The following is an original work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book/story are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter 3
Back straight. Chin held high. Eyes glancing across the sea of mostly foreign faces. Taking the time to feel the air flow over my exposed face. Allowing my skin to take its last few unfettered breaths of unbidden freedom.
This was the day I had been preparing for my entire eighteen years of life. Maybe that was a bit dramatic. But not entirely wrong.
Releasing air from deep within my lungs, I audibly sighed hoping no one would notice. Sighing, according to my father and the court, was very unbecoming.
Either way, this was the day I had been trained to withstand.
An experience unlike any other I’ve had before. Different from any other who stood in this hall have experienced. This was to be the last day anyone’s eyes would fall upon my naked face for the foreseeable future.
Again, a bit dramatic but still mostly true. With the exception of a select few, my face would be hidden behind a mask.
Unlike every other celebration in the great hall, today’s ceremony was simple and sparsely decorated comparatively. Golden silks draped loosely from the ornate chandeliers placed alongside the middle seam of the ceiling. The rich, flowing fabric lowering the height of the room to a more humbling level. A deep golden carpet ran from the double-doored entrance, down the middle of the room, ending at the dais where I now stood.
One thing that was noticeably absent — chairs. Those in attendance stood on either side of the majestic carpet. Some still as statues. Others swayed side to side. Mostly woman who made the wrong choice in footwear. I couldn’t blame them. If I hadn’t been me, I would have been fidgeting with anything within reach. Another discouraged trait.
Behind me stood the only two exceptions in the room. One being the king’s gaudy throne. The behemoth was made from duriem, the most common metal in Corianth. Known for two things: its ability to be buffed to a high mirrored shine, and its immense weight per square inch. It had taken six very large, immortal men just to tip the monstrosity onto a cart and another six to make sure the first didn’t get crushed should it succumb to the pull of gravity.
The other seat was my throne that sat slightly to the left and behind the mirrored atrocity barely making it noticeable. A more conservative version that was fashioned from shifran, the only metal on the Continent to fatally threaten an immortal’s life.
Rooting my feet in place, I shifted my weight undetectably from one foot to the other. The fabric of my dress barely swaying. The ethereal layers of gold and white gossamer cascaded from the tops of my shoulders, leaving my arms bare, exposing most of the newly healed tattoos.
Taking one last deep breath to steady myself, I watched as Minister Khayin, the king’s adviser, entered the hall. Dark purple robes more ornate than his usual attire covered his tall frame from shoulder to ankle, sashaying as he moved with a certain amount of grace. Making it hard to believe the man was ever once human. Not that being gifted immortality afforded grace where none had previously existed. It was simply Khayin. At first glance he was gangly and awkward. After witnessing even his most minute of gestures, it became clear he held a certain amount of lethal grace that screamed unnatural. Not that that meant I would ever trust him to protect me if physical harm was impending.
Arms held before him, carrying a deep purple pillow with the stiff, gray, full-faced mask atop. Slowly making his way toward the dais with as much pomp and circumstance as he could muster. Guests turned their attention, watching my fate pass along the gilded runway.
A mask.
Traditionally saved for the announcement of a notable betrothal for both Fae and Eildun. Otherwise, masks were not commonly used outside Masquerades. Even then betrothal masks were a veil of fabric, not a stiff, formed piece of felt.
I had heard most humans, especially in Madina, had a similar tradition. The groom was forbidden to set eyes upon his bride for a few weeks up to an entire month before the nuptials.
Aristocracy would veil their daughters from the day of their proposal until the moment they exchanged vows when she would allow her now husband to unveil her. That was probably why engagements did not last long before a marriage ceremony was performed.
In any case, marriage was not in my immediate future. At least not yet.
I hoped.
Just a mask.
My father, King Aesiri Gyphder, and Minister Khayin thought it would be an opportune time to honor our absent goddess by keeping the only heir masked until her return.
A time when Goddess and kingdom reunited for all to be unveiled.
The sound of a throat clearing brought me blinking back into the moment. Staring straight into a man’s bobbing throat that now stood directly in front of me. Khayin, holding the pillow, mask, and an expectant expression, begged for a reaction. His too round eyes demanded an answer to whatever was just spoken.
I knew what he had said even if I hadn’t heard it. Just as well as I knew what I was supposed to offer in response.
The problem was focus.
An audience had never caused any anxiety or trepidation before. But having your enemy in attendance was not something I was accustomed to. I was only eighteen. A blip in time in the eyes of an immortal.
Having Fae casually in attendance was distracting to say the least. He was distracting.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to focus on the air in front of Khayin and repeated the oath I spent the last few months memorizing. Continuing to answer his rehearsed prompts with the appropriate responses in the strong and steady voice my father, and people, expected from the future of the crown. Projecting my promise not only to them, but to our absent goddess.
Khayin turned his back, leaving me to stand as an awkward ornament atop the dais while he preached tradition and respect. I suspected this was why there were no chairs. If the attendees had been allowed to sit during this portion, they all would have been lolled to sleep, fall from the chairs, injuries abound. Then where would we be?
The only thing keeping my eyelids from drooping was not the hordes of stares undoubtedly on me, but the Fae prince and his acute attention. My reaction to his attention was somewhat unsettling.
The Fae, like the Eildun, were a product of divine intervention. Gods with too much time, power, and vanity on their hands. Aedific was the Deity responsible for creating Fae. They were the first. It was their creation that led to the Divinity Wars. War that ended with two races, Fae and human, and all Gods and Goddesses forcibly removed from this realm to live in another.
In the case of the Eildun, the goddess Idun was our creator. As a lesser goddess, she had been able to visit our realm without major pomp and circumstance the greater ones required. On one such visit, she presented a mortal with her Gift given in gratitude. Fruit that afforded the receiver immortality akin to the Fae.
Thus began the Gifting. Every two hundred years Idun would present herself and her fruit. Two and a half centuries have gone by since she was last seen. Two and a half centuries since the Caedum began — the war that turned the Fae and Eildun into enemies and ravaged the entire Continent.
In this hall, at this time, a momentary truce had been proclaimed. As occasionally happened over the years. Not only within the castle walls, but within the city of Eitiris itself, there would be peace among the races. United in a common cause to mend what was broken.
Despite the decree, only two of the Fae royal family were in attendance. Queen Ingenia and her youngest son Prince Injaenus.
The princeling’s focused concentration was solely on me. As were most, no doubt finding Khayin an inadequate and dull focal point. But I felt none of their attention as I did his. The moment our eyes met I felt the weight of his gaze settle right behind mine. Snaking its way down my spine to connect with another presence buried within my chest.
A foreign pressure began to blossom inside my head as if someone was throwing a heavy dose of power against my mental shields. An overwhelming tension battering against my defenses. Holding my breath, fighting to keep those mental walls solid against the sudden onslaught, I fought to keep my struggle from showing on my face. I wasn’t behind a tangible mask yet.
A small crease formed on the prince’s brow.
Fae bastard, I thought.
As quick as it appeared, the pressure dissipated but our eyes remained locked. Trying to decipher his subtle expression, I had the sudden urge to rub a hand over the throbbing sensation at my center.
I didn’t know much about Prince Injaenus or his power. As an Eildun, we are mostly immune to much of their magic. But being a royal, perhaps if he specialized in mental casting, he would be strong enough to glean something from me.
Proving that what I had been taught was true; the Fae were not to be trusted. One of the reasons there were extra guards surrounding this celebration.
The king’s booming voice filled the hall as he proclaimed his heir and the end of Khayin’s incessant speech. Tearing myself from the prince, focus trained on the end of the great hall, I waited. Forcing all thoughts of the prince and his attempt to break our precarious peace to the back of my mind.
Stepping forward with a flourish that only he could present as masculine and menacing, my father lifted the mask from the purple pillow. Holding it lightly between his hands, he stepped behind me. Raising the gray façade high for all to see before lowering it. The late morning light streamed through the mask’s openings. Iotas of dust danced amongst the rays unconcerned of their path or surroundings.
“For Idun,” my father proclaimed in a hushed tone that managed to reach every ear in the room an instant before placing the mask over my face. Gently securing the delicate ribbons at the back of my head.
I felt it.
The mask. Resting over my skin. The way it caressed my features almost tenderly holding my face while it left only my eyes and mouth exposed.
The applause and cheers of the crowd were lost beyond my own thoughts. In this moment I thought I would be inwardly cheering along with them. Experiencing joy at honoring not only our goddess, but all the deities that had not appeared since her disappearance. Instead, my heart felt dampened, hidden before all. As if I was watching from the shadows, not standing vulnerable to a room full of those waiting for me to falter.
The only presence I truly felt that saw me was Prince Injaenus. From where he stood, unmoved, while the room around him rejoiced and cheered their approval. Standing with his head tilted slightly, hands fidgeting at his sides. His face giving nothing away. Still making it feel as though the mask was invisible to him.
It was a small sliver of hope that I would relish for years to come. The feeling that there was at least one soul in this realm that was able to see me and not just the mask. Even if it was someone sworn to eventually destroy me.
