A gold auroch embroidered onto a red field flew inside the walls of Synall. The Halnt Clan, or the Leklieven empire, had just crossed the bridge into the Synallean palace grounds. Though they came in peace Sephren Hallen felt like Mauln Halnt had finally, truly, conquered him. Would it have been less humiliating if he just razed my country and city? Sephren knew which route was best. In no way did best mean easier.
A cool early spring breeze blew in through Sephren’s window, rustling a pine. Sephren didn’t notice his body was cold, nor did he take heed that his tea had long gone cool. He did not notice just how little he had felt. Toying with the pyramid shaped dice between his fingers Sephren lamented. “I thought twelve years would have been enough time to get out of this.” The dice was supposed to remind one of Ardor. The god of most Synallenas. Each side one of her aspects: creation, grace, love, duty. It wasn’t meant to be used in betting, but people did. Spehren kept it because- well he didn’t know if he had a reason.
He was not particularly devout, or particularly irreligious. It had just been a habit. Ardor builds, but you throw the dice. The familiar aphorism rang through his head. Sephren squeezed his hand around the pyramid. It’s points digging into his hand. “And we deal with the consequences.”
Sephren did have a plan of how to stop his daughter from marrying the son of the man who killed his wife. Killed Honlynn and razed Hestave all to show his strength. Sephren scratched at his beard. He should probably shave before the wedding tomorrow. Running his hand through his peppered hair, it had gone unkempt too.
“Could I deal with those consequences?” Sephren asked the pine in his window; it did not answer.
A knock at the door startled Sephren. Though he didn’t answer his own question, he didn’t need to answer it. “Come in.” Sephren didn’t need to look to see that it was Jerrvo.
“My lord.” A distinguished voice said. “The Halnt clan has arrived.” Heels clicked firmly behind Spehren. “It would be prudent to meet them before the rehearsal starts.”
Sephren let the dice fall from his hand. Once settled he eyed it to see where it fell. Duty pointed upward. He turned to see Jerrvo, the Lord of Armies, square and firm. His deep dark skin hid his age, though the edges of his dreadlocks had finally started to show some gray.
Though they were the same age, Sephren had not kept half the muscle mass Jerrvo retained. Sephren more clearly showed that his sixth decade was closer than his fifth.
“I suppose you’re right.” Though Sephren did not move.
Hands placed firmly behind his back, Jerrvo spoke to the king formally. “It will be disrespectful if you do not see them.”
“Don’t you think it is disrespectful to raze Hestave into ash?”
Jerrvo did not respond.
“To kill Maricil…” Sephren trailed off.
Jerrvo wavered, caught between keeping formality and speaking to his friend. “This war has lingered on for too long. Though it formally ended twelve years ago, tomorrow the treaty will be fulfilled. Tomorrow this war can be over. Only if you let it.”
Sephren scoffed, slouching further in his chair. “Well, Lekin Halnt wasn’t of marrying age then. We needed these years.” He did not say the last part. To find a way out of it.
Jerrvo shut the door, letting the formality of being the Lord of Armies fall off him. “Sephren. This has to happen.” Adjusting the scabbard on his hip, Jerrvo sat in an armchair facing Sephren. “After Hestave our armies were beleaguered. We shouldn’t have been able to hold off the Tyrant for as long as we did.”
Jerrvo leaned forward, speaking firmly, but comfortably. “Mauln Halnt’s armies were worn too. If we hadn’t offered the deal it would have been a long bloody war. Halnt would have sieged us, and we would have eventually lost.”
Still sitting, Jerrvo moved the chair closer to him. “A Hallen would not be sitting on the throne if that happened. We made this deal to save people. And we did. I love Allinna dearly as well. I, too, lament what is happening. These are the choices we made. These are the consequences we live with.”
Jerrvo stood, stepping to his old friend. He reached his hand out as he spoke. “Lekin is not his father. This was the best outcome of the war.”
Sephren rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Why, then, do I feel like we have only just started to lose.”
Jerrvo stood and stepped to the door with purpoosful steps. Then turned, his back straight, hands tight behind his back. “Yes, we are losing something. And we saved the lives of thousands of Synalleans. We spared thousands of Mollogg and Leklieven. It is impossible to quantify lives. The reality of life, warfare, and kings, is we have to make those impossible judgments.”
Jerrvo reached his hand out to Sephren a second time. “Now, quit moping. We have people to see.”
Sephren did not take his hand, lifting himself out his chair.
Jerrvo stepped to the door, boots impacting heavily on wooden floors. “We can talk more after tomorrow.” Jervo said, opening the door.
Sephren looked at the dice, duty pointing up. He asked himself what the implications of duty were. Duty to who? He had a duty to Synall his kingdom. He also had a duty to his daughter. He grabbed the dice and stuffed it in his pocket. Duty is damning. There is always too much of it for one to bear.
Allinna flipped a coin in her hand. Lowering its weight by using her soulenergy she balanced it on the tip of her finger. Laying on her bed she reached absentmindedly for wine. Finding nothing by her bed, she remembered too late she had been banned from alcohol. Something about it being uncouth for a bride to be drunk at her own rehearsal.
Palming the coin in her hand as it fell off her finger Allinna adjusted the coin’s friction. Then threw it at the wall. Not quite sticking it wavered on the stone wall for a moment then clattered to the floor. Bereaved Allinna sighed. Having her own soul energy already in the coin she tried to pull the coin back to her. The coin vibrated wanly. Though the attempt to draw objects back had been getting better, Allinna was frustrated she did not have immediate success.
Bored, she rose from her bed. Searching her room for something to pull her interest. As she passed her vanity she disinterestedly picked up a brush and tossed it in her hands. When the brush failed to meet her desired stimulation she let it fall onto her vanity.
Pulling her hair back she considered chopping her hair off. Just to make everyone mad. She knew she had a knife somewhere in here, but Allinna didn’t think she was that kind of stubborn. Winking at herself she leaned in closer, studying her eyes. One green one hazel. Allinna had once hated her heterochromic eyes. Now, in the maturity of her second decade, she grew deeply fond of her discolored eyes.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Bored again, waiting for her life to be over, Allinna banged her head against the window. The lock shook slightly as she hit her head on the pane. They had reversed the lock on the window so it only opened from the outside. Like that would stop me…the White Fox. Placing her fingers on the window, she knew this task was far past her skill level.
With all the gumption of a guru decades past their mastery, Allinna tried to push her soul energy through the window and into the lock. The window hummed and even began to glow faintly in the noonday light. Pushing too much at once Allinna felt pallid. Her temples and chest aching. Slightly lightheaded, Allinna restored herself by pulling the energy back into her.
Slumping to the ground Allinna examined her room. Narrow and long it was meant for one of the palace workers. Her bed fit snugly against the wall, giving her just enough space to walk between it and her vanity. She liked the room, perhaps because it had been a punishment. She had forgotten what she had stolen to warrant this punishment. Allinna did recall that she could have moved out of this room two years ago. Aside from the opportunity to be obstinate and difficult she truly did enjoy the smaller room. Perhaps because she had chosen this room. Winters, however, were difficult with no fireplace.
Allinna sank low, her head between her knees. She sighed, jaded. She could not marry Lekin. Would not. Her melancholy began to burn into anger. How did father think I could lay with the son of the man that killed mother? Allinna’s gut tightened.
There is a way I could leave. Anxiety swelling in her gut, Allinna reared her head back, hitting it against the stone wall repeatedly. Allinna knew of this option, she knew she would attempt it; she only hoped she would have thought of a different option by now.
Allinna stood slowly. Doubling over slightly to the tightness in her gut. “Ardor.” She cursed. Will I regret not trying to leave? She asked herself. Knowing too fully the answer she picked her satchel off her bedpost.
Allinna stood in the empty throne room. Staring at a hexagonal paving stone behind a wide pillar, Allinna felt herself pale in fear. She leaned tightly against the pillar, trying to hide. Although she didn’t need to, no one ever came into the throne room. Not even her father the king.
The sun was just above the throne room, with no direct sunlight entering the room. The space was dark despite the stained glass windows being brightly illuminated. It gave an eerie sensation to Allinna, or it could have been her task that gave her the tight feeling in her gut.
Sucking her teeth and biting her lip she considered the paving stone, no different than the others. Yet completely different. She pulled a knife from her satchel. The obsidian-like sunmetal captured the heat from Allinna’s hand, creating warm swirls in the metal.
Crouching down, she jammed the knife in between the paving stones. Then used the knife as a lever to pull the stone up. The stone was as broad as most men, cut from fine granite. She didn’t lower her weight. Allinna would have to intentionally conserve her energy for what as to come.
After pulling it out of place she carefully set its weight on the other stone. Touching it she lowered its friction. Testing it with her finger tip, she moved the heavy stone as easily as ice on glass.
Closing her eyes she swallowed deeply. She had sworn off anything underground nearly three years ago. She had meant to keep that promise. Her gut was tight and her bracelets rattled against her wrist. Dexterously flipping the knife in her hand, she put the handle in her mouth. Then, Touching the blade with her fingers, she pushed herself into it. Just enough for it to glow faintly. Perhaps too rigorously, Allinna made herself ration her energy; she would not make the mistakes she made last time she went into the catacombs.
Her hands gripped the edge of the hole. She asked herself if this route of escape was worth it. Then, thinking of Lekin Halnt, she found the gumption she needed.
As she lowered herself she held her knife in her mouth. Then with one hand grabbed the stone. Effortlessly pulling it back into place. Now completely cut off from the outside, the sound of stone settling into place sparked a wildfire of panic in her gut.
The faint glowing that looked dull in the throne room filled the totally dark underspace. Closing her eyes, she reminded herself why she was here. Hyperventilating, she gripped the ladder tightly enough for her arms to shake.
Counting her breaths she forced herself to breath slowly in and out. Before she descended farther Allinna touched the stone above her and recalled her soul energy. Some was lost in the transference and use, but it was largely inconsequential. If she had heightened too much she would not be able to illuminate her knife. She did not let herself dwell on what would happen if she did not have light.
Although she was little more than a foot above the ground she clung to the ladder as if it was the only thing keeping her alive. Her heart beating out of control, her body fought against her mind to lose control of her breathing. Weakly in her mind she repeated: I can’t do this. I can’t do this. She then remembered what she was being forced to do.
Thinking of her ire towards the Halnt’s, her resolve hardened. Gingerly she lowered herself to the ground. I know the route out better than in. You got lost coming in.
Once on the ground her hand immediately found the wall for support. Thinking of how the stone felt against her fingers was an effort to distract herself from where she was.
Fear trembling her, she needed more light. So she put more energy into her knife. A single pace in front of her was a tunnel about hip height. Still shaking she lowered herself to her knees, placing the knife in her mouth. She crawled through the tunnel.
Going away from the palace the tunnel sloped faintly downward. Giving the sensation that at any moment she could slip and tumble down into the abyss. On her hands and knees she continued to crawl. Counting to four for each inhale and exhale. The tunnel was longer than she remembered. Her mind spiraled and panicked. Trying to cool it, she reminded herself that the tunnel was always longer than she remembered.
Five more steps, five more steps she kept telling herself. She repeated the mantra. Then just barely in sight she saw the end of the tunnel. Hurried, she crawled faster.
Arriving at the exit of the tunnel there were two other tunnels and a ladder that descended down. The tunnel in front of her went to the kitchen, the tunnel to her right she thought went to the gardens. But she had never been able to open that exit.
At the first sign of dimming, Allinna re-heightened her knife. Recalling her route again and again she lowered herself down the ladder. The ladder down to the catacombs was long enough that her arms grew tired before she had reached the bottom. Synall had a pretty extensive catacomb system. Built over several monarchies, there was no single mapping of it. The maps that did exist often contradicted each other.
Even before being bewildered in the catacombs for more than a day Allinna was scared to explore down here. Only using it as a convenient route of escape out of the palace. She figured that whatever ancestor of her’s that built the palace was insightful or paranoid enough to include a way out.
Her feet hitting hard ground she let go of the ladder. Shaking out her arms, and taking the spitty knife out of her mouth. There was little space to move here; her only option was forward or back. A door meant to look matched to the wall on the other side stood right in front of her.
Through this door was a seemingly endless labyrinth. She had experienced the dreadful endlessness of these catacombs. She knew her way back from here. After this door she would either escape Synall or die in its belly.
Reaching for the latch, her hand wavered. Conscious of how she was breathing, she could not find it in her to open it. It is this or marry Lekin. She reminded herself.
Her heart elevated to an aggressive pace. Every part of her pulsed heavily. Though her knife gave her light the darkness seemed to eat it away. She wanted to put more of herself into the knife, to create more light. Fight the darkness. That was folly. She knew that too well.
Her breath echoed in the small space. Hearing her breath opened a receded memory of a similar kind. She remembered running frantically in the total darkness. Her breath was the only sound, the only sensation. The catacombs seemingly connected to the void outside the hollow.
It was not necessarily the fear of death that sowed panic in her, it was deeper. The fear of dying without consequence. Dying and no one being there. Dying and no one noticing. Being insignificant. Joining a unanimous abyss. A void, darkness. Allinna could not risk dying without the fanfare and pomp a queen deserved.
Her hand vacillated over the latch, her heart beated hard enough to rattle her bracelets.
“I can’t.” Allinna told the void.
Allinna’s hand fell off the latch. “I’ll escape another way.” Relieved, though not fully. She swallowed as she turned. A voice in her screamed at her, telling her she was a fool. Perhaps she was, but she had never failed to find her way in or out of someplace when she wanted. Hoisting herself up, Allinna began her journey back to the Hollow.