28. The End of Summer
Chapter 28
The End of Summer
A idric waited for her at the top of the stairs, and they walked together. Celestine still wore the travel leathers Azure had given her, and on her right wrist, she wore the three silken ribbons Encarmine had won. On her left, she wore a shackle.
“Declare thyself,” the mirrored guard with a silvered halberd said on the left of the door. “Those who seek.”
“And those that would be sought,” finished the other.
“Celestine, of the Unbannered,” she said.
“The Banner that serves,” said the guard on the left.
“The Banner that seeks,” said the guard on the right.
“Step forth, should you be sought,” They both said in unison again, and they pulled the doors open.
Though she had spent time in close proximity to each of the Lords of Season, to see them all gathered, like rulers of the universe, each with its own whims and ways was overwhelming.
Celestine walked into the court, up the steps to the central dais. Each portion of the circle was built with a slice of stone from each of the lord’s bannered colors.
“Welcome, Final Bride,” Blackdawn spoke from his seat of shadow.
Hail, Lord of Death.
“My Lords.” Celestine nodded. She did not bow. Encarmine sat upon his throne of war. She walked forward and kissed him.
“Has a choice been made?” The Lord of Green asked from the Spring section.
“Apparently not,” said Lord Emberfell of Autumn, as Celestine left Encarmine, his beautiful eyes forlorn at her leaving. She went to Tristien. He looked well, and even coming closer to him, she could see his sorrow at what he had become, what he had done in denying himself, thinking to starve the river of control within him but only building it up to have it break forward.
“Celestine.” he hugged her, rising from his throne. She could feel the love within him. She felt the chains around her heart shift.
I still think of him, these chains will always be tethered to my heart.
“I forgive you.” She kissed him, tears running down her cheeks. “Please, do the same for me.”
Tristien, the most beautiful of the three lords of Summer, wiped a tear away with his thumb. It felt like sunshine drying her cheek. “I’ll never forgive you for filling my realm with the brightness within you and leaving. Yet anything else I can, I do forgive.”
Celestine went to Azure.
His face was full of mirth, taking in her leathers. “You would have won,” he said into her ear as they embraced. “Had you chosen the finish line.”
Celestine hugged him tightly. The one who had taught her so much, who had nurtured her back to life in a new way. “I realized it wasn’t my finish line.”
This pleased Azure and he smiled at her as he sat back down.
Celestine walked back into the center court, glancing at the three lords of Summer.
“Tell us, Final Bride, your decision,” Blackdawn spoke from a throne of shadow. She turned to look at him, the one in her dreams who she could not see.
This is not him, not on the throne. Nor is that his name. He is hidden even from these Lords.
The darkly handsome lord smiled at her as if reading her thoughts. Pleased by her cleverness.
His court is in my dreams.
“Yes.” the Green Lord of Spring sat upon his throne of nature. “What do you declare?”
Celestine rose, looking at each lord, even Vermilion, who stared at her with nothing but murder in his eyes. Despite the kindness she had shown him, she knew there would be nothing that could ever change him.
Silas, the thief and lord of Gold, winked at her, prompting her to speak. She remembered his roguish kiss, the barter he had made in tricking Vermilion.
“I have not chosen my groom, Lords of Calendar.”
Some laughed, others leaned forward, eager for the duel to come.
“I declare the three Lords of Summer equal. But first among them in their order should be Encarmine, Lord of the Red Banner.” She glanced down at the trophies won by him around her wrist. “For he was my first touch, and he proved himself with agony and valor. All men should compete for a woman’s touch in such a way, in three parts, to earn a crest.”
The Lords murmured among themselves. She looked at Aidric, and he nodded.
“Take this news to the people of the Painted Realm,” Blackdawn declared.
“The Blue Banner should be second in order, my lords. For he is quickness and peace; he is the sky and the wind of summer and freedom.”
She smiled at Azure, who watched her with his brown eyes.
“The last should be Lord Solis, in the realm of Yellow. For he is the love that binds, and though he has freed his people and outlawed the bondage of flesh, it is a terrible sin. Yellow is the embrace of summer, and all lovers are bound to one another, whether loosely…” she turned and looked at Tristien. “Or close enough to be one. It is a choice.”
“So no husband has been selected?” Lord Cedarheart growled from his throne of pelts.
The horned lord, like a bull, of the Bronze Banner growled. “She gives the order of the banners within their own season?”
“As she should,” Blackdawn said. When he spoke, his voice was sorcery and shadow. It cowed the great bull-lord.“None of the Lords of Summer shall select the placement of the Season.”
Celestine glanced back to Encarmine, who looked upon her with sadness.
It would have been you had your very essence not promised a Summer of Widows upon my people.
When she looked upon Tristien. It would have been you, for I craved you in a way that threatened everything. I nearly became nothing.
Upon Lord Azure, she looked.
It would have been you, but you cannot marry the wind nor cage the flying hawk in truth. It wasn’t what you were.
She turned back to court.
“The courtship continues.”
Celestine stepped back down the dais to stand next to Aidric.
“Champions,” Blackdawn said from his black banner.
Only three rose this time.
Lord Emberfell of the Amber Banner, clothed in leather and linen, his throne a gourd and cornucopia of harvest.
Lord Vermilion, sneering and fangs flashing, his knives dripping with blood as he stood.
This time, Blackdawn nodded to the Lord of White. The Winter Lord rose, and Celestine was taken aback by their form. So slight compared to the mass of the other lords. A helm of white metal, in the shape of a hawk covered their face.
“Lord Frost will be our Champion of Winter,” Blackdawn declared.
Lord Frost walked forward, every movement cold, the ground beneath their feet crinkling with snow and frost.
“Come cold-thing,” Vermilion spat upon the ground where the snow collected around Frost. “Let us paint your court red, before I take the Unbannered.”
Frost stared at Celestine in a white helm. Their throne was snow and ice.
Before anything could even begin, Lord Frost dipped out with their short spear, striking Vermilion through the sternum with a barbed hook. Lord Emberfell did the same, a long curved carving scythe slamming into the collarbone of the Scarlet Lord.
They both surged forward as the Scarlet Lord screamed, first blood drawn. An agreement between the two of them as they threw him at the foot of his throne.
“You overstepped your bounds,” Frost said with icy finality.
Emberfell smiled, his amber leathers creaking. “You rushed to the henhouse, Vermilion. We all agreed to wait our turn.”
Both lords withdrew their weapons and left Vermilion bleeding at the foot of his throne. He pushed himself up, furious, and stalked from the room, past Celestine where Aidric moved to stand in front of her, but he pushed past with a snarl of contempt.
“Begin?” Emberfell asked while motioning his hand scythe at the court.
“Yes,” Frost walked forward. Emberfell was warmth in Autumn, the sweet bite of harvest. Frost was the beginning of cold, the change of things, and the harbinger of ice.
The duel began, and they fought with thunder and lightning. Emberfell moved, twirling like leaves on the wind. Frost was steadfast and unceasing. It was like watching the wind fight the cold.
Emberfell smiled as they fought, and Frost moved with certainty, ignoring him. In the end, the spear dipped, stretched, and moved, but Emberfell was so fast, so light on his feet, yet grounded.]
He twirls like a leaf. Not on the wind, but as it falls.
Emberfell drew a single cut across the top of Frost’s hand. The Champion of Winter stood back, surprised, staring at the red blood on their pale skin.
“My apologies, Lord of White.” Emberfell smiled and bowed. “To mar such a masterpiece.” He held out an Amber rag.
Frost stared at him. Something emanated from their armored form. Menace, was the right word. Emberfell had just placed himself on a list.
The three Lords of Autumn rose, Lord Cedarheart of the Brown Banner, with long teeth and runic tattoos across his form. Eyes yellow, like a wolf.
Lord Silas, of the Gold Banners. The thief of shadow who had caught her. He smiled at Celestine. His throne was one of plunder.
Lord Emberfell stepped forward. Tall, with a circlet of amber like a honey chrysalis and leaves of harvest. His throne fell away, and the wall behind him opened into a world of brown, orange, and yellow leaves on a golden afternoon. The slight chill, the first touch of the season, greeted her.
“Lady Celestine.” he held out his hand. His skin was spun-honey, his eyes, an amber chrysalis in autumn. She walked forward, away from Aidric.
When she crossed the dais, she felt the eyes of Summer upon her, seeing their denial made manifest.
The eyes of Spring looked upon her hungrily, promising something she knew should worry her.
When she looked in the Winter realm, where the banner of white and silver watched on with interest, she saw into the throne of shadow, where the black banner lord sat watching her.
I am ever near.
She took Emberfell’s hand. It was warm to the touch, and sweet comfort came over her. They walked away from court, and he led her into his golden grotto, his hand never leaving hers. The smell of leaves, of wood smoke and golden light filled the afternoon.
“Welcome, Final Bride.” Emberfell gestured to the realm of the Amber Banner as the portage sealed behind them, leaving only more forest.
“To Autumn.”
Summer Ends.