Chapter 19A Moment of Bliss
19
A Moment of Bliss
Despite the weight on her heart, Elowyn awoke to a fluttering sensation in her chest. Darkness still blanketed the world outside, with the moon casting its final shadows before sunrise. Excitement pulsed through her veins as she remembered Draeden’s plan to meet her at the Temple at dawn, ready to guide her through a moongate into Orwyn. It would be her first time venturing beyond the walls of a castle, and her anticipation bubbled over.
Draeden had advised her to dress simply, in a modest dress and a hooded cloak, for their excursion into the city. As she contemplated the logistics of the upcoming Fifth Day, she wondered if there would be enough time to return to Eriden to prepare herself. At the very least, she needed to inform Elyria, perhaps even enlist her sister’s help in procuring a change of attire. Elowyn couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Elyria’s inevitable curiosity, imagining her sister eagerly questioning her about the day’s later adventures.
Elowyn rose from her bed and noticed a small parchment lying on her bedside table. Intrigued, she reached for it and unfolded the paper, smoothing out its creases. Honey and lilac greeted her as she read the neatly penned words, her sister’s handwriting dancing across the surface of the page.
Dear Elowyn,
I have an early engagement to attend to this morning. Regrettably, I won’t be able to see you before the onset of the Fifth Day, which means you’ll have to prepare without my expert hair braiding skills. Love you dearly. See you in Orwyn.
Elyria
Elowyn chuckled at the note and folded it neatly back into quarters. It seemed her plan to have Elyria bring her a change of clothes was no longer an option. She resolved to ensure she left Orwyn with enough time to return, dress, and arrive before the start of the Fifth Day.
Getting up from her bed, Elowyn began readying herself. She ran a brush through her ivory locks and fashioned them into a loose braid, though it lacked the precision of Elyria’s work. She then selected a simple pale dress with a snug bodice and a flowing skirt to wear from her wardrobe. Lastly, she draped herself in a thick-spun cloak with a hood the color of roasted chestnuts.
Nearly ready to portal to the Temple, Elowyn’s stomach grumbled loudly. She frowned, perhaps she’d sneak into the royal kitchen for a quick bite before departing. Surely the kitchen staff would still be asleep after the festivities of the Fourth Day.
Glancing out of one of the arched windows, Elowyn observed the faint hues of dawn, a dusky indigo that would soon give way to sunrise. Tucking a loose strand of her snowy hair behind her pointed ear, she ensured she had a small coin purse tucked into one of her cloak’s pockets.
Stepping as quietly as she could, Elowyn approached the entrance to her bedchamber and pressed her ear delicately against the wooden door. She waited, her senses heightened, but heard nothing. Her stomach growled once more, and she cursed its refusal to be silenced. With utmost care, she eased the door open and peered into the long hallway beyond. Golden sconces adorned the marble walls, casting a soft glow that danced with the shadows. After a moment’s observation, Elowyn slipped noiselessly out of her room.
Heading in the direction of the kitchens, she moved stealthily until a sound from behind caused her heart to sink.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Finnor’s gruff voice shattered the silence of the marble corridor, his tone more demanding than questioning.
Elowyn spun around to face him, her worry morphing into anger as she met his gaze. With clenched fists, her aura radiated with fury as she realized how Finnor discovered her presence.
“I do not answer to you.” Her eyes were blazing like embers.
Finnor let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his tousled, snow-white hair. Moon-inked scales shimmered on his skin, catching the light of the sconces. He was dressed haphazardly in a loose tunic and leather pants, looking as if he had just rolled out of bed.
“Where are you going?” he repeated, his voice unchanged.
“The kitchens,” Elowyn replied, truthful enough. “I was hungry.”
“Then why are you wearing a common cloak?” Finnor countered.
“I’ve given you enough answers,” Elowyn’s lips tightened into a thin line.
“I’m not stopping you,” Finnor replied truthfully. “I don’t intend to control your life. I just need to know where you’re headed so I can fulfill my duty as your feyguard.”
“Was tethering my soul against my will not fulfilling your duty enough?” Elowyn struck back. “Just tap into the pits of your abominable soul and find me through the tether. At least that way you’ll spare me the effort of speaking.”
“I know you don’t understand why I did it,” Finnor muttered thickly. “I did it to protect you. Why can’t you see that? It’s not uncommon for Eternal Tethering spells to be bestowed on royalty. There’s a reason it only requires the Goddess’ blessing and a willing fey. Your bloodline and succession to the throne are crucial to the prosperity of Eriden. To Neramyr.”
“Why don’t you understand that I never wanted this?” Elowyn’s voice rose. “The throne is Elyria’s to inherit by birthright. It should’ve never been stripped away from her. You’ve served this kingdom for longer than I’ve drawn breath, yet you know nothing about it.”
Finnor’s expression hardened. “Regardless of how it happened, you’re a Crown Princess of Neramyr, Elowyn. This is the fate dealt to you by the hands of the moon and stars. It’s what’s right and just.”
“Have you no rationality of your own? You recite those words with such credence as if you intend to be a martyr for the moon. Will you shepherd a crusade against me if I suggest that the Moon Goddess was wrong for not marking Elyria as an infant? What if I told you that Eriden is a kingdom fueled by spite?”
Elowyn took a domineering step toward Finnor, causing his jaw to twitch with displeasure at her approach.
“Lest you forget, I am not the only daughter of Eriden. The folk of this kingdom treat their firstborn princess with bitterness, with acrimony and malevolence... Am I to believe that the foundation on which your beliefs lie are truly righteous? As your morals rest on their benevolent pedestal, where do they retreat to when the folk of Eriden scorn and maltreat their eldest princess?”
Finnor’s expression remained indecipherable as he glared back at Elowyn. Silence sealed his lips, yet she did not relent from her verbal tirade against him .
“You are plagued with the belief that the stars and moon are faultless; you trust that there are no fates that are flawed, but you’re wrong, Finnor. If you would’ve opened your mind and listened to me, instead of obeying the king’s every whim, you might have understood that. What you did to me was detestable. You claim your duty is to protect me, but I will never forget how you stood there unshaken as I was withering away under my father’s hand.” Elowyn’s words were laced with ire at each enunciation. “Under your hand.”
Finnor’s expression crumbled at her final words. He regarded her with culpable eyes, guilt stricken. Though he seemed prepared to speak, he ultimately remained silent, an allegory of unspoken regrets locked behind his lips.
Elowyn shifted her gaze to one of the arched windows, cursing softly as she noticed the sun beginning to rise.
“I’m leaving,” Elowyn announced, turning on her heel. The encounter had left her appetite soured. “Don’t follow me.”
Finnor reclaimed his voice, his tone determined. “Tell me where you’re going.”
Ignoring his incessant inquiry, Elowyn summoned a portal. With purposeful strides, she crossed through the moonlit archway, her destination fixed in her mind as she disappeared into the feylight.
The Temple of Caena basked in the gentle morning glow of the sun as Elowyn emerged from the fading feylight archway. She knew she was running late. With a quick scan of her surroundings, she found the temple deserted, devoid of any fey. Her heart raced as she hurried up the ancient stone staircase towards the antechamber. One question dominated her mind: was he there?
Pushing open the massive doors of the temple, usually left ajar, Elowyn entered hastily, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor.
Her eyes landed on a hooded male figure sitting on a bench with his head hung low, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees. At her approach, the male lifted his head up and Elowyn recognized the locks of claret-red hair that remained untucked under the hood. Relief flooded her as her heart quickened at the sight of him.
“Elowyn,” Draeden murmured her name on his lips as his golden irises lit up with relief. His handsome features fell into a dimpled smile.
“Draeden,” she whispered back, a smile lighting up her features.
“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” he admitted, rising from the bench, and closing the distance between them in a few swift strides. With a gentle embrace, he brushed a kiss against her cheek.
Elowyn laughed softly, returning his affectionate gesture. Each moment with Draeden seemed more magical than the last.
“We need to hurry if we want to catch the best of the market,” Draeden urged, intertwining their fingers. He summoned a moongate and with a gentle hold on Elowyn, he led them both through the moonlit pillars to Orwyn.
Draeden and Elowyn materialized in an empty cobblestone alleyway, emerging from the fading moongate. Draeden adjusted his hood, tucking his loose claret-red strands further into it. Turning to Elowyn, he gently brushed a loose lock of her ivory hair behind her ear, his bronzed hand lingering affectionately on her cheek. He then carefully tucked the rest of her silk braid into her thick chestnut-colored hood, satisfied with her disguised appearance, before offering her a warm smile.
“Welcome to Orwyn,” Draeden announced. “Ready to explore the heart of the city?”
“Yes,” Elowyn replied eagerly, excitement coursing through her body.
Draeden led her through the winding cobblestone alleyway, explaining that their masked appearances would allow them to move more freely through the city, especially on the bustling Fifth Day. Though he assured her of the good nature of Orwyn’s inhabitants, he insisted on taking precautions to ensure her safety during her visit.
As they reached the alley’s end, the sounds of the city became audible to Elowyn. Draeden reached into his cloak and retrieved a pair of slender gloves, handing them to her.
“An extra measure of caution,” Draeden explained, gesturing to her moon-inked palms. He then retrieved another pair for himself, donning them swiftly.
“Thank you,” Elowyn said, slipping her fingers into the soft fabric.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Draeden remarked with a grin, extending an open palm towards her. “Let me show you one of the best stalls in the market.”
Elowyn clasped Draeden’s hand tightly as he guided them out of the secluded alleyway. The narrow cobblestone passage unfolded into one of the most crowded streets Elowyn had ever laid eyes on. Her jaw dropped in awe as she took in the city’s vibrant surroundings. The plaza was teeming with more fey than she had ever seen in one place. Almost everyone wore cloaks similar to her own, spanning from newborns to elders as venerable as the High Priestess herself.
Surveying the landscape of Orwyn, Elowyn couldn’t help but release a slow breath of wonder. The city was nestled amidst majestic hills and bends, their russet-shaded rock formations flowing like hardened rivers. The sky above was a brilliant blue, contrasting beautifully with the rugged terrain. Everywhere she looked, the towering rust-colored hills encircled the entirety of Orwyn.
Amidst the public square, countless houses and living domiciles were scattered, their reddish walls crafted from sturdy clay. Elowyn’s gaze wandered beyond the plaza, where she spotted a winding elevated path that encircled a towering hill. At its summit loomed the imposing Darkmaw castle, its majestic walls also fashioned from smooth, reddish clay. From her vantage point, she could discern the arches and intricate carvings embellishing the fortress’s formidable walls.
Returning her attention to the busy atmosphere of the plaza, Elowyn was swept up in the lively energy as the city folk prepared for the Fifth Day festivities. She watched with delight as groups of feylings chased each other playfully, their laughter filling the air. Females with bright smiles shuffled about, carrying baskets of ripe fruits and freshly harvested vegetables to various stalls for sale, their conversations filled with excitement.
Guiding Elowyn through the crowd, Draeden led her towards a stall already abuzz with activity, where a maroon-haired male was expertly kneading flour into fluffy pastry dough. Elowyn had to rise onto her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the sought-after vendor. With practiced skill, he rolled the delicate pastry into small portions, filling them with stewed meat and vegetables seasoned with fragrant spices that set Elowyn’s mouth watering. Nearby, another sheet of pastry was being filled with sweetened fruits infused with notes of cinnamon, vanilla, and clove, drifting delightful aromas towards her.
Suddenly, a stout female emerged from behind the male, carrying a large tray of freshly baked pastries. Wisps of steam still curled from the golden-brown, open-faced crusts, as if they had just been plucked from the oven moments ago. Setting the tray on the counter, she greeted the eager crowd with cheerful banter, exchanging parcels of pastries for coppers. Eventually, Draeden and Elowyn reached the front of the stall, where the fey gestured for them to approach.
“What can I get you folks?” she asked with a hearty voice. “Today we have puff pastries. For those with a sweet tooth, we have honeyed fig, apple, plum, or apricot; and for those who prefer savory, we’ve got braised pork with leek and mushroom.”
Draeden arched a curious brow at Elowyn. “What do you think we should get? ”
“Honestly, they all sound delicious,” Elowyn replied, tapping her chin. “I can’t choose, so I’ll let you decide.”
Draeden grinned and turned to the fey behind the counter. “We’ll take one of each.”
“Well, aren’t you quite the chivalrous lad?” the stout fey chuckled, gathering five pastries, one of each flavor, into a small box and handing it to Draeden. “That’ll be fifteen coppers.”
Draeden pulled a silver coin from his cloak and handed it to her with a wink. “That’s for making me look good in front of the lady. Blessings to you on this Fifth Day.”
The fey cackled aloud, stashing the coin in her apron. “Many moon blessings to you, young lad.” She turned to Elowyn. “Are you visiting from Eriden, darlin’?”
“Yes,” Elowyn smiled. “I traveled here to witness the Fifth Day.”
“I know a few folks from Eriden who moved out here for work,” the fey continued. “Folks in Orwyn will pay a pretty coin for the protection of a warlock or sorceress from there, y’know? Merchants hire ‘em when they export their goods through the bordering trading routes.” She shook her head. “Blasted bandits and raiders looting from hardworking folk.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Elowyn remarked with a frown. “That’s awful.”
“Nothin’ you need to be sorry for, dear. It’s not you who’s the miscreant,” the fey said, turning back to Draeden. “Blessings, again. Now, I’ve got a long line of customers waitin’ on me. Enjoy, and may the Goddess Mark you.”
Draeden and Elowyn waved goodbye to the fey before veering off to a quieter section of the bustling streets. As they strolled, Elowyn pointed out the floral vendors they passed. The flowers of Orwyn differed from those she was accustomed to in the mountainous regions back home. Spindly wildflowers in shades of amber, violet, and cream were expertly arranged in beautiful bouquets. She admired bunches of five-petaled coneflowers in hues of sapphire, magenta, and blush, which Draeden identified as larkspur. But what truly caught her eye were the milky-petal blooms of the sand-lilies elegantly displayed on the stalls.
After passing several sweet shops and bakeries, they turned a corner near an alehouse and found an empty bench to sit together. Once seated, Draeden leaned forward and offered her the box of pastries, still warm after their walk. Elowyn peered inside to see the five flawless pastries nestled together. She reached for one but hesitated, withdrawing her hand. Furrowing her brow, she hovered her hand slightly above the pastries. With a subtle yet swift motion, she summoned a sliver of her magic and split each pastry perfectly in two.
“Now we can both try each flavor,” Elowyn explained cheerfully as she grabbed one half of a plum pastry and took a bite.
The flaky crust melted in her mouth, releasing a burst of delightful flavor that danced along her tongue. She savored the sweetness of the plum, the soft hints of vanilla and honey, and the warmth of the clove. Before she knew it, she had finished her half. She wiped the crumbs from her fingers and found Draeden smirking at her with warmth in his eyes.
“What did you think?” Draeden asked, grinning. “Good?”
“So good,” Elowyn replied, laughing as she reached for another pastry. “We have similar desserts in Eriden, but I’ve never tasted anything quite like this. You’d better hurry or I might eat yours too.”
Draeden grabbed one half of his own pastry and popped it into his mouth, finishing it in two bites. Then he pointedly took a bite of the apricot pastry, teasing Elowyn. “I think you’re the one who needs to hurry.”
Elowyn laughed and rolled her eyes at him before reaching for the fig pastry and taking a nibble. “So, about what the vendor said back there... Are there many fey from Eriden living here? What about from other kingdoms?”
Draeden finished chewing before responding. “It varies. Some fey from other kingdoms are here on assignments or temporary stays. A few decide to settle in Orwyn permanently, but like in all kingdoms of Neramyr, it’s hard to fully integrate outside of one’s House.”
“Come to think of it... Apart from the Ceremony of Caena, I don’t recall seeing many fey outside of House Fangwright while living in Eriden,” Elowyn remarked, furrowing her brow.
Draeden nodded thoughtfully. “Eriden’s borders are notoriously difficult to breach. On the other hand, I can’t think of a single kingdom that doesn’t employ warlocks and sorceresses from Eriden. Your kingdom has a reputation for producing some of the most skilled magic-wielders in Neramyr.”
“We are quite special,” Elowyn added sarcastically as she reached for another pastry.
Draeden chuckled. “Indeed. Haven’t I mentioned yet? I’m only drawn to you because of your illustrious magic-wielding capabilities. I’ve been trying to charm you into my employ.”
Elowyn playfully thumped his arm. “I’ll accept payment in pastries.”
“Consider it done,” Draeden said with a smirk. “I’ll have the contract drawn by morning.”
Elowyn laughed and rolled her eyes again, resting her hands on her stomach. “That was amazing. I’m completely full now.”
As they conversed, they polished off the last crumbs of the delectable pastries. Draeden gathered the empty box with one hand and rose to his feet, extending his other hand to Elowyn. “Ready? There’s still plenty more to explore.”
Elowyn accepted his hand with a cheerful nod, and they strolled down the cobblestone street together, fingers intertwined. As they walked, Elowyn observed the modest buildings around them gradually giving way to grand and imposing structures. “Where are we headed next?”
“We’re going to Orwyn’s Art District,” Draeden explained, his smile brightening. “It’s a boulevard where enthusiasts of music, theater, painting, and literature can come together to celebrate their shared passions. I want to take you to one of my favorite music houses. I used to sneak out of the castle as a feyling and lose myself in the performances there for hours. I still do it now.”
“That sounds incredible,” Elowyn murmured, her curiosity piqued. With each step, she felt like she was unraveling mysteries she never thought she’d uncover. In Eriden, masterful musicians could be summoned to the castle at her whim, but this was different. Here, the artists performed for the joy of it all, not by the call of the crown.
“Here we are,” Draeden announced, gesturing towards a large building with the same graceful arches Elowyn had spotted on the Darkmaw castle. A flight of limestone steps led to a pair of arched oak doors. Faint strains of music drifted from within, inviting Elowyn to step inside. A sign hanging from an iron beam swayed gently in the breeze, reading Beauarde Tavern and Music House. Elowyn felt a surge of anticipation and nerves coursing through her as she gazed at the welcoming doors.
She took a deep breath and realized that rather than feeling nervousness, it was actually excitement that filled her.