“Your son?” Nicon muttered, uncertain if he had heard right, “How can he be your son?”

He helped her up carefully and led her to one of the unoccupied beds, where she sank down gratefully.

Dethemina Aegivyl had only one son—the winter prince. Her first marriage had not borne her any children.

Dethemina shuddered and her mouth opened although no sound was uttered.

She cleared her throat and spoke in a soft whisper, barely audible even to Nicon’s ears.

“After Rylore’s passing, I foolishly got into a relationship with a human, hoping it would ease the pain of Rylore’s passing, and bore his child. Soon after he was born, Eran stole my son and fled. I found out he had a wife. That night, I lost everything again. I never thought I would see my beloved Taryn again—I had lost all hope, yet here he is. I am certain of it. Those blue eyes remind me so much of Eran. There is no mistaking it.”

Eran, Nicon thought, The name of the human, I presume.

Out loud, he said, “Dethemina, this is monumental. However, wait with announcing his presence to everyone until after we grant him the purification ritual. His ears, at least, will change—he shall not be a half-blood after the ritual.”

“Can we not… let him choose if he wants his human blood burned away?” Dethemina whispered.

Nicon shook his head, “He is the next winter king. We cannot allow human blood to taint our rulers. We may have a treaty in place, but our people will not easily forget the horrors we endured before.”

She sighed, but accepted his judgement with a small nod.

“Regardless,” He said, standing, “I will take my leave now. I must complete the preparations for the ritual of life and the festival afterwards. Please return to your place. I am certain it has been a great shock to you.”

<--<< >>-->

They parted ways and Dethemina disappeared in a flash of magic, her thoughts in turmoil. She reappeared almost instantly in her home, situated at the bottom of a large tree. The courtyard of her home was built around the tree growing in the centre and the bone-white columns contrasted with the dark bark of the tree.

As she appeared, people crept out to greet her.

A young boy who looked no more than ten or eleven sprinted out and gave her a light hug, saying, “Welcome back mother! I missed you!”

She smiled softly and chuckled, “I wasn’t gone for very long, Aranel.”

She gently pulled out of her son’s embrace and excused herself, telling them she was tired.

The truth was far from that, she mused, How am I to tell Aranel that he has an elder half-brother?

Her rooms were sparsely decorated but long, floor-length windows led to a terrace high enough to overlook the majority of the city. A light breeze laced in the scent of flowers left her long, silky curtains fluttering. She walked over to the terrace, admiring the sunset over the rooftops, painting the skies bright colours of gold and pink and ruby.

Dethemina did not know how long she stood like that, but the sky was streaked with inky, star filled darkness as night fell.

A knock sounded on her door and she heard a male voice from outside, asking for permission to enter. Sending a small tendril of her magic to the door, she turned the knob and let the door creak open.

She turned around to face him as he entered, an easy grin on his face. He had a long, reddish mane of hair swept to one side and braided down his back and he was dressed in a moss-green tunic and thigh-length boots. A silver circlet sat on his forehead, forged in the same style as Dethemina’s.

“Taeriel,” She said flatly.

He strode over and wrapped her in a hug. She stiffened, and he sighed, releasing her and stepping back.

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“I thought we were starting to get along. Can you at least try to pretend? For Aranel?” He pleaded, “It’s been seventeen years now! Rylore is gone! You need to stop chasing his memory and remain in the present. Aranel is only a child! He needs his mother’s love.”

She gripped her arm tightly and looked away.

“I-I’m trying. Today wasn’t about that. Nicon summoned me. They found the wreckage of a human ship and the bodies washed up here. One of them was Eryna. And the other-” Her voice broke, but she swallowed and continued, “The other one that I saw was… my son.”

Taeriel’s head jerked up, understanding the implications right away, “Were you unfaithful?”

She shook her head, explaining, “It was right after Rylore’s death, but about a year before I married you. No one knew. He was taken from me before I could present him to court.”

Taeriel asked, “His father? Why did you not marry him? Did the bastard not take responsibility?”

She shook her head and told him what had happened.

“So… Aranel has a half-elven brother. This news will not please him, you know. He has been raised to covet the purity of our elven blood.”

“He will have to get over it,” She said simply, “I will bring him to see Taryn after the Haelin festival.”

She continued, “I have a meeting with Aira about the festival. I’ll see you and Aranel at the festival.”

Dethemina disappeared again, reappearing at the front door of a different home—one bright with orange and red hues. It was home to Aira, queen of autumn. Dethemina patiently knocked on the door and waited, before calling for Aira. When no sound was heard from within, Dethemina whispered a quick apology for intruding and opened the door.

Dethemina found Aira laying on her large, four-poster bed playing with her giant pet rat. Aira was tall and willowy, with soft auburn tresses and mossy green eyes. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks and she had a headband with elk horns on. She was dressed in a thin gown printed with leaf patterns and wore a thick fur over it.

“Aira!” She scolded, and the queen jumped, “The preparations for the Haelin festival… have you completed them?”

Aira looked away and said, “I let the court officials handle it. You know I’m no good with those matters.”

Dethemina sighed, “Aira, you know it’s your responsibility, right? I know you came to the title quite suddenly, but by the Mother, what do you even spend your days doing?”

Aira shrugged and petted her rat. While it was common to have the occasional forest animal as a pet, giant rats, although a common breed in Silvardor, were not desirable as pets simply due to their size and menacing appearance. Aira did not seem to mind though, letting the rat stay on her bed and feeding it the same as what she ate.

Dethemina recalled the events that led up to Aira’s sudden coronation at the tender age of seventy three and barely past adulthood, and decided to let the girl be.

Aira had never been meant to inherit the autumn throne—she had an elder brother and was perfectly content to grow up spoiled and pampered without having to assume the responsibilities of becoming crowned royalty. However, tragedy struck when her brother stepped down and was killed because of it. The responsibility fell on the lazy princess, Aira.

<--<< >>-->

The haelin festival was a celebration that occurred in the month of Brightfire, at the end of spring. It was the festival of life, the holy festival, giving thanks to the Mother for their fortunes, and it was celebrated by decorating the elven towns in red and gold and having a ritualistic dance and song. Strong magic was said to occur on the day.

As evening fell, the elves gathered in the square at the centre of the city and the festival began. A podium had been erected to one side where the royals stood, and Nicon observed the festival with a keen eye. The queens sat beside him, Dethemina graceful but unsmiling and Aira with a bored expression on her face. Euiridas, queen of life, watched with rapt interest and Calaepus, queen of death, sat with a forced smile. The holy magic of the festival did not agree with her powers, and it showed. As was customary, she was always first to retire from the festival. Amiri and Cleria, queens of summer and spring, sat on either side of Nicon and were the friendliest of the royals.

The festival began with the ritual dance. Loud drum beats echoed around the city, pulsing like a heartbeat. The dancers, two elves of opposite gender, strode forth to the centre of the square, where a massive bonfire stood lit. The dancers were dressed in matching outfits—a cropped tunic, with gold tassels at the hem, exposing their toned stomachs and a skirt of the same material reaching their knees. They wore sandals and jewelled bangles at their wrists, necklaces at the neck and earrings at the ears. Decked out in vibrant gold jewellery, they sparkled as they began their dance. Their tattoos that spanned the length of their bodies moved, seemingly becoming a new entity as the two dancers masterfully twisted and brought their tattoo to life. It assumed the form of a serpent roaring its anger at the gods. Their dancing narrated the story of Endon, betrayer of gods. As the dance increased in speed and intensity, all the elves felt the presence.

It was light at first—a gentle touch, a whisper left behind, a small spark of magic, but then it grew into a roaring flame that engulfed all. It was the renewal of magical energy in Silvardor and life was brimming. It was heralding summer, with its sweet call and joyful, light feeling.

The dance simmered down and the magic gradually left, leaving behind a feeling of hollow emptiness. The dancers, drenched in sweat, bowed gracefully and left the square. Nicon stood and addressed the crowd, officially declaring the ceremony complete. Calaepus left not long after, a look of disgust on her face that even years of ceremonies had not taught her to hide. The townspeople had begun to join each other on the dance floor, enjoying the festival.

However, Nicon’s attention was on a guard who had come running up, fear in his eyes and gasping for breath.

He cried out, “The dead have risen!”