The Divine Shallows

Chapter 11A Fate Set in Stone

11

A Fate Set in Stone

As Elowyn stepped into the Great Hall of the Bloodweaver castle, she immediately spotted Elyria’s flowing braid amidst the crowd. Her legs instinctively moved toward her sister, but she froze as she witnessed Elyria covering her mouth and sharing a cheerful laugh with Sylas. It was a rare sight to see her sister genuinely happy in the presence of someone else. Elowyn wished she could freeze this moment in time forever, cradling it close to her heart.

Finally noticing Elowyn’s arrival, Elyria’s smile widened as she waved and beckoned her over. Elowyn navigated through the crowd at her sister’s urging, taking a stemmed glass of crimson-red wine from a passing servant’s tray, offering a grateful nod.

“You’re finally here!” Elyria greeted her with a relieved sigh, pulling her into an embrace. “I was beginning to worry.”

“There were a few complications on my way over here,” Elowyn replied with a serene smile. “But I made it nonetheless.”

Sylas shifted subtly at her words, his expression betraying a hint of understanding. Before he could respond, however, the crowd parted as a figure strode through. All three of their gazes landed on the Iron King.

With a few powerful strides, King Wilden made his way to the dais of the Great Hall. Upon the raised platform, melded to it, sat two formidable iron thrones. To the throne on the left sat Queen Irena Bloodweaver. A sleek emerald basilisk coiled around the armrest. It was a wicked, beautiful creature. The serpent was gleaming, its emerald reptilian scales like overlapping jewels. The upper half of the serpent was entwined around the right arm of the queen with its sheeny head resting near the nape of her neck and its tail dangled from the armrest.

Elowyn observed the queen’s basilisk with a hint of skepticism. For a divine animus , it didn’t appear all that intimidating to her. She had seen harmless garden adders larger than it back in the castle grounds of Eriden.

Her thoughts were quickly abandoned as King Wilden claimed his iron throne. She sucked in a breath when she first noticed the creature. From behind the dais, a monstrous russet colored basilisk began slithering towards the king, its massive form stretching at least three meters in length and nearly the circumference of her thigh at its widest point. The face of the basilisk was more draconic than reptilian, horns sprouted from its head in vicious rods and whetted fangs protruded from its closed jaw. With smooth, twisting motions, the colossal basilisk coiled around the throne of the Iron King, its imposing head resting at the base.

“Welcome to the Iron Hollows,” King Wilden’s voice echoed through the Great Hall. “On this Second Day, we prepare to witness a sacred rite, the Favor of the Seven.” He remained seated, his gaze sweeping over the assembled crowd. “In this hallowed ritual, we ask the Moon Goddess to bestow her divine favor upon the next candidates who will face judgment in her Trial. This long-standing custom has infallibly curried grace from the Goddess and sanctioned the safe passage of our candidates to her realm .

“Following tradition, our newly divine fey will seek the favor of the Goddess for the candidates of this season,” the Iron King announced with a smile. “It has been many moons since the duty of the Second Day has fallen upon the shoulders of our kingdom. We invite you to assemble in the Den of Lunaris at sunset to witness this sacred rite.”

King Wilden’s gaze shifted to his right, where his two sons stood upon the dais. Thomys and Theo Bloodweaver resembled near-perfect mirror images of each other. Both clad in onyx-shaded finery, their aureum clasped on their shoulders, hanging in golden layers. With hair as dark as obsidian, skin fair as porcelain, and eyes resembling opulent rubies, the brothers were mesmerizing. The only notable contrast between them was the faint, concentric, reptilian moon-inked scales that adorned Thomys’ skin, along with the sleek basilisk draped across his shoulders, coiling at his arm. Standing proudly before their father and king, the brothers presented a dangerously captivating sight.

“It is a blessing from Caena herself that Queen Irena and I were graced with two children,” King Wilden’s powerful hand tenderly grazed Queen Irena’s forearm. “It brings me great joy that my firstborn son, Thomys Bloodweaver, will seek divine favor for our Bloodweaver candidate this season, Sylas Fenhart. Undoubtedly, Sylas will prove indispensable in this season’s Trial of Caena.”

The Iron King gestured towards Sylas in the crowd, drawing the attention of hundreds of eyes. Elowyn shrank under the scrutiny and as she dared to glance up, she found Theo’s odious maroon eyes boring into her own. Attempting to meet his gaze with her own hardened silver eyes, she was abruptly pulled away by the voice of the king.

“And it is my hope that in seven years, Sylas will seek the divine favor of the Moon Goddess for my second born son, Theoden Bloodweaver, in his Trial of Caena. Although his name has not yet been spoken for candidacy by the High Priestess, I shall await her verdict with bated breath.”

King Wilden rose from his seat and approached the front of the dais with a smile. “Fey of Neramyr, welcome to the Kingdom of the Iron Hollows! Let the Second Day of the Ceremony commence!”

The Great Hall erupted into applause at King Wilden’s declaration, with Elowyn and Elyria joining in along with the courtiers. Conversations resumed and music filled the air in a symphony of strings.

Elowyn and Elyria exchanged a weary glance, both releasing heavy sighs.

“Here we go again,” Elyria muttered to her sister.

They shared a knowing look, bracing themselves for the remainder of the night.

Sylas had taken it upon himself to chaperone the two Fangwright sisters for the Second Day. While it bothered Elowyn, Elyria seemed unfazed by his presence. Throughout their time in the Bloodweaver castle, Sylas followed their every step, which Elowyn found inconvenient. However, if he was offering himself for their disposal, she decided to seize the opportunity to ask him some lingering questions.

“So, Sylas, did you grow up in the inner walls?” Elowyn prodded.

“Yes, I come from a noble family entrusted with overseeing many essential trade affairs of the Iron Hollows. They serve the Bloodweaver family as high treasurers of sorts,” Sylas replied willingly.

“I see,” Elowyn nodded. “So, you’ve known the Bloodweavers your entire life?”

“I grew up alongside Thomys and Theo. They’re almost like brothers to me—our dynamic certainly feels that way. Thomys, the eldest, is wise and sensible. I’m in the middle, often overlooked and excluded,” he chuckled. “And then there’s Theo, indulged and rebellious.”

Elyria’s eyes widened at the remark about the second born prince, but Elowyn simply joined in with a snicker .

“Now that’s a classic trope,” Elowyn retorted loudly, tapping her finger against her chin. “Theo certainly is indulgent and rebellious, all right.”

Sylas’ expression turned serious. “I would take caution when saying that aloud, princess. While I tease, our relationship borders on that of brothers... and even that is tenuous. He has only ever tolerated such comments from Lyra, but that’s a thing of the past. Since their separation, it’s changed him.”

“Who’s Lyra?” Elowyn asked, her curiosity stirred.

“She’s my younger sister… Years ago, Lyra became enamored with Theo despite all my objections. They were inseparable for a while. He charmed his way into her bed and her heart, but he never reciprocated the feelings.” Sylas’ voice was slightly bitter.

“I remember one day Lyra came home in tears. When I asked what happened, she told me that Theo suddenly flew into a rage for no apparent reason. He just snapped. He spewed hateful slurs at her and declared he wanted nothing to do with her again. He even threatened to have her exiled from the Iron Hollows.” Sylas rubbed his temples as if trying to ease a headache. “Despite everything, Lyra still loves him. She loved him with all her heart. Even after what he did, she hasn’t stopped trying to win him back, and it breaks my heart.”

“Goddess, and he couldn’t even offer a reason? Rather juvenile,” Elowyn scoffed, her disbelief evident.

Elyria glanced around uncomfortably, her eyes scanning for any eavesdropping courtiers. Speaking openly about royalty could lead to trouble. She swiftly changed the subject with a delicate question, “Sylas, how many animus reside in the Iron Hollows?”

Turning to Elyria, Sylas’ brow furrows softened, and he offered her a warm smile. “There are three: King Wilden’s, Queen Irena’s, and now, Prince Thomys’.”

“Hopefully, soon to be four,” Elyria remarked gently. “Once you claim one in the Trial this season. ”

Sylas’ cheeks flushed crimson, and Elowyn couldn’t blame him. She would have been blushing too if someone as captivating as Elyria had subtly complimented her.

“I couldn’t help but notice that Queen Irena’s and Prince Thomys’ animus are, well, more moderately sized,” Elowyn stumbled, trying to phrase it delicately. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Well, Queen Irena’s basilisk may appear willowy, but I fear it a thousand times more than King Wilden’s. Even a drop of its venom could prove fatal to a fey a hundred times over... And its temperament is simply atrocious,” Sylas grimaced. “On the other hand, King Wilden’s basilisk can constrict and compress a creature with lethal force. It would be a reality borne of nightmares to be strangled into smithereens by that russet serpent.” Sylas shuddered at the thought. “As for Thomys, I haven’t had the chance to speak with him since his return, so I’m not entirely familiar with his animus’ capabilities.”

“I have,” a lively voice bloomed from behind them.

Elowyn turned to see who it was, locking eyes with an angelic fey. She had rich mahogany curls that flowed down her back in rivulets. Her skin was deeply tan, while freckles dotted her nose and the apples of her cheeks. Lastly, her eyes were a piercing sea-green that seemed almost otherworldly.

“His animus is quite fascinating. Apparently, his basilisk can transiently duplicate herself. Although, she needs to lay a clutch of eggs and hatch them, Thomys claims he can control the clones with just his thoughts. He can see what they see, hear what they hear, taste what they taste,” her enchanting voice elaborated.

Turning to her, Sylas inclined his head. “Hello, Lyra. Allow me to introduce you to the princesses of Eriden, Princess Elyria and Princess Elowyn Fangwright.” He gestured towards the silver-eyed sisters.

Lyra curtsied and nodded to them. “I’m Sylas’ sister, Lyra Fenhart. It’s lovely to meet both of you.”

“Your dress is stunning,” Elyria complimented with a soft smile. Lyra returned the gesture, her eyes lingering briefly on Elyria’s palms before refocusing her attention to the three of them again.

“It seems like you know more about the Iron Kingdom than Sylas does. Maybe we should have you give us a tour instead,” Elowyn suggested.

“I know many things about the Iron Kingdom, but sometimes the things I want to know most about evade me.” Lyra chucked with morose as her sea-green eyes flickered to somewhere else in the room.

Elowyn sensed a longing emanating from Lyra’s aura, nearly tangible in its intensity. She almost felt sorry for her, but quickly reminded herself that any affection directed towards Theo didn't quite warrant her sympathy.

Turning to Lyra, Elowyn asked, “Would you mind showing me around? I feel like the candidates already have important matters to attend to besides a castle tour, especially with the preparations for the Favor of the Seven.”

Elyria shot her sister a curious glance, silently questioning her decision. Elowyn responded with a reassuring look, conveying her certainty. They had perfected the art of communicating through glances and raised eyebrows long ago.

In truth, Elowyn had no desire to spend the evening in Sylas’ company; he’d likely bore her to tears. Elyria, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy his presence. Why not leave them to it?

“Of course. It would be my pleasure,” Lyra agreed.

“Wonderful!” Elowyn beamed, linking her arm with Lyra’s, and whisked her away.

Elowyn and Lyra wandered through the halls of the Bloodweaver castle, wine glasses in hand, losing themselves in the amber-lit passages teeming with captivating artwork. They peered at abstract statues and studied the freeform sculptures that decorated the hallways while having to stifle giggles at some more progressive pieces. Lyra narrated certain fables and tales of particular sculptures that Elowyn pointed out in curiosity. An hour passed in this manner, the wine blurring their senses.

“What’s down there?” Elowyn gestured vaguely towards a hallway; her voice slightly slurred from the wine.

“That leads to the royal atrium,” Lyra responded, her words sluggish.

Elowyn sniggered. “An atrium in a cavern? What good would an atrium do underground?”

“Just wait and see. Beauty can be found underground, too,” Lyra replied, grabbing Elowyn’s hand clumsily and leading her towards the hallway.

The two of them meandered forward, as uncoordinated as newborn fawns, while they awkwardly made their way to the looming iron doors that towered before them.

“This is one of my favorite places in the castle for a thousand reasons,” Lyra mumbled with a thick tongue. “And here’s the first one.”

Lyra conjured a shimmering bead of magic in her palm and pressed it to the door. The aura of the door responded to her touch, swinging open slowly to reveal the atrium beyond, welcoming them with a gentle breeze from within. Lyra wandered through the entrance and beckoned Elowyn to trace her footsteps.

Elowyn didn’t expect what she saw next.

The atrium unfolded before her, and her breath hitched at the sight. The atrium was enormous, and much to her chagrin, it wasn’t made of glass. It was a deep underground sanctuary opened to the night sky above. She tilted her head back to stare at the heavens as millions stars twinkled. A natural stone path snaked between endless landscapes of rock formations ranging in various heights, lengths, and textures. If she desired, Elowyn could ascend to higher levels of the atrium to where the path led. Brilliant crystal growths sprouted from the rocks and glistened in hues of aquamarine, emerald, and violet.

But what made Elowyn want to fall to her knees with wonder was what she found in the center of the atrium. There was a feylight waterfall that streamed from the sky and flowed into a large lake below, forming billowing gentle waves that lapped the shore surrounding it. It was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply as she felt another pull towards the ethereal cave around her. She had no idea how there was the open air several meters below the soil’s surface or why there was a feylight fountain pouring from the sky.

She knew it shouldn’t be possible, but somehow, this felt logical; it felt sound.

“How?” Elowyn whispered, unable to tear her gaze away.

“The divine Goddess of course… And the fifty-third Iron King, King Furno Bloodweaver. He created this atrium,” Lyra mumbled, taking a seat on a nearby bench and patting the space beside her. “The fey of House Bloodweaver are masters of alteration magic, silly. Come, sit.”

Elowyn settled onto the bench next to Lyra, who miraculously produced a bottle of wine from beneath her skirts. Elowyn raised an impressed eyebrow as the brunette fey took a swig before passing it to her.

“I can understand why you’re able to find a thousand reasons to adore this place,” Elowyn remarked, taking a generous sip from the bottle.

Lyra leaned back, releasing a sigh. “Of all the reasons, the one that stands above all is because I fell in love here.”

Elowyn struggled to control her expression, feeling awkward with this type of conversation. She wasn’t accustomed to offering comfort or discussing matters of the heart, except with her sister. Growing up, her father had kept her isolated, allowing her to interact only with those he approved of. Any budding friendships were swiftly extinguished by his disapproval. This left Elowyn feeling lonely, but Elyria was always there to fill the void.

“Sylas told us about Theo,” Elowyn confessed, handing the bottle back to Lyra. “He’s a twat.”

Lyra looked back at her, surprised.

A moment of silence passed between them before they both erupted into laughter. Tears welled in their eyes as they laughed, the tension dissipating. But then Elowyn noticed the change in Lyra’s demeanor. Her aura darkened, and her expression turned somber.

“He’s not though,” Lyra said, her voice heavy with emotion. “Theo is wonderful. He’s kind and clever. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known. He makes me laugh like no one else.”

Elowyn struggled to hide her disdain, her expression betraying her despite the alcohol clouding her judgment. She couldn’t fathom how Lyra could see Theo in such a positive light after their earlier encounter. Unable to find the right words, she remained silent.

“I know, I know,” Lyra admitted, her voice beginning to wobble. “But I’ve seen a side of him that nobody else has. He’s just not what he shows to the world. We spent endless nights here, talking until we fell asleep in each other’s arms. We laughed until our bellies hurt, made love under the stars, danced in the moonlight. We were truly, deeply in love.”

As Lyra poured her heart out, Elowyn couldn’t help but think of Draeden. Just last night, they had stayed up until dawn, sharing their deepest thoughts and feelings. Elowyn remembered the thrill of excitement that surged through her veins in Draeden’s presence, the anticipation of the unknown. Despite her initial reluctance, Elowyn found herself sympathizing with Lyra’s pain. She reached out, placing a comforting hand on Lyra’s arm.

“Sylas mentioned something about him getting upset, but no one seems to know why,” Elowyn said, her tone gentle yet probing.

Lyra’s expression turned pale at the question. “I don’t know what happened. I told him I loved him... and he snapped. He became hysterical, said terrible things to me. He hasn’t spoken to me since. He won’t even look at me,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “I wish I could take it all back.”

Elowyn’s heart went out to her. “You have nothing to feel guilty about. You deserve to be loved for who you are, completely and unconditionally.” She articulated the words slower than she intended.

“But I can’t help it. I still love him, even now. I’d do anything for him, but he would never do the same,” Lyra said, her voice hollow with despair. “It’s cruel.”

As Lyra finished the wine, lost in her own thoughts, Elowyn felt helpless. She had never experienced a love so intense, so consuming, before. Unable to offer any more comfort, Elowyn squeezed Lyra’s hand gently before rising from her seat.

Well, it was more like Elowyn stumbled to her feet.

Extending a hand toward Lyra, Elowyn declared, “No more tears. Today, we’re celebrating Sylas and Elyria. I’m setting one rule: we’re here to have fun. No moping or sulking allowed.”

Lyra looked at her through watery eyes and pitifully raised her hand in agreement.

“Okay, we might be off to a terrible start, but we can turn this around. Come on, let’s get you some water,” Elowyn said, gently tugging at Lyra’s limp arm and helping her stand.

Lyra lurched upright at the pull, sniffing pitifully. “Your dress is really pretty.”

“Thank you, it’s a gift from my sister—It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever owned,” Elowyn replied, grateful for the distraction.

Lyra ran her hand along the periwinkle organza and tilted her head as she brushed the golden aureum draping from Elowyn’s shoulders. She examined the pattern of dragon scales embellishing the golden silk, acknowledging what it symbolized .

“What’s it like being a princess of Neramyr?” Lyra murmured, still admiring the golden cloak that skimmed between her fingers.

“Well, I’m not sure,” Elowyn stumbled over her words. “I guess it’s all right…”

Elowyn could have said so much more, but she was unsure of what was appropriate. Being born into a position of power and respect, she hadn’t felt like she earned any of it. She had grown up with a negative view of royalty, especially given her family’s circumstances.

Every day she felt the weight of her responsibility and her duty to the realm. As a princess, she would never be able to escape it. Her life was set in stone the moment she was born into it, shackled to a fate that she didn’t choose. But she knew there were worse fates out there. She lived in splendor and opulence, never knowing what hunger was or the burden of a laborious livelihood. She felt guilty about feeling resentful about things; she knew she should be grateful for the hand she was dealt.

“You’re lucky, you know. One day you’ll marry a prince and live happily ever after. Maybe if I had been born a princess, things would be different... Theo would still love me,” Lyra said defeatedly, slumping back onto the bench.

“Oh, no. We are not doing this. Firstly, being a princess of Neramyr isn’t all that glamorous. Secondly, you’ve broken my rule twice now, and we’re not going to have you break it a third time,” Elowyn lectured her, hauling her upright again.

Hooking an arm around Lyra’s waist, Elowyn supported her as they began walking down the natural stone that led back to the exit. Elowyn’s mind became less foggy as they ambled through the path, though she was certainly still tipsy. Lyra’s aura remained thoroughly morose, dismal at best. As for her mind, Lyra was definitely plastered.

“This sky fountain was one of my favorite things growing up as a feyling. And now I can barely look at it without my heart aching,” Lyra murmured as she grieved. “I fear I’ll never feel happiness in this place again.”

Elowyn sighed in exasperation. She opened her mouth as a curt response danced at the tip of her tongue, but chose to close it, keeping her frustration at bay. Peering at Lyra’s desolate aura again, she saw the weeping wounds. Huffing, Elowyn steered their path to a stone clearing and planted Lyra in the middle of it.

Slightly confused, Lyra stood there silently, her legs now steady enough to balance herself for the time being.

Elowyn stepped a few paces back and released a breath. “It’s just elemental magic,” Elowyn said to herself as she rallied her confidence.

She lifted her moon-inked palm and called to her magic, summoning it from the well of her reserves. From the lake behind them, two streams of feylight floated towards their direction, drifting through the air in a delicate dance. With a twist of Elowyn’s wrist, the streams twirled and whirled, effortlessly weaving around Lyra in a playful pattern.

Lyra reached out and brushed her fingers along the feylight streams as they began to curl around her, ascending upwards until they crested at a peak above her head, collecting into a sphere. Tilting her head back, Lyra gazed up at the feylight orb in awe.

Elowyn shifted her palm and unfurled her fingers purposefully. Responding to her command, the feylight orb above Lyra shattered, fracturing into a starburst of thousands of feylight droplets. The shimmering droplets showered around Lyra, painting a rainfall canvas of brilliant emerald, amethyst, and aquamarine as the crystals in the atrium reflected off it. Lyra audibly gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth as her eyes widened in wonder. Reaching out again, she grazed the feylight canopy surrounding her, a shadow of a smile danced upon her lips while her eyes glittered with delight.

With her other hand, Elowyn called to the wind, beckoning it under her command. She willed it into a gentle breeze that flowed towards Lyra, brushing her cheeks, and swaying through her hair like a morning dove taking flight. A tiny laugh escaped Lyra’s lips as Elowyn urged the breeze to warm, wrapping Lyra in a balmy, breathy blanket. Shifting her palm again, Elowyn directed the feylight droplets to morph into crystalline snowflakes. Thousands of ice crystals drifted around Lyra, each with its own unique lattice artwork. Lyra caught them by the cupful, spinning underneath the frozen crystals.

Watching a tiny sliver of Lyra’s morose aura glow faintly amidst a sea of black, Elowyn sensed a glimmer of light fighting to stay afloat—a beacon of resolve, an unyielding gateway to healing.

As the last of the feylight faded in a halo around her, Lyra steadied her feet. “Thank you,” she murmured softly to Elowyn.

“Your happiness is your own, Lyra. Share it with those who want to nurture it; shield it from those who threaten to take it away. Trust me, your life will be better for it,” Elowyn spoke with candidness, her sympathy apparent as she took Lyra’s hand once more. “Now that you’re smiling again, let’s make it back before the Favor of the Seven begins.”

But Lyra didn’t budge as Elowyn moved to usher them forward. Her eyes clear and sober, a mountain of appreciation behind them that words could never convey.

“I’d like it if we could become friends,” Lyra said, looking to Elowyn.

Taken aback by the sudden invitation, Elowyn hesitated. Anxiety bubbled within her, but she reminded herself that her father wasn’t here to know. For tonight, she allowed herself to believe it would be okay.

A moment later, Elowyn smiled. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”