The Opaline

“Princess?” A timid knock sounded on the cabin door.

Aevlin flinched, looking up from the hand mirror she clutched desperately. “Avery?” she whispered. “There’s people outside.” But Aevlin was alone in the mirror. Hearing her own anxious breath, she inhaled again and exhaled, the sound echoing in her ears. “I don’t do people, Avery.” Letting go of the mirror, she used the bedsheet to wipe her face. “I will not panic. I will not panic.” She touched the wood bed for comfort. “I can be Avery.” She let out another breath, and another. “This is temporary.”

Rising, she straightened her spine. Forgetting the weight of gravity and the rocking of the boat, she took a stumbling step. “We should’ve just kept the crown and stayed on dry land.” She walked to the door and opened it. “Yes?”

Cecile’s eyes went wide. “Princess!” Quickly stepping into the cabin and shutting the door behind her, she looked down at princess Avery’s nightgown. Recovering, she curtsied. “Forgive me, Princess Avery. Shall we dress for breakfast?”

Aevlin looked down at the thin dress. “I suppose,” she said coolly. “This is more of a ‘alone in my bedroom’ dress.”

“Of course,” Cecile answered, going to the wardrobe.

“Sorry, who are you?” As soon as she asked, Aevlin turned away to hide her regretful expression. “Have we met?” she added, her confusion visible only to the crumpled blankets and cabin floor.

Behind her, Cecile rolled her eyes at the ceiling and swallowed a frustrated, silent sigh. Smoothing her face, she said softly, “I am Cecile, your companion.”

“Did I know I had a companion?” ‘Cecile,’ she mouthed to herself, thinking hard. Her eyes lit with a vague memory of Captain Winter mentioning that Avery would have a tutor.

“You were informed—”

Deaf to Cecile’s response, she interrupted, “Ah, I remember now.”

Cecile waited a moment before saying, “Wonderful,” under her breath. Smiling brightly as the princess turned, she said, “Perhaps I can help you choose a dress for breakfast?”

“Certainly,” Aevlin shrugged indifferently. “You might also help with my hair. I confess I never had reason to do it myself.”

Through gritted teeth, Cecile agreed.

***

Col Laran, 500 years earlier

“Will rain come this moon?”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The seer’s hands danced in the air, eyes swirling with light and power. Hidden by the black silk screen behind her, one apprentice scoffed to another, “As if one moon is so distinct from the next.” Though her lips moved, no sound passed.

Her companion heard and nodded reluctantly.

“Seasons do change, sister,” another apprentice disagreed, her voice echoing in their minds.

Only two girls knelt on the stone floor wearing the black robes of the temple, space for a third empty beside them.

“Before the night conquers the moon and the stars close their eyes, no rain will grace these faithless skies. Before the sun learns to sigh and these trees crumble into the sand, no water will soak into this dry land. Before the living choose sleep and the dead walk alive, there will be no dew to make life thrive.”

“She has doomed us,” one apprentice forgot to keep her words in the future, but if they passed the curtain the two outside did not remark on them. The young prince wept, and the ancient seer rested her eyes.

Time passed and he stopped, cleaned his face with a silk handkerchief, and stood. “There have been far too many matters of state, and I am afraid We have neglected our duties here. On the first of the new moon, the harvest festival will be held. It will be a time of hope for the people.”

“They have none.”

“Shhh,” the second apprentice murmured.

“I trust you will attend, as an honored guest. Until then, the crown respectfully announces a temple cleaning.” He bowed and departed, his stance strong and stride confident. As the door cut off the sound of his boots, two young girls slumped to the floor, expressions hopeless. Their unspoken words whispered against the silk current.

“Revered Mother,” one began, then hesitated with a look to the empty cushion.

“No longer, daughter. The age in which truth was given reverence is ended—already there has been too great a decay in this land.”

“But, why?” the second girl wiped tears from her eyes. “Why must we take responsibility? Do the clouds listen to us? Do the rivers heed our voice?”

“It was mine, and my mothers’ and sisters’ before me. We did not speak life, and now there is none left.” The older seer turned to her apprentices and saw their confusion. “We did not lead when there were still those to follow. Year after year, the people withered and the earth shriveled and we did nothing. Rain? What good is that to the dead? It is too late, but not forever. Some day, long after our bones are dust in these crypts, this temple will open again. Some day, there will be water like a flood, and our people will have the chance to choose between life and death. On that day many will choose to live, and this land will be renewed.”

***

Saliz, present-day

“You have been studying that scroll for an hour,” Eliot Winter studied his new apprentice. “It was not a complicated text.”

“The paper was taken from an old temple.”

“Daerany has not had temples in five hundred years or more.” Eliot reached across his desk to check the paper for dust.

“I said it was old.”

Eliot looked around at his perfectly ordered office and released a quick sigh.

“You did the right thing.”

The captain blinked, startled. “I thought your sister is the chaotic one, but at least her words were sensibly organized.”

“In sending her away, you did the right thing.” Jaiden rolled up the scroll and returned it to the desk.

“I was told you slept that night.”

“I am awake now, and so is she.” Jaiden looked up, eyes focusing on the captain’s face. “Sir, I do not See the future. But I have hope that one day I will. You asked if I would join this battle…”

“I never—”

“The battle is lost, Sir. I Saw their army. Daerany created a weapon of chaos, held by order, able to cross great distances and rain destruction on man and mountain. Niare will fall without a fight.”

“Not while I draw breath.”

“That’s when the war will start.”