9. Summer in the Yellow Realm
Chapter 9
Summer in the Yellow Realm
C elestine looked back at Encarmine, the first man she had ever loved as he slid from view. In the carriage, Captain Aidric sat across from her. His face a masked mirror that she saw her reflection in whenever she glanced at it.
I am changed. And like many in the red realm, wounded.
The choice to leave had been… merciless. Beyond brutal. Harder than when she had cast herself off the tower. At least that would have ended her torment. Now, she carried a tear in her soul.
To lose your crest is one kind of pain. But this heartbreak at leaving his side, at leaving a man you love but cannot love… is there anything worse?
She felt a true affinity for those dying on the battlefield now. Not for their wounds but for the names they called for. Marrying Encarmine would be a life of order, of stately obedience from his people, but beyond that, it would be absent from him. How many times could she watch him die? Tend to his wounds? Be alone season after season, the flame of the summer sun never scorching his shadow near her?
To love him was to let him set the order, and conflict would reign. But she could not bring battle and war to the people of the Painted Realm. It would have been the most selfish choice she had ever made. Yet she still wanted to stop this carriage now and run back to him
Captain Aidric regarded her, head tilted, fascinated. He held a black handkerchief out to her.
The fabric felt comforting in her fingers. So black, no light reflected from it. There was no point in being strong. She wept savagely, deeply. Part of her wanted to die. Part of her wanted the pain of life with Encarmine, with his people.
How many more would shed tears of grief if I wed him?
She would shed their tears instead.
After some time, Celestine’s moans and sobs turned into stifled things. Strangled in her throat. She drank water from a chilled chalice in the searing sun; the carriage carrying them along from the dusty fields of the Red Banner into the golden smell of hay and dew.
She held his ring, turning it over in her fingers. It would be further grief to wear it. At the end of summer, she would return to Calendar and declare a decision made or one not yet decided upon. How many more Lords could her heart entail? Likely none. They would use her body, her torment, and she would have to decide who was most tolerable.
Such was the fate of women bound by obligation. Encarmine would want her to be brave, she knew. For him, she wanted to. For her father, for the realm, she had to.
“Did other brides weep so?” Celestine handed the handkerchief back to Captain Aidric, his mirrored mask and black cloth behind it covering everything about him. But the slits of his metal eyes seemed kind, if that was possible.
“Many weep, Final Bride. The Hunt is no thing of beauty. Young maidens of age twenty and above, sent from every stripe of the Painted Realm to Calendar, all eager, all afraid. But there is no fear like that of being hunted. No terror like that of being caught. Torn. Ravaged. To see the Lords of Season riding down maidens is like a coven of beasts gorging themselves once a year.”
“They all die?”
Aidric stared at the tear-soaked handkerchief as if it were a talisman. He set it inside his breastplate with a gloved hand and regarded her. “No, my lady. Many are taken, but not all. Some are sent home. Some never. I cannot speak of what happens to them.”
Celestine stared out the impossible smoothness of the carriage window.
“We are in the realm of the Yellow Banner, now?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Lord Solis, he is beautiful. I remember that. Is he kind?”
The Mirrored Captain stared upon Celestine. She felt his eyes that she couldn’t see. The air seemed to hum with a strange buzzing for a moment. “Few men of power are kind, my lady. Not in their deepest hearts.”
It was not a great reassurance, but at least it was honest.
“Have any brides lived past Solis’ touch?”
Captain Aidric stared at her again. “None have ever left his realm.”
Perhaps my grave will be draped in yellow banners after all.
The landscape shifted, and Celestine sat with her grief. It was all-consuming. She felt the need to get out of this carriage. To walk or run. To distract herself. When she shut her eyes, she saw Encarmine. When she slept, she was back in the ambush, reaching for Dritha. She remembered leaping from the parapet to her death and stuffed the feeling down deep to her ravaged heart.
The sun was different here. It was a feeling of bright harvest. Long fields of crops, mostly golden barley and hay and wheat, stretched among the hills. Yellow streamers were upon every farm, every marker. In the wind, she smelled the distance of the sea.
“Suncrown approaches,” Captain Aidric whispered.
Celestine looked up from her dazed lull and stuck her head out the carriage window.
Far upon golden fields, where hundreds worked, yellow scarves or golden necklaces shone and glittered on their necks.
Such was the beauty of this realm. Behind her was the dust of the soldier on march, the grunt of steel and muscle. Lord Solis’s realm was one of beauty. The landscape was an oil painting. The wind bent the wheat like the fingers of a lover. This was the summer many dreamed of. The sky held a white clouded canvas, golden rays kissed the earth,
“It is beautiful,” Celestine whispered. The warm wind ran through the locks on her hair. For a moment, just a moment, she could forget Encarmine.
“All things are beautiful to the eye in the realm of the Yellow Banner.” Aidric responded. “The price of this beauty lies under a harshly wrought surface…”
A procession dusted the winding road ahead of them. Lord Solis came, and a retinue of yellow bannered escorts came with him. The driver of Celestine’s carriage slowed, bringing them to a halt.
“Hail, Mirror Guard of Calendar!” A youthful and glowing voice rang out. A voice that rang with the command of a Lord of Summer. The octaves in that voice spoke of the need for her to kneel, to serve.
A strange magic.
The carriage stopped. Captain Aidric opened the door from his seat and stepped out, his face flashing with light in the sun. He held a gloved hand out, and Celestine took it. She felt that same strange static charge when she touched him.
He exists in the Painted Realm and the realms of the Lords of Season. Some sorcery must bind him to both places, or perhaps neither?
“Hail, Final Bride!” Lord Solis rode up through the sunlight.
Celestine shielded her eyes. The sun was bright here but not as hot as Encarmine’s lands.
“Greetings, Lord Solis.”
He was beautiful. This was beyond doubt. This was not the stoic and stark ruggedness of Encarmine’s strength. Solis did not don his circlet. He climbed down from his horse, not a lord of war but one of staggering brilliance.
Many maidens have broken upon that visage, this I know for certain.
Blond, tall, lean, and beautifully muscled. Solis was a young-looking demigod, but everything about him spoke of extreme wealth. His frock coat was neatly emblazoned with sunbursts in pearl and yellow jewels. She saw no sign of his circlet. A coiled whip of yellow ribbons hung at his side with a handle of softly studded pearls. A finely wrought dagger upon the other.
Teeth so white, with eyes blue like the sky beyond them, looked her up and down. His face fell in its perfection from carefree abandon to a flicker of worry.
“My lady, what did Encarmine do to you? You look weary.”
“Life in the Red Realm was good to me, Lord Solis.”
My heart aches to return, but this could not be a better vision or welcome. I want nothing from him but distraction. Distraction from this torment inside of me.
Solis came forward and took her hand, his full lips kissing her knuckle slightly.
“Come, my lady. Please. Allow me to show you my realm. Allow me to give you rest and respite.”
“Thank you.” Celestine looked back at Aidric, who stood motionless, body rigid.
What worries him so?
Solis, almost a foot and a half taller than her without his circlet took her arm gingerly and brought her towards his cortege. Where Encarmine had ridden as a rider among riders, Solis traveled in a seat of honor.
In one of the most overwrought displays of wealth, a dozen men wearing golden necklaces with a single hoop upon them, carried an open-air litter. A beautiful and strange adornment. They wore yellow robes wrapped tightly around their muscled bodies.
“Come, Lady Celestine. You are the only star in the sky, and grace my realm.” Solis turned back and regarded Aidric. “Would you join us, Captain of Calendar? Allow my estate to replenish your exertions. It would be my honor.”
Aidric, in his mirrored mask, stared at Solis. "I deliver the Final Bride to you, Lord of Summer.”
Solis smiled and bowed. “I can never thank you enough. What is a bride shall hopefully declare herself a wife at the end of these courtship contests. Enjoy your time on my lands.”
“Lord Solis.” Aidric nodded and did not bow. Nor did he go back into the carriage with his driver, also in a mirrored mask. He simply stood and watched his ward carried away.
Celestine turned and climbed into the litter. She fell into a soft bed of goose feathers, and pillows of silken yellow. Solis climbed in next to her. There was no distant courtship of Encarmine here. Solis had pale skin, and his blond hair was beautiful upon his brow. He slid in next to her, turning, completely comfortable in their closeness as they faced one another.
“My lady,” his voice was the sweet softness of the wind on wheat. The procession began its journey. The men carried them upon their litter. The riders rode next to them, spears held high, not in martial readiness—but in glory. A jeweled cup was placed in her hand, cold to the touch as if packed by snow, and she sipped cold wine that set her throat with pleasure.
The golden fields of the Yellow Realm drifted by, each with an orderly formation of workers at harvest, scythes at the ready, slow swings, felling bundles of wheat, hay, and other crops. As they passed, every worker and peasant with golden chain necklaces around their necks stopped and bowed.
“They do you honor, Celestine. They wish for me to marry.” Solis smiled as they lay facing one another.
It was hard to look at him. So tall, so fine. His cheekbones were like cliffs she found herself wanting to touch. Encarmine had come to her over time, but Solis was different. He was not bold. It was beyond that. It felt like he owned every inch of ground they walked upon, every silken thread. The movement of his body was welcomed by anything he touched, as if responding, why not?
“Thank you, Lord Solis.”
“I don’t think that will do,” Solis whispered, a glint in his eye. “Please, call me Tristien.”
“Lords of Season carry a given name?”
“I am a Lord of Summer, without a mother or father to give me a name. I crafted it and wear it for you, Celestine. My wife shall not look upon me in splendor but in the deepest of partnerships. I spent time in contemplation after seeing you at Calendar. Knowing a name was what I wanted to win your hand. It was the name of a beautiful servant I had long ago. I don it for you.”
“Thank you, Lord Tristien.”
Tristien laughed. “My realm is staunch on hierarchies and affairs, but let us make a pledge. I will tell you when it is appropriate to call me Lord Solis. Does that suit you?”
Celestine sipped her chilled cup to hide her smile.
How wanton of a heartless shrew am I? To sip wine and smile while Encarmine stares at the emptiness I left in his realm. Does a pretty face and pampered cart among a sprawling golden land prove the own cheapness of my heart?
Tristien smiled at her. “I know you loved Encarmine. I don’t even hate him for it. Who could not love such a Lord?”
It was interesting to hear them refer to each other as Lords. When they were gods of wind and war to her people.
Solis continued, “If not for his valor, Summer would rarely reign. You may even select his hand at the end of the season. I will be the first to clap at your wedding. My realm is not a place of battle and blades. There is no greater solace to be found in all of the Seasons. There is a deep peace here. The blades that fall here reap wheat and feed all realms. They do not reap war and widows.”
Thus he outlines why the Painted Realm would benefit so.
The procession continued. They saw his fields, his people. The day was of sweet breads and chilled wine, the canopy above them a silk awning that glowed with sunshine. The lands here were not the dusty desolation of Encarmine’s realm but rich thatched houses and golden fields.
Celestine drank more and more wine, and her head began to swim. A cool breeze floated over the two of them. Wine did not heal the heart, but it numbed it.
“The labors of my people build for all. Everyone serves here. Everyone works for the goodness and wellness of others.” Tristien reached out to refill her cup, but she declined.
“I’ve had enough, Lord… Tristien.”
“I cannot stop staring at you, Lady Celestine. It pleases me to see your face light at the sights and wonders of this realm.”
“Does it?” Celestine smiled, the wine swimming in her head.
I am lonely already. Wounded. In grief. This dotage doesn’t move me, but it does divert.
Tristien nodded. “It does.” His hand reached out to touch her chin. She allowed it. His touch was cool on this warm day, his blue eyes endless.
“The Final Bride of Calendar…like the final star in the sky come to visit my realm.”
Celestine shut her eyes. His touch was wonderful. His thumb slid over her jaw, towards her bottom lip. She wanted to kiss it. Kiss this immortal’s thumb in his golden land of peace.
She would not have to wait long. She knew Tristien would take her this evening. His draw was too sweet.
“Such brightness within you…” Tristien murmured. Celestine opened her eyes, glancing from his face to the beauty of his hairless chest, built and lean. Her eyes traveled down, seeing his tight trousers, the long thickness of his cock hardening along his leg as he lay in leisure.
“You see what your presence does to me? I stiffen for you.”
“Yes,” Celestine murmured in the sliding sunlight, the wine hitting just right.
“Behold, we are not the only lovers on this road.”
Celestine looked to where his gaze was locked. The processions slowed without his order, stopping.
In the felled field, a woman her age straddled a man, riding him slowly. Her gown was cast aside, and her muscled body, lean from a life of work, gyrated slowly upon him.
“See how she takes him,” Tristien whispered in her ear. Tingles raced up her toes to her thighs. Tristien placed the gentlest hand on her hip, leaning on her as he talked.
The man groaned in pleasure, pulling on the yellow silk ribbon around her neck like a bridle.
“Her body grips him, teasing… tormenting… gripping in service.”
Celestine shuddered. Such a wanton display.
“They are wed?”
“In a way. She belongs to him. She must serve his lust.”
The young woman rode faster now, back and forth, grinding her pubis against his. She was hairless, something Celestine had never seen. The yellow ribbon around her neck drew tighter as the man she pleasured murmured something, drawing the ribbon tight. She rode faster, and Celestine felt her own quim hum with heat.
If she sought distraction, this was it. The feeling of Tristien’s hand on her hip was something she felt so very aware of. She thought of his stiff cock in his trousers. She could reach back now and feel it through the clothing, but she didn’t. Somehow, she knew she shouldn’t move, that he wanted her to watch, to see this.
The young woman looked up, eyes locking with Celestine. She opened her mouth in pleasure, the shame of being seen, the love of it.
“It approaches…” Tristien slid closer, his breath upon her neck. Celestine felt herself grow wet, watching this woman grip and slide, writhing above the groaning man.
Hands reached up as the man groaned. They found her neck, squeezing. The woman’s face turned darker, but she continued riding him harder. Celestine saw his cock being swallowed over and over by her hairless entrance.
“Now…” Tristien whispered.
The woman groaned and the man choked her harder.
“She must coax every string of pearls from him,” Tristien said. The woman did just that, hands around her throat, impaling herself again and again as the man moaned and filled her. One hand released, and the girl locked eyes with Celestine as a strong slap crested her face.
“He fills her,” Tristien’s voice dripped with approval. The two lovers collapsed, the woman on top of the man, but he pushed her aside, ordering something. She turned, nude and exposed, leaking with seed, cleaning him with her mouth.
Celestine was flush with lust. Never had she seen such a display. Before the procession renewed its journey, the girl drew her yellow wrappings back on. Her lover handed her something, and she trotted towards the caravan.
A yellow coin was in her fingers. She held it out to Celestine.
“Go on, take it,” Tristien ordered.
Celestine smiled at the girl.
“Blessings be upon you, Lord Solis,” the young woman said and handed Celestine the coin.
“Well done.” Tristien took the coin from Celestine as soon as she held it.
The cart started up. The man rose from the field, straightening his clothes and bowing to Lord Solis, who did not return any gestures. He simply stared at the coin.
“What is that for?” Celestine asked, turning to face Tristien now that the lustful display was out of sight.
"In my realm, nothing occurs without my awareness or approval," he declared as he offered her the coin.
“They must pay you to couple?”
Tristien smiled. “Not exactly. It is an accounting.”
Celestine took the coin, stamped with only the emblem of a bundled wheat, wondering what it meant.
“Come, Lady Celestine, dinner awaits, and I must show off the star that has visited the realm of the Yellow Banner.”
The estate of Lord Solis was situated upon a grand hill with golden fields and gardens on all sides. In the far distance, you could see the sea churning, washing the golden shoreline with whitecaps. Ships moved there, the specks of hundreds of people in a port town coming to and from a boat.
“Many visit your realm,” Celestine said.
Tristien lay smiling in their litter, carried so far, so many miles, by his attendants. “Many do. Few ever wish to leave. Who can blame them? Life in the Yellow Banner is one without indecision, without worry. Now behold Suncrown, my jewel.”
Suncrown was a vast mansion estate. The sun shone on it, even in the falling light of day. Everything seemed golden, slow-moving, and perfect. The manicured crushed stone driveway became a soft crunch under the attendants carrying the litter. His guards, or honor procession, she did not know—rode proudly next to him.
Yellow carriages with unique designs and crests circled the grand fountain. The mansion was an estate of glass and yellow banners flapping in the wind. Servants were everywhere, tending to the gardens, the grounds, and the estate, even in the failing light. All wore yellow ribbons or chains around their necks, a sign of his emblem.
“You have guests?”
Tristien smiled and took her hand, kissing it full now. “Many come to do honor to the Final Bride. Many Nobles and Ladies in my realm come to dine with us.”
Celestine smiled but felt a trickle of nervousness. Though she came from what could be called a noble house, she was not from great wealth, only proper manners.
“Lord Solis, I am not one used to…”
He cut her off, “Tristien, my lady. Tristien. Do not worry. My attendants and servants will dote upon you. All a star must do is shine, nothing else.” Tristien kissed her hand as the litter stopped. A stool was brought forth. All the attendants and servants stood back, heads down.
Tristien stepped down from the carriage. A handsome man dressed in his finery came forth. “Lord, much is ready. Some selections need your attention.”
Lord Solis was absorbed by the scroll his manservant held out to him. The young man wore a dazzling yellow necklace.
A male attendant who had carried the litter noticed Celestine standing unsteadily on the mattress, stepping forth to the stairs set out. He came forward, head down, offering his arm to her.
Celestine took it, smiling, but the man would not meet her eye. She steadied herself and stepped onto the crunched white stone of the driveway.
“My thanks, sir.”
A crack sliced through the air like thunder had appeared before her. Celestine jumped back. The man held his face, kneeling on the ground. Tristien stood over him, ready to deliver another slap.
“ Do. Not. Touch. Her.”
The man groaned, holding a face leaking blood, but spoke, “My apologies, Lord Solis.”
Celestine’s mouth was agape. Tristien came forth, his face softening. He took her in his arms. “I apologize, my lady. His touch was not warranted.” His eyes cast down to the kneeling man. “He should know better.”
“It is no trouble…” Celestine said, shocked. What had just happened?
“Nor will it be again.” The finality of Tristien’s tone was absolute. The entire procession put their heads down. His manservant stepped forth, snapping his fingers. “To the medicae.”
Two other attendants stepped forth, stone-faced, and lifted the wounded man, taking him away.
“Come, my lady.” The manservant smiled and came forth, hands gloved. He held out a handkerchief. “For your arm.”
“My arm is fine,” Celestine murmured, confused.
“James, take her to her to the salon. She should be given time to rest before dinner.” Tristien was standing, staring off at his estate, the whip strangled in his fierce girl.
“As you command, Lord Solis.” James smiled and beckoned her towards the house, never coming close to touching her.
They walked up the grand steps, and Celestine looked back to see Lord Solis scowling, his body rigid, the whip in his hand.
He is furious. Such a stark rage, something underneath, indeed.
Celestine walked forth. She had seen battle, trained and sparred, and seen men and women die. But such a brutal display, so final and dominant. It was something else. All veiled in the wrapping cloth of propriety.
James led her up to a grand chamber. The mansion rang with the rushed clamor of preparation, of musicians setting up and servants running back and forth.
“Come, Lady Celestine. Lord Solis has a wing ready for your wardrobe, and the ladies of the house will bathe and dress you.”
“Does he often strike servants?” Celestine asked.
James shook his head. “Put it from your mind, my lady. I believe he is nervous. He heard about your capture from Vermilion and does not want anyone to overstep. He wishes to show his splendor to you. I have served him all my life and have never seen him so focused or consumed.”
The price is wrought beneath the surface.
Grand staircases, grand hallways. Where Scalehall had been stark and proud, Suncrown was finery. Every detail was manicured and clean, even the air smelled of white flowers. The temperature of the house was perfect.
Still, she missed the halls of Scalehall. There would be no hardship here, no sparring or camaraderie in bunks. Celestine felt her role was to be a flower doted upon.
James pushed open two tall doors, and Celestine beheld a room of marigold and topaz striped with white. Six female servants smiled and bowed as Celestine was brought forth.
“Now, lady Celestine, please leave the commotion in the front behind you. You must be weary from your journey from such a brutish realm. For a few hours, allow the proud staff of Suncrown to dote upon you.”
The smell of lemons and hot water beckoned her forth. The warm smiles of the servants set her nerves at ease, at least for the moment.
“Dinner is in four hours, my lady. Lord Solis has worked greatly for a gift for you.” James bowed and shut the doors behind him. Celestine smiled at the servants.
“Are these my chambers as well?” she asked.
One servant giggled. “My lady, these are only your dressing and bathing rooms.”
"There is a daybed, a chaise, and refreshment for you.” Another bowed. “Lord Solis has had his chambered readied for your evening.”
“Ah,” Celestine said. Lord Solis’s chambers would be hers this evening.
How bold. But what do I expect from the demigods that hunt women on horseback? Despite what I saw in the garden, this touch of summer would prove plentiful for the people of the Painted Realm. Everything is orderly. Precise. Exact. Everything is controlled.
She still held the coin in her hand, wondering what it all meant. But her worries were stripped away, as the clothes fell from her, like memories she was not allowed to visit—and she stepped into a scented bath of hot water and lemon oil.