The Divine Shallows

Chapter 12Weight of Worth

12

Weight of Worth

The Den of Lunaris exceeded even the royal atrium in beauty, if such a thing were possible. Nearly four times larger, it boasted a network of channeled rivers and feylight waterfalls. Like the atrium, the cavern’s ceiling displayed a star-filled night sky. The gentle glow of moonlight illuminated the spacious, multi-leveled expanse. The natural stone flooring was covered with richly pigmented green moss, while flowing rivers and trickling waterfalls created a soothing chorus. This sacred place was nothing short of breathtaking, imbued with an undeniable sense of divinity.

On each level of the den, hundreds of fey gathered to witness the Favor of the Seven. Lesser nobility occupied the higher tiers, while the seven royal families were positioned on the main level, closest to the central point of the cavern. At the heart of the den, upon a raised stone platform, stood the fourteen warlocks and sorceresses who would soon participate in the rite of the Favor of the Seven. They were arranged in two parallel lines, their rank distinguished—one line comprised of the newly moon-marked fey, and the other of the current candidates. Their placement followed the established order of the royal houses: House Fangwright, House Blackbane, House Driftmoor, House Darkmaw, House Skyborn, House Mirthwood, and finally, House Bloodweaver.

Surrounding them, the royal families stood in their designated order, remaining close to the fey sworn to their court. Elowyn strained to catch a glimpse of her sister, Elyria, amidst the crowd. Though she could only see Elyria’s back and Finnor standing before her, Elowyn sought any hint of her sister’s expression. But Elyria’s aura remained calm and serene, impervious to the tension that gripped the other candidates. Elyria’s constitution was honed into a steel fortress in the face of the seven realms—she would never break in front of them again.

Elowyn was flooded with a sense of pride and comfort at the sight.

From the corner of her eye, Elowyn noticed the High Priestess emerge from the crowd, striding purposefully towards the center of the den where the fourteen fey stood. As the room fell silent, she weaved through the room. She was dressed in her usual flowing white robes, but for this ritual, she wore an ornate headdress that veiled her entire face. It was boxy, nearly six inches tall with seven points. The front of the headdress was made of sheer ivory organza that fell to her waist in a sheet. The back of the headdress was made of extensive lengths of layered ivory silk that draped across the stone floor with each of her strides. Around her waist were two alabaster cables of corded rope tied around her in a knot. In her hands, she held seven ancient relics from the Old Age.

The gravity of the moment hung in the air.

In the High Priestess’ weathered hands lay a stack of delicate thin sheets of cloth, tela , but they were no mere swatches of fabric. The power emanating from the textile collection was staggering. As the eight phases of the moon along the High Priestess’ worn arms glowed brightly, Elowyn felt chills trickle down her spine. She felt the pure, divine magic that the High Priestess held as she stood before the crowd. Elowyn wondered if she herself could have held such unadulterated power within her own arms without trembling.

“The time has come to begin the ritual of the Favor of the Seven!” The High Priestess’ voice rang clear and resonant in the den. “Gathered here are our newly marked divine fey and our Goddess-chosen candidates who will participate in this season’s Trial. In this sacred ritual, we will ask the seven founding fey to grant their favor upon these new candidates in their quest for distinction.”

Moving to the head of the two lines where the fourteen fey stood facing each other, she continued, “In my arms, I hold seven divine tela blessed by each of the seven original warlocks and sorceresses. These ancient relics of Neramyr have been used in the Favor of the Seven since the dawn of the New Age. Blessed innumerable times by wielders of divine magic, these tela have passed through the hands of countless candidates seeking divine judgment. Tonight, we continue this honorable tradition and seek favor from our seven divine ancestors who founded the feylands we cherish.”

Now positioned at the front of the two lines of fey, the High Priestess stood between the newly divine fey on her left and the Goddess-chosen candidates on her right.

“As I call upon the original rulers of their sworn Houses, our newly marked fey shall accept and carry the tela of their kingdom. Let us begin!” With that, the High Priestess advanced between Finnor and Elyria, still clutching the collection of fabric in her arms.

“King Elmyr Fangwright of the kingdom of Eriden,” her voice echoed.

Upon hearing the name of the founding fey, Finnor carefully withdrew the first tela from the High Priestess’ possession and held it with reverence. “First king of Eriden, we seek your favor to grant upon these seven children of the moon in their upcoming Trial. ”

The tela , made of resplendent silk, rested in Finnor’s palms. If Elowyn didn’t know any better, she would’ve never suspected it existed millennia ago. The ivory strip, about six feet in length and twelve inches in width, appeared almost translucent in design; the gossamer sheets seemed so delicate that they would dissolve by his touch. Woven into the material were various ornamentations and embellishments of the seven realms and the phases of the moon. Finnor’s palms then began to faintly glow in response to the newfound divine magic coursing through his veins.

“King Edhelm Blackbane of the kingdom of Erimead,” the High Priestess intoned, moving down the line as each warlock or sorceress retrieved their kingdom’s tela , pleading for favor from their first ruler.

“Queen Diantha Driftmoor of the kingdom of the Elune Isles,” she continued.

A graceful sorceress with sun-kissed skin and turquoise hair stepped forward, claiming her kingdom’s tela . “First queen of the Elune Isles, we seek your favor to grant upon these seven children of the moon in their upcoming Trial,” she spoke with reverence.

As she spoke, Elowyn couldn’t help but imagine that her hair resembled the color of the Swyn Sea.

This ritual repeated as Elowyn recalled the names of Neramyr’s founding fey.

“Queen Theda Darkmaw of the kingdom of Orwyn,” announced the High Priestess. A lively sorceress with short claret-red locks stepped forward to claim her kingdom’s tela , speaking the venerated words.

“First queen of Orwyn, we seek your favor to grant upon these seven children of the moon in their upcoming Trial,” the divine Darkmaw sorceress pleaded.

Draeden had said she was called Serafina. Her eyes darted through the participants of the ritual, searching for the face of the Darkmaw prince. After a moment of her eye’s eager roaming, she found him.

There he was .

Elowyn’s heart skipped three beats. Draeden looked absolutely devastating. He wore an auburn tunic with accents of rust and gold trimming the sleeves and collar. Clasped on his right shoulder was his golden aureum , flowing down his side as it paired with the radiant gold of his eyes. His skin was richly tan, and his cropped hair was meticulously arranged, not one claret-red strand out of place. It was as if the season of autumn were embodied in a striking warlock.

Faintly, Elowyn registered the High Priestess calling two more names. “Queen Aedda Skyborn of the kingdom of Prymont, King Oswin Mirthwood of the kingdom of Lochwald.”

The voices and sounds in the den drowned into a distant drone as she locked eyes with Draeden. His intense gaze met hers, and he tilted his head, offering a slight smile that revealed his dimples. Elowyn felt herself nearly swoon at the sight. Moons, he’s distracting . The stars in his eyes twinkled, hinting that he would seek her out after the ritual. Quickly tearing her gaze away before her own aura betrayed her shameless thoughts, she refocused on the ceremony.

“Queen Isadora Bloodweaver of the kingdom of the Iron Hollows,” the High Priestess announced the final name, and Prince Thomys Bloodweaver stepped forward to retrieve his kingdom’s tela .

“First queen of the Iron Hollows, we seek your favor to grant upon these seven children of the moon in their upcoming Trial,” Prince Thomys intoned.

With the last tela removed from her possession, the High Priestess relaxed her arms and circled around the participants. After a brief examination of the seven newly marked fey, she turned to address the crowd again, a smile gracing her face.

“These seven divine fey will now tap into the reservoir of their newly claimed divine magic for the first time to channel the favor of the seven original founders of Neramyr. As they wield the divine magic of Caena for the first time, they must prove their ability to command such power, affirming their newfound status as divine warlocks and sorceresses.”

Addressing the seven marked fey, she continued, “Shortly, you will attempt to wield the ancient, primordial magic of the Moon Goddess for the first time. From this moment on, you are no longer ordinary warlocks and sorceresses; you are divine, chosen by Caena herself, the highest magical ranking a fey can achieve in their lifetime.”

The High Priestess resumed circling the fourteen fey standing on the stone platform.

“With these sacred tela you now carry, you will imbue your newfound divine magic within them. Just as your ancestors did, you will strengthen these tela anew. Once draped upon the shoulders of the chosen candidates, you will ask the seven founding fey to place favor upon them.”

The High Priestess swiftly clasped her hands together and tilted her head skyward. Inhaling deeply, she filled her lungs and closed her eyes. The eight phases of the moon on her arms glowed brighter, illuminating the sacred markings only she could bear. Lowering her head, she reopened her eyes, their irises now clouded.

“I have invoked the Moon Goddess’ attention. Our newly marked warlocks and sorceresses will now summon their divine magic to bless these ancient relics!”

A pulse of divine magic resonated throughout the Den of Lunaris , and the High Priestess stood motionless, signaling her role in the ritual was halted. It was now the responsibility of the newly marked fey to continue the ceremony.

Farthest from Elowyn, at the end of the line, Prince Thomys was the first to shift. He composed his features into a mask of concentration, tapping into his newly bestowed divine magic. His aura was absurdly potent, befitting his status as the heir of the Iron Hollows and the primis . Following his lead, the other six marked fey also began to channel their divine magic.

Prince Thomys remained still, seemingly calm, until his eyes widened in surprise. Elowyn’s attention snapped to him as the first Bloodweaver prince’s brow furrowed and then relaxed. The concentric reptilian markings on his body began to glow, starting from his chest and spreading outward. Despite the stretched effort, he maintained his focus, breathing steadily. The tela in his hands faintly glowed as he channeled his divine magic into it.

Meanwhile, the other six newly marked fey struggled to keep up. Each radiated with a moonlit glow from their divine markings. Elowyn watched as the Skyborn sorceress trembled, gripping the tela tightly while breathing raggedly. The Mirthwood warlock faced similar difficulties, sweat beading on his forehead as he struggled to wield the magic.

Finnor’s expression was staunch, sweat gathering on his brow. Elowyn remembered his reluctance to tap into his divine magic yesterday. Yet, among the six, Finnor’s aura resembled Thomys’ the most—searing with resilience.

Thomys’ tela was now shrouded with divine magic, the threads brilliantly aglow. The ornamentations woven into the silk shimmered with energy and vigor. As he beheld it, he released a breath, his tense posture relaxing as relief washed over him.

In the next heartbeat, Finnor’s silk tela was imbued with a strength and energy parallel to Thomys’. One by one, the other fey channeled their magic into the fabric until all seven tela shimmered with divine energy, elegantly hanging from their grasp.

This signaled the seven candidates across from them to bend the knee and bow their heads. In unison, the seven divine warlocks and sorceresses draped the sacred tela upon the candidates’ shoulders, the fabric falling down their arms and shrouding them in moonlight.

Elowyn observed some of the candidates wincing as the power settled upon their shoulders. Stepping back, the seven divine fey paused their part in the ritual, leaving the candidates to proceed.

Collectively, the seven candidates attempted to rise from the ground, carrying the weight of the divine magic upon their shoulders—many of the candidates were panting as they bore the burden. First, Sylas stood up steadily with only a grimace and Elyria ascended shortly after with a grit of her teeth, but nonetheless, they both remained standing.

As the Skyborn candidate, Iva, attempted to rise, she faltered abruptly and staggered back to one knee, her face flushing in humiliation. Despite her fault, she mustered on and anchored herself on two feet, still wobbling under the weight of the divine magic imbued within tela . Of the seven candidates, only Sylas and Elyria were standing firmly.

Once each candidate had risen, they turned their backs to the divine fey.

Suddenly, a powerful magic erupted from the stone platform beneath them. Moonlight surged through the stone, forming a pattern that traced seven spheres beneath the candidates’ feet, resembling the sigils of the Divine Shallows. The moonlight continued to carve the sigils of the seven realms into the stone within the spheres. Once inscribed, a shimmering halo of moonlight enveloped each candidate.

The moonlight continued to flow like vines from the platform, suffusing the entire den. It radiated outward from the fourteen fey, reaching the seven royal families. Elowyn welcomed the moonlight’s embrace as it beckoned her, feeling the crescents on her palms began to shimmer.

The moonlight traversed the moss-covered stones, ascending each level of the den. This phenomenon continued until the den’s entirety was bathed in moonlight, and Elowyn swore she saw some individuals’ eyes gleam with silver while others drew in breaths. The pull of the Moon Goddess felt extraordinary, like a halcyon of heaven and bliss.

The High Priestess clasped her hands together once more. “These fourteen individuals have successfully completed the ritual of the Favor of the Seven! Our founding ancestors have bestowed favor upon these seven candidates as they embark on their Trial of Caena! ”

The den erupted into deafening cheers as the High Priestess indicated the fourteen fey behind her. Slowly, the moonlight began to wane, and the glow from the sacred tela adorning the candidates’ shoulders faded, marking the conclusion of the Favor of the Seven.

“Elyria, you looked amazing down there!” Elowyn exclaimed happily, holding her sister’s hands within her own as they stood in the Iron Kingdom’s Great Hall.

“Thanks,” Elyria smiled appreciatively. “The Moon Goddess’ magic is incredible, but taxing. I think I’ll head home to rest for the Third Day.”

Elowyn’s expression fell slightly. “Are you sure? I was hoping we could celebrate, but I understand if you’re exhausted.”

“I’m sure,” Elyria reassured her, pulling her sister into a hug. “I’m lucky to have you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Elowyn responded, returning the hug tightly.

As Elyria withdrew from the embrace, still holding Elowyn’s hands, she smiled again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Elyria motioned to Sylas to escort her to the outer walls of the kingdom in order to moongate back to Eriden. She offered a small wave as they disappeared through the crowd.

Elowyn let out a disappointed huff. She hadn’t spent as much time with Elyria as she’d like before the Trial. She had five more days to say a proper goodbye. She’d just have to find the right time—no, she would make the time for it.

Scanning the Great Hall, Elowyn didn’t recognize a soul. Lyra was nowhere to be found, probably moping somewhere. Be nice , she scolded herself. If she wanted to keep any friends, she’d have to start with having an understanding attitude instead of a judgmental one. But over Theo, seriously? Elowyn sighed. She had a lot of work ahead of herself if she was going to learn how to be supportive.

Interrupting her thoughts, a pinky finger linked around hers and a warm body pressed against her back. Someone leaned over her shoulder and whispered in her ear.

“Hello, Elowyn, I’ve been searching for you,” Draeden’s voice was warm on her neck.

Elowyn’s face flushed at his closeness. Still linked with his pinky, she twirled around to face him.

“Hello, Draeden,” she returned with a smile, her heart pounding.

“May I steal you away again tonight?” His golden eyes twinkled.

“You may,” Elowyn laughed, feeling playful—she always felt like swooning around him.

Draeden guided her through the bustling crowd, the echoes of celebration drowning out their footsteps. Most revelers were lost in the merriment, oblivious to their passing. As they navigated the throng, Draeden’s linked finger guided her into a secluded hallway, away from the clamor of the Great Hall. Their hushed tones and furtive movements felt like a recreation of the previous night and it sent a flutter through Elowyn’s stomach.

After several turns, they arrived at an alcove nestled within the cavern wall. A cushioned bench, large enough for two, occupied the space, built for contemplation or quiet reading.

Draeden released her finger and settled onto the bench, casually draping his arm across the back. He flashed a charming grin. “What do you think?”

Elowyn surveyed the alcove, her gaze lingering on him before letting out a feigned sigh. “Not quite a balcony, but it’ll do.”

He laughed and so did she.

“Your laughter is beautiful,” he said to her candidly. “In fact, everything about you is beautiful.”

“Everything?” she teased, taking a seat beside him. As she nestled into the cushion, she was well aware of how close she was to him. “Do tell.”

Draeden withdrew a snow-white strand from her shoulder, twirling it between his fingers with practiced ease. “Your pearl hair is beautiful. Your silver eyes are beautiful. Your lilac dress is beautiful. Your skin is beautiful. Your playful banter is beautiful. Your cleverness and charm are beautiful. And most importantly, your aura is beautiful.” Each affirmation fell effortlessly from his lips. “You’re enchanting and I find myself irresistibly drawn to you.”

A shy smile blossomed on Elowyn’s lips. “And do you say this to every princess you steal away in the night?”

“No, only to you,” Draeden replied, his grin widening, dimples appearing. “Just to you.”

“Good,” she asserted, tilting her head towards him, enamored. “Keep it that way.”

“I’ll do anything you say,” he shrugged, his arm slipping down to rest around her shoulders.

“Anything?” she raised her eyebrows, meeting his gaze.

“Anything,” he turned to her. “Anything you want.”

“Hmm...” she tapped her finger against her chin, extending her request. “Will you dance with me again?”

His eyes sparkled with delight at the invitation, and he grinned. “Always.”

Draeden rose to his feet and with a flick of his wrist, summoned his magic. A moment later, a ballad of soft strings sounded as it floated in the small space around them, filling the air with a soothing song. He angled an arm behind his back and extended the other to her with an open palm, silently asking for her hand.

For a moment, she just admired his tanned skin and the moon-inked crescent moon that nestled within his calloused hand. She reached for him, and he pulled her on her feet towards him, his other hand resting at the small of her back. The music drifted around them in dreamy notes, filling their ears with a delightful melody. Draeden held her in his arms assuredly as he began to lead them into a reposeful sway. Their dance tonight was much more serene than the lively twirls from the day before. They spun sweetly in the alcove, their eyes speaking words louder than their voices could.

“I think you’re beautiful, too,” Elowyn whispered, studying his rich scarlet hair and striking golden eyes. His body, strong beneath his auburn tunic, brushed against hers, and his aura enveloped her in warmth and comfort. He was truly unforgettable; his essence was radiant with colors she rarely got to see.

Draeden’s eyes twinkled in response, as though he could sense her thoughts. “You make me feel things I’ve never felt. There’s something about you that’s different... something indescribable. Being around you is enchanting and grounding all at once. You’re all I want.”

“You’ve only just met me, and already you’re enraptured,” Elowyn tutted.

“Well, if we’re being sensible about it, I met you seven years ago... And I was charmed at first sight,” Draeden smiled down at her. “But even if I hadn’t met you then, would you blame me?”

Elowyn felt like she might collapse at any moment, her knees weak. She knew the Darkmaw prince had an irresistible hold on her. All she could think about was his magnetic presence. She was drawn to him in ways she couldn’t explain. He was all she wanted too. Her aura must have given her away because Draeden gave a suggestive smile.

Guiding their swaying steps further into the alcove, Draeden slowed them to a stop. He looked at her, his golden eyes burning with need, and gently brushed a hand down her cheek, resting it at the bottom of her chin.

“May I kiss you?” he whispered.

Elowyn held his golden gaze and nodded.

Gently, Draeden tipped her chin up as he lowered his head to hers. His eyes sparkled with excitement and his lids fell halfway, his lashes luring her with longing. Elowyn welcomed his guiding hand and lifted her head to meet his. Their lips met tenderly, unhurriedly. He deepened their kiss, his mouth coaxing hers to answer to his demand. Elowyn complied, tangling her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Her desire for him intensified. She didn’t want this moment to end.

A smile played on Draeden’s lips as he pulled back from their kiss, brushing his thumb across her lips with care, admiring her delicate fangs, before dropping his hand from her chin.

“Why did you stop?” Elowyn asked breathlessly, her face flushed with heat from their embrace.

“Just one kiss for now,” he said softly, reaching for her hand and clasping it. He intertwined their fingers as he placed a gentle kiss on their enfolded touch. “There’ll be many more to come.”

Leading her away from the corner, he wrapped his hands around her lower waist as she rested her arms around his neck. They swayed to the lilting strings once more, and Elowyn was utterly captivated by the warlock before her. Her eyes traced the angles of his jaw and the curves of his cheekbones. His allure was intoxicating.

But she knew this couldn’t last. Reluctantly, she began to construct an invisible wall between them, piece by piece. After the week was over, she would return to Eriden and he to Orwyn. Both heirs of Neramyr, destined to rule over their own separate kingdoms.

He noticed the shift in her aura and pulled back, concern furrowing his brows. “Is everything all right?”

“Promise me that there will be more,” she asked earnestly.

Elowyn didn’t know what had come over her, but she didn’t want to let this go. She pushed back against her mental safeguards, determined to keep whatever this was from being fleeting.

The only other fey Elowyn had ever kissed was a stone mason’s son from Lochwald. He and his father had been commissioned to construct an addition to Eriden’s royal castle, staying in the stewards’ quarters for months until the structure was finished. Elowyn would meet with the son in the dark of night for stolen kisses and hurried caresses, but she always declined to acknowledge him in daylight for fear of her father finding out.

The night before he was to leave, Elowyn had proposed they meet in her bedroom, wanting to experience what it felt like to be thoroughly embraced by a lover’s touch. But he never showed. Perhaps he came to his senses and realized he would be hanged if he were caught sleeping with the daughter of the Fanged King. Nonetheless, it was for the best; her father was in a fouler mood than she was that night. If they were caught, she believed her father would have tortured the fey until there was scarcely anything left of him, before having Bane dispose of his body in the pits of the Eriden mountains.

But this... Right now, she wanted Draeden wholeheartedly. Their kisses and embraces felt exhilarating, born from excitement rather than the adrenaline of fear and disobedience.

Draeden chuckled sweetly. “I promise.”

“Now that’s two promises you owe me. I’m keeping count,” Elowyn teased, tracing idle circles on his shoulder.

“I haven’t made up for my teasing yet?” he smirked, pulling her closer and gesturing around them. “A balcony. An alcove. Another dance. When will my debt be repaid?”

“One debt can be repaid with another kiss,” Elowyn said.

Draeden let out a low sound and gripped her waist tightly as he claimed her lips again. Elowyn’s knees threatened to buckle, but he held her firmly against him. Draeden’s urgent kiss softened as he cupped her cheek and pulled back.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, placing another brisk kiss on her lips before whisking her up in his arms.

Elowyn’s eyes widened in surprise as he carried her back to the cushioned bench and settled in, cradling her in his lap. She sprawled her legs out and leaned into him, reveling in their closeness. He claimed a lock of her hair and began twirling it around his finger again.

They sat there nestled together for a long span of time, sharing lingering laughter and secret smiles. They spoke about their past, their perspectives on the present, and their dreams for the future. Both of their hearts beat to the rhythm of the song still floating around them.

Elowyn’s face ached from the heartfelt smile that remained on her lips. She thought to herself how wonderful it was to feel happiness like this.