Young Writers Society

(984 words for the Last Man Standing contest)

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To Emperor Valevari,

First of his name, blood of Empress Saonasorai and the highest authority from The Arrow to the Valley of Ice--

She stopped, smirking slightly, already imagining her father frowning at that title. The Empire has lost The Arrow before Valevari's reign, yet even after all the years, he felt the sting of that loss as his own; reminding him of it in the very heading of a letter would hardly guarantee the rest of it being read in his good mood.

Letting the paper fall from her desk and taking a blank one, she dipped her quill in ink again.

To my beloved father--

She let the tip of her quill linger above the paper's surface, before sighing and tossing them both to the floor. It was hopeless. She's been trying to compose a letter to the Emperor for days, ever since Iluan had sent the news of the King's death, and almost every time stopped before even writing the first sentence.

She had no way of knowing how her father would react to a letter, addressed in any way. It's been years since they last talked properly - ever since she abandoned her mission in the Naavian castle, and turned her back on the Empire, warning prince Iluan and his siblings of the poison in their glasses - and for all she knew, he could've thought she died. Or worse, he could've promised the throne to Sina instead of her.

"Prince Iluan," she muttered to herself, leaning back in her chair, a small smile playing on her lips. If there wasn't for her and everything that happened, she wondered, would he had kept his title and position? He never acted much like a prince - not compared to his older brothers, most definitely - and he never mentioned it, but the thought refused to leave Riralai alone.

Stop doing that to yourself, she snapped at her own mind. He has his moments of doing the strange and unexpected, but he wouldn't be marrying you if he blamed you for getting estranged to his family.

With a soft sigh, she got up, drawing her fingers over the cold surface of the wall as she walked to the window. The sky outside was dark, in that tone right between black and blue, when the first stars just shyly started to shine over the fortress. Further under the cliffs that Drakefort stood on, she could see small fires being lit in the port and on the ships resting there.

Opening the window, she closed her eyes and greeted the crispy air with a deep breath, letting the cloak fall from her shoulders as she walked out on the balcony. The evening here carried a soft scent of the ocean, and always seemed to taste like snow, even though she had never seen it falling. It was windy again, as it often was on the Invisible Islands, and the air made her dress hug her body tightly, but she welcomed the coldness. It was refreshing, almost gentle, compared to the coldness of her home. On the very south of the South, where the sea met the land, the winds were calm, but the air and the ocean left anyone used to warmer areas trembling under layers of clothes. Further as one traveled north, however, to the mountains and to the Imperial City, where the Court lay, the winds grew merciless, pulling the clothes and hair, fighting endless battles with the stone and iron that shielded the Palace.

"If you survive three days standing in the winds on the mountains close to the Traitor's Peak, you're lucky, for it means you can survive any temptation," she said silently, grinning shortly at the old saying. She has seen hundreds of men challenging each other, and hundreds of men dying in attempts to even get there. The Traitor's Peak - across the canyon and the city from the Imperial Court, on the very border with Naavia - was known for its winds, strong enough to send a grown man flying for taking a single wrong step, said to sometimes keep people in the air for days before calming down enough to land them into the sharp cliffs on the mountain's steepest side. Some believed only the fairies danced those cliffs, thin and light and bending into the wind instead of defying its strength.

*

Shouting, carried by the wind and the darkness, reached her ears and pulled her from her thoughts. Down in the port, she could see silhouettes moving quickly in the light of the fires, their voices loud enough to alert her but not clear enough for her to understand. Feeling a frown creeping on her face, she turned her eyes to the sea, her eyes narrowing. She could see a mass approaching the land - a ship, judging by the size - but something about it seemed off. Its sails seemed to be catching no wind, instead just getting pulled by it in various directions, like cloths hanging from a stick.

Turning quickly, Riralai bent and gripped her cloak, pulling it back over her shoulders along the way, as she hurried down the stairs from her room. She ignored the guards rushing to meet her, giving a quick nod to whomever asked her whether to wake up the servants, and reached the stables in minutes. Telling off the man who offered to ready her horse, she pulled herself up without a saddle, shortly stroking her black stallion's mane before whispering it commands to take her down to the port.

She was half way there, on the curvy path right above the first houses, when she spotted the sparks. Like tiny bugs or decorative candles, they caught on the edges of the torn sails, for a moment illuminating the deck before turning into flames.

In their light, even where she was observing from, Riralai could see them slowly devouring the sails. Dark blue sails with a silver tree, and a dragon curling around it.

*