2. Two
two
"Neira! Look."
Ramin was a handsome child, Neira thought idly. She had a cup in her hand, made from fine bone as delicate as gossamer, filled with a heartening tea. And tea she needed for her nerves, because handsome as Ramin was with his big dark eyes and the raven-feather hair falling over his sombre brow, he did get on the very last of them with that ridiculous game of his.
Neira only had to spot the threads spanned between his thin fingers and was ready to go back to bed. "Yes?"
A few quick motions, and the threads now stretched in a different pattern. "I finally learned, look!"
"Fascinating." When Ramin's face fell at her flat tone, she almost winced in guilt. Neira put her cup down and held out her hands. "It really is. Show me."
The boy wasn't the source of her annoyance, not really. She didn't hate her brother, even if their father preferred him over his grown daughter. None of this was Ramin’s fault, and something dark and taloned hissed in the back of her mind at the mere thought of those moronic courtiers using him for their own gain.
No. Ramin would stay pure, free from ridiculous court intrigues for as long as she could manage to keep him thus, unstained by the ugliness of politics.
She watched him shift the threads onto her outstretched fingers and pretended to fumble for a moment before her own tricks shifted the pattern into something new – Mother had taught her this game when she'd been little too, after all.
Ramin gasped. "How did you do that?"
"I'll show you after you come sit and eat your breakfast." Ever since their father had left, she had insisted that Ramin take his meals with her, in her rooms, where she could keep a close eye on him. That had never been necessary before; Neira couldn't remember a single instance where the king's grasp on his loyal regiars had slipped far enough for them to dare question her openly. Ramin, a normally sweet, obedient child, had been rattled by the change in routine enough to make him squirrelly in the mornings, but Neira could not loosen her grasp, even for her own sanity – merely try to tempt him into listening to her.
And this temptation proved too great. "Fine."
Mother lumbered by, dry sinews scraping brittle bones, the faint creaking so achingly familiar a background to her thoughts and yet still Neira couldn't stop the dread from flaring again. Following Safir's advice, she had tried to put the prospect of war from her mind if only to find some rest, but it lingered around her like the dense mists that clung to the moors. These people – her family. She had to protect them, by any means necessary.
Of course, that would be easier if she had ever shown any kind of magical talent, any kind of skill she could put to use without having to ask her father for the right formula. If she had Safir's innate magic – well, not a single one of those old men would dare tell her to step aside. They'd cower at her feet, where they belonged.
Brooding over what wasn't wouldn't do her any good. Mother refilled her cup, then brought warm milk and biscuits for Ramin, and through the open doorway to her bedroom, Neira could hear Safir getting her clothing ready for the day.
Her family.
"Is father coming home soon? I want to show him, too."
Neira leaned over and kissed Ramin's dark head, leaning her forehead against his crown. "I hope so."
Something had to be done.
"I need a crown today," she told Safir once Mother had shuffled Ramin away for his morning studies, watching her maid brush her dark hair in the mirror until it gleamed.
Safir's reflection frowned. "You do?"
"Yes. Don't put up my hair. I want the full effect."
"The regiars won't like that."
"It's not for them." No, if Neira had her way, she wouldn't see a single one of them today. She was owed that after the disaster that had been last night. Lord Arwess and Lord Merryn had cornered her the moment she had stepped foot outside the royal wing, pestering her for access to Ramin, and the mood had taken a deeper dive when she had sat on that throne herself. "I'm not planning on leaving the wing."
"They won't like that , either."
"I am very much over considering their dislikes, to be quite honest."
Safir hummed appreciatively behind her, slowly running the brush through the dark, glossy strands of her hair. "Do you want me to curl it, Majesty? That always looks nice with a circlet."
"No…" Neira tilted her head this way and that as her maid pulled her hair back from her face at the sides with combs of pearl. It was a silly little spot of vanity to even care about her looks at all, but it was familiar, and Safir's fingers in her hair, against her scalp, soothed her. "Not a circlet. I can't appear as a mere princess today. I will need to look a queen, and be treated as such." The mere thought of going this step was making her nervous, but Neira refused to let any of her nerves show.
Safir assisted her with her day garments, the dress dark grey and simply cut but with richly embroidered sleeves. No jewellery aside from the crown she would choose from the vault, and the delicate combs. A queen needed no embellishments to assert her will.
Safir followed her through the door hidden behind a tapestry in her bedroom, down the narrow hallway into the bowels of the wing. Small steps, careful steps, else they'd take a tumble, a path Neira had been taught from a very young age in case the many locked stone gates one day wouldn't hold intruders off. A stiff, musty breeze greeted them before the light did, winding around her ankles first as Neira took the last few steps onto the walkway underneath the castle. It was hidden well enough from curious eyes by the thick city walls just a few leagues off, but Neira had never liked coming here. The stone bridge was narrow and low over the waters of the brackish lake the palace sat in the middle of, and she knew all manner of grotesque beasts lived in the murky depths. She wasn't certain they would recognise her as one of their masters if she were to fall in. Too many nights of her childhood she had spent staring at the concealing tapestry from her bed, the covers pulled to her nose, just waiting for some toothy horror to wander up the stairs and devour her. Too many nightmares she had pulled herself from, of misstepping and falling in, the cold water immobilising her for hungry jaws.
In some of them she had even thrown herself in willingly, her body moving as if it was not her own.
As if on cue, something large disturbed the waters just a little ways off ahead of them and Safir hissed, stepping close to her to grasp her arm. "Gods, I hate this."
"I'm not fond of it, either," Neira murmured, keeping her steps unhurried and even as a low growl thrummed over the water. Hurrying would only attract unwanted attention. They could have taken the route through the palace, but her desire to avoid the regiars had been stronger than self-preservation today.
Her heart was beating in her throat when they reached the other end of the walkway, and Safir's fingers were vices around her forearm until the milky light faded behind them slowly. From here, it was only a few turns before twin torches burst to life before them with an eerie blue glow, illuminating the heavy door; Neira thrust a hand into each. At the base of them, unseen but obvious enough for her fingertips, lay runes that had to be traced.
Behind her, Safir was shaking as the temperature dropped; cool to the touch, the fire wound around Neira's wrists. She lifted her hands, admiring the pale, calm flames before she pressed her hands against the runes carved deep into the ancient stone door. Their light, racing along the grooves, filled the corridor, shadows trembling on the walls.
For a long moment nothing happened, long enough that Neira frowned – had the magic waned, with her father gone from the palace for so long? Was that even possible? This was supposed to be a permanent enchantment, different from the slender slips of parchment he'd give her whenever she requested a spell for something she wanted to do. Those burned up when she spent them. This was supposed to be different, but perhaps it was the king's sorcery that supplied all the spells, and he had taken all of it with him to drive the conqueror off.
But then, with a soft, internal click, the door slowly opened, the scraping echoing down the dark corridor. Neira almost sighed with relief.
Beyond lay untold riches.
Neira strode inside with Safir on her heels, her gaze sweeping the cavernous room. Dozens of circlets and tiaras and crowns on little cushions, all set in their alcoves; gem-crusted necklaces draped over crudely hewn, withered busts; hundreds of rings meticulously layered onto the fingers of hand-shaped replicas reaching from the walls.
She only needed one thing. It sat among the other crowns, certainly heavier than any she had worn before, but when she carefully took it off its cushion… it felt right .
"Ugh, and now the same way back," Safir groaned, her arms tight around herself.
There weren't any mirrors in this room, but Neira had an inkling of how she looked when she turned to her maid. Tall, imposing with the contrast of her pale skin and the darkness of her eyes and hair, the severity of her dress only heightened by the pale, spiked crown in her hands. It was hewn from opaque, white crystal that seemed to faintly glow from within, a vicious kind of beauty with marks of the tool it had been carved with all over it still.
"Not quite yet." No, her plans for today had only just begun. At the far end of the vault, past the petrified fingers reaching for her, was another door, blending in with the stone walls.
"Neira." There was an urgency in Safir's voice when she realised what her mistress was intending, a rising panic that the princess ignored as she strode towards that door. " Neira ."
"You don't have to come in with me. Stay, guard the door." She could almost feel Safir's eyes darting towards the entrance they had come through, easily distracted by the prospect of being stalked by something from the lake.
Neira took a deep breath when she stopped in front of the unassuming door – when she released it, it clouded in front of her face. The door knob was icy to the touch. Don’t be distracted. You can’t back down .
She didn't begrudge Safir her panic.; even the small trace of her own familiarity didn't stop her from hesitating to open this door, knowing what lay behind it. Knowing the rules. The terrified awe that had been drilled into her from a young age tightened her throat, her fingers trembling on the cold knob. Her nails were turning blue just touching it.
One more deep breath was all she allowed herself.
And then Neira set the crown on her head with one hand and pushed open the door with the other.