Dellynthelaara stood proud and summoned her latent charisma.

Sinvaintra blinked; once, then twice. She rubbed her eyes and blinked again. No matter how many times she did it, the scene before her did not change. It is still the underground cathedral of the drows. The religious seat of power. Her seat of power. Yet, she is confronted. Challenged by the ruthless creature that stood straight-backed before her, the newly, not-yet-coronated queen of the dark elves, Dellynthelaraa.

Sinvaintra cursed herself for her own negligence. Had she known, she would have acted sooner. She did not consolidate her power by bumbling. Indurate planning is how she secured her unchallenged position.

Another deathly wail pierced through the sacrarium. One more of her acolyte or novice cut down mercilessly. Her rage was unconcealed. Sinvaintra was not one to yield easily to panic but her resilience could withstand no more. She screamed a curse at both the unseen slayer and Dellynthelaraa.

“Your lack of impulse control brought me here,” said Dellynthelaara. Her voice possessed an iron edge of a monarch; smooth but unsettling.

The manner of the one who was confronting her like this forced Sinvaintra’s prideful resolve into question. The high priestess felt a surge of......apprehension? Languour? She was staring at the wide-open maw of a ravenous dragon. For Sinvaintra, there was only a precipice waiting to swallow her whole. It was late, too late.

“You are desecrating sanctified grounds,” rasped Sinvaintra, “Your reign will end swiftly.”

Dellynthelaara drew closer, ignoring those words; words spoken so loudly, spoken so brusquely. The golden silk robes of the young matriarch swirled before the high priestess as though she was borne on a whirlwind. For a moment, Sinvaintra entertained the thought of calling upon whatever gods -- beings whom she verbally worshipped but wholeheartedly placated -- to assist. But she knew the futility of such a prayer. Not even her gods could save her now.

The truth is, she was cornered. More dying screams of her priests clogged her ears. Her Templars fought bravely -- even brutally in some instances, thrusting their blades over and over through the armours of the Sequestered Conciliators. Clutching tighter to her staff, knowing she has no chance left to preserving her life, Sinvaintra dared to ask:

“Your only response is to kill me?”

“I am the power of House Aealaninth,” Dellynthelaara coupled her words to a voice imbued with the promise of certain death, “Treason. I am aware of the treachery you practice.”

“She is exiled,” the High Priestess made a desperate gamble to defend her actions.

“It was my decree, and yet you choose your own flavour of justice. Is my reign soft? Weak? Is my neutrality partial?” questioned Dellynthelaara as if the answers interested her.

Dellynthelaara spoke once more:

“Treason manifest in multiple forms. I am not blind not to see you undermining my authority.”

At the power infused words of the queen, the stalwart knight; standing taller than the rest of the drows, trailing the queen like her ever-present shadow, stirred. He looked up from his post at the far end of the sacrarium chamber -- its ceiling swooped high above, even for him. The fact that more of her Templars fell to his treacherous blade did little to mitigate her rage.

“You invited him in,” she accused, “His kind does not belong here.”

“I will add insulting my family to your list of crimes,” snapped the furious ruler.

Sensing the grim knight slowly taking steps toward her, Sinvaintra struck the ground with her staff; one last desperate gamble is all she could hope for. It was loud enough to compete against the staggering din. The shudders -- tremours passing through granite walls -- leaching out from where she stood. In a span of five heartbeats, the entire cathedral shook. Palate shattering noises churned whatever bile that remained within those in the vicinity of the cathedral. So loud, it exceeded pain. Waves of agony pulsed through chests; fingernails dug deeper into palms. Even the stony knight staggered for a brief moment. All except Dellynthelaara.

Sinvaintra’s leg failed.

The young queen without a crown suddenly seemed big, taller, almost as if levitating. A regal glow enveloped her exquisite face. An almost surreal and swift change occurred before the shaken priestess's eyes. It was subtle, but not unnoticeable. Above the ebony skin, permeated a vibrant blush, like glowy dust particles twinkling. The long columns of her regal robe twisted and danced, lifting her tall frame. Her flowing hair cascaded behind her in a curtain of tenebrous velvet. She marched towards the kneeling high priestess. While her feet were hidden by her long flowing robes, it was clear to Sinvaintra that Dellynthelaara glided.

Only something greater than mere physical presence could stand between Sinvaintra and her undoing. At this point, all she needed was any paltry bargaining chip. The power to crush the foolish girl before her; to tear her from limb to limb was the pleasure the High Priestess coveted.

“You will want to know where the sister of tenebrous weave is.” Sinvaintra bargained.

“The nefarious schemes of your children are of the least concern to me,” denied Dellynthelaara, “She is shorned and so will she remain.”

Sinvaintra trembled, glaring at the unfazed gaze of the young matriarch. Striking eyes -- like twin dark pearls floating in milk; bore deep into her soul. When faced with the vicious calm of Dellynthelaara, the High Priestess could only abandon her dignity; compromise the privilege of her station and bawl. Not the gentle tears of a pious lady of noble birth, but the loud wailing cry of a sinner dragged before the executioner. The cry was real, tangible and palpable, a half plea, half curse uttered in mindless rage.

“You are an abomination,” she pointed her spindly fingers at Dellynthelaara, “not him, not them. Not your so-called Sequestered Conciliators. You are the real abomination. Do you even know what manner of creature you are?”

The High Priestess cackled; the laugh of a madwoman who denied all semblance of reality. She sunk further into the ground and tore at her hair.

“Rylonvirah, thrice-damned be your name. You unleashed this upon us. You have doomed us all,” screamed the High Priestess.

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Sinvaintra’s shriek was muffled under the oppressing pressure from Dellynthelaara. Trailing warm tears of blood down her cheek, sullying her pristine robes; she yielded to Dellynthelaara.

“Do you even know?” asked Sinvaintra in the calm voice of one who accepted their inescapable fate.

The blade pierced through her lungs; stopping her laboured breathing. She stumbled; pushed backwards by the heavy merciless hand of the tall knight that forced the hilt. The High Priestess still continued her futile resistance till the sharp heel of Dellynthelaara forced her down. As Sinvaintra choked on her own blood and gasped for air, the world seemed to fade away...except for Dellynthelaara’s baleful stare. Her body twitched once more; then she was just another lifeless corpse.

Dellynthelaara’s slender figure gave a stentorian breath as she whirled around to face Celerim. Bereft of any emotion, the tall high-elven knight wiped the blood from The Sentinel. Dellytnhelaara knew this silence. with cat-like grace, she hopped on closer to him. Celerim involuntarily extended his arm, which she latched on to.

“The Sequestered Conciliators must be finished with the cleansing now,” he uttered to no one in particular. His voice still retained the same void, dispassionate to his very being. Celerim turned back to face the corpse one more time before he gave in to Dellynthelaara’s tug.

Dellynthelaara could not keep her eyes from Celerim’s sword while they journeyed through the side wing of the cathedral. A gift from his mother, but crafted by his aunt -- is what he claimed. But the resemblance was uncanny; almost a twin. What was it that her mother called it -- an important gift? But her mother, to her knowledge, received tributes never a gift. She ruminated over the possible link binding her mother to Celerim’s aunt. Another of her mother’s secrets that was not meant for her.

“Should we inform her?” he asked breaking her thoughts. There was no need to elaborate on who he meant by her

“When I exiled her....” Dellynthelaara stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes, like swallows trapped in an abandoned hallway, darted around. Once she was assured of the privacy for their conversation, she corrected herself, “When she exiled herself, she sknew the risks in starting a mercenary company.”

Celerim glanced back once more; Sinvaintra’s body lying on the floor, unmoving. Dellynthelaara’s harsh and unambiguous opinion should have weighed heavily on Celerim, but his shoulders did not sink nor did his posture wilt. Only silence slipped from his lips. When he eventually spoke again, it was in a mechanically composed tone.

“She is not alone. Aunt Dreaya is with her.”

Celerim looked down to face Dellynthelaara. Dark purple orbs lit up; shone keen and focused. After a momentary pause to survey Dellynthelaara’s face, he reached out to wipe a single teardrop but resigned to trepidation at the last moment.

“If a tenebrous weaver is stalking her, she should handle it herself. We cannot afford to involve ourselves any further,” stated the yet-to-be crowned queen.

“Did she speak to you?” the young drow inspected her acerbic companion. When they settled their gazes, she enquired once more, “Did she tell you anything?”

“Nothing of significance.”

In lieu of the reply, she studied his every expression, plucked emotions from him, which were subsequently suppressed. She liked Celerim, after all, he is family now. Something she understood and her expression went momentarily thoughtful. He squinted as if to fend off her glare.

“You haven’t been sleeping well,” he commented. She noticed his spiel and a small smile graced her features.

“My dreams are stalked,” she revealed, “I cannot sleep.”

“How long?” He led her through, ignoring the muffled whispers of their vassals now that they were out of the cathedral.

She reminded him of the time when a harmless prank of his younger cousin resulted in the death of a gryphon fledgling. When he saw her tearful eyes, he swore that he would take the blame and protect her. Now the situation with Dellynthelaara was similar yet drastically different. There was no parents waiting to punish petulant children. Instead, some all powerful unknown entity and its nefarious schemes loomed over the horizon.

“Since I was old enough,” replied the drow, adding,”Later, I was surprised to learn that other people do not get spirited away during their sleep.”

Celerim’s brow drew together. “Does Savvas know?”

There was nothing sinister in his concern. More genuine curiosity and eager willingness was all Dellynthelaara could infer.

“I could not,” she uttered. She had to trust Celerim. It was time. Still, it was hard to swallow, as if chunks of hard iron clogged her throat. She steeled her resolve and with a voice filled with sudden clarity answered.

“I could not tell anyone. My mother would have just scoffed; told me to rein my fears. That is what a future Matriarch of House Aealaninth is supposed to do,” A self-deprecating wry smile flashed across her anxious face. Even without any further thoughts, Celerim knew her words to be true. That is precisely the kind of person her mother is.

“Savvas was my only family that I could count on then. I didn’t want him to ignore me. I didn’t want him to think that I am a freak. More importantly, I didn’t want him to worry on my accord.”

“I could sense the discomfort within you,” muttered Celerim, almost as if reading her mind. There was a strangely warm and comforting edge to his words.

“Please keep it a secret from him. You can’t help anyone understand the nightmare I’m stuck in.” she pleaded.

The conversation came to an abrupt halt.

Sensing the gathered crowd and the dissident voices that rose in protest against her recent actions, Dellynthelaara extracted herself from clinging to Celerim and walked proudly ahead, like how a monarch should. A woman who governs deserves to have full approval from her subjects. She took none too kindly to criticisms from her own vassals. Neither fame nor prestige will shine bright enough to illuminate the brutal path she walked. Being accountable and a firm hand for swift decisions is what she favoured -- is what she needed.

While none of the gathered drows raised an objection, several whispered among themselves and sniffled. She knew full well who they were and more importantly who filled their pockets. Ingrates would date criticize her, after all, she is a lone girl thrust into a deadly game. They are free to undermine her authority; attack her reputation. She would gladly welcome the fury in their accusation and wield it -- like an envenomed dagger -- against them when the time comes.

One spindly withered old dark elven woman even limped forward; only to be detained by her house guards. Dellynthelaara halted and glanced over her shoulders. Something is not right....just not right. It is the din of the protest. The pattern is all wrong. She looked at the assembled drows, the protesters, the onlookers and the other sort that crowds of this nature usually attract. Some avoided her gaze, they choose to look down than wilt under her commanding presence. Others stared back with vitriol. Then there were those. They were few but she noticed their look. They gazed back at her with contempt and something else.

Behind her Celerim walked; the carnage inside the cathedral still lingered in his mind. A necessary evil. if he were to protect her. Even Aunt Dreaya requested him; made him swear on their last meeting. He adores his aunt -- his almost foster mother -- but even he is not blind to the discrepancies in her tale.

“Celerim, take a contingency of the sequestered Conciliators and only them, not the house soldiers,” said Dellynthelaara in a voice so low that could only be heard by him but nevertheless it conveyed the urgency.

“Mind Flayers have infiltrated. I want you to hunt them, every last one.”

He nodded vigorously. Regardless of the absurdity of this sudden command, he saw her determination in her dark eyes; determination that defied common logic.

Dellynthelaara meanwhile wondered, what prompted the Mind Flayers to target her?

Eventually, she resigned from delving further. Whatever their problem is, in the end, they will just be one more pile of corpses for her to climb.

*****

> Author Note: This story is regularly update in scribblehub and Royalroad Under the following links.

> https://www.scribblehub.com/series/319994/chronicles-of-a-fallen-matriarch/

> https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47450/chronicles-of-a-fallen-matriarch