Chapter 19 Carys
Carys
A knock on the door sounds as I place my diadem atop my head and face Ellynne and Lowri, my lilac dress swishing around me.
“Perfect,” they say in unison.
“Princess, may I have a word with you?” Tiernan calls out.
Ellynne and Lowri curtsy and hurry to the door with me in tow. As they slip out, I allow Tiernan in and flash a quick smile at Callum. “Alright, but it has to be brief. I want to visit my mother before the council meeting.”
He nods, his face earnest. “Are you prepared to discuss the suitors with the Council? Have you studied the list?”
My face drops as I step back and allow him to close the door, sealing Callum outside. “Tiernan—”
“Trust me, Princess, the last thing I want to do is nag you; you get enough of that. I know it’s difficult, but—”
“But what?” I fold my arms across my dress, causing the corset to tighten annoyingly. “How would looking at a bloody list help anything?”
“It would make you knowledgeable. It will show the Council that you are at least aware of your options, and that you are thinking about it.” Tiernan’s steady gaze meets me at eye level. “Lord Iywan is very influential. If you don’t appear ready to take the throne, the Council will revolt.”
My lips curve down, but I remain silent.
“They could make you seem incapable in the eyes of the people. And if the populace, especially the highborns, believe that their princess is not worthy of the throne … there could be an insurrection … Even organized regicide.”
For a moment I forget how to breathe, and I quickly push away the memory of the assassin’s hands on my neck. It was years ago. My mother wasn’t even ill in those days; what if, indeed, more assassins are sent after me if I fail to rise appropriately to my station?
“Fine,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I’ll look at the bloody list.” I wave him off, and he bows before leaving the room.
As the door clicks shut, I march toward my desk, plucking the parchment from a small stack of books.
It seems to weigh a ton. Slowly, I remove the ribbon and unroll the parchment, taking a deep breath.
Prince Morand of the Kingdom of Caldeon
Odd. Caldeon is a staunch enemy of one of our main allies, Ardall. I scrunch my brows and continue reading.
Prince Odgar of the Kingdom of Uldarvik
Laughter escapes as I imagine a brute of a man with a metal helmet, wooden shield, and furs from head to toe charging into our ballroom with a loud war cry. I clear my throat to cut off the laughter and continue reading.
Lord Bevin, Duke of the Outer Isles
I don’t know a thing about this man.
Lord Jamie, Duke of Darragh
My eyes widen. Wynn’s father, Lord Jamie, is one of my suitors? I grimace and move on to the last name on the list, and perhaps the most confusing of all.
Lord Commander Rheon of Bayenbar
No fancy noble, but certainly a formidable and influential presence in Erleya.
Five years ago, Lord Commander Rheon oversaw the most memorable mass flogging in the public square right outside of Paramount’s gates—a warning to the rebels.
I can still see his eerie indifference as he stood on the scaffold, ordering the mutilation of dozens of people.
Rebels, yes, but people, nonetheless. People who fight back against innocents being arrested for owning a nice dress.
I restrain a shudder and chuck the list aside. Every single one of these suitors is awful.
Not a surprise.
My mother is asleep again when I visit her, Callum by my side. Iywan stands at the window, staring off into the distance. He turns to me as soon as I enter, his lips drawn down.
“No change?” I ask softly.
He shakes his head and steeples his fingers together in front of his body, the picture of composure. The tension in his shoulders betrays him. “No change.”
I’m rooted to the spot in front of the door.
Part of me wants to turn and walk out—I want to pretend that she is strong, and awake, and busy with the ins and outs of court life.
But I fill my lungs with air and force myself to take a step toward the bed.
“I brought her favorite book again,” I say, lifting the tome with both hands.
“I’ll read it to her anyway. If she wakes later, let her know that I was here. ”
Iywan smiles. “I will.” He gives my shoulder a reassuring pat as he passes me, and I’m thrown right back into my childhood.
To the time I’d tripped on a loose stone in the garden and fallen, scraping my knee.
Iywan had been at my side in seconds, comforting me and even accompanying me to the infirmary to be bandaged.
These days, it’s easy to forget that side of him.
What happened?
As the door shuts, I pull up a chair close to my mother’s bed and set the book on the mattress. Opening to where she’d last fallen asleep, I continue the tale of “The Enchantress Queen.”
Enidwen continued to endure eternal days in the Otherworld, barely containing her boredom while craving something greater.
She traveled to the Hallowed Hollow and chiseled an azurite from the wall of the cave.
With eager anticipation, she awaited the autumn equinox when the Veil was thinner.
When she approached Caedmon, there was nothing but love in his eyes.
Yet as much as she bore the same love for him, she loved her possibilities even more.
On that day, she plunged a dagger into the heart of her beloved.
From across the Otherworld, growls and snarls arose, the ancient beasts awakening. A rift was torn in the Veil, and Enidwen escaped back to the mortal realm.
Time was very different in the mortal realm.
While Enidwen had been in the Otherworld for a few years, her siblings had advanced drastically in age and her parents were long dead.
Mortals, she realized, had become even more egotistical, the never-ending rivalry of Magekind versus Ordinaries intensifying.
Enidwen traveled through the realm, putting her newfound Otherworldly powers to use—dazzling the masses with spectacular displays of light and magical fanfare.
Followers bent a knee to her everywhere she went.
Still, it wasn’t enough for Enidwen. She sought to rule the kingdom, to overthrow the fire-wielding king. She stormed the castle, her followers in tow, taking the throne by force.
Other kingdoms rose up against Erleya, but Enidwen couldn’t be stopped.
She sought ultimate power, poring over ancient texts and hunting for magical talismans to strengthen her ever-increasing powers.
She explored runes, symbols, and the dark Underworldly powers of the Fallen Ones—the Underlings within Lugda’s realm of the dead.
On the day of the solstice, she stood before the masses, a magnificent crown of fire upon her head, a spear of shadows in hand. She drew runes in the soil, encircling herself as she called out loudly in the Ancient Tongue.
Calling forth the Underling Prince.
The skies turned dark, the sun blood red. The earth rumbled, and ice spider-webbed across the land. Screams arose from far and wide, terror filling the air.
Up from the depths rose not a monster, but a humanoid figure. He stood just outside of the Enchantress’s warded circle, golden eyes shining with satisfaction even as vines of darkness kept him bound.
Enidwen dropped onto a knee, bowing her head, her shadowy spear and fiery crown dissipating. “Great Underling Prince,” she called. “Grant me unlimited power and I will release you.”
A grin spread across the Underling’s face, two rows of pointed teeth morphing his perfect humanoid features into something beastly. Yet Enidwen looked into his eyes and saw opportunity. She matched his grin and stood to her feet as the Underling Prince nodded.
“Release me and I shall grant you unlimited power.”
I don’t have time to finish the story before the council meeting, but we all know how it ends.
Enidwen’s sacrifice of her own humanity in favor of avarice was said to be the beginning of the end of magic.
Ironically, she risked it all for ultimate power, only to lose it not just for herself, but for the kingdom.
Other Dark Mages called Basduunai—death bringers—were less renowned than her, but equally feared.
Dark Magic instigated a widespread paranoia as deadly as the plague itself.
Thus began the Purge that rid the land of any magic.
The overwhelming fear of Otherworlders—of faeries and changelings—led to the banishment of children suspected of being tainted by magic.
Deformities and inexplicable illnesses became proof of Otherworld activity.
Then came the mass banishments. Sanctioned by the crown, the raids were meant as a reminder to the “lesser” citizens—a reminder of how Enidwen’s actions supposedly sullied the land.
Forayers were dispatched to keep people who were different in their place, so that Grounders—as Enidwen allegedly was—wouldn’t dare to even try to rise to power again.
All because of a fairytale.
If the gods were truly still among us, would this be allowed? What would they say?
Damn them all, probably. I’m certain we’ve already been damned.
Did my mother know the kingdom was still such a mess, or did it devolve during the months of her spiraling illness?
I rise with the tome in my hands, press a kiss to her forehead, and leave the room as quickly as I can—to get away from the glaringly obvious proof that my ascent to the throne may come faster than anticipated.