Bethany Duncan
It was family tradition, Beth knew.
The tower had been built as part of the small keep that had been the Senoth castle for years before the Duncans came to power. The castle had since been extensively built upon, but in those days the tower must have been much more impressive than it was now. It must have drawn travellers' eyes from miles away, lifting above the squat block of the keep and the walls that, at that time, were wooden constructs instead of solid stone battlements. It had been...and still was...of stone, paneled outside with thick wood and painted white. The white then had been gleaming but now it was gray with age and filth, streaked with the marks of thousands of rainfalls and weathered by countless winds and harsh suns. The roof had been gold-plated but the plating had peeled, showing the darker slate tiles beneath it. A thin pinnacle rose, bearing the Senoth standard, and topped with a wide gold-plated cross that somehow had survived the test of time the rest of the tower had not. The first lord of the keep had put all his money into the construction of this tower, putting the keep around it as an afterthought. His design had been, almost blasphemous as it sounded, to draw the attention of God by it's splendour and bring His blessings down on the kingdom. Because of this it had been nicknamed 'God's Lightning Rod', shortened to just 'the Rod' whenever those of Senoth had occassion to speak of it.
The castle of then probably looked like some rough, portly beast that had been slain by a fine sword that had been left by its weilder. Now, however, several of the towers were as tall if not taller as this one, and just as elegantly constructed. Age had made it unimpressive, and it's only glory was it's past history, and the tradition.
After the Duncans had gained Senoth...by marriage, not by conquest, as the first Duncan king married the eldest daughter of the current lord...that lord had been imprisoned in the Rod, by his own request, for insanity. He'd lived well here, being granted every courtesy and amenity save his freedom. He'd even become friends with the conquering Duncan; the two would often spend hours in the Rod discussing literature or the happenings of the kingdom...whenever the lord was lucid, that was, and not in one of his violent fits. There was little to show that there had been any bitterness between the two, and Bethany had a feeling the imprisonment had only been on and off, enforced only when he was in danger of his fits, and that the former liege had more freedom than romanticism would allow for.
After the lord's death, it had become tradition for the Duncan to be crowned to spend one day within the Rod, in honor of their ancestor's kindness and friendship, in hopes that their reign would also show that kindness. At dawn they were brought up into the Rod, locked within and left with two guards who would fetch whatever was needed. The day would be a holiday for the kingdom; with festivities and feasts that would last well into that night. The next morning, at the same hour they were placed within, the heir would be removed, escorted from the Rod directly to the chapel that had been built underneath it, where they would be crowned and coronated. After which would be more feasts and revelry.
Bethany had never written about the tower in her accounts. Since she had no wish for the throne she had never thought much about the Rod, always believing it was to be Amethyst's place and not hers. Even when she was named the heir she did not think about it, perhaps wishing to deny that the coronation would ever go through.
But here she was, climbing the tower steps to the room where the lord had been locked all those centuries ago, and where every Senoth heir since that time had been placed to bless their reign. Outside the castle the sun was just beginning to pinken the sky. Before her, the guards steps sounded hollowly on the stone; behind her she could hear Lion's and Arhyn's much softer treads. And beside her was Vincent, her arm threaded through his as they went.
No one said anything until the door was reached and unlocked. Being of oak it had to be replaced when it got worn and warped...the Rod was not known for its ventilation and the humidity inside tended to gather during the summer. This door was fairly new, having been replaced just before her father's coronation, and was well sealed. A small, barred window was set within, above a wide slot. This was to allow her both to speak to those outside and to gain her meals; once the door was locked it would not be opened again for anything less than emergency until the coronation.
As the guard sifted through his keys and unlocked the door Vincent turned Bethany, holding her shoulders loosely and looking in her eyes. "Are you going to be all right?"
"I'll be fine." She said, then chuckled nervously. "I'd rather be locked in the Rod for eternity than to have to emerge again to face the crown, but I'll be fine."
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently. "I'll come talk to you this evening." He promised.
"I'll be here." She said, with an ironic smile. Vincent stepped aside to allow Arhyn to hug her.
"I remember when you were just a baby." She said, stepping back and smiling at Bethany with unshed tears in her eyes. "You've grown so much."
Bethany felt color and heat appear in her cheeks.
"We'll see you when you're out again. I'll make sure to come speak with you as well, and your coronation gown will be delivered just before dawn, so you can get ready."
"Thanks, Arhyn." She tried not to wrinkle her nose at mention of the gown, and didn't quite succeed. Arhyn laughed and hugged her again, then watched as Bethany turned and stepped into the tower room. The guard pulled the door closed, latched it and locked it.
"Good luck." The sorceress whispered, before turning and heading back down the stairs. Vincent paused a moment, looking at the door, before he and Lion followed her.
The room was fairly spacious and in good shape. Thick carpeting covered the cold stone floor. Shelves with books stood against one wall, flanking a small, thick mattressed bed. A wide window showed the pinkening sky outside, and a fireplace was in the opposite wall of the bed. A door led into the smaller room, the privy, and a table sat a few feet before the fire.
The fire was stoked and burning happily, a cord of wood standing beside the mantle. The maids had come in the evening before to clean the dust and make the bed, to warm the room and prepare for Bethany's incarceration.
She heard the door close and latch behind her, and blew out a slow breath. She was a prisoner now, for the next twenty four hours. Plenty of time to think.
A meal had been set out on the table; meat and potatoes, carrots with gravy. A decanter and goblet, and a rose in a thin vase. Something white seemed to be beneath the vase, and curious she stepped forward and slid it out, lifting it. She smiled as she realized it was a note from Vincent. He must have asked one of the service to bring it up and place it under the vase.
Bethany ~
Every day with you now is like a gift, one I thank God for each and every moment. Despite what you may think, you'll make a wonderous queen. I am now and will always be your most humble of servants.
All my love and luck,
~Vincent
Tears lifted momentarily in her eyes and she refolded the paper, pressing it to her lips for a moment as she watched the fire, before she set it back down and settled herself to eat before the food got cold.
The name of the mad liege lord whose home this had origionally been was named Lonollyn Sevieg. He'd been a thin, gangly man of some height, and over fifty years of age when her ancestor had first locked him in this room. He'd lived for the next twenty here, and during the first few hours of her own imprisonment Bethany thought not only of him but of her father, wondering how Gareth had taken his time in this tower. What had either men thought about, knowing they couldn't willingly exit that door? Knowing what faced them? For Sevieg it had been perhaps an uncertainty of his own future and a fear for his own mind, for thoughts and actions he couldn't control; for Gareth it had probably been a fear for the future as well, though for differing reasons.
There were times she could easily imagine both men. Her father, much younger and thinner than he'd been in her acquaintance, standing at the window or thumbing idly through the offered books. Or Sevieg, pacing about the room, eating the ground with his long strides, turning only to repeat the process. In her imagination Sevieg had long, graying brown hair tied back neatly at the back of his neck. His face was careworn and fairly gentle, with a clever and unreadable glint to his eyes, hinting at the erratic thoughts that sometimes took him, sending him into screaming rages. In reality probably he was much different, but as she'd never met him her image was good enough for her.
Bethany resisted the urge to pace herself, and instead mimicked her father's image and went to stand at the window, looking out into the now bright morning.
The room she stood in was over two hundred feet above the main courtyard, and the window faced both the yard and the length of the battlements. Beyond that she could see the land dropping away toward the ocean, blue-gray in the distance and the early light. The sun was as yet behind her, and the long shadow of the Rod fell in a broken ridge over both yard and wall.
It's beautiful, She thought as she looked, gratitude that Senoth was her home filling her. She had missed it so much when she'd been gone for that year, certain she'd never see it again. Now she was just so unsure.
She placed her forehead against the cold glass. All of Senoth will look to me to guide them for their well-being. I will be their example. It was a tremendous responsibility, and one she wasn't sure she was capable of handling. Certainly not as well as her father had. Her daily decisions would affect everyone in Senoth, their very lives, either for the better or the worse. Her daily decisions could even cost lives, if it came to that.
She looked down into the courtyard, where things were being prepared for the days festivities. Booths and tents were beings set up at one end, and though she could not see it she knew the same was true for the city square. Jolinda and her father's troupe...all of whom were still in Senoth since bringing her home...would doubtless have their fill of entertaining and would earn heaps of gold for their efforts. There would be dancing, and juggling, plays and merrymaking.
Loretta is going to have unbelievable fun. She thought, then frowned slightly. I hope that Arhyn keeps her out of trouble. Given half the chance she'll gorge on sweets and have a stomach ache before noon.
July would be oggled after by all the boys; probably not to her dismay. Sarissa would put her hand to the contests and would most likely put some of the contestants to shame in many of them. Baby John would just be delighted at all the color and noise, even if he couldn't understand the reasons behind it. His nurse and Lion would make sure he got to see his fill of puppeteers and jesters.
She traced a finger on the glass, suddenly a bit jealous that she could not go down and join her family, but the feeling quickly passed. After the coronation the festivities would continue, and she'd have her chances to see their delight.
She wondered for an idle moment if this window had been glass during Sevieg's occupancy, and if it had how they'd kept him from smashing it and doing himself harm by either slicing himself with the shards, or flinging himself to his death.
Turning from the window she regarded the room again. It suddenly seemed much smaller than it had even only moments before. Sighing with a sudden, deep loneliness she closed her eyes, tears tracing down her cheeks. Father, I miss you so much. I wish you could be here with me now. I wish I had gotten the chance to see you again before you died. I wish you could have known one last time that I was all right, and had not gone to your rest thinking I waited there for you.
In the fireplace, a log split and popped, sending a rain of sparks up into the flue. She opened her eyes, wiping at her cheeks. She went to the bookshelf; she might as well find a way to pass her time. It promised to be a long day.
It was nearing noon and the celebration was in full swing. July walked without fear through courtyard crowds; guards were on duty and sentries and archers watched from each wall. If something occurred...and a few drunken fights had already broken out as they were want to do whenever men and alcohol came together...the guards could be and were at the scene almost instantly. Even though she was a princess and at this moment, at least, the heir, she was in no danger here.
In looks July resembled Amethyst the most, with the same dark hair, complexion, and eyes from their father. There were times, however, in shadow or at a glance, that she was often mistaken for Bethany. She was sometimes jealous of her older sibling because she was Arhyn's favorite, because she was the most beautiful out of all of Gareth's daughters, and because a man as handsome as Vincent had taken her heart, but for the most part she adored Bethany as much as any sister could adore their sibling.
They were different people, however. July was glad of her looks where Bethany denied hers at every turn. The younger was more comfortable in the dress and airs of court, and could not understand Bethany's comfort with soldiers and trousers, and swordfighting. Still, she well knew Senoth's need at the moment for a strong defense and army, and she knew that it needed a ruler who was willing and able to ride with such an army. Though they had their differences July and Bethany had one deep similarity; niether wished to rule.
Power was never a consideration for July. She wished only to be a woman safe in her home, and to tease and flirt with the boys until she found that one love she could marry and settle quietly with. After that, she had no more ambitions than to have and raise her children, to settle into that comforting family life she'd grown up in. She was grateful her father had expressed his desire for Sarissa to be the heir, and not July. Though chances were even if she remained heir she'd never see the throne anyway, as her title would go to Bethany's first born and leave her with a grand duchy, she was grateful all chance of it would be lifted from her. Her sister was a warrior, and warriors often died, even great ones. Her father, in July's opinion, was an exceedingly wise man for recognizing both that July had no want for the crown, and no talent for what Senoth needed. It's need was not for a courtier, but for a fighter, which is why Gareth had wanted Bethany to take the crown in the first place.
July was still the heir, though that would change in the morning at the coronation. Sarissa would be the one to take the crown were something to happen, God forbid, to Bethany. The only reason that July was still the heir at this time rather than having been displaced already was that Senoth had been in mourning for the required year, and during monarchial mourning matters of state could not be altered. Had Bethany not returned, as soon as the year was done Sarissa would have been named heir, and Vincent would have continued to rule as regent until her eighteenth birthday, when she could have been coronated.
All these thoughts idly moved through her head as she walked through the celebration, pausing now and again to watch an act or to sample wares from the many stalls and booths. She was in skirts, but mindful of the dirt and muck she had chosen one that fell to midshin rather than ankle, and had donned a pair of sensible boots. There were many ladies who would have put on trousers, but as much as Bethany was averted to dresses, July loathed pants.
She paused again to watch contestants in a roped ring trying to catch a greased pig, and was not at all surprised to see one of them was Sarissa. Already the girl was filthy from nearly head to toe, a grin of pure delight splitting her face as she fought with the others to catch the squealing animal for the prize. July laughed as those vying fell, slipping on the mud or colliding with each other. Once or twice the pig was gripped only to squirt its way free and continue it's frantic, pointless fleeing, screaming as if it were being murdered. It darted through and past legs, knocking more than one of its pursuers higgeldy-piggeldy as they tried to grab for it.
Finally, with a scream of pure exultation Sarissa threw herself on top of the pig much as a wild barbarian warrior might throw himself on his enemy. Before he could slip away she had her arms around his barrel and was heaving him triumphantly skyward. He kicked and squealed, but she had him well and the contest was over.
July clapped for her sibling, still laughing and cheering with the rest of the crowd. As things settled and Sarissa went to claim her prize, the hands of her opponents patting her back in congratulation, July happened to glance up and caught sight of a pair of eyes on the far side of the pen, and through the thickest portion of the crowd.
The face was there and gone in only moments, and chances were he had never even seen her. Before she knew it she was moving off through the crowd, her steps speeding as she fought to catch sight of him again before he was too far gone. No luck, however. He'd vanished as thoroughly as if he'd never existed.
She ran nearly fully into someone, stumbled back with surprise, an apology already on her lips. He reached out a hand to steady her, and she realized it was Vincent.
"July," He said in surprise. "Are you all right? Why were you going so quickly?"
Her eyes were still seeking through the crowd, but there was no more sign of the mysterious man than there had been before. With a sigh, she looked back at Vincent.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to run into you." She said. Over the last year she'd learned to be candid with Vincent, and counted him among her good friends. She had no problems speaking openly with him. "I was watching the pig chase and saw a man across the pen. I was trying to find him."
"A man?" He lifted an eyebrow, a smile quirking his mouth. "Someone you knew?"
"I have never seen him before." She said. "Oh, Vincent, I can't even tell you what happened. It was like my whole being stopped for that instant, like someone had struck me. For a moment I understood completely what you and Beth have. And then he was gone, and I could think of nothing else but finding him again."
Vincent looked at her seriously. "My dear," he said. "I think you've just experienced what only a proud and select few experience. You've heard of love at first sight?"
"Do you think that's what this is?" She asked, wonder in her eyes. "But...I know nothing of him, only his face. How could I love him?"
He took her arm gently, drew her to the side to where they could sit on one of the many benches the guard had set out for weary revelers. "Did you know that your sister is a firm believer in the existance of soul mates?" He asked. She didn't have to ask to know Bethany was the sister he meant. "She believes that in heaven we were each promised someone, someone that we would know the instant we saw them and would never doubt they were the right one." He smiled a bit shyly. "She says I'm hers."
"I would believe it; you two seem made for each other."
"Unfortunately, she also says that very few people actually find that person in the mortal life. That they marry others and live good lives, but always yearn deep inside for that thing they don't quite realize is missing. She said meeting your soul mate is like lightning, that you know the instant you see them that you've finally found what you didn't even realize you were looking for."
"That's exactly like this was." She said, the wonder in her eyes moving to her voice. "It was like lightning. Like I had discovered something incredible. Oh, Vincent...I have to find him! I have to know at least his name, if nothing else."
He nodded and stood, offering her his arm. "Yes, you do. And I'll help you to look."
Outside she could hear the laughing voices from far down in the courtyard, the music from both wandering minstrels and performing groups. She hummed one song she knew idly to herself as she turned the pages.
Already it felt as if she'd been in the room for ages, though it was just reaching mid-afternoon. She'd let the fire go out, as the day outside was warm enough to keep the space fairly cozy. She'd have to restoke it this evening when the temperature started dropping; it could get as cold as a tomb in the tower.
This was not the first time she had been in this room. She had come up here once when she was about seven years old, out of curiosity. The rug had been rolled then, propped in one corner. The bed had been nothing but a frame, the fireplace and shelves empty. Every surface had been layered with dust, dust that had swirled into the air on her entry and had made the space look surrealistic as the sun fired the motes golden. It had been freezing in the room then, and even at seven she had felt the weight of responsibility in the tower.
It was one of the few times she'd pretended to be pretty much what she was; a princess. In her mind, however, she was a princess in an enchanted tower, kept there by a wicked witch until her dashing prince came to rescue her. At seven she didn't know what dashing princes did when they found their enchanted princesses, so when it got to that part of the fantasy she pretended that he gave her a pony and promised to teach her to ride it and shoot a bow at the same time.
When she'd come back down out of the tower she had been terribly cold, and it was that cold that kept her from returning. Later, when she'd found out the true purpose of the Rod tower, she had avoided it like the plague.
She shook her head, returning her focus from her past to the book before her. She was grown now, and the room was clean and warm. Her dashing prince had found her, but she was not so naive now to think that a pony would be the prize to come of it.
That thought disturbed her again, as it always did. She had gotten to the point that she could hold him, and kiss him, without feeling that familiar fear or hesitation, but when she thought of anything further her chest would seize. She had discussed the matter with him and she knew he understood. One day, she knew, they would be married, and all this would be behind them, but for now both were contented to let the healing take its course.
She set her book down, leaning back in the chair with a slight smile. She loved Vincent, more than she had ever thought that she would love someone. When she had thought he was dead it had nearly destroyed her. She could think of no pleasanter fate than to spend the rest of her days with Vincent, growing old and happy together. Her parents had adored each other, and to think that their happiness could be hers as well...she didn't know how she'd deserved such a blessing, but it was one she wouldn't argue against.
Rising, she stretched her back and went to the window again. Soon they would bring her dinner, and Vincent would come up to talk to her. She smiled, watching the revelry below.
It was hopeless. July and Vincent had been all over the courtyard and she had not caught so much as a glimpse of the mysterious man she'd seen. She was beginning to wonder if she'd imagined him.
"Maybe it was just wishful thinking." She sighed, her hands making a despairing gesture. "It's plain he isn't here."
"Don't give up so easily, July. He may have gone into town to the square. Keep looking. I've got to go and bring Bethany's dinner up to her. I wanted to speak with her for a while, see how she's doing."
"Give her my love," July said. "I'll keep looking."
"You'll find him." He said, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder before turning to head inside.
"I hope you're right," She murmured under her breath as she turned around. "God, I feel like a fool. I..."
There he was, about a hundred yards away, standing at a stall. His left side was to her, and he was nodding as he spoke to the proprieter. As she watched, stunned, he laughed. It's him! It's him it's him it's...
"July!"
She turned instinctively to see Loretta running toward her with a grin on her face. "Isn't this great? I haven't had so much fun in my life!"
Panic filled July and her head snapped back to the stall. The man was gone again.
"Blast it!" She said, in a very unladylike way. Lifting her skirts slightly she started to run to the stall. I can't lose him again!
Loretta stopped as she watched her sister run off as if fire were on her heels, her jaw dropping. "What'd I say?"
When July reached the stall there was, again, no sign of him. She stomped her foot delicately in frustration, then turned to the proprieter. "That young man who was just here, do you know where he went?"
"Young man, highness?" He asked respectfully, then brightened. "Ah, yes. You mean young master Griffie. I'm sorry, I don't know where he went to."
"Griffie..." She tried to recall where she'd heard the name before, then snapped her fingers. Master Herbert Griffie was the chief military surgeon for the castle. As she recalled, she'd heard mention of him having a few sons, but had never met any of them. "Which Griffie?"
"Jason." The man replied. "Master Griffie's eldest."
At least she had a name. If she didn't find him again, it would simply be a matter of summoning Herbert and inquiring after his son. Still, she was not ready to give up looking, not yet. "Thank you. You've done me a great service."
"You're welcome, Your Highness..." She hardly heard him; she was already running into the crowd again.
Vincent climbed the stairs to the Rod tower with Bethany's tray in his hands. The guards bowed as he approached, and one knocked lightly on the door. "Your Majesty, His Highness is here."
That done, the two men slipped down the stairs, remaining in sight but out of earshot, so that the two could talk in privacy.
"Vincent." She smiled at him through the barred window in the door, and he smiled back.
"I brought you supper." He said. "How are things going?"
"Well enough." She said. "I've had time to think and do a little reading. It's really quite peaceful up here. How is the celebration going?"
"Quite well indeed." He said, as he slipped the tray in through the slot. She took it, retreating for a moment as she went and put it on the table, then returned to the door. He put his hands up as she put hers around the bars, wrapped them around hers. He grinned. "I think your sister is in love."
"Really? Which one? With who?"
He told her about July and her search for the mysterious fellow who had appeared momentarily through the crowd.
"Soul mates." She whispered, with a smile. "I hope she finds him."
"She will, if it's meant to be." He said. Slipping his arm through the bars he cupped her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. "Just like we found each other."
"As I recall, I knocked you in the dust." She said, leaning her face into his hand. "Quite a meeting."
"And I've been smitten ever since." He replied. Moving up to the bars he kissed her. "I'd better get downstairs before Arhyn sends a hunting party for me. She only wants us to talk briefly; apparently that's tradition as well."
She nodded. "Go, have fun. I'll see you in the morning."
He took one of her hands off the bars, kissed it. "Sleep well." He whispered, kissed it again, then turned and headed down the stairs as the guards returned to their places.
July must have asked half of those in the courtyard if they both knew and had seen Jason Griffie. Some responded in the affirmitive, directing her each time to a new place. Each time she just managed to miss him.
Dark was starting to fall and several torches and fires had been lit to keep the yard illuminated. More and more stalls were being cleared to the side to allow for dancing, and paper candle lanterns were being strung on ropes, casting a romantic atmosphere over everything.
I'm never going to find him. She finally resigned. She would just have to track down his father tomorrow after the coronation and...
A finger tapped her shoulder and she turned.
"Milady," Jason Griffie smiled at her, offering his hand. "Would you care to do me the honors of dancing with me?"
For a moment she could do nothing. The unexpected end of her search left her flabbergasted, and she just stood and stared at him for a while before she managed to lift a hand that weighed a thousand pounds and take his. "Of course." She said softly.
He led her to an area that had been cleared. "My name is Jason Griffie," He introduced. Of course he knew nothing of the efforts she'd gone through that day trying to find who he was.
She managed to find her voice. "July Duncan."
"Yes," he stopped, turning her to face him and kissing her hand. "I know. I've seen you several times, both around the castle and today, at the festival. You are only more lovely close as you are from afar."
She had heard young men speak to ladies this way before, and had always thought it was a bit fluffy and sappy, but for some reason the words coming from his mouth just made her knees watery, and her heart speed up. He pulled her close as they started to dance; she barely heard the music.
She had caught only slight glimpses of him during the day, and found herself studying his features quite closely. His hair was long and blonde, reaching his collar. It was streaked slightly with some darker shades of yellow and some brown, highlighting it in the most provocative ways. He was clean shaven, as most of the men in Senoth were, and his blue-green eyes were sincere and deep. His arms about her were strong and sure of themselves, and she couldn't stop looking at him.
"I've always wanted to talk to you." He admitted after a moment of silence. "I never really got the chance. I swore to myself if I saw you today I'd dance with you." He smiled, and her knees renewed their weakness. "I suppose I kept my promise to myself."
"I've seen you as well, today." She said. "I didn't know your name. At least," She felt a blush rising. "Not at first."
He lifted an eyebrow. "My dear lady, have you been following me?"
The blush deepened. "Well...yes," She laughed nervously. "A bit. I just...I don't know. I felt like I knew you."
He smiled at her, pulling her slightly closer while remaining a perfect gentleman. "I'm glad you did." He said. "If I had not seen you as often as I did today, I would never have gotten the nerve to speak with you."
She smiled, feeling relief. He wasn't angry at her for following him, nor did he seem to think she was out of her mind...something she herself had wondered many times over the course of the day. They talked endlessly as they danced, and she neither heard the music nor felt her feet on the ground the entire time.
Dark fell, and Bethany's room was illuminated by both the restoked fireplace and the lights below in the courtyard. She stood at the window again, admiring the stars of the lanterns and the laughter and music that moved up from below. She felt warm and contented, but that deep loneliness she had felt upon being locked in was still there, burning in the middle of her chest. Sighing, she decided to retire. She would have to rise very early the next day in order to dress for the coronation.
She lay in bed for the longest time, watching the fire play against the stones and listening to it snap, before she finally managed to doze.
She woke, it seemed, only moments later. The fire had burned down until only red embers remained, and the sound of the outside celebration had gone away. She turned on to her back, closing her eyes again to return to sleep, when a faint light started to play on her eyelids. Frowning slightly, she opened them again and looked toward where the light seemed to be coming from.
A moment later she threw up a hand as it became blinding, a white beacon so intense she could almost see the bones of her wrist through the skin. Her breath catching in her throat she sat up, squinting as she tried desperately to see though the light to its source.
She thought, just for a moment, she could make out a person's shape in the nimbus of that light. Then the light winked out as if it had never existed and the dark flooded back, blinding her all over again. All she could see was the blue impression of that person's form, imprinted on her eyes from the light. She blinked several times, rubbing furiously at her eyes as she tried to clear them, her hands shaking and her skin tingling as if she'd touched some power she couldn't possibly begin to comprehend.
She staggered out of the bed and fell onto her knees on the floor, still blinded. She started to weep silently, praying within her mind. The glare slowly faded and her room returned around her, barely lit by the still glowing fireplace. Nothing was out of place, nothing indicated that anyone had ever been there but her.
Trembling, she sat weakly on the edge of her bed, taken back by this thing that she could hardly comprehend, unsure how to feel. She wanted nothing more at that moment, nothing in all the world and beyond, than to see that figure in its light again. A sensation of having touched the greatest thing a mortal could possibly touch and live through filled her, unshakable, and even after the afterimage had long gone and her trembling had ceased, she wept for it back.
Arhyn arrived just before dawn, with Bethany's coronation dress folded into a box in her hands. She knocked softly, wondering if the girl was still asleep...or had even gotten to sleep that evening. Moments later her face appeared behind the bars, looking remarkably refreshed.
"Good morning," The sorceress smiled. "Did you have a restful night?"
"It was very energizing." She replied, her voice soft but carrying a fervor in it Arhyn didn't recall having heard before.
"I have brought your dress." She said, slipping the box through the slot. Bethany took it, heaved a heavy sigh.
"My father did not have to be coronated in a dress." She lamented. Arhyn laughed.
"Had your father been coronated in a dress," She said. "All his enemies would have fled in terror."
"I'm frightened, Arhyn," Bethany shook her head. "I'm not ready for this."
"You're more ready than you think, Beth." She said. "Do not fear. I will be with you. Vincent, and Lion, your sisters and brother, the Lord Marshall...all who love you will be with you." She paused. "God will be with you as well."
"I know He will." She said, with a smile that was both gleeful and reverant at the same time. "He told me so last night."
Arhyn opened her mouth to comment, surprised, but Bethany had already turned away and had vanished from the window. I shall have to ask her about it some other time. God told her He'd be with her? She paused again, before smiling. Yes, I believe He did. I believe He would.
The gown was dove gray silk and satin, with two layered skirts and mother-of- pearl filligree sewn into the lace of the neckline. It was a fine, beautiful garment, worthy of a queen. She recognized it, of course. She had seen it packed in mothballs once when she was very young; it was the gown her mother had worn as a princess to Gareth's coronation, two days before they were wed. She had never worn it since, and as Bethany slipped it on she felt suddenly closer to the woman who had given her life.
She went into the privy, having discovered the night before both a mirror and a shelf with combs, brushes, and pins had been set there when the room had been prepared. She brushed her hair, then formed two small braids on either side of her face. Pulling these back, she fastened them with four pearl pins, letting the main mass of her hair remain loose. At the juncture where the braids came together she inserted a gray and pearl comb bearing the image of a dove. A dove for peace. She smiled. Peace was what Senoth needed, and peace was what she planned to ensure it had.
In the box that had held her dress were two small diamond earrings and a diamond necklace, all also her mothers. She put these on as well, and when she'd finished, for the first time in her life, she felt she at least approached lovely. She felt no pride at this, she felt no loathing. All she felt was like her mother, and she was glad for that feeling.
If I can only be half the woman she was, today at least.
The knock came right then, with perfect timing. She emerged from the privy and went to the door as the guards unlocked it, opening it for the first time since she was locked in a day...and a lifetime...earlier. Arhyn was there, in her scarlet crushed velvet gown and her dark purple lined cloak. Lion was there, in formal tunic and trousers. Vincent was there as well, in silken shirt and finely embroidered tunic. He looked so handsome standing there her heart ached with her love for him. When he saw her, his eyes widened and his hand shook as he offered it to her.
"My lady."
"My lord." She whispered, taking his hand. Arhyn put hers to her shoulder, comfortingly.
"It's time."
The chapel below the Rod was filled for the coronation. Her family sat in the front pews, the lords and ladies of the court in the others. Andrea, the former queen and newly appointed baroness of the Harmoness was there as well, having made the journey the evening previously, in time for the dancing. The Lord Marshall stood stiffly behind and to the side of the front altar, out of the way but ready in case there was an attempt on her life during the coronation. Not that one was expected, but in such heavy matters of state safety was the primary issue. Arhyn and Lion took seats beside her siblings, Vincent remaining to escort her to the altar and the cross. As they moved those in the chapel stood, bowing their heads respectfully both to whose house this was and to the queen-to- be.
Vincent left her after kissing her hand a final time at the altar itself, took several steps backward to his place, and folded his hands before him. The bishop and his priests began the ceremony, leading the congragation in singing the psalms, then in prayer. Bethany took to her knees before the cross, her skirts pooled about her, and lowered her own head as the prayer was said.
She hardly heard the blessings, she hardly was aware of herself swearing her life and her leadership to the glory of God and the kingdom of Senoth. She was suffused with warmth, that tingling feeling from the Rod the night before returning. She felt so at ease that she could have remained there on her knees in the house of God for eternity, never feeling the urge to move.
How could I ever have thought He would abandon me?
The ceremony lasted nearly two hours, but the time seemed to go in an instant for her. It seemed she had hardly arrived before her mother's formal crown was being placed on her head, and the signant ring of Senoth on her middle right finger. She rose to her feet as did the rest of the congregation, staying there for the final prayer and then bowing deeply to Bethany before resuming their seats.
Another hour passed as each of the lords and ladies in turn approached the altar and pledged their continuing loyalty to Senoth, and to Bethany and the House of Duncan. Vincent was the first, renewing also his father's kingdom's alliance with Senoth, before he took her hand and kissed the ring. Her own family followed, then the courtiers led by the baroness, finishing finally with Arhyn, Lion, and the Lord Marshall pledging the guard.
And still things were not done, for now it was Sarissa's turn to approach and be named heir. Bethany had been lucky; the ceremony had been spared her since she was the natural heir anyway after Amethyst was removed from the succession by marriage. Here, however, July was not being removed through any such means and had to formerly voice her desire to step down and allow the mantle of heir to fall upon Sarissa, who then had to stand up and formerly accept it, be named so, and blessed. When, and if, Bethany had children, the mantle would automatically pass to her firstborn without such ceremony, so Sarissa wouldn't have to go through this again to step down.
Politics. One had to love them.
The ceremonies had all finally been finished and the congregation was just about to be dismissed...much to Bethany's great relief as well as those sore from sitting so long. The bishop was just finishing offering a blessing on the festivities that would follow when he stopped, his eyebrows knitting. Vincent looked up to where the bishop's eyes had gone, his own widening in startlement. Bethany looked up as well, as did most of the congregation. There were more than a few gasps.
Sparkles of light were descending from the high ceiling, from the rafters and perhaps even from the bell tower that was on the opposing end of the church from the Rod. They rained down as if they had their own life, swirling and swarming like bugs and making a gentle, almost inaudible humming sound.
They played about the room for a moment, before gathering and flocking toward Bethany. Several touched her face and her hair, tickling her eyelashes and cheeks, and she beamed her recognition.
"It's a miracle!" Someone called from the crowd. Bethany laughed.
"It's not a miracle, it is merely friends." She said. The wisps danced in delight, and from the chapel doors two figures entered.
More gasps. No one there save Arhyn, Lion, and Bethany herself had seen elves before that moment.
The male was tall and thin, as deadly in appearance and as imposing as a thin assassin's dagger. His silver hair fell well past his waist, brilliant against his green leather clothing.
The female was dressed in silver that matched her companion's hair, leggings and a skirt that was so fine it seemed made of spider silk. Her hair was the color of dark ashes, and she moved as if she normally danced, and had only now deigned to lower herself to walking.
Lord Marshall Patrick's hand strayed to his sword, but he didn't draw it as Bethany obviously not only recognized the two immortals suddenly in their midst, but welcomed them.
"Desen! Tranci! How wonderful to see you!" She was barely containing herself from rushing down the aisle to embrace them, reminding herself that this was her coronation and to keep her dignity...for a few minutes at least.
They paused not ten feet before the altar and the newly crowned queen, ignoring the gaping faces all about them. Both bowed deeply.
"Your most esteemed Majesty." Desen said. As his companion's movements, his voice seemed more designed to follow music than to speak in normal tones.
"I had not expected this honor." Bethany said, ignoring the wisps that were now hovering around her head in a near halo. A few settled on the dove comb, and one had perched haughtily on a pair of eyelashes. Someone with a bit of imagination could almost envision tiny legs dangling, the absolute feeling of a young child who has found a supreme perch for viewing a fight, or a parade. "You both are greatly welcome here."
"Alas, Bethany, our visit is not for pure pleasure." Tranci spoke this time. "Though the small item of business we must take care of will be, if not easily, then swiftly dealt with, I'm sure. If you'll indulge us?"
"Of course, of course." She said. Desen reached somewhere and produced a scroll.
"If you'll permit me to read?" He asked. She nodded, gesturing at him to continue.
He cleared his throat, though it was hardly needed, and opened the letter.
"I am putting pen to parchment, Desen, something I've not done in a great many decades, to respond to your request," he read. "I have read your eloquent narration regarding the events of the past year and it has not only solved many problems but has brought more to our attention. We have never, even in our long history, deigned to pay attention to mortal matters and politics, but in this case even we can see the necessity of it.
"As you well know, for the last several years many of our kind and our cousins have vanished inexplicably...even past the scrying of our seers to find them. Our concern on this matter was great, so much so that even our son left his home in an attempt to discover the nature of the threat. He returned with no more answer than he left with, and we were starting to despair before we recieved word from you. Now we know what had been happening to our People, and those of other immortals.
"The power of this mortal man who has been imprisoning us is very great, if it is enough to resist our efforts to find him, as well as drain those he's captured of their magic for his own use. We are still investigating the possible reasons for this power of his, and so far our investigations are leading in unwanted directions...directions I will not speak of here.
"However his power alone is not the only that has drawn our attention. The young mortal lady whom befriended you has also greatly piqued our interest, and your accounts of her dealings with both this man and subsequent encounters has sent many of our Court to whispering. It takes much for mortals to impress us...with more than their own mortality, that is...but she has decidedly done so.
"You say that she is a princess, and heir to a throne in the south. I wish you, as a personal favor to us and to your People, to travel to her throne and upon her coronation, pledge with those of her lords and ladies the alleigance of not only the Elven race, but those of our known immortal allies. I have spoken to the rulers of these races and we are all in agreement. For the first time in immortal history, we will send our aide and our friendship to a mortal monarch and her efforts."
Desen finally stopped reading, folding the scroll as he looked up at Bethany. "It is signed by His Majesty, the High King Somer of Elven."
Bethany, who had started blushing furiously during the reading of the scroll, felt dizzy from all this meant. The elves had allied themselves with her and with Senoth? And not only the elves, but their immortal alliegiences as well. Were this not enough, the fact that the High King and his seers had been stumped by the disappearance of his subjects, that someone so innately powerful had been thwarted by an even greater power, made the true threat that Dugan was slam home. Her blood ran as cold as ice water, and when she chanced to look at Arhyn, the sorceress was pale, her eyes haunted. That did little to reassure Bethany.
"Who..." The word seemed far away, and it took her a moment to realize that she had spoken it. "Who are those in alliegance with the High King?" She asked.
Desen looked at her seriously, and his eyes made her more dizzy. "The satyrs, though they lack any political body, have always been friends of the Elves. King Neberrome of the Gnomes, Lord Tekkeitek of the Fauns. Queen Sarrafita of the Faerie."
Bethany noticed out of the corner of her eye that Lion made an odd, almost saluting gesture when Desen mentioned the queen's name.
"In fact," Desen continued, straightening slightly. "Lord Tekkeitek was one of those imprisoned with us on the island; he was one of those you freed."
Murmurs ran through the congregation. She knew that very few of the lords and ladies knew what was going on. Arhyn knew her story, and doubtless she'd told Lion as well. Bethany of course knew, and Vincent, since she'd spoken with him about it. But none of the others were aware of all but the vaguest happenings during the year of Bethany's absence.
What could she do? This was one of the greatest and unprecedented historical happenings and the outcome of it was up to her. She didn't dare refuse an alleigence with any immortal race, least of all the elves, but by even forming such an alleigence she risked the instant attention and animosity of not only many mortal kingdoms but immortals as well...and with them, Dugan.
Knowledge of our alleigence will swiftly reach as far as Chakani, perhaps even across the sea to other continents, and past the mountains north of Gask to places I've never even dreamed of. Every prince wishing to make a name for himself, every jealous king or baron or duke will set his sights on Senoth. Some, perhaps, in friendship but some, indeed, in hatred. Humans fear most immortals, and with good reason. Their addiction to the mortal condition makes those with even minor wicked tendancies perpetrate the most heinous tortures. There will be dismal happenings if I accept the pledge. And the other immortals, the dark ones, will attack Senoth simply because we have joined with those they hate. The trolls, the goblins, shadowy creatures that even Alun didn't like to talk about...Alun, who was of a race that was the epitome of Evil.
On the other hand, her mind argued with itself. By not accepting the pledge you offend the immortal races, and turn them into your enemies instead. Senoth will be torn apart even by the rumor that alliegence was offered, and denied. Our enemies will think we are weaker than they believed, they will think our sense died with my father, and they will put to arms against us, thinking us an easy conquest. And Lion...he is obviously loyal to his people and his queen though he lives here among us. If it were discovered by his kin that he lived and served with us, with mortals who refused their queen's friendship, what would happen to him?
I can't do this! Father, I can't make this decision.
She had paused a good amount of time as she thought on all this, but it seemed hardly anyone had noticed. The congregation was too busy murmuring among themselves as to the implications of these things. Bethany again looked to Arhyn, hoping for some indication of the choice she was to make, but the sorceress's face was stoically blank. Bethany sighed as she understood. Arhyn, too, knew the consequences of either choice, and it was Bethany's decision alone which was the lesser of two evils.
There is only one thing I can decide, she thought at last. If I accept the overture, I will at least have immortal aide should wickedness befall Senoth. If I decline, I shall have no aide against our enemies at all.
As if sensing she'd made a decision Desen stepped a few paces closer, dropped down to his knee. The whispering hushed and he lowered his head, offering his hand up to her. "On behalf of our lord, the High King of Elven, and on behalf of his most esteemed colleagues and peers, I am authorized to pledge the loyalty, friendship, and alliance of the elves and their compatriots to the kingdom of Senoth and to it's queen. Will you accept our comradeship?"
Trying to keep her hand from shaking and actually managing to succeed, she took his. "As the Queen of Senoth, and as the daughter of my father, His Majesty King Gareth, and as the descendent of the Duncans who have ruled this land for twelve generations...I accept the alliegence of the Elven people, and count their friends as mine. We will defend and aide them as the need may arise...and expect the same in return."
The tension in the room was thick, but no one spoke. Desen lifted his head slightly, lowering her hand and kissing the signet ring as he sealed the pledge. Bethany didn't release his hand, instead urging him up to his feet. With a smile that she hoped looked braver than she felt, she hugged him tightly.
The congregation was dismissed, murmuring and shocked with all that had happened. Within hours the news of the alliance would be all over Senoth, and soon after that, Harmoness. Andrea, as baroness, would have to inform her people of the queen's decision, and rightly so. As soon as the festivities had ended Bethany would have to meet with the nobles and draw up a new set of regulations regaurding the citizenry and their new allies, and then the official announcement would have to be made.
But first came the banquet, at last, and Bethany was finally able to join in on some of the celebration her family had already indulged in, and take her mind off of the enormous things that had already happened, though she'd been queen only hours. Jolinda and her father's troupe played the dancing music as Jiji moved along the table, stealing without inhibition from each plate he reached until even he was too full to stuff his cheeks further.
She had not had a chance yet to speak with Arhyn regarding her decision, and probably wouldn't have a chance until much later. Right now, she could see both sorceress and Faerie speaking with the two elves...doubtless about what had transpired. She would have to go over later and greet both immortals. This time as friend to friends rather than queen to ambassadors.
In the mean time, she and Vincent both were able to meet the young master Griffie that had stolen July's heart, and both took to him, as did young prince John, who had to be comforted when Jason put him down in order to dance with July.
Vincent and Bethany danced as well, until their feet ached, and when both returned to the banquet table the prince remained on his feet, lifting his glass as he cleared his throat. Jeriko stopped the music and all eyes turned to the younger Winterhall.
"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of the great kingdom of Senoth, esteemed visitors...I wish to propose a simple toast to the most wonderous woman I have ever met, one who has risked more than we shall ever know to serve her beloved Senoth."
He looked at Bethany, and she was caught by his eyes. He smiled.
"Long live the queen." His voice was soft, but immediately answered by a hundred more, glasses lifting and sparkling under the lights. The response was like thunder.
"Long live the queen!"
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Story by Becky Farris (c) 2000