Chapter 6Whispers of Kingdom Courts
6
Whispers of Kingdom Courts
As the weeklong Ceremony commenced, the kingdom of Eriden held the honor of hosting the First Day festivities. Elowyn wandered through the royal gardens of her home, dressed in a champagne gown. The gown’s bodice was fashioned as a corset and the sleeves fell to her wrists while the material wrapped her chest within a curved neckline that bled into the shoulders. Elowyn looked positively radiant for the First Day.
Emphasizing her status as a princess of Neramyr, a golden cloak was clasped at her shoulders. Crafted from the finest silk in the feylands, the cloak was embroidered with a classic pattern of dragon scales, symbolizing her lineage to one of the original founders of Neramyr.
Elowyn had spent the greater part of her morning getting ready with Ora who weaved a portion of her snow-white hair into an updo. Braids intertwined at the base of her temples, forming a half-circlet atop her head, while the rest of her snowy locks cascaded in gentle waves down her back. She opted for a subtle rosy hue on her lips and a chestnut bronze blush to highlight her features. The only adornment she wore was her teardrop necklace, a cherished gift from her older sister she’d worn daily since childhood.
Half an hour had passed since Elowyn’s arrival in the royal gardens, where she was patiently awaiting Elyria. However, her sister was late. This prompted Elowyn to walk along the winding paths of the impressively manicured gardens alone. For the past week, the royal castle had been flooded with event stewards, groundskeepers, servants, and cooks. Her mother spared no expense during this time as the most noteworthy members of the seven realms would gather in Eriden to witness the First Day.
Last season, the First Day had been hosted in Erimead by the monarchs of House Blackbane. It was customary for a different kingdom to undertake the responsibility of hosting each day of the weeklong ceremony each season. While the responsibility of hosting a particular day is changed, the sequence of which kingdom it is passed on to remains the same. Last season, though she was seven years younger than she is now, Elowyn still recalled the resplendence and extravagance King Balt and Queen Nyra Blackbane put forth in honor of the Goddess and the First Day. Her mother did the same, if not more, to commence the sacred weeklong ritual.
As Elowyn wandered the paths of the royal gardens, she cast a glance towards the castle entrance, anticipating the arrival of the other six royal families and various courtiers from across the seven realms. Earlier, her father had authorized the castle sentries to temporarily adjust the protective wards safeguarding the castle, accommodating entry for the guests of the First Day.
Naturally, these adjusted wards functioned to allow only invited guests entry; any unauthorized individuals trespassing on the castle grounds risked dire consequences.
During her leisurely stroll, Elowyn paused beside a dewberry tree with petite blossoms. While she appeared to be studying the delicate cream-colored petals intently, beneath the folds of her golden gown, Elowyn nervously tapped her foot. Her mother emphasized the importance of her and Elyria’s presence before the arrival of the representatives from the other six kingdoms. Elowyn did not want to find out the repercussions if her sister failed to meet her mother’s demands.
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted as she sensed a looming shadow above her. Gliding gracefully through the open expanse of sky, Elowyn discerned the distinctive form of a sleek sapphire-winged firedrake silhouetted behind a patch of clouds.
Nerys.
It seemed that her Uncle Edwyn was the first to arrive in Eriden.
The sapphire dragon arced down to the royal gardens and landed before Elowyn with broad flaps from its leather-like wings. Elowyn watched her Uncle Edwyn as he swung one leg over Nerys’s spine and dismounted, landing firmly on his feet. After his dismount, he patted the massive hide of the sapphire dragon and tenderly stroked her maw. Retrieving a strip of dried meat from a pocket within his cloak, he tossed it towards Nerys. With alarming speed, Nerys snatched the treat from the air and swallowed it whole. Her uncle chuckled, giving Nerys a final pat before turning his attention to Elowyn.
“By the Goddess, is that you Elowyn? Look at how much you’ve grown,” Edwyn smiled at her. “You were just a feyling the last time I saw you.”
In truth, Elowyn struggled to recall much about her uncle. She was merely nine years old when he left Eriden to reside on the coast of the Elune Isles, and this marked the first time she had seen him since the previous Ceremony seven years ago. Given Edwyn’s absence from Eriden for the past decade, he had become almost a stranger to her. Elowyn was unsure how to feel about his familiarity towards her, so she instead opted for an ordinary greeting.
“Welcome home, Uncle Edwyn. I hope your journey back to Eriden fared well,” Elowyn responded, then added, “It’s lovely to see Nerys. She’s still as beautiful as I remember.”
“I managed to bypass your father’s wards, so I suppose one could say my journey went smoothly enough,” Edwyn chuckled with a hint of resignation. “And it seems Nerys is more thrilled than I am to be back home. She has already reunited with her two brothers.”
Edwyn inclined his head in their direction, and Elowyn spotted Nerys nestled between Stryx and Bane. The trio of dragons lounged together on a dais arranged in the gardens. Elowyn suspected that this arrangement was likely organized by her father. Being greeted by three dragons—three divine animus no less—made a powerful statement. It was a rare occurrence for fey to encounter a firedrake, and when they did, it often stirred emotions of fear and awe.
Firedrakes were the largest animus that a divine fey could soul-bond to, and these sacred dragons were unique to Eriden—a point of pride for her father.
Nevertheless, Elowyn grinned at the three dragons burrowed together like songbirds in a nest. At the sight of the triplet of fire-breathing beasts cuddling, she couldn’t help but feel that they were quite the companionable cadre.
“It’s as if she never left,” Elowyn remarked cheerfully. She suddenly felt bold. “If you don’t mind me asking, Uncle Edwyn, what led to your departure for the Elune Isles so many years ago?”
Elowyn found herself quite curious. Her uncle had rarely been mentioned in conversations since his leave from Eriden. Even though he looked the part, she couldn’t remember if her Uncle Edwyn were like her father, and as hard as she might, she couldn’t place any concrete memories of him.
Elowyn’s uncle stood at a similar height to her father, bearing the same angular features, down to the identical silver eyes and matching four-fanged smile. The only noticeable difference between her uncle and her father was their choice of hairstyle. The king of Eriden maintained shoulder-length hair, always neatly tucked behind his ears and beneath his crown, while her uncle sported a cropped style, trimmed shorter on the sides. Unfortunately, Edwyn’s striking similarity to Elowyn’s father already set her on edge.
When Elowyn inquired about his decade-long absence, Edwyn simply smiled. His lips began to form words but then stopped, as if he had second thoughts about sharing them. It struck Elowyn as odd to see him smile; dressed in the golden regalia of House Fangwright, he bore such a striking resemblance to her father that she had to blink a few times to dispel the illusion. She couldn’t help but wonder what her father would look like if he ever allowed himself to smile.
Edwyn’s aura shifted as something caught his attention behind Elowyn. It was her mother, every ounce the queen of Eriden, gliding into the royal gardens with an air of poise and dignity. Her arms were folded at her waist, hands draped one over the over. Appearing dignified as always, she approached Elowyn and Edwyn, the echoing clacks of her heels resonating on the stone pathway leading to them.
Queen Eddra wore an exquisite gown the color of rich pine, its skirts were waves of woven crepe. The bodice hugged her waist snugly, accentuated by a square neckline that complemented her elegant figure. Even with her long snow-white hair fell loosely around her, each silken strand falling into perfect place, Elowyn’s mother moved with grace. Crowned with a golden diadem and draped in a floor-length aureum , she was a picturesque monarch.
The only mar amidst the her mother’s perfection was the look of disdain etched upon her face.
Elowyn winced inwardly, knowing her mother was likely seething with anger over Elyria’s absence in the royal gardens. Yet, something felt amiss. Glancing at her uncle, she noticed a similar sour expression on his face. In an attempt to avoid drawing any attention to herself, Elowyn stepped back, her anxiety mounting, creating a noticeable gap between the two royals .
“Queen Eddra,” her uncle greeted the queen, his tone aloof.
“Prince Edwyn,” Eddra responded, her lips tightening into a thin line as she returned his greeting. “Welcome home.”
A faint furrow creased Edwyn’s brow before smoothing out. Meeting her gaze squarely, he replied, “It’s good to be back.”
The contempt in the air was palpable as Elowyn glanced between her mother and her uncle, feeling a sense of unease. Had something transpired between them ten years ago? Or was there lingering resentment from centuries past when her mother was chosen by the Goddess over him as a divine candidate? Surely there must be some further explanation as to why the animosity between them was so profound.
Queen Eddra broke her gaze from Edwyn first as she began to depart from the royal gardens. Her only directive to Elowyn was an order, “Find Elyria immediately.”
Elowyn nodded in acknowledgment as her mother’s silhouette vanished within the castle walls.
Turning to her uncle, she inquired, “What was that about?”
“It’s nothing, dear,” Edwyn replied with a reassuring smile. Leaving Elowyn to ponder over his cryptic response, Edwyn proceeded to make his way into the castle where he had once grown up and lived.
Elowyn stood there, still processing the exchange between her mother and uncle. It was the first time she had witnessed her mother display such bitterness towards her uncle, and so openly at that. Her mother rarely revealed her emotions, resolute composure being one of her defining traits. Which meant that what happened between her mother and uncle must’ve been truly dreadful.
However, Elowyn understood the consequences of delving into matters that didn’t concern her. The mystery surrounding her uncle’s departure wasn’t worth the potential fallout of prying into it.
Redirecting her thoughts towards addressing her mother’s curt demand, Elowyn wondered about Elyria’s whereabouts. Her older sister was never one to be tardy, especially not on the First Day—a time where punctuality was necessary. Just as Elowyn’s concerns began to escalate, Elyria finally emerged from behind a cluster of rose bushes.
“Where have you been?” Elowyn questioned, her tone sharper than intended.
“I’m sorry, I got caught up in something...” Elyria responded, her expression reflecting genuine concern. She added, “Is everything all right?”
“Do you know what happened between mother and Uncle Edwyn?” Elowyn asked.
Elyria tilted her head in confusion. “I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”
Both sisters deemed it to be a matter of lingering grudges and decided to move past it, knowing they had more pressing concerns for the evening.
It was only during their conversation about their mother and uncle’s exchange that Elowyn noticed what her older sister was wearing. A wave of déjà vu swept over her as memories of her fever dream from the previous night surged to the forefront of her mind.
Elowyn found herself staring at an older version of Elyria from seven years before.
Her sister was outfitted in a gown identical in color to the one she had worn last season on the Seventh Day—a gown of dark obsidian. Its timeless silhouette hugged her figure, with raven-like sheets of crepe.
It rattled Elowyn how treacherously beautiful her sister was. Elyria’s taste seemed unchanged over the years, as evidenced by her choice of attire. Yet, beneath her sister’s stunning appearance, Elowyn detected a hint of weariness in her eyes—a hollow stare that weighed heavily upon them. Choosing not to comment on it, Elowyn silently acknowledged that they both were dreading the upcoming week.
“How doom and drama of you to opt for obsidian instead of periwinkle blue from all those gowns in your closet,” Elowyn jested, eyeing her sister’s ensemble.
In response, Elyria retorted, “And how sneaky and clever of you to borrow one of my gowns without my knowledge, instead of choosing one from your own vast collection.”
“Fair point,” Elowyn conceded with a grin.
As a surge of magic charged through the air, both sisters recognized the familiar sensation. Turning towards the castle gates with smiles adorning their faces, they presented themselves with the charm befitting of two princesses.
“Ready?” Elyria offered her outstretched hand.
“Ready,” Elowyn replied, clasping her hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.
Scores of guests from the seven realms had already begun to populate the castle grounds, but the arrival of the newest guests warranted a formal welcome. A portal, known as a moongate in Neramyr, materialized within the royal gardens. The moongate took the form of an arch crafted from twinkling feylight. Stepping out of the moongate were two royal fey: King Wilden and Queen Irena Bloodweaver, rulers of the Iron Hollows.
King Wilden and Queen Irena bore the sacred markings of the divine fey of House Bloodweaver. Their bodies, aside from their faces and necks, were etched with iridescent moon-inked markings resembling reptilian scales arranged in concentric circles. Golden aureum embellished with their House sigil, an ophis, trailed down their figures.
Approaching the monarchs, Elowyn and Elyria performed deep curtsies in respect.
Queen Irena smiled warmly, and King Wilden nodded in acknowledgment. “What a pleasure it is to be welcomed by the princesses of Eriden, and how delightful to be within Eriden’s borders once more,” he began. “It seems it has been years since we last journeyed to the mountains of castle Fangwright. The king and queen of Eriden have maintained remarkably tight gates around their kingdom as of late.”
Clearing her throat, Queen Irena gestured to the manicured gardens. “Indeed, what a display of splendor and beauty. It serves as a generous reminder that House Fangwright extends a warm welcome to its guests.”
Elyria responded with poise, “Your Majesties, it is a great privilege to host the Iron King and Queen during the First Day.”
The queen offered a pleasant smile before turning to Elowyn. “Princess Elowyn, as you are aware, our youngest son will join you as a royal candidate next season. It would be wonderful if the two of you could become acquainted. It is no mere coincidence that the Goddess has blessed the realms with seven royal offspring awaiting their divine call to candidacy. What an exciting prospect!”
The Bloodweaver queen, much like the entirety of Neramyr, firmly believed that Elowyn and six other princes and princesses from the seven realms would be named as the next cohort of divine candidates. They were the rumored ‘sacred seven’, destined to become the most gifted and talented divine warlocks and sorceresses the feylands had ever seen.
However, Elowyn regarded these beliefs as mere seraphic speculation and hopeful theorizing, largely due to her current mediocre magical abilities. The notion of her being among the most gifted sorceresses in the feylands seemed far-fetched at present.
“Of course, Your Majesty. It would be my pleasure,” Elowyn responded politely.
“How splendid,” Queen Irena beamed, clasping her hands together. She then turned to the Iron King. “Now, dearest, shall we greet the Fanged King and the Clever Queen?”
“Let us,” King Wilden agreed, offering his arm. With a courteous wave to the two princesses, Queen Irena linked her arm with King Wilden’s, and they strolled towards the castle entrance to join the festivities of the First Day.
“That was painless enough,” Elowyn muttered to Elyria once the king and queen were out of sight.
Elyria sighed. “Only a few hundred more to go.”
As the afternoon wore on, Elyria and Elowyn continued to greet and welcome the guests of the First Day with pleasantries and salutations until their voices threatened to grow hoarse.
Currently, Elowyn found herself ensnared in an endless conversation with a sorceress from Lochwald, despite her attempts to bring it to a close. The discussion had dragged on for nearly fifteen minutes now.
“Yes, the hunt began at dawn for the feast of the Banquet of the Blessed,” Elowyn confirmed.
The sorceress gasped, “Outstanding! The elk from the Eriden mountains has always been exquisite. With Eriden’s borders being so exclusive as of late, I haven’t tasted game of that quality in years.” A look of fear crossed her face. “Oh moons, elk will be served tonight, won’t it?”
“I assure you that the kingdom of Eriden has prepared a remarkable feast fitting for the First Day,” Elowyn reassured her.
“I would hope so! The returning candidates deserve nothing less than a spectacular feast and more!” The sorceress nodded vigorously in agreement before leaning in and adding with a chuckle, “The elk prepared in the Erimead mountains is not nearly as delectable...”
Elowyn responded with a lighthearted, closed-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was well aware that the elk in question by the sorceress was procured from both the Eriden and Erimead mountains. In fact, the two kingdoms shared a contiguous mountain range, separated only by a channel of water, and the same population of elk inhabited both territories. The sorceress’s claim was simply nonsensical, and the entire interaction felt absurd .
As Elowyn contemplated feigning lightheadedness to escape the conversation, a moongate began to materialize near the entrance of the royal gardens. With a wave of relief, she bid the Lochwald sorceress farewell and made her way towards the glittering feylight archway, her steps swift as she tried to evade becoming entangled in another mundane exchange. Elyria followed closely behind, eager to escape her own encounters with the guests.
Stopping before the moongate, the sisters felt a surge of magic swirl from the entrance. Two male figures emerged from the portal, stepping into view. The first warlock had a head of rich mahogany waves, warm olive-toned skin, and sandstone-colored freckles lightly dusting the bridge of his nose. His eyes gleamed with a piercing sea-green hue.
The second figure was immediately recognized by the two sisters as the second Bloodweaver prince. Like the king and queen of the Iron Hollows, the prince possessed fair skin and midnight hair. He wore a golden aureum embroidered with basilisk scales, draping down one shoulder, and falling just below his waist. As the Bloodweaver prince stepped into the royal gardens, his peculiar, maroon-colored eyes, almost serpentine-like, roamed over the two princesses.
Elyria and Elowyn approached the two warlocks and welcomed their arrival.
The mahogany-haired warlock introduced himself as Sylas Fenhart, the divine candidate for House Bloodweaver. “It’s a pleasure to formally meet you, Princess Elyria. I’ve been curious to meet the Goddess-chosen sorceress for House Fangwright,” he said courteously.
Elyria smiled politely and replied, “Likewise. I wish you luck on the Seventh Day.”
“Your good fortune is appreciated, Princess Elyria,” Sylas responded, his brow furrowing slightly as if contemplating something. His tone turned curious as he continued, “I’ve yet to see you at the Spires. In fact, I haven’t seen you at training once these past seven years… Is there a re ason for that?”
The Seven Spires stood as a prominent structure, consisting of seven towers built by the original founders of Neramyr. These towers, joined into one large edifice, served as the primary training grounds for magical fey of the seven realms. Each tower, or spire, was dedicated to one of the seven classes of magic, and only the most gifted warlocks and sorceresses were invited to train there. Among these gifted few were the divine candidates selected to participate in the Trial of Caena.
“No reason of importance. I simply felt better suited to train outside of the Seven Spires,” Elyria disclosed, though the truth was her father, the king of Eriden, had forbidden her from training there altogether.
“Oh, I see.” Sylas’ voice faltered momentarily before quickly regaining composure. “I have no doubt that your abilities are exceptional. I look forward to completing these next seven years with you.”
A subtle shift in the Bloodweaver prince’s aura prompted the two princesses to pay closer attention to him.
“Moons, I apologize,” Sylas cleared his throat. “I got carried away in conversation. I’d like to introduce you both to Theo. Erm, Prince Theoden Bloodweaver of the Iron Hollows.”
Both Elyria and Elowyn offered respectful smiles to the prince, though they couldn’t ignore the air of arrogance that surrounded him—typical of Bloodweaver royalty. The longstanding rivalry between the Fangwrights and Bloodweavers, the two strongest Houses in Neramyr, was well-known, spanning generations.
Theo spoke impassively, “What a peculiar choice to train outside of the Seven Spires. I haven’t heard of a Goddess-chosen candidate declining the teachings there until your decision to abstain from it seven years ago.” He raised a single brow. “This divine season has certainly been unique .”
Elyria met Theo’s gaze with an equally impassive expression, making it clear she wouldn’t be provoked by his insinuations. He merely smiled back at her before turning to Elowyn .
“Princess Elowyn, I hope you’ll prove to be an earnest competitor for next season’s Trial,” Theo asserted. “The might of House Fangwright has always been admirable; it’s rivaled House Bloodweaver since the dawn of the New Age. Though events as of late have proven that history can be capricious.”
Sylas’ discomfort was evident, and the Fangwright princesses narrowed their eyes at Theo’s overt comment.
“Come, Sylas, let us begin the festivities of the First Day,” Theo suggested, casting a low whistle as he surveyed the castle. “The walls of Eriden are built so lofty one would suspect that the Fanged King is hiding something.” His gaze seemed to hint towards Elyria as he walked towards the castle.
Sylas hurriedly bid farewell to the two princesses and chased after the Bloodweaver prince until he vanished from the gardens and into the castle gates.
Elyria appeared indifferent, though her clenched jaw betrayed her true feelings. Elowyn felt a surge of irritation at the antagonistic remarks directed at her sister by the Bloodweaver prince. It was one thing for such crude comments to be whispered within the circles of your own court, but to be uttered on the soil of Eriden was a brazen act of disrespect.
“It’s fine, Elowyn,” Elyria reassured her, sensing her sister’s aggravated demeanor. “The Bloodweavers have always lacked decorum. We’ve known this.”
Elowyn simply nodded in response, trying to pacify her sister. But inwardly, she vowed that the next time she encountered the Bloodweaver prince, she’d punch him in the face.