a/n: hey, thanks for checking out Starry Veins! This is the novel I
wrote for Round V of LMS, and it's still a first draft! While I don't
discourage any feedback, I prefer not to receive feedback on grammar!
I'm not polishing this draft up yet, so I'm not as concerned about
editing. I am, of course, open to all feedback, but I ask that you keep
this in consideration! Thanks <3
*
She
could still see the blood. The incision on the back of her wrist was
only beginning to heal, scabbing over until it was itchy and blotchy.
On
the back of her eyelids, the flame at her feet turning black was
etched in like a glimpse of the sun. It hurt to blink, it hurt to
cry, and most of all, it hurt to remember.
Staring
out her window made her too anxious—she hadn’t been outside her
room save for in the depth of night, and she had no idea what the
mood of her people were aside from the knowledge that it wouldn’t
be good—and pacing around her room heightened the same fears but in
the opposite way. That week had been the longest she had been idle in
the time she could remember, and she was ready to climb out the
window and risk breaking her legs just to get outside.
The
insulated, pale wood panelled walls that had always been inviting had
become constricting. Twisted and malevolent, they stared and judged
her, as everyone in the whole kingdom was likely doing at that
moment. The pelts on her floor and bed now looked threatening, like
the beasts they had once belonged to would rise up once again and
attack her.
“Don’t
you worry your fair head about it,” Lina had told her, when she had
brought breakfast. To be eaten in solitude, not with her parents as
was routine.
It
had gotten worse since her father’s illness, but she had hoped her
coming-of-age celebration would have inspired courage and good health
in him. Of course, it had done the opposite…
A
knock resounded off the old, polished door, and she nearly fell off
her stool by her fireplace. She was so cold all the time, unnaturally
cold. It was the chill of the receding Catharsis, nor the usual cold
of the tundra, but a soul-deep freeze that spread through her veins.
“Come
in,” she called. Or rather, tried to, and then had to clear her
throat and say it again, as her voice broke before she’d even
started. Had she taken the water Lina had brought her today? Had she
even spoken to Lina?
The
door opened, and the moment she saw her mother, she sprung to her
feet. Her eyes began to sting, and if it had been any other
situation, she would have run right to her mother’s arms for the
comfort only she could give.
But
she wasn’t sure how welcome the gesture would be anymore. Instead,
she sank to her knees on the floor, dress and pelt cushioning her
landing, and bowed her head deeper than their lowest of staff.
“Oh,
Kanta,” her mother breathed. There were hands gripping her arms
then, firm but not unkind. She looked up to meet her mother’s gaze.
“There’s no need for such a display. Please, my snowdrop, stand
up.”
It
was when she was back on her feet and so close to her mother that the
dam broke and she crumpled into her mother’s arms. “I’m sorry,
mother, I’m— I’m so sorry.”
“Shh.”
Her mother ran her hand down her hair, stroking it in a soothing
gesture as she rocked her like she was a child again.
Such
an action would have been appropriate when she was seven, not
seventeen. She was an adult now, a fully developed woman. A princess,
no less, and yet she was sobbing into her mother’s arms like she
was a toddler who’d gotten bit by a goat.
And
she could not bring herself to stop.
Her
mother guided her over to her bed and carefully sat down. Kanta did
her best not to outright lie into her lap, but she was given this
opportunity and she didn’t know how much longer she would have such
privilege. By her parents’ choice or not.
“You
mustn’t apologise, you’ve done nothing wrong. A lady, a woman, a
princess
such as yourself does not apologise meaninglessly, or your apologies
will have no meaning. Have I not counselled you in such knowledge?”
It
was only a light, but resolute scolding. Still, she was confused as
she pulled back, only far enough to look up at her mother’s face.
“But I— I don’t understand— I—”
“She
also does not fumble for her words, but states what’s on her mind,”
her mother said gently.
“I
failed the blood ritual,” Kanta said, forcing herself not to mumble
lest her mother scold her for that too. “I have no trueblood.
Mother, I don’t understand. Father had trueblood, he passed his
ritual. It wouldn’t make sense…” She looked away, cheeks
heating. She couldn’t say the thought that had already passed
through her mind like an unwanted fly around food.
“I
know what everyone must think of you and of me, but trust me when I
say that I was married to your father for three years before you were
born and I allowed no one but him to touch me.” Her mother let out
a drawn sigh. She was only wearing a simple nightgown and thick,
furred coat, hair pulled back and face gaunt. She looked worn, older,
even though Kanta had seen her mother only a week ago. “I don’t
understand why this has happened anymore than you, or anyone else.”
She
drew her hands to her lap and sniffled, the tidal wave of grief
beginning to ebb away. She looked up, cautious. “Does father know
that?”
Her
mother closed her eyes. “I hope so,” she said. Her mother spoke
quieter than she’d ever heard before. “He’s been bedridden this
whole time, and I’ve been stretched between wrestling the kingdom
out of its panic and anger and tending to him. He’s not well, your
father, and he’s not said anything that would make me believe he
has lost his ability to care for either of us, it’s only that this
been a lot to process for him. For everyone, undoubtedly.”
She
swallowed, but her throat was dry. She definitely had forgotten to
drink earlier. “And… what will happen to us? To Glacier’s Keep,
to our people? Without a trueblooded ruler, we…?” She didn’t
want to think about the histories of what had happened to the three
kingdoms who had lost their trueblooded rulers, each of which were
now no more than dusty old ruins, their people reduced to skeletons.
“Your
father is still alive, he still has his trueblood. He is ill, not
deathly.” Her mother tucked a piece of Kanta’s hair behind her
ear. “We will find a solution. This kingdom will not fall while her
people remain breathing.” She put her hands on her legs and glanced
towards the crackling fire. “We may need to launch another search
for your sister.”
Butterflies
upset her chest. “But it’s been nine years,” she reminded her
mother. “She could be anywhere. And last time we searched for her,
we nearly started a war with Summermount.”
“King
Ismat and Queen Nayeli are… sensitive.” Her mother’s face
hardened, her lip stiffening and curling. “You know what I’ve
taught you about your behaviour towards each monarch and their
spouse, in regard to their personality? Summermount would believe our
sneezing at them wrong is a declaration of war.”
“Because
of the Bloody War? That was centuries ago. That was longer than
centuries ago.”
Her
mother shook her head. “As if you could be more on the nose with a
name,” she scoffed. “But yes. You’ve seen how high the tensions
are between our nations. But the absurdity that Queen Nayeli would be
paranoid enough to believe we were attempting to instigate another
conflict…”
“What
if we find her, and she’s like me?” she asked, lowering her
voice. “My younger sister. What if she doesn’t have trueblood
either?”
There
was a long pause. Kanta realised that, for one of the first times in
her life, her mother would not provide an answer, not even an evasive
one. Her heart grew cold, and she shivered.
Then
her mother turned, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to her
forehead. “Never doubt my love for you, nor your father’s. We
will make it through this, do you understand that?”
She
glanced towards the fire and the scent of iron rose to the roof of
her mouth. White
flames greedily devouring the droplets of blood that fell from her
wrist, and in one great gust, turning a colourless black that was
more like shadows. She could smell the blood on the air, until it
filled the air and choked her, so strong and bitter than it turned
her stomach. There were screams, of horror? Of pain? Of confusion?
“I
understand.”
word count:
1,444
Points: 2806
Reviews: 935
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