Chapter Eighteen
Loreleivnna
My dreams churn with the thick molasses of love, hot and sticky.
A tap at the window stirs me awake, and the humid feeling bleeds into reality.
I peel myself from the bed like bark from a taffygum tree.
A smile cuts my cheeks at the sight of my betrothed hovering over the balcony, the islands that will soon be my home looming in the sky behind him.
I wade across the room to close the curtain. Betrothed. For so long, I’ve fought against my responsibility to secure a mate. So many times I’ve thought about running away to live the life of a dandelion bristle, floating around unplanted.
With Father’s gift of choice, I’ve stressed over finding my right match, my heart besotted over a forbidden love.
Being with Halor is like living in a perfectly curated reverie crafted from my heart’s fallen petals.
It’s as though I’ve known him my whole life.
He’s in all of my memories–or the shape of him is there, watching the memory alongside me.
When I told my sisters this, I didn’t receive the overjoyed reaction I’d expected.
Ilrunysanna called it creepy, and she’s a hopeless romantic still clinging to the love in her stale marriage.
I don’t care what she or anyone else says. I know the feeling I’m experiencing is true love, for my brain stem drips the word into my heart over and over.
The feybell flowers twinkle, and a servant relays a message from Father. My betrothed and I are to meet with the council immediately.
I sigh and shed my nightgown in favor of a coarse dress woven with Aevumoon Iris fiber that covers my arms, the thick skirt falling in rigid drapes to my feet.
The muted blue spruce color against my light green skin gives the vibe of murky water, and I pinch my lips.
I prefer colorful moonsilk dresses that billow in the wind like willow branches, but I don’t bother to change.
Opening the curtains, I’m surprised to see empty space over the balcony. My lungs expand like tilled soil, my next breath unrestricted by the heavy weight of love.
I take my time traversing the palace halls. A fog blankets my mind, like something’s missing. I’ve forgotten something, but I can’t place it.
Around the corner of the throne room, a peacefulness settles over me.
Halor reaches for me the moment I walk in. I take his hand, glad to be reunited with my living daydream. Whatever I’ve forgotten isn’t important, and the feeling fades.
“Loreleivnna,” Father’s voice is a bolt of lightning.
My attention swings to the dais, where Mother and Father sit on their thrones. Surrounding them stands the entire council. My gaze lands on Pikr, and that incessant feeling that I’ve forgotten something tugs at my heartvines.
I frown. I rarely see the whole council together like this, for they only gather to discuss politics I’m either not privy to or don’t care to witness, and never have I experienced it from this perspective.
All eyes are on Halor and me, standing on the blemished skyrite tile where criminals and petitioners plead their cases.
I squeeze Halor’s hand and glance up. He gives me one of those radiant smiles, and my unease is trampled by a barrage of faith. I need not worry, only trust.
Mother’s hands are clasped in her lap with genuine happiness evident on her gentle features. A soft smile rests on her forest-green lips and reaches her eyes, which are yellow like autumn leaves and bright with lucidity. Seeing this makes my confidence want to bloom.
She severs our eye contact with a weary glance at Father, and my hope wilts. He grips the arm of the Spiritvine Throne so tightly, his hand may as well twine with the vines.
“Your Majesty,” I plead. “You granted me the honor of choice—”
Father raises his hand, and though we are family, I fall silent for the King of Svitaeryl.
“I did not bring you here to revoke your decision.” He thrums his fingers on the arm of the throne.
“Oh.”
“It’s a wise choice. The alliance between Svitaeryl and the Isles of Aethereusum will benefit greatly from this marriage.” He pauses, his narrowed gaze shifting to Halor. “If the Oranther wins the challenge.”
“Challenge?” My voice cracks. I scan the room, surveying the stoic faces of the council. “You can’t possibly mean…”
“Yes,” Father supplies. “A joust.”
The crimson blisteroak leaves above us flash against the skyrite below, bathing the room in the crimson blood of a mutilated monarch lion corpse.
It’s been a while since I learned about the old tradition, an extremely flawed system that treated creatures—particularly females—as prizes to be won. Judging by the thick tension in the room, the vile tradition isn’t as archaic and far in the past as I’d thought.
My head pounds as the walls close in. They say the illusion of the Spiritvine Throne Room drives criminals mad. I’m no criminal, but a crime is certainly taking place.
I breathe, elongating my spine and digging my heels into the skyrite floor. “Who is the challenger?”
Pikr clears his throat.
No.
“I am.”
No, no, no.
The room spins.
The discussion of my fate continues as though I’m not here. Stern voices detail the terms. Thin armor made of lead. No magic. They drone on, laying out the rules of a game that will determine my first mate.
My gut churns. I cast my gaze around, desperately seeking an anchor.
My betrothed has dropped my hand. He inquires about the use of some ceremonial weapon important to his status as an Oranther, which I’ve learned is one who can manipulate clouds, wind, and vapor in unnatural ways.
A smirk glints in his eyes as he partakes in the scheme, pleased with the council’s answer.
Two soft, warm hands cup my face, and I cling to Mother’s wrists, planting myself in her sunlit eyes, where I still glimpse a hint of lucidity.
“It’s okay, my sweet sapling,” she coos in that calming way of hers. “Uproot your lacrimaes. The Wise Ones know your heart. They won’t let your love be struck down in a joust.”
I search her gaze. She tends to be right about the will of the Nocturn Aevumdivus and their so-called wise plans. But how could ancient shooting star-plants possibly know my heart when it’s such a confusing subject for myself?
“I need air.” I rip away and head for the nearest exit, walking at first, then running, my feet begging for soil.
Hooves clatter behind me. I sprint faster.
I spill into the garden and collapse, my knees plummeting to the dirt. I dig my fingers into the soil and gulp down breath after breath.
Pikr means to defeat my betrothed and claim the position of my first mate. Days ago, I would’ve happily accepted him as my mate, but nothing makes sense anymore.
The ground vibrates with his hoofsteps like a heartbeat, coming to a stop behind me.
“I’m so confused,” I whisper. How did everything go so wrong?
A tear slips down my cheek. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath, trying to keep more from falling.
“It’s the enchantments.” Pikr circles me. I duck my head, hiding my face.
“They’re for his health, you rotten sack of manure!”
“He lies,” Pikr growls. “He means to steal you from your home.”
“So what?” I scream at the patch of gold and purple lilies that tangle in my fists. “What if I wish to leave?”
“I won’t allow it!” Pikr rears up, his front hooves sending angry vibrations through the soil when they land in front of me. “I won’t let him take you from me.”
“From you?” I shoot to my feet, throwing clumps of dirt and lacrimae lilies at Pikr’s chest. “You’re a coward. You knew how I felt, yet you waited until I was happy to accept that you feel it, too.”
“You almost speak the truth.” I glare and swing my arm wide, but before I can speak, he continues.
“I feel it whenever you’re near, and even when you’re not.
If I were to retreat to my forge, I’m certain I’d feel it thrice as strong with the distance.
I feel it, and I’ll never feel anything else ever again, not anger or pride, not even hunger.
” He runs a hand over his face, then tosses his hands toward the sun.
“All I’ll ever feel from this moment on is how badly I want you, how painfully I need you.
You may resent me, but I cannot go back to the way things were before.
So you’re right, I feel it, too, and yes, I am a coward.
” He shoves an index finger in my direction. “But you are not happy.”
My head shakes, unable to keep up with all this madness. Unwilling to believe he speaks truth. Loathing him for waiting too long to mend whatever was between us.
“That isn’t fair,” I grind out. “You’re too late. Call off the joust.”
“No. You still love me,” he snarls. “And you’ll remember that as soon as the cloud-snake’s enchantments clear your mind.”
“Love?!” A shrill laugh rips from my wilted core. “I don’t love you, Pikr. How could I love a man who would rip all the petals from my soul?”
“You can call it love, or you can call it nothing. I know what I feel between us.” His voice is dark and menacing, and he steps closer, until I have to tilt my head all the way back to meet his gaze.
“I will win your hand by any means necessary. If I must fight for you, Princess Loreleivnna, I will not fight fair.”
“Then you will be disqualified and my happily ever after with Halor is assured.”
His black eye swirls with bottomless shadows, like the horror of a cold, lonely night. The grin that splits his face sends a shiver down my spine.
He twists a tress of my hair around his finger. “Tonight, I’ll send that conniving serpent back where he came from.”
Pikr tucks the hair behind my ear, his hand drifting down my jaw. My eyelids flutter as he trails further, to lock his fingers around my neck.
He bends his head down to whisper,“And you will be my wife.”