Disclaimer: Much to my envy, I do not own the Universe, the World, the Characters, or the Way of Life as created by the talented Sherwood Smith. I bow to thee, Goddess Sherwood!
CHAPTER 1
Trying to make as little movement as possible, I shifted my position as the cramp in my leg became unbearable. It was another one of those boring days at Petitioners' Court when the only problems were minor and insignificant. Just about the only excitement we—or at least I—had had was the arrival of the letter announcing my Uncle Branaric and Aunt Nimiar, who were due at blue-change.
I thought of my cousins, Kitten and Farrell. The last time we met must have been summer, it was now mid-winter. The five of us—Alaraec, Oria, Kitten, Farrell, and I—always got along well together. If there was ever an argument, it could always be turned into a joke.
Except for that one time when we were playing a game of cards and Farrell accused Oria of cheating, I thought, grimly recalling the dispute that took an entire day to be settled.
The sound of a bell clanging third-green awoke me from my reverie. The court gathered together and discussed the topics that required elongated speculation. After agreements were made and the scribe had written everything down, it was still only halfway through third-green. Just as Father was about to dismiss Court, the Grand Steward came in and announced that a runner had come from Grumareth and said it was urgent that he see the king. My father nodded his permission and the Grand Steward brought the runner in, then went outside and closed the doors.
Before us stood what seemed to be a very young boy with curly light brown hair and freckles. He was panting, sweating, and apparently worn out. He bowed to my parents, but stood erect instead of kneeling on the pillows my mother had gestured to.
"Your Majesties," the boy gasped, "I come from Grumareth with interesting news from my lady." His voice was deep—too deep, in fact, for a mere boy's. He must be a man in his mid-twenties or so. The man continued, "Your Majesties, it has been reported… from one of the villages…" The man paused to take a deep breath and steady himself. He seemed ready to faint.
"Yes?" ventured the queen.
The runner seemed to draw strength from this and continued, "It has been reported that… that Flauvic Merindar is dead!"
Silence.
And suddenly, the room burst into motion, veiled by the struggle to maintain composure and court masks. It was like trying to chase faeries or elves through the corners of your eyes. Subtle, rapid movements. A few of the ladies gasped. Some of the gentlemen happened to find a ruffle or two on their sleeve out of place at that exact moment.
I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe. I stared at the runner in complete shock. My head started to spin and my vision blurred. The only sound I heard was the runner's words echoing in my head, "Flauvic Merindar is dead… is dead…" The words were like a double-edged sword thrust through my chest. The pain in my chest was so acute, it felt like someone had reached in and grabbed and squeezed my heart mercilessly, determined to still its struggle to beat. My mind narrowed to those four words.
Flauvic Merindar is dead.
Suddenly I felt every muscle in my body get cramped. I needed room. I struggled to my wobbly knees and took a step towards the window.
And then the darkness consumed me.