despite being at odds with angelic gods.”
“He would still have to be powerful enough to grant me magic.”
His eyes narrowed, and Flowridia realized her mistake in granting the demon a gendered description. “You said someone gave Demitri to you?”
Flowridia nodded.
“Did you see that someone?”
Rare was the witch granted power by something benevolent. She had seen her demon, with his glowing red eyes and a voice like the first rumbling of a volcano – soft, pervasive, and filling her with dread.
“It was dark,” she said softly. “But I saw him.”
Clicking heels against stone alerted them immediately to a presence. Etolié appeared, uneven steps suggesting drunkenness. But she kept her distance, instead beckoning in exaggerated motions. “Flowers, Marielle needs you.” She pulled a flask from the air and offered it forward, though Flowridia still sat several feet away. “And you’ll need this.”
Flowridia left Thalmus’ side to accept the offering. “Why?” she asked, purposefully not taking a sip.
“Nox’Kartha’s here. You’re meeting with them.”
* * *
Alcohol would do nothing to help Flowridia’s lack of social graces. It would probably do little to hinder them either, but she kept the flask on her vanity unopened.
Marielle had gifted her with a selection of dresses after her unexpected promotion, most of them castoffs from the monarch herself. Flowridia shied away from the finery, self-conscious in any color palette other than brown. But, dressed in soft pastels, Flowridia wrestled with her tangled, thick hair, taming it with some violence as she forced tiny white flowers to weave into the waves.
Demitri watched from his spot on the bed. Why are you angry?
“I’m not angry,” she muttered, pushing a pin in place to hold the mass of hair from her face.
You look angry.
Flowridia dropped her hands, grimacing as several strands fell away with them. “I’m nervous.”
Because of Ayla?
The name ‘Ayla’ hadn’t been said by anyone. There was no confirmation that the sultry elf was making an appearance at the meeting. Still, the mere thought brought a blush to Flowridia’s cheek.
Instead, she sighed. “Yes, because of Ayla.” She resumed work on her hair, determined not to be bested by the mop atop her head. “I want to look nice.”
You always look nice.
“Perhaps ‘nice’ isn’t the correct word.” Finally, the pin stuck, and half her hair remained secure behind her head. “I want her to like me.”
You played chess. That means you’re friends.
Watching Ayla’s fingers gloss the board, the memory of her calculating mind mercilessly capturing each piece brought fresh heat to Flowridia’s cheeks. But with it came Etolié’s ruthless assessment. Had she been a pest? What did Ayla Darkleaf think of Staelash’s newest diplomat?
It hardly mattered. The meeting was strictly business, to discuss the construction of the Nox’Karthan Embassy. When cloth slippers donned her feet – she could be bothered to wear shoes for this – Flowridia straightened her gown and said, “I should go.” She stole the small wolf from the bedsheets. “Come with me?”
In response, Demitri kissed her chin. His thick fur latched to her dress, dark grey strands clinging to the fabric. Recalling Etolié’s warning, she set him down and began plucking puppy fur from her sleeves. I like Ayla. She smells nice.
“I can’t say I’ve ever sniffed her,” Flowridia said, smiling at the childish sentiment. She let Demitri through the door, then followed quickly after, racing him down the stairs but slowing at the end to let her young familiar win.
She met Marielle in the hallway. The queen, more decorated than a wedding cake with her bustled skirts and made-up face, brightened when Flowridia appeared. “They’re inside,” she mouthed, pointing to the door. “Lady Flowridia,” she continued, loud enough for anyone inside to hear. “Right on time. Are you ready to begin this meeting?”
Confused by Marielle’s act, she still managed to nod. “Yes?”
Marielle beckoned her forward, eyes wide as she slowly exhaled, then twisted the doorknob.
Inside, Flowridia paused at the sight of Ayla lounging back, a forced, petulant grin plastered on her face as she glared at a jeweled box on the table. Zorlaeus sat to her right, smiling sincerely when he saw Marielle, but Ayla crossed her arms, glancing between Marielle and Flowridia with obvious reticence. Styled curls tickled her shoulders, and a low bun sat asymmetrically by her slight neck, the hair pulled to entirely cover her left ear. Three light blue gems still decorated her right, elegantly pointing through her black hair. One more glance to the box, then Ayla’s gaze settled on Flowridia, her smile turning bitter and sweet all at once.
“It’s an exciting day for our kingdoms,” Zorlaeus began, staring solely at Marielle. “Queen Marielle, Imperator Casvir sends his personal thanks on behalf of accepting his offer. He looks forward to strengthening the ties between our countries.”
Zorlaeus continued, even recited a letter from the Imperator of Nox’Kartha himself, but not once did Ayla’s captivating gaze leave Flowridia.
“. . . Their Viceroy, Murishani, wishes to add a personal note and offers an upfront gift of ten thousand gold pieces . . .”
Ayla’s lip lifted just enough to show her teeth. Was Flowridia’s blush so obvious? She smiled demurely, brushing against Demitri as she crossed her legs.
“Here it states that I’ll be stationed as a representative. The embassy’s construction will be fully paid for and enacted by Nox’Kartha . . .”
Did Ayla just lick her lips?
“. . . all I need from you, Queen Marielle, is your signature on the dotted line.”
The scratching of the quill pen on paper pulled Flowridia’s focus to the contract lying before them. Not a day ago, the empress had warned Marielle regarding impulsivity in Nox’Karthan affairs, but delivered with the awkward charm of Zo
rlaeus, what chance did Marielle have for intelligent maneuvering?
However, Flowridia’s tongue stiffened at the thought of daring to object. Cowardice was better than risking insult to their guests, right?
Once signed, Zorlaeus rolled up the scroll. “We will have an envoy sent to begin work immediately after the groundbreaking.” He stood and smiled kindly at Marielle. “I will deliver this and tell them to prepare a stage for tonight. The ceremony for the groundbreaking will be at sundown.” Then, he looked to Ayla and pulled a jeweled key from his pocket, one that perfectly matched the box on the table. “Casvir has a gift for your kingdom. Ayla?” He handed the key to Marielle, his fingers lingering against her hand before he saw himself out.
The moment the door clicked, Ayla’s demeanor changed. She slouched back in her chair, releasing a heavy, prolonged sigh. “Gods, that was too much banter for me.”
“Such is the price of ruling,” Marielle said, and Flowridia could see the forced smile. Ayla surely could too. “Imperator Casvir has been generous to our city.”
At the mention of Casvir’s name, Ayla immediately sat straight. “Oh, Casvir . . .” Ayla shut her eyes, letting the name twirl languidly off her tongue.
Something in her tone raised the hair on Flowridia’s neck. “What about Imperator Casvir?” she asked, and she feared Ayla’s reply would be a pin to her inflated fantasies.
“He’s fair and just,” Ayla mused, her tone the same, “but as cruel as they come.” She leaned forward, smiling wide before she chuckled. “This is terribly embarrassing.” She clenched her jaw, and Flowridia realized she meant it sincerely.
“This is a gift from Casvir?” Marielle asked, ever polite.
“An apology.” Ayla stood, and her grimace rose in tandem. “Oh, promise me you won’t open it until I’m gone.”
“Of course.”
Pacified, Ayla smiled coolly, staring at Flowridia directly as she asked, “And will I see you at the ceremony?”
Flowridia withered beneath those piercing eyes, grateful when Marielle answered instead. “You will.”
Ayla’s gaze shifted. “Oh, excellent,” she cooed to Marielle, and her poise straightened. “I look forward to it.” Her lip twisted, revealing teeth as she grinned.
When Ayla left, Flowridia felt oxygen return to the room. As she caught her breath, Marielle spoke. “Did she mean to wait until she left the room or the city?”
Flowridia shrugged, wondering instead about Ayla’s cryptic words. The way she had bemoaned the name ‘Casvir’ was downright obscene, but still her words were biting.
Marielle shoved the key into the lock and turned it to the side. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
The lid opened. Marielle squeaked. Flowridia shot back in her chair, flinching at what waited inside the box. Jeweled and ornate, the box was lined with velvet, and resting in the center was a severed ear. Pale and pointed, three blue stones studded the side, but no blood dried on the edges.
She remembered Ayla’s hair, how it curled, styled carefully to cover one side of her head. Flowridia’s hand slowly moved to cover her mouth.
“Flowridia,” Marielle whispered, “that’s Ayla’s ear.”
Eyes wide, Flowridia nodded, too aghast to formulate a response. But a small envelope, tucked to the side and stamped with the official Nox’Karthan seal, caught her eye. She reached forward, giving the ear a wide berth. Trembling, she opened it as Marielle watched and handed it over to the queen to be read aloud:
To Queen Marielle Vors and the noble court of Staelash,
My sincerest condolences on the deaths of the diplomats of the Theocracy of Sol Kareena. Such a tragedy should not have been committed within your borders, and it leaves the rest of us shaken.
I offer such formalities not as an admission of guilt, but of frustration. My own people were in your kingdom at the time and sent with the express purpose of keeping a watchful eye on the happenings therein. Had my people done their duty, this tragedy would have been averted. As a gesture of my goodwill for this slight, I offer this: three wishes, granted by my most accomplished servant. Whisper your intent, and she will be at your command.
I am pleased to hear how the embassy moves forward.
-Imperator Casvir, First and Last of His Name, Tyrant of Nox’Kartha, and Marshall of the Deathless Army
“It really is Ayla’s ear,” Flowridia said, horrified at the implications. A clean cut severed the pale skin – not a single jagged edge. Her hands shook as she reached forward, resisting the impulse to flinch as she touched cold skin. A chain had been looped through the earhole, creating an eerie accessory. Flowridia lifted it and ran her fingers along the pointed tip, glossing over the studded stones.
What sort of monster was Imperator Casvir?
Marielle leaned away when Flowridia offered her the ear, visibly nauseated. “Ayla will grant us three wishes? What sort of wishes?”
“We could ask her?”
“That would mean admitting we opened her gift.”
Flowridia studied the chained ear, letting her senses brush gently across the uncanny gift. It radiated something dark; something she couldn’t decipher. “It’s her ear. If there’s magic involved, she might be listening, even now.”
“That sounds horrendously annoying,” Marielle said, frowning. “Not only does she get her ear severed, she might be forced to listen to us argue about it. Imperator Casvir is thorough in his punishments.”
As she spoke, Flowridia placed it back into the box.
“I’ll ask Zorlaeus,” Marielle continued. “He knew about the gift, so he must have known what it was. Perhaps he’ll know what it’s capable of.”
Flowridia stood, open box in hand. “Where should we keep this?”
“Etolié might have some suggestions,” Marielle said, rising to her feet. Key in hand, she walked over to the door and let it swing open. “She would-”
Ayla stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a single eyebrow raised. Her sanguine smile grew as she plucked the box from Flowridia and handed it to Marielle. Standing so close, Flowridia realized the imposing woman barely reached her chin.
“Do not worry for me,” Ayla said, an airy quality to her voice. She took the ear in her hands, then let it fall, catching it so it dangled at the end of the chain. “An ear is not so brutal a thing to lose as you might think.” She turned her predatory grin directly onto Flowridia and lifted the chain up over her head and placed it around Flowridia’s neck. She dropped it, letting it settle on the silk buttons over Flowridia’s chest. Her fingers slid down the chain and gripped the ear itself, tight but gentle. Ayla tugged downward, ever so lightly.
Ayla’s smoldering lips drew close. Flowridia’s blush grew hot, and as intimately aware as she was of Ayla’s mouth, she remained mindful of Marielle standing beside them. Her attention darted away, words tumbling out regarding the first thing catching her eye. “The earrings are lovely.”
Horrified, Flowridia internally berated herself. Ayla’s mouth only inches from her own, but all she could comment on was her earrings?
“Aren’t they?” Ayla mused, her tone caustic. “Casvir said they looked ‘fetching.’”
Casvir said . . ?
With a laugh, Ayla released the ear, and Flowridia stood up straight. “Take good care of it for me,” she said, but the words felt muted, lost in the jealous morass filling Flowridia’s chest. Ayla’s fingers caressed the chain as she slid away, small hips swaying as she stepped silently down the hallway.
“So, Flowridia,” Marielle began, eyes darting between Flowridia’s face and the ear resting on her chest, “it seems Ayla-”
“. . . is sleeping with Casvir.” Flowridia’s fists clenched at the thought. Why did that anger her so? Ayla could be centuries old for all she knew. Her and Casvir’s history might run longer than Flowridia had been alive. Still, the idea hurt. Oh, why did she even care?
“I was going to say that Ayla entrusted the ear to you.” Marielle stepped forward, forcing
herself into Flowridia’s line of sight. “Which means I’m going to trust you too.”
Flowridia nodded, though her heart and mind were far away. With no farewell, she left, Demitri at her heels and the morbid accessory still dangling from her neck.
Demitri’s voice broke through her agitated thoughts. Why are you so unhappy?
“Because Ayla’s sleeping with Imperator Casvir. I’m such a fool, Demitri.” She didn’t steer toward her room, but to her garden. The sun warmed her skin, cold from Ayla’s touch and presence. Frustrated, she slipped off the cotton shoes and let grass tickle her rough, bare feet.
I don’t understand.
“You’re young,” she said with a weary sigh, “and so am I.” The stone path brought her to the colorful bushes at the entrance of her garden. Trees shaded her steps, and she slowed her pace. “It was stupid of me to even think-”
Think what, exactly?
She veered off the path and knelt in the grass before setting her focus on a patch of daisies, tiny buds amidst a brilliant floral sea. She pursed her lips; the buds were too small for this late in the season. She placed her hands on the dirt, beside the thick stems of the bush, and poured energy into the ground. Not a spell – pure energy.
“Why not feed the plants directly, Mother?”
“If you do, that’s all they’ll consume,” Mother replied, weaving the roots into the dead flesh buried in the earth. “But enrich their soil, and watch them flourish.”
Weakness struck her. She pulled her dirt-covered fingers away and rolled onto her bottom, letting her heartbeat steady. When Demitri’s nose poked her knee, she did not even turn.
You’re distracted. You’ll hurt yourself if you keep working like this.
“I know,” she whispered.
Demitri’s sharp nails dug into her thigh as he crawled into her lap. Are you sad about Ayla?
