7. Elara
Chapter 7
Batian would take care of it, he would fix everything.
I had seen it in his eyes as I had been dragged from the throne room. I knew he would. Batian was good at things like that, he was diplomatic, fair, and caring. He would make a good Ramal. But that was also part of the problem, he wasn’t Ramal yet and was still wrapped around our mother’s pinky tightly.
If I wanted to be present at his wedding I was going to have to take things into my own hands, at least a little bit.
It also meant I needed to swallow my pride and give in to my mother’s will. I didn’t want to, not because I didn’t like her, because I didn’t, but because it wasn’t who I was. For Batian, and to be at his wedding, however, it was worth it.
I would do this.
“I can do this,” I whispered the pep talk to myself as I stood, facing the door to my closet as I steeled myself for what I was about to do. It had been two days, Aeinya and her entourage were due soon, and I hadn’t heard from Batian.
I was running out of time, which meant I had to do this.
“You have to do this.” I sounded more like I was in pain than trying to convince myself to go through with this. Maybe I was. It was going to hurt, after all.
I was very good at giving myself pep talks.
I exhaled slowly and opened the door, the small room a void from the lack of light. Grabbing my lantern I took two steps into the room, the furthest I usually walked into this room, and then took two more.
At least twenty dresses hung shimmering on hangers, all of the silks and satins grouped by color and shade. All of the stays and stockings and underpinnings that I had never touched were in the tall bureau on the other side of the room. They were probably as covered in dust as these satin gowns were. It was the first few dresses in the closet that I was familiar with, the dirt streaked cottons and heavy wool petticoats, the same ones that I had worn for the last six years, if not more.
But these…
The soft satins and silks were shimmering in blues and purples, the colors usually seen in the guards of the Ramal. I was never allowed to wear bright clothes like Batian, my mother, or everyone else in the court. I had when I was younger, but that was something else I had lost.
Exhaling yet again, I ran my freshly scrubbed hand over the fabric. If I was going to do this, I was going all in. I had drawn myself a bath, scrubbed away the dirt in the lukewarm water, washed and tried to arrange my hair in something that was less curly and wild, now all that was left was the clothes.
I pulled the dress in the lightest shade of blue down, the color shimmering in the lantern light. It was huge, and I was sure it would make me look like the puffed-up flowers that covered the garden in spring. The expensive embroidering and gems that covered it were going to make me a fancy flower. I tried not to drag it on the floor, but there was enough fabric to make at least 3 of my other dresses.
“Maybe I’ll look like a pillow and take a nap on myself.”
Dress, stays, silk petticoats and stockings laid out on my bed, I put my hands on my hips, willing myself to accomplish this impossible feat.
“This is going to be amazing.” Or, at least I hoped it would be.
Twenty minutes later, I was thoroughly convinced that this was the worst idea I had ever had and nothing about this was amazing. My rib cage was in a vice that I couldn’t breathe through, my feet bound into shoes that were far too small and the dress was, in fact, big enough to house a small army.
At one point in my attempt to find my way through the yards of fabric, I shrieked, fell over and knocked over the pile of books on my nightstand, which had freaked out the Boy who had begun banging on the door in a panic. I had assured him I was fine, but he wasn’t having it. It was five minutes later and he was still knocking.
“I promise I’m not being assassinated,” I called again, straightening my skirts and contemplating this plan for the hundredth time.
I looked worse than a flower, I looked like some kind of dessert.
The Boy responded with impatient clicks from his side of the door and I exhaled, pushing some of the hair that had come loose from whatever updo I had attempted behind my ear. I was sure more than that one strand was flying away, but I wasn’t going to try to fix it. That curly, tangled mess was a lost cause.
“I’m coming,” I grumbled, straightening my dress again and clopping my way over to the door.
The large door that separated me from my sitting room and the Boy’s space had two locks, one on his side, and one on mine. He had unlocked his the second I had knocked over the books, clearly expecting me to be assassinated, which was impossible because the only other way into my room was through the single window I was granted, which happened to be covered with bars.
Mother would stop at nothing to keep me hidden away.
But not anymore.
I flung the door open to the Boy who was ready for whatever terror was coming through. His sword was half drawn, his body edged in fury. Then he froze.
I could only imagine the shock that was going through his head as he looked me up and down, very slowly.
He made a sound that was half chuckle half whistle as his head continued to bob.
“I know, I know, I’m gorgeous.” I fluffed my hair which had disintegrated into a rat's nest and made my way past him, swaying my hips with exaggerated ease so that the whole of the gigantic skirt moved like a bell.
“Prim, proper, and perfect.” I swished again, he chuckled. “She won’t be able to say no when she sees me in this monstrosity.” I grinned and swooshed some more. He shook his head.
“No. We don’t need that negativity. This is going to work. My mother will see me in the dress and the Goddesses will come down from the Ether and tell her that she has to let me go. It’s perfect.” He was still shaking his head. I resisted making a crude gesture, I at least had to try to be a lady. “Now, let's get this over with.”
I said I would try.
First, I needed to get ass-kissing so I could find my way out of this monstrosity.
I swooshed my way over to the door, only to be blocked by the Boy, his hand already up. That had never been enough to stop me.
That time I did roll my eyes.
“Not today, Boy. I’m going to see my mother. I’m going to grovel if I have to.” I stepped forward, expecting him to move aside like he usually did. He stayed still, making the gesture for no and then one that was clearly for anger.
“She’s going to be angry no matter what I do,” I sighed, trying again to get past him.
Again, he didn’t move.
“Oh, hell no, I did not do any of this just for you to stop me!” I would muscle my way past him if I had to, something that I quickly realized was impossible when one was dressed like a dessert and the person blocking their way was the equivalent of a brick wall.
“Please, Boy, don’t try to actually do your job properly today. Look at this,” I held my arms out. “When was the last time you saw me in a real dress?” He gestured around his hip, the height indication clear. “Exactly, I was tiny. At least let me walk around the hallways for a few, I’ll make sure to cough like a dying woman every few minutes, maybe I’ll talk to statues so people think I’m crazy too.”
He groaned, his head turning up as he shook it slightly.
“Don’t roll your eyes, you know I’m right.” He did, too. He shook his head again and then made the gesture that was clearly ‘No, Mother.’
“Fine,” I hesitated. If that was the problem then I would have to find a way around it. Or, at least, a way to get close to Mother. “Then I’ll go see Father.”
I would go see Batian, but he would only laugh. My father was the Ramal and he was technically the one who would pull the strings anyway. Besides, he was also the only one of my parents who cared about me.
He should have been my first choice, would have been if I had been allowed to see him on my own anytime in the last few years. I was in for an uphill battle anyway; I might as well pick the parent who would be happy to see me.
The Boy gave a click and a nod before opening the door, standing aside so I could lead the way.
My shoes were loud in the hall, the clip clop more like a horse as I tried to stomp my way around. I had never worn heels before, and I was sure my legs were moving like a chicken’s as I tried to keep myself upright. Thank the Goddess the dress was big and stupid enough that it covered everything.
Everyone looked as I sauntered past, and I made sure to cough loudly every time someone stared too long, which earned me an amused growl from my shadow.
“I’m sick and dying, remember,” I hissed at him, and coughed again.
Batian’s rooms, as well as my old rooms, were right beside our parents. After Tobin had died I had been moved to a lower hall on the other wing, which made a much longer walk to reach them. It also gave me a much longer walk to cough and look despondent, and thankfully by the time I reached the wing where the rest of my family was I had gained control over the shoes and I wasn’t sounding like I was a chicken attempting to storm the castle.
Which was good, because the hall was not empty.
My mother’s ladies were all dressed in dazzling whites and golds, all of them gathered around my mother's door as they waited for her to emerge for the day so they could go to the small chapel in the Runturin and complete their prayers to the Goddess that Mother made sure to engage in every day. They looked pious in their whites and veils, prepared to sob and pray at any moment. All of that changed as I charged my way into the hall. So much for not storming the castle. They turned to face me, all of them moving as though they had been pulled by a string.
Shock, confusion, and curiosity lined their faces, more than one staring at the gorgeous rats’ nest of a hairdo I had created.
“That’s the princess,” one hissed a whisper to another from behind a fan, as if she didn’t know who I was. Because she didn’t. The shock on the new girl's face was almost comical.
I gave an extra loud cough, holding my chest as I feigned a swoon to the side. The Boy didn’t even move to catch me, he was probably rolling his eyes again, which meant that I landed against the wall with a thud. I could have sworn at least one of them flinched.
“Oh, the burning sun has cursed me. I am as though the last creature of the Realm of Okivo,” I moaned pitifully as I leaned against the wall, coughing again. “Will there be another like I, that will grace my life? Or, am I doomed to walk–”
I didn’t get much more out before the Boy wound his arm through mine and dragged me down the hall and past the courtiers who were now looking at me with differing levels of pity and concern.
I coughed again, and the Boy growled.
“I’m sickly, remember?” I hissed, he clicked and grumbled something that almost sounded like words. “Yes, I probably make it worse. But if I didn’t, Mother would.”
He couldn’t argue with that, he clicked his tongue once and released me, leaving me to walk the last few steps to the guards that flanked Father’s door on my own.
They were already at attention, thanks to my little display down the hall, and they looked more than a little uncomfortable. Their indigo uniforms matched too closely to the heavy iron door they stood on either side of, making them look like a wall of stone.
I cleared my throat. Here goes nothing.
“I would like to see my father.”
Someone chittered behind me in the silence that followed my request, but I didn’t move, didn’t look away from the two men. I stared them down, even as they glanced at the ladies-in-waiting who were surely the ones who had laughed.
“Please let me through.” Another glance. It was already hard enough to breathe in this repulsive corset, and the looks they were giving me made it so much worse.
“His majesty is–” they paused, trying to figure out which excuse to give me and landing on nothing.
“Aw, hell. We both know you were about to lie to me,” I mumbled, all that ladylike prep going down the drain as I tugged at the dress and stepped forward, both men going to their swords before they immediately resheathed them.
“Were you really going to slice the princess?” I asked in exaggerated disbelief, the Boy shaking his head and clicking in exaggerated shock and disbelief. “I don’t want to have to tell my mother about that.”
Not that she would care, I just hoped they didn’t know that.
Again, glances and confusion passed between them before they once again tried to block the door.
By the Goddess! This was going to call for extreme measures.
Without another word, I muscled past the confused men who were torn on hurting the princess or following their orders. Before they could get their heads on straight and remember that Mother had forcefully removed me from the throne room on many occasions the Boy and I darted into the space and closed the door behind us just as the scent of a dozen unwashed bodies flooded over me.
The Boy locked the door with a snap, not that it would matter once Mother found out I was in there, she would freeze and snap the contraption with little more than a thought.
Although, now that it was locked, I suddenly felt as though we were the ones locked inside.
The space was dark as night. The windows that lined the walls behind his bed and desk that I had sat at so often as a child while I watched him work and told him stories my nurse had told me were covered with black muslin. The dawn light no longer danced through them; the prisms that hung from his ceiling were covered in dust. Furniture was knocked over, the desk covered with papers that were torn and long forgotten.
It looked empty. But if it was empty then why the guards at the door?
“Father?” I called into the dark, my voice shaking as the Boy stepped closer.
I expected my father’s serving man to emerge from the call, or even his Catalyst, but when I turned to the space built into the living area where his Catalyst lived there was nothing. No bed, no chairs, just a hollowed cavern. The domed annex was empty save a few papers crumpled up on the dust-covered floor.
My heart dropped. I had seen his Catalyst in the throne room a few days ago, so I knew he was still alive, but that didn’t stop the panic.
After a Requisite and a Catalyst make a bond not only is their magic tied, but something deeper in their souls connects. If one is ever separated from their pair for too long, or if one dies, it can become like a death sentence to the other. I never experienced that because my Catalyst died before we had made the bond, but my father had been connected to his Catalyst for decades, and now the man who carried the other half of my father’s magic wasn’t there.
By the look of it, he hadn’t been there for a while.
“Father?” I called again, and this time something rustled on the floor near the bed, the sound of something scraping against wood followed by a grunt.
I looked toward the Boy, who already had his sword drawn toward the noise. He stepped before me, all guard now as we moved around a pile of clothes and toward the sound.
Toward the man who was curled up there.
“Father!”
He was there, wrapped in a blanket as he awoke from whatever dream had sent him to the floor. His hair was as tangled as mine, his eyes wide as I dropped to my knees, pulling the blankets and whatever else he was caught in off.
The boy raced behind me, but he did not sheath his sword.
“Father! What happened?” Those eyes turned to me, confusion staring back before recognition took its place.
“Elara! My darling girl! It is so–” he stopped whatever he was to say, looking from my dress to the stained bedclothes that he was in. “Oh my! Is it your eighteenth birthday already? I told your mother we needed a party, to celebrate your coming of age, to show the kingdom their beautiful princess. Did I miss it? I’m not dressed for it, but with your Catalysts’ help I think I can be ready in time.” He nodded toward the Boy who finally sheathed his sword with a swish.
My heart tensed, everything he said hitting one painful prick after another. When I was in the throne room the other day, he only saw his little girl, but now it was almost as though he saw me and remembered.
Almost. There was still confusion in his voice.
“He’s not my—” I began before thinking better of it. “Where is your Catalyst, Father? Where is Uncle Jahn?”
“Jahn?” He turned to the hollow in the wall. “Sleeping most like, he’s always sleeping.” Sleeping? Did he not see that nothing was there, my chest felt like it was encased in iron as I looked at the Boy.
“We will have to wake him up too,” he continued, looking from me to the Boy as he tried to move himself to sit, only to slump back down again. “We cannot miss your party, my darling girl.”
“My birthday was last month, remember?” I whispered, pressing my lips together as I helped him to sit.
“Last month?” he asked, those eyes searching as though looking for some proof I wasn’t telling the truth. “Did we have a celebration? I wanted you to have a grand ball, I wanted everyone to see my little girl.”
His hand was cold as he pressed it against my cheek, those eyes still searching, still hoping for some sign that he hadn’t missed it.
“You didn’t miss it,” I lied, each word making it feel as though my chest was about to break in two. “It was a beautiful event. Everyone was there. You were there.”
‘Everyone’ meaning me and the Boy in my room. Batian had cakes from the kitchen delivered to me earlier that day and I had waited until after the sun had set hoping he would return to share them with me, but he never came. So, the Boy and I ate and ate and laughed as we made up stories about all the adventures we would go on someday.
Batian had apologized, Mother had kept him on important business, but we both knew what it really was. What Dalyah had really done.
“Oh good, good,” he patted my hand. “You met him, then? Did you like him?”
“Him?” Another look at the Boy, who stiffened.
“Yes, my darling girl, my beautiful child. So kind. He will love you, he will care for you, I know it. I always want you to be safe. I have fought so hard for that. So hard.” His voice was pained as he patted my hand, his eyes filling with tears.
The vice that was encompassing my chest suddenly felt to be made of knives as his words hit home, the words I had waited so long to hear sunk into all those ripped and broken places in my soul. My father still fought for me.
It should have been a balm, some kind of beautiful light that healed everything, but they just cut and diced as I looked around his room, to the empty space where his Catalyst should be. He didn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this.
“What has she done?” I knew it was her; my mother. The darkness, the cold, it was like looking into a mirror of what she tried to create for me.
How could this have happened?
“He will take care of you. As you deserve,” Father continued, not having heard me, those tears dripping down his cheeks as he patted my hand.
“Father, what are you talking about?” My voice caught, the warmth from the Boy pressing against me as he stepped closer.
“Your betrothed, Elara. He was to be at your party. I signed the contracts. Did you meet him? Do you like him?”
“My betrothed?” I could barely get the words out, even as life started to come back to Fathers eyes.
For a breath, he was there, not gone at all; and he had found some way to get me out.
Then, the room exploded in a bang, the door to his room slamming open and light flooding the space. I flinched and gasped at the noise as my father did, the powerful ruler that had sired me, had loved me, sagged against the wall with a whimper.
“What do you think you are doing in here?” Her voice cut through me, instantly severing any warmth that was trying to heal my heart.
Dalyah stood in the doorframe, the light from behind turning her into a shadow; like a wraith that haunts dreams. I shivered at the icy cold that followed her as I stood to face her, to face all that rage and malice as ice dripped from her fingers and fell to the floor in shards so sharp I was sure they would cut through my shoes.
“What are you–” she began, still raging, and then she stilled, her head bobbing as she took in my dress, my hair; all of it.
I had been so focused on whatever mess I had walked into that I had actually forgotten all the work I put into my look today. I stood slowly, all of that silk and satin unfolding in a pillow of blue. I could have sworn she smiled. As she stepped into the dark, however, all I could see was that wicked smirk that sliced over her face, the twisted rage in her eyes. It was the same furious look that she always gave me.
A phantom pain lanced right through me at that look, at the realization that she would never look at me another way.
For some foolish reason, I thought she would be proud of me and everything would be solved. But she looked at me as she always did.
Because nothing would ever change, and standing in this mess in yet another prison inside of the Runturin, it was only going to get worse.
“Why are you dressed like that?” She sneered, the same icy tone cutting over the dark and sending Father shivering. “That dress… it’s a mess,” she scoffed, her ladies tittering from somewhere behind her. “Well, at least it matches your hair.”
My fists clenched at my sides, that little part of me that wanted her approval extinguishing. I wanted to rage and yell and scream as I had so many other times, but that wouldn’t get me anywhere. Not this time.
I pushed that pain away, pushed the hope of a life with my family and a place in the Runturin and everything away and lifted my chin, staring right at the powerful Queen.
“Where is Uncle Jahn?” I asked, nodding to the vacant hollow of the Catalyst space.
“That is a royal matter.”
‘And I am the princess.’ I wanted to say it, but I let the words die on my tongue as I forced a smile and instead said “I came to show Father and Uncle Jahn my dress.”
I swooshed it, keeping my smile in place. I knew she would see right through me. I never acted like this, I never dressed like this, and this smile was one I never gave her. But I kept up the facade, for Batian, for my father, for all of it; even as something clicked and hardened inside of me.
All of this, this game I had been playing for ten years, the prison I had been trapped in, it was never going to change. Because even if Batian was king, she would still be there.
“Where is he? Father says he is sick.”
“He is.” She answered a little too quickly for that to be believable. I swallowed the answer.
“Oh, well I guess I will try another time.” I stepped forward, the Boy close on my heels as I moved to make my way past her; still trying to be ladylike while also getting the hell out of there.
I almost made it. She watched every step I made, only stopping me when I was flush with her, her hand like ice against my chest.
It had been years since I was this close to my mother, she always stood over me, framed by her throne and all her ridiculous dresses. But standing there, next to me, she didn’t make me feel as small. She wasn’t even a head taller than me, her features angular and cross as she peered at me with eyes as hard as the ice she wielded.
She was a horror; a powerful queen that clearly wanted to be feared.
I just smiled at her.
“I don’t want to see you here again, girl.” She looked from me to the Boy, her threat clear for both of us. My heart dropped another foot and I swallowed, trying to force the rock in my throat away.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I forced a small curtsy before her hand dropped, the feel of ice still lingering on my chest as I strode away, the ladies in waiting gossiping behind fans as I walked by, head held high.
I didn’t even bother to cough.