Chapter One #3
“Your trials begin in a week Syra, you should be studying and resting, not getting piss drunk in taverns at Goddess forsaken hours of the night,” her tone both pleading and chastising, an odd combination that had my chest tightening.
I must have looked nearly as dejected as I felt because she softened, her voice gentling, “I only want the best for you.”
I gave a small, pained smile, fingers playing with the hem of my tunic. “I know, Merle. I’ve just been so anxious, I needed to get out of my head for a bit.”
Surprise fluttered through me when warm arms wrapped around my shoulders, her hand smoothing down the back of my hair. “Yes, well let’s find you some better coping mechanisms then—ones that don’t worry me so much. I’m getting too old to be waiting up for the both of you.”
Letting my own arms wrap around her tightly, I nodded against her shoulder. “Sorry, Merle.”
“It’s okay, dear.”
With a full belly of spiced beef and rice, tiredness had my limbs growing heavy.
Crawling into bed, I wrapped the blankets tightly around myself, relaxing into the warmth and comfort they offered.
My eyes caught Bran's bed pressed against the opposite wall, empty and untouched.
We shared a room for the entirety of the time I lived in this home, up until he enlisted.
I could still remember that first night alone.
I cried for hours hidden beneath the blankets, terrified.
I had never truly slept alone in my life until then.
If it hadn’t been sharing a room with Bran, then it had been sharing a bed with my mother in that little room in the Old Quarter.
With no fire to burn at night, the heat from our bodies was needed to survive the brutal Tavarrian winters.
Yet now I had grown used to this new normal, ignoring the loneliness that nagged at the back of my mind.
Nights where the anxiety and worries plagued me and sleep was elusive were the worst. Sometimes when I thought too hard about it, I desperately missed the whispered secrets and conversation that could be spoken in the dark of night, but never the light of day.
Bran had always been my confidant, he still was.
But things always seemed to change. He had a whole life behind the palace walls that I didn’t know much of.
Had I too changed so much over the years?
If my mother were still alive, would she recognize the woman I’ve become? Would she be proud of the accomplishments I’ve made or would she condemn the way I’ve blended so seamlessly into this new life? A way of life that had robbed her of her own.
Rolling to the wall, I pushed the thoughts down.
Down and down and down, until they once more grew quiet and hidden.
It wasn’t often I allowed myself to ponder upon the past as much as I have today, to think of what I lost. I kept it tucked quietly away, hidden in the deepest, darkest parts of my soul.
It was truly the only way to survive, to ignore it and continue this facade of who and what I was.
Turning slightly, my eyes flitted to the tiny window within the room, noting the curtains tugged closed, only slivers of moonlight drifting through to cast shadows upon my wall.
I smiled lightly as they danced, a secret language for only them and I.
My fingers moved with them, mapping their path before they began to change, my own shadows slipping from my fingertips to join in the fun.
It was only in the quiet darkness of my room, when all of Amori City slept, that I allowed myself this one reprieve. This one comfort.
The shadows slid up my arms, murmuring and hissing as they went–like little wisps that tickled against my skin. My eyes fell closed as they explored, as they tested against the hold I had upon them. I felt the moment that they sensed the sadness, the frustrations that whirled within me.
What saddens you so, Shadow-Blessed?
They hissed within my mind, drifting and ruffling through my hair.
I nearly laughed at the question, at the name.
Gone were the days of my mother whispering praises of the blessed magic Lua bestowed upon me, no longer was I her little shadow.
Shadow-cursed they called my kind now, damned by Lua and her blessings.
There would never be repentance for a shadow-cursed Luanthian, there was no forsaking my Goddess and praying to Soli for forgiveness and mercy.
There was no chance to gain acceptance and work within scullery or whatever dredges the Solerians would offer the Luanthians who converted and were spared.
No, for a shadow-cursed Luanthian the only fate was the stake, the only penance the cleansing fire of the Sun Goddess. Only in death would Soli forgive my sins. Or at least that’s what the Solerian priestesses claimed.
And what were those sins?
Being born, I supposed.
Shadow-Cursed they have named you because they fear you, little shadow.
The shadows tried to be comforting, to soothe the anxieties that plagued me.
Yet their energy buzzed beneath my skin, a burning sensation pulsing through my veins as they pushed against the hold I had upon them.
They grew darker, thicker, angrier. Angrier at being viewed as a burden, as less than.
My head pounded as I fought to leash the magic, to push it inch by inch back into the depths of me, to wrangle them under control.
They vanished, receding nearly as quickly as they had come, my breaths panting with the exertion.
Sometimes I feared that if I allowed them out for too long or too much at once, they would consume me entirely.
Merle had helped in those earlier years, despite our magic being different.
Taught me as I grew and my magic grew with me, how to control it, how to push it down.
How to contain them so they never escaped within the light of day.
Shadow-Blessed. Shadow-Cursed.
Their hissing taunts echoed within my tired mind.
What difference does it make when even you fear the power that is your birthright?