The colorful valley of Oberon gave way to a shroud of darkness. Her feet were firmly planted in snow, and wind howled a lonely whistle, stinging the ridges of her ears. Her hair settled as the wind subsided, tickling her cheeks. She pushed her bangs out of her face like a curtain, and from them, the world opened up into a flat expanse of white ice speckled with grey rocks. Dead trees poked out of the snow like spindly fingers. Lumpy icicles on the branches reached for the ground, desperate to touch the snow beneath them. The scenery was familiar, but it took her a moment to recognize it as the tundra where she'd spoken to her muse weeks ago. A little thought whispered in her mind that she ought to be more panicked, more concerned with the battlefield she'd left behind, but an intangible fog pushed away the silver-tongued phantom.
In a dreamlike state, she fawned over the surroundings. The night sky above was pitch black, without a single star, and something about it was uncomfortable and irregular. The realization dawned slowly, fanning out like a wave splitting the shore, and it spread, leaving everything cold beneath it.
There was no moon.
She fought against the resistant snow to walk a few paces left, thinking the celestial body might be ducked behind a cloud or sheltered by a tall tree. Yet, no matter how she repositioned herself, the conclusion was the same: there was no moon.
Unnerved but not deterred, Elodie called, "Hello?" and then, "Muse?" unsure what else to call the voice that had become her tenuous companion. Silence responded.
She wandered, waiting for a pin to drop that never did. Relief flooded her chest when she thought she saw a figure ahead. Without thinking, she called out to the formation and raised her hand in greeting. Embarrassment and disappointment followed when she realized it was a crooked tree trunk, blackened and lonely as the rest.
An eternity passed before her attention was drawn to a new shape. At first, it was a tiny dot on the horizon; the block ballooned quickly as she got closer until it towered above her.
A throne made of countless protrusions of ice, sharp as knives, sat huddled in the darkness, with snow thrown over the top like a blanket to stave off the cold. Starlight twinkled within, refracting light from an unknown source in an endless race with no finish. Cowardly pairs of unlit candles shrank against the base of the throne as though the cold would immediately snuff any light they produced. The throne stood sentinel to an invisible audience, and what should have been impressive struck Elodie as lonesome. What good was a throne without a court to appease it?
Her muse never arrived as it had before. She tried scouting further past the throne, occasionally calling in the dim hope that someone would hear her, but found nothing except chapped lips and frozen feet. Eventually, without other ideas, she scaled the throne and curled up in the seat to wait.
* * *
Thalia stood hunched over Braum's body; an arm pulled back to strike. Sweat dripped down their face, around the curve of a manic, heavy, panting smile.
A wave of freezing air pushed through the glade, and small blue leylines of ice raced to fill the valley bowl. Thalia's gaze followed them to their origin, and their self-satisfied grin faded into an expression of pure, abject horror.
Whatever Thalia witnessed had them scrambling away from Braum's body, wings pushing their body into a full sprint.
"I didn't know it was you!" They called over their shoulder. "I beg pardon! Surely, we can come to a-"
"Games have winners and losers," Elodie's voice declared behind them, "And you, Thalia, have ever been the loser. Be grateful. I feel only pity for you."
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* * *
At first, opening her eyes with the morning sun shining directly upon them was painful. The feeling of cold stung next. Dew clung to the grass in fields beyond, and a low mist chilled the air.
She put a hand down to steady herself and felt the leather of a saddle. A horse took shape under it, and she recognized the gentle rocking that had jostled her awake as the gait of the black stallion beneath her. Flanking her was Braum, who held fast to the reins with one hand and held her waist securely with the other to keep her from falling off. His strength was far depleted since she'd last seen him, with redness around his eyes in rings and a slumped curvature to his shoulders. Dried blood decorated his face and arms.
When their eyes met, he blinked a few times but said nothing and looked forward over her head, eyes fixed on the road.
Sunrise sparkled off of chipped metal clasps on his armor and glimmered on strands of fur on his cloak. She thought he looked very gallant, even beneath the dirt and caked blood, and then blamed the thought on delirium. He was a prince; of course he looked gallant.
Her gaze drifted from him to other hazy shapes that cleared into wardens riding beside them. She sifted through them one by one, her heart filling with relief for each warden she recognized. Gratitude welled over her insides immediately. Then, with a cold clarity, she realized that some were missing. When she spotted Emerys at the back, still keeping vigil into the dawn, she thought she might explode into tears.
Even if it was for her powers, her public worth, and not her person, Elodie felt a tiny sparkle of joy rise into her cheeks that matched the ones created by the sunrise. Would anyone have noticed she was missing if she wasn't an orator? Would they have rushed into the jaws of the fairy queen otherwise?
Her feelings were immediately overwhelming, energizing, and exhausting all at once. Weariness settled in as an afterthought.
I can't fall asleep here, she thought in a dazed state. Her eyelids drooped. Not in front of ...
Braum's hand rose to her forehead, and he wordlessly pulled her in to lean against his chest. The sound of horse hooves chased her into the dark.
* * *
Birdsong and daylight streamed through a cracked window. Her blurry surroundings solidified into a small, wooden room with a dull-colored bed beneath her. The sheets were a little scratchy but felt like a dream to her aching body. Small knick-knacks around the room were clues that she was in some rural family's home: boots left at the door underneath two coats on a hook, a small bookshelf with folksy texts, and a few personal effects. Dried lavender hung in a wreath near the window, next to framed embroidery.
Against one of the walls, Braum slept upright in a chair. He'd been stripped of his armor and instead had his arms crossed over a tight black tunic that fitted neatly to a pair of loose blue trousers. She could see lines of expertly fitted bandages wound around one of his forearms, dipping under the lip of his shirt and presumably over his chest, given how labored he was breathing and where Thalia had struck.
Somewhere, a more concerned Elodie was ringing alarm bells at the state of undress they were both in and the concern that someone might see them, but at present, Elodie was too tired to protest.
The ghost of an alarm was quelled when she could see just outside the open bedroom door where two wardens stood watch; with how tired they looked, they would be of little use if any danger presented itself. One of them saw her stirring and quietly asked if she was alright and then nodded and returned to gazing vacantly when she said she was. She imagined they had much to stew over in the wake of the battle and left them to it.
Though every bone in her body protested, she sat upright and wiped sleep away from her eyes. Alongside the traditional obligatory offerings for guests, someone had placed a modest cup of water, a small dish bowl with a low rim of water, and a hand towel on an overturned crate next to the bed. The kindness touched her. She cleaned smudged streaks of dirt from her arms and cheeks with the towel until the water was grey. It was a far cry from a bath, but it did make her feel better. Memories of the night prior flooded in, as did imagery from the dreamscape tundra. Washing away the dirt gave her time to process, to think.
Interrupting her thoughts, Emerys appeared in the doorway. His mouth wrinkled into a wiry smile, and he clasped his hands together. Elodie set the towel down and gestured that he was welcome inside.
His gaze trailed to Braum and then back to Elodie. With a movement that Elodie thought was a little too practiced, he silently scampered past the prince and crouched beside the bed. "There she is," he whispered. "Awake and hearty."
Elodie cracked a smile at Emerys' personable affectation. "Just barely. Where are we?"
"Ustav. An elderly couple was thrilled to host the prince and two of his emissaries."
Elodie almost asked who the second emissary was before remembering that it was her. Instead, she self-corrected and asked, "Is everyone okay?"
Emerys' eyes dimmed at that question, and he didn't respond. Elodie didn't push him to.
"Lord Emerys ..." They both turned to see Braum stretching what little he could and brushing off the siren of sleep. "I knew you were terrible at courting, but making a lady frown right after waking up? Embarrassing, even for you." His stretch turned into a yawn, which turned into a lean on the arm of the chair closest to them. Just how long had he been awake?
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
"As an emissary," Emerys retorted, with a great impression of Alden, "Lady Elodie is unavailable for courting proposals unless she makes them." Then he politely turned and assured her in a more regular tone, "Not that that will stop many from trying for a flower as lovely as you."
Elodie blushed at the flattery, even though she knew Emerys was just being polite. She also noted that he still hadn't answered her question.
Behind his back, Braum childishly mimicked Emerys' pose. The motion reminded her of the way her siblings, Tilly and Simona, bickered. In private, the prince and warden-commander seemed more like brothers than liege and lord.
Emerys rolled his eyes at the mockery and gave Braum an indecipherable look. Then, he hurried over to provide him with a full report of the current situation. She noticed at one point their expressions darkened and they spoke in hushed tones they were clearly trying to hide from her, so as a courtesy she looked out the window and tuned them out. Then speaking more plainly, they launched into a discussion about how they would logistically return home to the Audric Castle. Braum listened but seemed distracted and somewhat irritable with Emerys.
In a lull in the conversation, Elodie asked, "Where is Fen?"
Emerys turned back to Elodie and adjusted his glasses, uncomfortable by the change in topic. "The gelert is ... just on the edge of the wood adjacent to the property." When that answer didn't satisfy Elodie, he continued, "It was his choice- he refused shelter and said he would rather wait outside."
Elodie could feel that wasn't true. Fen's grumpiness pricked at her from here through their shared connection. She imagined that he'd opted to wait outside so as to not make the other humans uneasy by his presence.
"I see," she responded, though a glumness settled over her that she was sure Fen would also feel. Fen's presence had grown into a comfort, and when he was away, she felt uneasy.
Emerys attempted to turn the conversation back to pragmatic matters, but Braum noticed the change in Elodie and waved him away. Emerys informed them they'd leave in the evening and then politely excused himself.
Braum looked at the wardens and gave them a hand signal for dismissal. To one of them, he said, "Give a message to the gelert that Lady Elodie is awake and safe and let him know our plans for departure. He'll no doubt tag along at our heels, so he may as well be informed."
Elodie's smiled broadened immediately, and once the wardens had departed, she said, "I thought you disliked Fen."
"I do," Braum intoned, knocking his head back against his chair. He looked too big for its small frame, doubly so when he slumped and spread his legs undignifiedly. "I don't trust any fairy, nor do I think it wise to bring him to the castle. But he put his life on the line for you and fought well. I respect that." Silence lingered between them until his head rolled back in her direction. "How are you, little beast?"
The moniker didn't go unregistered, and Elodie's eyebrows knit in confusion.
"Because of the claws?" Braum tried again.
Elodie's eyebrows could make a sweater with how deeply they were knit.
"You don't remember." He said it like he was confirming an appointment. He chuckled and then winced at the motion. "Figures. You were incredible." His features took on genuine pleasure recalling the memory. "Just when all hope was lost- I said my prayers to the builder- and then there you were. Hair whipping around, sharp, blackened claws ready to draw blood, and- and you were glowing like the moon was shining right through you."
Braum's enthusiasm multiplied as he described her encasing each spriggan and woodland beast in pillars of ice with one touch of her palm. He described her as some impassive angel, a powerful orator with a placid demeanor. His eyes shone with a youthful air that Elodie found incongruent with his usual princely facade and, for some reason, made her feel shy.
When he'd finished, he leaned forward, practically perched on one of the chair's arms. "You said something to Thalia. I didn't make it out, but it sent them away. At least long enough for the wardens to wake and flee."
The information was dizzying to soak in. She now clearly pictured each warden dropping like stones in a lake, succumbing to Thalia's oration. She remembered the prickling desperation that had clung to her throat as she'd uttered what she thought might be her last request. Then, nothing. Because in the picturesque tableau that Braum described, she had- as her muse had said- broken.
"But you don't remember," Braum continued, more gently now that he noticed her reaction. "Just like ..."
"Like the sheep in the field," Elodie said glumly.
Of course, she couldn't remember. She hadn't been present because she'd commanded her muse to possess her body. In the same way that Thalia puppeteered Titania, Elodie had allowed herself to be filled by her muse and welcomed them to do as they pleased. It was sheer, dumb luck that her muse's goals and her own had aligned at the time, and even greater luck that her muse had given her body back.
She was sure Fen would give her an earful about it being dangerous and desperate. His palpable apprehension suddenly made much more sense.
With a noise that indicated he was putting in a lot of effort, Braum peeled himself off the chair and made for the room's door. What surprised Elodie was that he didn't walk through it to leave but instead closed it to offer some privacy.
His silence was unbearable, and his dark, searching eyes even worse. Emotions flashed across his face too quickly for her to follow, and he settled on a brooding, contemplative scowl. "You weren't in control of yourself again," he stated plainly, though his tone still contained a question.
"At least this time I chose it?"
"At least this time ..." His voice trailed off, and he pressed his eyes between his hands. After a long exhale, he pushed the tips of his fingers together and pointed them at her. "Chose what exactly?"
Elodie looked into his eyes, and where she'd expected fury or horror, she only found a look that gave her pause. It was a look Ann had given her many times before, but somehow different from that too. Concerned, but deeper. He looked at her searchingly, pleadingly, and with a kind of agony that mirrored her own. The unknown variables were torturing him as much as her. And for the first time since becoming an orator, another person was genuinely trying to understand alongside her without judgment.
It filled her with a kind of pity, and against her better judgment, she said, "I'd like to tell you. It's important." She thought of Nadya's insight into the prince's political game and the pact she'd made with her muse to keep the secrets of oration between the caster and source. Little raindrop reminders against the surface of her mind. "But I can't tell you in full. I can at least tell you part. If ... if that's okay." Her hands wrung the sheets at her waist, and she quickly added, "Y-Your Highness."
He scrutinized her with an unreadable expression. "You don't have to tell me anything." Elodie watched him, waiting for the ground to give underneath her. It never did. "I know what it's like to keep secrets for the greater good or because ..." He seemed to pick through his words carefully. "Because your hands are tied."
She waited. He meant it.
"That's why I'd like to tell you as much as possible." Braum nodded once, and Elodie took a deep breath. She told him about her journey with Fen through the countryside and that first night in Thalia's forest. She was careful to leave out details of how oration worked and about the presence of her muse but included all of her time spent training with Thalia and the tale of Titania's withdrawal. She elected to skirt around the particulars of Thalia as a muse, focusing instead on Titania being a person trapped within Thalia. That way, she could still honor her agreement with her muse.
The more she spoke, the more a weight lifted from her shoulders. It may have been the most she'd spoken to another person in months. Conversations with Thalia lasted hours, but Elodie had spent much of that time as the listener. Elodie had spent so much time in her head, whirling around ideas like a carousel with a broken engine. She'd spent much of her life that way, honestly.
She was so constantly afraid that she would say something wrong, but Braum didn't look at her the way the wardens had when they'd gathered her up in that snowfield or her family did when they'd been told the news. He didn’t look at her like Thalia, always hungry, always on edge. He wasn't them. Instead, he looked at her with dark eyes the color of wet earth that held an unspoken devotion and a deep gravitational pull. Helplessly, she felt more and more words tumble out. She was eager to unburden herself of them. Tears stung her eyes from the stark relief of it all, and she took a moment to compose herself between staccato, hiccuping gasps.
Braum, for his part, crossed his arms and listened without interrupting, although he clearly wanted to on several occasions. The longer she talked, the more his expression simmered into something baleful, and once Elodie had to stop and ask, "Are you alright?"
He only shook his head and unconvincingly tried to relax his posture. "So what you're saying is when you use certain powerful magics, you lose your memory of that time and control of yourself."
Elodie nodded. It wasn't technically a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.
"Did you learn any method to stop once it's started?"
"Thalia seemed to believe that creating an instrument would help some, as I'd be able to perform more powerful orations without relying on-" Elodie cut herself short. "Without relying on those magics."
"Instrument ... is that what that cane is?" He gestured to a staff fashioned from white ironwood leaning against one corner of the room. It stood about 3 feet from tip to end. The top of the staff was a perfect crescent, facing upwards. From the curve of the moon, four spikes pointed down. Above the moon was a black, flat circle with a tiny point on top. When she didn't indicate recognition, he explained, "We found it next to you. The gelert said it was yours and to bring it with us."
"If Fen said to keep it, I will." Elodie twisted the sheets again, "I don't know how to stop it. Except to remain out of danger, which will be impossible if I'm to save Titania."
At that, his eyes widened. "Save Titania? You scraped out of their clutches and had to knock yourself out to do it. We barely escaped them together with my best wardens."
"But they're imprisoned, and I might be the only person that can fight Thalia on equal footing."
"It isn't equal footing."
"Not yet, but-"
His voice rose just slightly. "And you want me to sanction this? You've been manipulated, attacked, and you were only available to escape with the help of some force of feral chaos! Why can't you give up on this?"
"They might see fit to attack in retaliation for my rebellion. If that happens, the castle will be caught in the crossfire regardless." Her eyes shone with the moonlight Braum had described earlier. "We're in danger regardless- and- and it's my fault." Her voice grew into squeaky whine. "I would rather try my best and fail than fail without doing anything at all." Heat rose into her throat and sizzled across her skin. She couldn't remember the last time she'd spoken to someone with even an ounce of the flame she hurled at the prince.
He straightened himself out, and his eyes narrowed. "I see your point."
She shrank a little, deflated after the outburst. "I can't do nothing."
At this, he held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I don't understand why you take every problem under your wings, but..." He leaned his cheek onto his palm, elbow pressed into the chair. "I suppose that is one of many things I admire about you."
The comment caught Elodie off guard. Of the many words she ascribed to her relationship with Braum, admiration was not a word she'd thought to place there. He was a good leader. She respected him as her prince and someone she'd grown up with. She found it easy to speak freely with him, even angrily with him, but she had pinned that ease on his particular occupation. She'd never expected the feeling to be mutual in any degree. She didn't know he had any thought about her beyond her uses in court.
Admire? Her?
"Thank you," she said quietly, shocked by how much the effort stung her throat to get the words out. "For coming to find me."
Something about the response satisfied him enough.
I just wanted to give my thanks, she thought, as the pink color spread from her cheeks to her ears. Why is it so embarrassing?
A little laugh caught in his throat, knocking some of his hair into his face. He covered the smile with his palm and recovered himself, turning back towards the door. His face hardened, and he seemed once again the regal heir. It was such a swift containment that Elodie wondered how often he must do it.
"At the very least, neither of us is in any shape to save anyone. Give it some thought and some time. I'm already bracing myself for the flight of stairs we have to walk down."
They both cringed at the thought.
“This evening,” he promised, and then departed.