It wasn’t the first time she’d had a dream like this. She’d been having them for nearly three years at this point—since Natheniel had almost killed her. At first she’d been willing to believe that it was a part of her mind wrapping around the idea that, were it not for magic, she’d be with Vriuh. But she noticed more about them the longer she experienced them, details that she never would’ve known, faces she had never seen.
“What do you think?” She’d been the one to ask the question, but that wasn’t her voice. Or, at least, she didn’t think it was. “Can… Can this really last?”
“Orestis allowed us to get this far. I’m sure He has far grander plans than we could ever imagine,” her companion replied. It was a figure that, before these dreams, she only ever saw in stained glass: Saint Ilethera, seeming as elegant as she did threatening.
They watched the Lake sparkle as the sun began to set, silent.
Then, finally, her companion said in a low voice, “I think you should go. They need you.”
Without realizing the danger she’d soon faced, she laughed. It wasn’t really her laugh, either. “I’m sure he can handle Philomena on his own for a little longer. I’ve been waiting for a peaceful moment like this for years…”
“Norah, please…”
“Are you alright? You don’t look well…”
She wasn’t sure if her companion had always had the dagger, and sometimes she wondered if a dagger had been involved at all. All she knew was that her companion, with the same mortified expression she must’ve had, stabbed her.
In those fleeting moments, as she felt on the edge of Vriuh’s domain, she thought of many things—too many to process. Her family—she had a baby girl, a husband. Her friends, her people—she had too much to do, she couldn’t die here. Her companion—why did she do this?
The last thing she heard was her name—but it wasn’t actually her name—before she was welcomed by the dim glow of the underworld.
Philyra bolted up, trying to calm herself as soon as possible before someone else came in. The last thing she needed was to seem panicked when someone came to check on her.
She was already up and partially prepared by the time someone had knocked on her door. She knew that whoever had done it and had given a warning of “Breakfast will be served shortly, Princess.” was gone before she could say anything to them.
Before she left her room, she stopped at the mirror to assure herself that there were no traces of a nightmare; no sign that, a few minutes before, she’d felt too close to dying for a simple dream. But there her reflection was, standing straight with hair in neat pigtails and wearing an elegant dress; that was what she should be, the talented Qizarn princess, the beloved daughter of the queen. She stared at her reflection a little longer, until she felt confident enough to leave that other girl—the one with dreams of dying, who had woken up with a racing heart—in her room.
There was no place for her in the perfect life Philyra was intended to live.
She wandered down to the dining room on her own. The only other one there was Kadol, mumbling something to the servant who’d brought out their breakfast.
“Is Mother coming?” She already knew her answer. Thero hardly ever left Zofie’s side, so he wasn’t an indicator; no, it was Domenique’s absence that spoke of why Zofie wasn’t there.
Kadol must’ve acknowledged that she already knew, but replied anyway. “Unfortunately, she’s not feeling well. She asked me to accompany you to practice, and she hopes that she’ll be able to see the final performance tomorrow morning.”
Philyra didn’t know if she was upset or relieved, so she just silently nodded.
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“Remember, we’re going to be headed to the Lake after the festival—make sure you’re prepared for it.”
…
About a dozen girls had been tasked with making intricate, precise movements in frankly restrictive dresses in the name of tradition. They glided from one end of the platform to the other, showing months of practice as it seemed they made no wrong move. Their elegance was something to be admired, their strength more so, and even greater their bravery for risking to mess up such a sacred rite.
Or, at least, that’s what Philyra thought. She wasn’t any of the dancers. No, she sat in the back, masked in the face paint they all shared, often blocked by the others. She was playing the flute, providing them with the music they needed. Compared to them, her role seemed minor. But she could imagine the single gaze that, tomorrow, would never leave her. A gaze that was meant to be caring and proud, yet she only found herself suffocated under it.
When they finished, there was a moment of clapping from Kadol and the others’ parents. Then the nun in charge respectfully quieted them and marched to the platform. All the dancers held their breath for what she might say. Philyra already knew what she’d be told.
“Princess Philyra, you were amazing. Every note played to perfection—I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone blessed by Natasa. Take a break, treat yourself to something nice, and be back after lunch for the last full dress rehearsal.” The nun turned to the others. “As for all of you, there’s still some things you need to work on…”
Philyra wandered back to Kadol, knowing she didn’t need to listen to the rest.
“I can’t imagine what she has to complain about,” he was mumbling to another parent as she walked up to him. “That was one of the best practices I’ve seen in over twenty years.” Then he turned his attention to Philyra. He didn’t smile, but that was good, because she’d always found it unsettling. “You did a great job. I’m sure Zofie will be proud.”
The other parent he’d been talking to nodded. “I think it was lovely. I daresay this is going to be a fantastic Afterlife’s Promise with you here.”
If Philyra could’ve sunk into the ground, perhaps become one with the shadows, she would’ve. She nodded in acknowledgement of the compliment then, without actually looking up at either of them, asked, “Would it be alright if I went for a walk?”
Kadol sighed. “You know I can’t let you go on your own, and there’s other things I need to do here.”
“Please? I promise I’ll stay close to the church and it only has to be for a couple of minutes. It’ll be enough to have a guard with me, won't it..?”
“Zofie isn’t going to like it if you aren’t with someone more than a guard. Let me do a few things here and I’ll accompany you.” And that was the end of the discussion.
Or, at least, that’s what she assumed. The moment Kadol turned and caught a glimpse of something through one of the precious few plain windows in the church, something else flickered in his expression. It seemed a grin almost formed, for a second, before a frown took its place.
Most confusing of all was the way that his words contradicted that frown, the look in his eyes. “I… believe it might actually be alright, if you take a guard with you. I’ll explain it to Zofie when the time comes.” He gestured a guard over, and looked at Philyra. “Stay close to the guard and be back in a couple of minutes. I don’t think I have to warn you not to get into any trouble, just don’t make me regret it.”
Philyra gave him a small smile and a thankful nod, then left. She didn’t mind the guard not-so-subtly trailed after her—she was partially used to that kind of feeling by now.
She was almost immediately startled as soon as she walked out of the church.
“That was a good performance!” the one who startled her, a boy around her age, said. The longer she looked at him, the more she realized she’d never seen anyone like him in Hyasari before. “You were kinda in the back, though. I couldn’t hear anything you were playing, but I did see some glimpses.”
“That’s the point…” she couldn’t stop herself from mumbling.
“Was that the only way you would have agreed? If no one could see you?” It was a completely casual question, one of someone who didn’t know who he was talking to, or perhaps really didn’t care. Somehow.
Either way, she decided she didn’t want to answer that. The silence was enough to show her feelings on the matter anyway.
She decided to ask a question of her own: “Are you visiting Hyasari for the festival or recently moved here..? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”
“I’m visiting family,” he replied breezily. He must’ve realized there was something else that came with not knowing someone, though. “My name’s Jesper.”
She could barely believe she was about to have to tell someone this, since he obviously didn’t seem to know. “I’m Princess Philyra.”
Most people already assumed the fact. The ones who didn’t were quick to change how they spoke and acted, in order to be more “fitting” of interacting with such a person. So much of Hyasari may consider each other family, but that was a kind of respect that stayed no matter how familiar they might think they are.
Jesper, however, didn’t change at all. “So, were you supposed to look like you really didn’t want to be there? Because it kind of looked like you didn’t care about it at all…”