Chapter 2

Aixen

The glass of liquor warmed Aixen only slightly. He had never been one for parties, always preferring the company of a good book over that of drunkards pestering him with the same inane questions and comments even decades later. ‘But why on earth would a King take in an orphaned boy?’ ‘One cannot help but wonder whether there is more to the relation than meets the eye.’ The latter always struck him as ridiculous. After all, Aixen looked nothing like the sandy-haired, silver-eyed King. And now, after his abrupt return, the questions had only worsened.

It had been eight years since he left, yet Aixen remembered it as if it was yesterday. The rage and grief he had felt, the way Culam had held him, told him he needed time to process; that he would help him to find it. Aixen had not been able to look the King in the eye when he told him he was leaving to study under the scholars of Vidvon Sabor in Alastrym. That an opportunity had suddenly presented itself and he could not refuse. But the worst part had been Elettaria—the betrayal and hurt written on her face when he replied to her question of how he could leave with a curt, ‘how could I not?’; the letters she had written that he had burned his replies to, featherlight in his hands, stones in his heart.

Deep down Aixen knew Elettaria could not have known why he had left. That her father was a weak hearted, cold-blooded man. But back then, Aixen’s disgust and rage had blinded him, making enemies of those he loved most.

Aixen watched as Elettaria spun around the grassy dancefloor, laughing with the jester, Geden. Her features made it seem as if the moon had come down and graced them with her presence, and where Elettaria was the moon, Aixen was the night that surrounded it. As he watched, he wondered just how much of the nightfall could be chased away by her light before it was eclipsed entirely.

Draining what was left in his glass, Aixen turned and made his way through the throngs of people, eyes searching for his next hiding spot. So preoccupied was he that Aixen did not notice the person before him until he walked firmly into them, knocking them sideways. The glass in his hand thumped to the floor as Aixen quickly grasped the woman’s slender wrist, steadying her where she wobbled. Saffa blinked back at him, her dark brown skin contrasting the golden gown that adorned her features, small, gilded leaves winking at him from the tight black curls artfully piled atop her head.

“Lady Lec-Para, my apologies.” Releasing her wrist, he took a small step backwards. Saffa said nothing in response, regarding him closely. At a loss for what to do or say, Aixen cleared his throat awkwardly. “And how are you this evening?”

“I am well, thank you.” Her tone was clipped, and Aixen noticed how her eyes drifted over his shoulder to where he knew Elettaria still danced with Geden. She reluctantly dragged her gaze back to him after a few moments, seemingly unimpressed to find him still standing there. “And you?” Her lips tilted as if she were mocking him. “Are you enjoying being back?”

“I am well enough,” Aixen began stiffly, before adding, “although I have never been one for festivities such as this.” He had no idea why he said as much, but for some reason Aixen found himself wanting to speak to Saffa. As a close friend of Elettaria’s, he knew Saffa was in her confidence, and Aixen found his mead-addled brain suddenly taking an interest in what might have been said about his sudden return. Though why this mattered to him, he could not have said.

“And why is that?” He could hear the insufferable indifference in her words. Perhaps forcing conversation on such an unwilling participant was not the way to undo any previous misgivings.

“I find when people consume too much liquor, they either become horribly insolent or horribly pleasant, neither of which is sincere, and neither of which I have time for.” With that, Aixen made to leave, so he was brought up short when Saffa laughed lightly. Her head tilted to the side as she did so, causing a loose curl of hair to dangle down, the golden leaves glinting in the candlelight.

“While I can quite agree with you on the claims of insolence and pleasantries, I must disagree with you otherwise. Liquor does not invite falsehoods but quite the opposite. I believe it gives people the courage to convey true meaning when so often they do not.”

“Perhaps. Although I would replace the word ‘courage’ with ‘recklessness’.” A glimmer of warmth danced through him like the undulating music when Saffa laughed once more. The scholars of Vidvon Sabor were a taciturn lot.

“Perhaps,” Saffa echoed. “Though, perhaps that depends upon who does the reckless abandoning.”

“Unfortunately, the authors are usually the men and women of the older generations. Old enough to remember my initial arrival as the Kings’ ward, and doubtful enough to have never ceased speculating on its possible meanings.”

Saffa watched him with dark eyes. “And what do you make of it?” At Aixen’s uncertain expression, she continued, her voice lowering to a whisper. “Of the constant speculation: that you were invited into the castle so you might one day be named Heir. That is why you have returned, is it not?”

Aixen grimaced. She was baiting him. “I have had more than enough time to learn that there is little merit in caring for the opinions and gossip of others,” he said disapprovingly. “Besides, it is well known that to be a Scholar of Vidvon Sabor you must study there for at least eight years. Now,” he bowed his head, “I shall leave you to your celebrations.”

“Aixen.” He paused as he made to move past Saffa once more, turning slightly to look at her. From this angle he could see where Elettaria now spoke with Geden’s mother in the distance, arms waving animatedly. “Elettaria feels pain more keenly than most,” Aixen watched as Saffa’s gaze drifted to Elettaria. He recalled the distasteful words he had overheard, uttered by Argen earlier that evening; the way loved ones came together on this night. Aixen was not the only one who had suffered, and though she looked to be pleasingly joyous just then, there had always been more to Elettaria than met the eye. He knew so better than most.

“And you have contributed to that pain,” she took a step closer, voice like velvet. “So, know that when I say this, I mean it: if you hurt her again, I will make you regret it.”

Aixen opened his mouth to utter his assurances, but before he could reply Saffa was gone in a whisk of silk.

***

Elettaria

The night was long and vibrant. Even watching Argen’s parents pander to her father with words sticky and sweet enough to make Elettaria feel ill could not dampen her spirits. She could scarcely remember the last time she had felt such elation, even as she sat rubbing her sore feet after a rather boisterous dance with Saffa. Saffa laughed next to her now, perched on the lichen-stained stone bench as she debated the merits of a shield versus a second sword with Geden’s mother, Mina. Apparently, while debilitating and clunky during close, nimble fighting, guarding against an opponent’s bodily fluids was a reason to be in favour of the shield, according to Mina. Their conversation paused as Argen’s mother bowed to her father, having escorted him to the space between Mina and Elettaria, her eyes briefly conveying annoyance that the King had chosen different company. Elettaria suppressed a smile.

Her father sat heavily, waving Mina away as she bowed and murmured, "Your Majesty."

"You look beautiful, my dear," he said, patting her hand, the veins protruding through the fragile skin that covered the back of his. "Mendae Culam was just saying how well you are looking." His smile was worn thin by his years, though it was after Elettaria’s mother had died four years ago while on a visit to her birth kingdom, The Daru Lands, that King Silas had truly begun to fade. And with her death, their troubles with Dytikon’s northern neighbours had begun anew, burying Silas under the weight of inescapable grief.

"How kind.”.

"He also inquired about your dreams, but I assured him there was nothing to worry about."

Elettaria’s throat tightened and she nodded, staring at the ground. Her dreams were anything but fine. Cold, silvery lights filled them, drifting through ancient trees as she watched, transfixed. But unlike the lights from her memories, these ones called to her in haunting, awful voices, tugging at something deep inside her until she woke gasping and drenched in sweat.

It had happened since she was a child. Her mother used to comfort her after the nightmares, speaking in hushed tones of magik and enchantments, telling Elettaria that the dreams meant she was special, that the lights called to her for a reason. But her mother had died before explaining what that reason was. By now, Elettaria knew better. The dreams didn’t mean Elettaria was special. Those were merely the words of a loving parent, designed to salve wounds that could not be stitched. No, the dreams meant Elettaria was cursed. And over the past few months, they had only gotten worse.

“Would you care to dance?” A voice pulled Elettaria from her spiralling thoughts, an uncomfortable surprise washing over her as she looked up. Glistening grounds stretched behind the figure, an archway to their left leading to the adjacent garden, which would shortly host the Dawn Feast. There could only be a couple of dances left before they were due to take their seats, but what held Elettaria’s surprise was not the timing. It was the fact that it was Aixen, of all people, who stood before her now, hand outstretched.

“What a delightful end to the festivities that would be,” her father said for her, colouring Elettaria with displeasure as she glanced towards him. His eyes sparkled in response.

Elettaria knew her father was pleased to have Aixen back, his return adding an obvious mood boost that she could not help but take as a personal affront. But while her father might not have minded Aixen’s sudden, unexplained departure all those years ago, Elettaria certainly had.

“Elettaria,” her father said when she failed to move, his tone becoming stern. As she looked at him, she saw the way his eyes thinned ever so slightly. A command from her King, not her father.

Fitting a tight smile onto her face, Elettaria glanced back up into Aixen’s eyes. A calculating look sat behind them, making her feel as if he knew exactly how much she wanted to be dancing with him. Taking his hand, she threw Saffa a bewildered look as Aixen tugged Elettaria back into the crowds, Saffa’s own eyebrows raising as she watched them go.

“You have come back,” she said curtly as they weaved towards the merriment of dancers.

“I have,” he replied simply, Elettaria’s frustration rising when he offered no further explanation. Pulling her hand free she continued to follow him through the crowd, not wishing to give him the satisfaction of asking why. Instead, she looked around and said, “Mendae Culam must be pleased.”

Around them people walked determinedly towards where the music rose ever higher to dust up the last of the dancing. Mendae Culam, Master of the Rectitude, the house founded in the name of scholarship, egalitarianism, and judiciary, which served to keep the King and Council in check, had always been kind to Aixen. When Aixen had arrived at the castle, a mere three years old, Culam had wasted no time in sweeping him up and into classes with the barely older Elettaria, ensuring the orphaned young boy felt cared for and accepted. There had always been a generosity of spirit when it came to Culam, but especially with Aixen.

“He is. It is good to see him again.”

“Well, do not let me keep you,” Aixen gave her a curious look as she gestured towards where Culam stood speaking with Argen’s father nearby. Instead of answering, Aixen merely grasped her elbow, steering them to where the dewy grass was less trodden on, and more distanced from the closely swaying throngs of partygoers.

“It was Mendae Culam who told me I should ask you to dance.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause as they reached what appeared to be silently deemed an appropriate space.

“And why on earth would he suggest such a thing?” Elettaria finally asked, just as Aixen stepped forward and picked up her hand, moving to the swell of the music. He danced gracefully, and it occurred to Elettaria she had not seen him dance all night. Not that she had been looking.

“I think he wishes for us to be friends,” Aixen replied.

“Ha!” The laugh came out sharp and harsh, an unreadable expression darting over Aixen’s face.

“We were friends once. More than friends,” he said quietly. “You were my family. You still are, Elettaria.”

Elettaria had nothing to say to that, their movements increasingly stilted as the music bled seamlessly into the final tune of the night, robbing her of an easy escape.

“Do you remember when we last danced?” he asked eventually and Elettaria reluctantly dragged her gaze back to his as they circled one another, synchronous with the other dancers.

“It was at least a decade ago.”

“It was. We danced all night. I was completely exhausted, and you somehow kept going.”

“I remember,” she said, the words thick on her tongue. “You said I had magical feet.”

“And you complained you were all but mopping the dancefloor with me by the end.”

Elettaria’s face fell, lips thinning. “You were right: we were not just friends then. You were my closest friend, you were the person I l—,” she swallowed. “And then you left.” The anguish was audible in her tone. Perhaps it was the mead or the way every one of her sickness-related ‘disappearances’ distilled a deeper loneliness in her, but in that moment, the yearning Elettaria felt for what had been lost was almost unbearable, mingling with the hurt and betrayal. Their relationship had been of innocence and pure, whole hearts. Saffa filled some of that void, but none had ever understood the loneliness that echoed through her like Aixen had. He had seen all of her and never balked or walked away. Until he had.

As she looked across at him then, the dancers swirling the background of colours into copper, the hurt and anger she had clung to all these years rumbled, thunderous with exhaustion. Words descending into silence they continued to dance, Aixen’s hands cool where hers were warm. But as they moved colour climbed into Aixen’s cheeks, his eyes beginning to sparkle as the muscle quickened. When he did a particularly energetic turn and teetered sideways, a light laugh escaped Elettaria before she could stop it. She saw Aixen glance at her from the corner of his eye, a slight smile gracing his lips. Dark curls bounced across his forehead; her own hair having long escaped its tightly woven braid. When the music ended and they stood apart, the moment felt lubricated by small smiles, foreign and familiar at once.

“I am sorry,” Aixen said suddenly, and something old ached in Elettaria’s chest. She blinked, and Aixen stepped forwards, features framed with regret. “I am sorry, for how I left Elettaria. I am sorry I did not come back even after your mother—” his words cut off and Elettaria took a step back, searching his gaze.

“Why?” she whispered. The loss of Aixen had precipitated the loss of so much more.

“At that point, I did not think you would wish to see me again.”

“And yet here you are,” she replied dryly. But instead of responding, Aixen only shook his head, glancing to the side for a long moment before he looked back to her, a wry smile pulling at his lips.

“Do you remember the Renegade Rascals?” he asked.

Frustration seeped through Elettaria at the topic change, the feeling becoming confused with nostalgia as she remembered their silly childhood games.

“My father and Mendae Culam thought that there was no hope for the Kingdom. We played pretend for too long.”

Aixen’s eyes flickered at her words, a sad smile lingering on his face. “Yet life was easier then, was it not?” His words were so soft that Elettaria could not be sure she had heard them correctly, but as she looked to Aixen’s face, she saw the same yearning that she felt in her heart.

“Playing pretend is always easier. It is facing the truth that is hard.”

Aixen’s hands clenched at his sides. “That I know.”

But still, he offered nothing else. Elettaria looked away. For a moment, a gentle, tentative hopefulness had filled her. But nostalgia was made of the past, and as she and Aixen walked back towards the archway, the silence between them stretched its boundless existence, until the years of unspoken pain lay cold and bitter once more.