The Queen's Plaza
Vel'duith sat besides Ispir's empty seat, garnet eyes searching the crowd. She stood to briefly look over the rows in front of her, before sitting again.
Don't fidget!
Vel'duith drew a breath, rubbing her shoulder where she'd been struck, and sat as completely down on the chair as she could force herself. The temple was packed; all the houses assembled, a choral beckoning droning on in the background. House Tor'Rahel was of course front and center before the altar, rows of tall, beautiful warrior women- spellblades, it was often whispered- a section of handsome wizards, and a grizzled, scar-faced
weapon master as tall as any woman. There was a younger girl about her own age that she had shifted and craned to watch through tiny peekholes that fleetingly formed between shoulders and elbows of the rows in front of her. Which was pretty well all of them: she sat in the very back row. What was that girl's life like, a younger daughter in the first house, with a plethora of slaves clamoring to do all the chores, and all that free time she must surely enjoy to read or do whatever? There had just been a power struggle, culminating in a shadow war that had been discussed heatedly in the 2nd year cadre dormitories, until finally the queen herself had died, and at only 403 years old. Her two oldest daughters had taken opposite sides and killed one another. Another of theirs was being crowned, but everyone was abuzz, whispering about how youthful she was to be queen.
172?! My masseur is older than that! There should be a regency. No, a council! Someone wriggled vainly atop the altar. She couldn't see much more than the motion, but there was little new about that, and it wasn't worth another welt to see the doomed sacrifice better. She wondered what the person must feel like, then shivered. The hiss came swiftly in her ear.
Must I repeat myself?!
And Vel'duith was back in the plaza, shaking like a leaf. House Tor’rahel was once again gone, along with the young queen, now mature, scarred and potent, she well knew but still nowhere to be seen. As for the girl, well, she had never heard what became of her. Only that the whole house had been wiped completely out. Vel’duith was still shaking, and she fretted that someone was sure to notice soon. She needed a moment, and someplace quiet. She didn't want to embarrass A'ni Zathria (or Vyx'aria!) on such an important day, going completely insane in public.
So, Vel’duith pulled herself together and excused herself politely, gracefully walking with head held high, arm held out to one side, bent properly and wrapped precisely in a silken stoll of the house colors, making her way around the periphery. Past the great houses, past the Assassins' Quarter, into the back slope of the upper city where the lesser house compounds stood ajumble and cheek to jowl like a haphazard tray of whipped-top sweetcakes. It was empty and silent as most of
the Spine, even more so, without any soaring raptors screeching, without the wind whipping and howling, without the trees whispering and humming in response. At the very back, walking along the outer wall marking the very lowest edge of the upper city, she came upon a door, and spoke its command. It dutifully opened with a dilapidated creak.
The prodigal daughter padded silently down the hallway, finally turning into her old chamber. Cobwebs stretched over old secondhand books long committed to memory, rising like ghostly gondola ropes up to the battered wardrobe she had been slammed into so many times. She sat on her old bier, a misty cloud of dust rising and curling on the invisible swirling zephyrs stirred by her entry. Her lips frowned, her nose scrunching as though to sneeze, sinuses burning subtly as her eyes glistened. Finally, she fell to weeping into her arms, face pressed into the stoll. Then sobbing in a muffled, choked voice: "Vallabha-Ilhar!"
No one answered.
After ten minutes passed, Vel'duith finally rose up from the dampness of her grief. She still couldn’t understand it, why she felt such a profound loss. She doubted her mother had so much as batted an eye at her own disappearance. She shook her head, imagining the severe frown Vyx'aria would surely make if she could see her now. She was certain she was a complete mess now. She looked at the wetted spidersilk and tsked herself, finding a dry muslin soft-cloth to dab gently at it, lest she scratch the delicate fibers in any way. It wasn't
hers, after all! -no more than this room, this house, this compound. Vel'duith had chosen to leave it forever.
And now she is gone forever... The stoll now tended to, she turned the muslin cloth to dab at her eyes before the mirror and chamberpot. She touched up her makeup, drawing it down using her softly pointed fingernail-tips to redraw the pattern sharply where it had smeared. Another ten minutes later, finally satisfied with the result, Vel'duith returned to the hallway. She took nothing with her. In a week's time, she inwardly mused, no one would likely be able to tell the room had even been disturbed.
Vel'duith walked past her mother's office, and suddenly remembered those awful three days half danging mid-step in a demonweb, helpless to warn or help Kre'thil and Orebith, soiled in her own iblith, slowly starving and dehydrating, passing in and out of consciousness. In a sudden rage, she snarled, focused on the desk, her arms erupted in a blaze of silver, then flaming ribbons ripped forth from her fingertips to enwreath the desk where
she had written the order. She continued to torch the curling, crackling darkwood until it finally burst into its own flames. Rage still burning in her eyes, mirroring the flames before her, the snarl still curled on her lips, she whirled on her heel and walked out the hallway, leaving the office to burn. But she stopped mid-step.
The fire would spread to the other houses! And so, she closed her eyes, muttered a word, and all the flames gathered themselves together into a silvery bundle, then snuffed themselves out. A twirl of her fingers, and the smoke starting to choke the room sucked itself up into a tiny point and was gone. A faint, acrid smell still lingered in her nostrils. She gestured one last time as she stepped outside, a cleaning cantrip to sap the smoky odor trailing along with her, and remove any stray bits of soot.
She left the Voiryn compound, closing and sealing the door behind her with the appropriate command. Stoll wrapped over her arm, which was out to one side and bent properly, head held high, eyes slightly puffy but at least now well-dried by the moment of blasting heat. Her expression was blank, empty. Vyx'aria would probably hear of it eventually, she thought with a grimace.
Vel'duith began to fret again as she returned to the plaza, hoping the incident went unnoticed and wouldn't mar the coronation in any way, but she ultimately shook it off and resumed the calm dignity she had put on with the borrowed housegarb that morning. It was the very least Vyx'aria would expect of her! -she reminded herself. She deserved
everything to be perfect today. Vel'duith finally found her seat again, relaxed into it with a mildly exaggerated sigh, and waited for the ceremony to begin.
