Birds of a Feather
Chapter One
The streets of Alexandria were drenched in long flowing silks of ashen gray and charcoal black. Shutters were drawn closed, curtains pinned tightly shut together. The cobblestoned alleyways that twisted through the lively kingdom were deserted and quiet. Not a child made a peep nor did a merchant cry out for the purchase of his wares. That overcast day was quiet and somber. As the silent morning drifted into an early afternoon, doors and windows began to open. People crowded, suddenly, out onto the streets, packed shoulder to shoulder, filing into the large courtyards. People scrambled across the thatched roofs of the city, gazing towards the castle. And again, the rustling of the large city quieted down and everyone pricked their ears finely. Some women wrung silk scarves in their hands. The men simply dug their hands into their pockets and watched the large ticking clock tower above.
The shrill brassy sound of trumpets began to ring out. Birds scattered and some children groaned and covered their ears with their hands. At the gates of the castle and at the large man-made river surrounding the beautiful and well-manicured gardens, people crowded together and craned their necks. What a sight it was to behold; seeing the Royal Alexandrian Brass Band make their appearance in their flamboyantly lacy and golden tunics with crooked berets. They all stood at attention, side by side, with their shiny trumpets cocked at directly the same angle. Their sharp and confident toots bellowed out from the bell of the trumpet, mixing together a song of true regency with a hint of regret.
The grand doors of the castle creaked open and immediately, the people of Alexandria began to whisper and push a bit more, eager to see. Emerging at the top of the steps of the garden door for the castle was a man that the city of Alexandria had grown to respect. Though he had been the most different king they had, one who did things in a way people had never thought of before; they had come to appreciate him as the ruler and felt he had been a good choice of a partner for the miraculous queen of Alexandria. In the seven years since his marriage to the queen, he had helped procure formidable changes and established safety nets for lower-class families- something he wished his own adoptive father could have had. At the loved king's side were two young girls, both slender and graceful despite only being four and six years old, respectively.
The six year old, who had just a few inches on her sister, had tanned skin that was clear and bright at her face. She had sweet blonde hair that was much more colorful than her own father's. It was thick and fell in lush curls down her back. Her eyes, however, were taken directly from her father's eye sockets, it seemed, and screwed into her head. Beside her, her younger sister had dark black hair. It was like the sanguid night sky, complete with gray streaks like a milky belt of stars extending across the horizon. Her skin was much more fair with an olive undertone. Her eyes were the color of coffee beans. When the two princesses stood side by side, some people found it hard to imagine they were sisters.
The two young girls were dressed in matching elaborate dresses that had multiple layers in the skirt despite their protests. Black tulle gave the girls bigger waists and the long lacy sleeves were itchy, but completely forgotten. Their small wiry bodies were so deflated. They looked totally and utterly heartbroken. They watched the trumpeteers work together to throw their sounds across the large and spacious garden. As the trumpets faltered away, the little girls looked to their father for some sort of clue. But the king's face was entirely etched in a sorrow the girl's had never seen before. And in his arms he gripped the smallest of his three girls, holding her protectively against his chest.
She wasn't even a year old, but the beginning sprouts of soft golden curls were starting to cover her head. Her eyes were dark like her own mother's and peeping out beneath the edge of her lacy dress was a small tail. The only princess of Alexandria to inherit one.
The trumpets echoed across the still water, settling on the shoulders of the citizens who stared with wide eyes and discontent bellies. The family of three remained at the top of the tall stairs that descended into the garden while the Alexandrian Trumpeteers withdrew their berets, covering their hearts, as the sound of clattering tin and metal began to rise from the foliage. Leading the way was the most distinguished and regarded (not to mention, most fawned over) general of Alexandria, Beatrix. Alongside her, with a face of great concern and discontent, was her lover and husband, Aldebert Steiner, whose armor had been polished that morning despite the warnings of rain. The two captains of Alexandria's soldier regiments marched forward while behind them, their loyal soldiers held a large decadent coffin on their shoulders, marching in time. One foot forward. Pause. Another foot forward. Pause. As eventually the somber coffin came to pass, the king of Alexandria finally collected himself and his daughters, heading down the stairs to follow in the wake of the casket. He ached in that moment as he realized he no longer had enough hands for his little family.
The king's long legs followed behind the coffin and with each step, he grew gravely worried he'd faint. It felt like all the blood was rushing through his brain, down his spine, and pooling into the bottom of his heart. He felt like he was losing his energy entirely too fast and his calloused hand gripped the pudgey thigh of his small daughter, relishing in the silky feeling of her skin. He glanced fleetingly to the small girls on either side of him. The oldest one grabbed his free hand, her slender fingers gripping him tightly. His middle child watched the soldiers as any means to amuse herself.
"At attention!" Beatrix's sharp but melodious voice rang out and the young girl's lifted their eyes at the familiar sound. Surrounding the royal family, dozens of soldiers hurriedly straightened their shoulders and gripped the hilt of their swords. In front of them, the coffin was tenderly lowered just a few feet short of a hole. As the king stared in dismay at the hole, he, himself, almost felt like falling into it.
The queen was dead. Queen Garnet til Alexandros XVII was no more. Behind the king, the trumpets began to wail again. Beatrix and Steiner directed their soldiers into neat rows. The king stopped processing everything long before. He watched the scenes unfurl in front of him as if he simply wasn't there. Everything was happening through a crystal glass to the king. Nothing seemed to process. It was as if not a thing had truly dawned on the rather lost and confused man. How could this be? When just one week before, Queen Garnet was healthy, sporting a pearly smile, and gracing the world with her good-nature; how could she be gone in the matter of days? Whatever illness had wiped across Alexandria had left just as quickly, taking the entire king's world with it. What was he to do now?
It began raining not too long later. The king couldn't help but think how fitting it was. The sky was unleashing his own mental turmoil down onto Gaia. The sounds of silk unfurled and the help of the castle promptly held umbrellas over the royal family, but the little girl's hairstyles were already flattened and the baby was crying against the father's chest. His empty blue eyes, however, only laid on the freshly laid dirt that now was growing mushy.
Beatrix's chestnut brown curls were glossy in the steady downpour. Her boots clicked against the wet cobblestone and she grabbed Steiner's arms. "Have the maids take the girls." When the help circled around the king, he became acutely aware of the baby's fussiness and hurriedly, he wrapped his arms around her like the maids had ill-intentions. Beatrix gripped his shoulder from behind, startling him. "Zidane... maybe it would be best if the girl's went inside. Sarah doesn't need another ear infection."
King Zidane relinquished the girls in almost a defeated way, watching as they bobbed out of sight in the rain. Without his children around, he felt like his inner anguish and grief could be released. He fell to his knees, uncaring of soaking his slacks, and reached forward, placing his hands to the mound of dirt. He didn't care if his hands got dirty. Zidane trembled as he thought about how Garnet lay peacefully just feet below him, never to be unearthed again. He ducked his head, beads of rain rushing down his blond locks. Zidane ground his teeth together, everything around him forgotten. Steiner's armor clattered as he came to stand beside the fallen king, holding an umbrella up as protection.
"Your Majesty..."
"Don't call me that, Steiner..." Zidane's voice croaked. He didn't move or even attempt to throw a glance in the captain's direction. Around the men, the dribbles of rain to leafs, fountains, and water surfaces rang out. Distantly, a frog croaked. Steiner stood with his hands poised behind his back, watching Zidane's crumpled figure comb the marshy dirt.
"Your Majesty, perhaps you'd like some lun-"
"I said, don't call me that!" Zidane's head snapped up and he looked over his shoulder at the captain who had grown to be his right hand man over the course of the half decade. Zidane's hands curled together with clumpy soil caught between his fingers. "I'm not a king. I never was."
"I think Alexandria would say otherwise," Beatrix appeared on the other side of the grave, slick droplets of rain running the length of her ivory silk cloak. The past decade had been good to the general and she gave her healthy and thick hair a curt flick over her shoulder. Zidane looked nearly exasperated as he pressed his palms to his knees and wearily looked between Beatrix and Steiner.
"I'm no King without my Queen," Zidane shook his head. "And now my daughter's have no mother."
Beatrix crouched down, lowering her head within Zidane's meek tunnel of vision. "Everything is still really fresh. But I promise you, Zidane, that Steiner and I will be here for you every step of the way." There was silence again as Zidane fell at a loss of what to say or even think. All of his thoughts were rumpled up like a carpet beneath a startled cats paws. Beatrix's dark eyes glanced fleetingly towards her husband and she pensively licked her pink lips. "The people of Alexandria have always had to be strong," Beatrix continued. "And their faith in the crown has not wavered, Zidane."
The young man pushed his mop of sopping blond hair from his face and looked at Beatrix with blue eyes that offered no sparkle. "Their faith never wavered in Dagger. Tell me, how much faith would you have in a fool like me takin' the throne?"
It's true in the seven year marriage Queen Garnet was the prominent public figure of the Alexandrian crown. Zidane was rather elusive at galas and town commemorations. But every year, the town insisted on throwing a large ball in honor of Queen Garnet's birthday and Zidane always made an appearance beneath a lemony light to twirl and dance with the birthday girl. Zidane was a big help behind the scenes, though. On top of already being a marvelous and involved father, he read endless request after request to Garnet as they poured in from every type of organization, club, or even family in the town. He listened to all of Garnet's woes as a busy Queen and attended fundraising events and anything she said was important to her. With her gone, however, Zidane found himself rather exposed.
"Zidane, nobody expects you to spring into action. Not so soon, at least..." Beatrix told him. "You'll have time to mourn... time to figure things out with the girl's..."
Slowly, Zidane's head tilted down to the fresh grave that stung his just-as-fresh wounds. Cold raindrops ran over his skin and his hair, evoking goosebumps to pucker across his skin. He lowered his hands into the mushy mess of mud. "I'm nothing without her..." He whispered. "I'm nothing..."
Beatrix straightened up now, glancing towards the tall Steiner. Together, the captain and general watched the dazed king, who was at an utter loss as to what to do. Eventually, Beatrix directed Steiner away, though the man continually glanced towards the broken down Zidane, watching until he disappeared from sight behind the foliage.
All alone, Zidane could only manage a whispy sigh.
Ten Years Later...
When Zidane opened his eyes, he was greeted by a familiar sight. An empty bed with silky sheets that gleamed in the early morning light. Every morning he awoke with the same desperate hope to see his beloved wife laying in bed beside him. He feverently wanted to wrap his arms around her, press her into him, and inhale her angelic scent. No matter how many days or years that passed, Zidane still felt like he could feel Dagger with him, offering her wise and balanced words and flashing that pearly grin at him. Zidane raked his hands through his fading blond hair and looked towards the french doors leading to the balcony. It was a beautiful day in Alexandria- and a special one.
He rolled out of bed and dressed quickly. He opted for a long sleeve white button-up with a black vest that he kept open. As he washed his face in the basin, he paused, looking toward his hand. Zidane's gold wedding band glinted in the rays of sunshine that made its through the tall opaque windows of the royal bath. He smiled, fleetingly, when he remembered the day of their marriage. It seemed like an entirely different lifetime; a dream he only recalled in his deep sleep.
When Zidane emerged from the bathroom, the chamber maids were already dutifully at work. One maid grabbed his tangled sheets and ripped them from the large and fluffy mattress, tucking them into a wicker basket. She then began working on tucking fresh sheets on the bed. If it was up to Zidane, he wouldn't have any room service, but he was required to abide by the operations of the castle per Steiner and Beatrix's fine tuning. Another maid was busy sweeping the marble floors, another polishing the door knobs and wiping suddy circles on the window panes. When they noticed the king, however, they all abruptly stopped their tasks, some even gasping sharply. They hurriedly bowed, clutching their dirty aprons in their hands. The holder of the throne, however, waved his hand dismissively. He had learned it was difficult to change the habits of those who had served beneath the crown their entire life. But Zidane was determined to be the easiest king to work with.
He stepped out from his bedroom, checking the grandfather clock perched near the wall of the wide hallway leading towards his chamber. It was barely after seven. Zidane was certain only his youngest was gathered at the breakfast table. Alex had always been an early riser. Already, though, Zidane's eyes fell on another early bird who flittered around the castle long before day break, and without coffee, too. It was Beatrix, who had a long garland outstretched between her arms, which she was scrutinizing heavily, tenderly touching the light blue velvet bows. She did a double take, her chestnut curls bobbing on her shoulders, when she heard Zidane's boots to the polished marble floors.
"Zidane, oh thank goodness," The general sighed, drooping her soldiers. "What do you think of the bows? I just don't think they match the shade of Sarah's dress."
Zidane came to stand by Beatrix, who had grown to be one of his best friends and an extension of his own arms. She whole heartedly cared for the three princesses of Alexandria and still managed to keep Steiner and his rusty rag-tag clan in check amongst the grounds. The king tilted his head back and forth, his boyish sandy blond hair clawing across his forehead.
"Um... well... it's blue," Zidane shrugged.
Beatrix sighed, lowering the garland. "You're just like Steiner. Yes, I know it's blue, but is it the blue? Sarah turned away nearly a dozen designers before settling on her dress. I want to honor her choice closely." Beatrix turned her head, admiring the velvet bows again.
"I wouldn't worry too much," Zidane shrugged, strolling past Beatrix now. He paused on a short flight of stairs, looking over his shoulder at the general whose anxiety about the situation had not been asauged. "Sarah is the most flexible and understanding. It's Alex you have to watch out for. She's the most demanding princess in all of Gaia."
Beatrix smiled, folding the garland up in her hands. "Oh, that reminds me. A maid told me in passing that Bella is complaining of a stomach ache."
Zidane sighed, raking his hair from his clear but tired face. "I should've guessed, of all days."
"Breakfast shall be served at eight."
"Thank you, Beatrix!" Zidane shouted over his shoulder as he hurried off down the hallway, mentally preparing himself to be a father and a king for yet another day.
Crossing the large and spacious Alexandrian castle to journey into the princess' quarters was equivalent of crossing mountains. Ten or fifteen years ago, spry and energetic Zidane could have easily conquered it all. But today, in his middle age, Zidane was already fatigued after the several flights of stairs and sharp right turns in winding corridors. He came upon the door that belonged to his middle child. Zidane curtly knocked on the door and entered without even waiting to be called in.
Zidane stumbled into a spacious room that was dark by nature. The tall sloping ceiling was covered in silk draperies that sported fun and dark designs. The windows were covered by black cotton. Candles were lit on every surface, dusty books and journals discarded on vanities, console tables, and across the floor on the darkly woven rugs the ruminating princess had demanded when she redecorated her chambers last summer. It smelled wickedly of burnt sugar, lavendar, and potpurri. Zidane noticed a bowl of crushed up herbs on the cluttered vanity table. His daughter had been playing witch again. He spied her bed beneath a canopy of sheer black tulle that tumbled down to a large mountain of quilts. He could see dark black hair and for a moment, he could pretend it was Dagger slipped beneath the covers. Zidane cleared his throat, carefully manuevering around some opened books about the history of eidolons.
"Arabella?" Zidane asked, coming to the foot of the bed and grabbing the dark mahogony post. "Arabella, are you awake?"
Slowly, the dark purple sheets folded back to find a rather pale but upset looking teenager. Arabella resembeled her mother closely. She had those sweet brown eyes and dark hair that was like an onyx fire reaching from her scalp. Her black hair was kept short, however, falling curtly at her jaw. "Daddy, it's rude to come into a witch's room and call her by the incorrect name!"
Zidane sighed despite the grin plastered across his face. "Would a princess think the same?"
"Daddy," The young girl looked at him pointedly. "I'm a witch before I'm a princess. Always."
"So, Bella, a little birdy told me someone wasn't feeling well," Zidane came to sit on the edge of her bed. The wiry girl's nightgown crumpled as she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. Zidane pressed his hand to her forehead and cheekbone. "You feel fine to me."
"It's not my head, it's my stomach," Bella told him without shaking the pouty look.
"Were you up eating those jelly beans and chocolate frogs your Aunt Freya brought back from Lindblum?" Zidane arched his eyebrows. Furiously, his middle child shook her head.
"Of course not!" Bella said. "Aunt Beatrix says chocolate frogs rot your teeth. Witches don't have rotten teeth, Daddy."
"And what about princesses?" Zidane grinned. Bella gave him a dead-panned look and he could only laugh at how much it looked like the exasperated face of Dagger. "Well, I'd say you're perfectly healthy. Are you sure your belly's not a little jealous of Sarah being the birthday girl today?"
"No," Bella said defiantly, turning her head away and allowing her glossy black hair to frame her face. "I couldn't care less that Sarah is sixteen today!"
"Well, then tell your belly to stop hurting because you have to attend the birthday ball. No if's, and's, or but's, Missy," Zidane told her, watching her face further etch with disappointment. "It's going to be a lot of fun, I promise, Bella. There will be lots of food, a live band- not to mention a lot of kids your age!"
Bella's shoulders seemed to sag at the mention and she fell back against her fluffy goosedown pillows with a big melodramatic huff. "Daddy, none of those kids like talking to me. They think I'm weird and I know it."
"Well, you did try turning Iboez Darner into a dragonfly at the last ball," Zidane shrugged. "They don't think you're weird, Bella. You're the second in line to the throne of Alexandria. I'd say they're just nervous around you."
Bella rolled her eyes, her black locks splaying across her large and fluffy pillows. After a moment, she grinned, her slender fingers picking at the dark embroideries stitched into the quilts. "People are scared of witches, right?"
"Arabella, it's hard to be scared of a girl as cute as you." He reached towards her, pinching her cheek. She howled in protest.
Bella leapt from her bed to the velvet stool of her vanity. She wobbled back and forth, her arms windmilling. Her silky nightgown swayed back and forth around her slender legs as she reached for a bowl of flower petals and ash she had most likely stolen from the gardner's shed. She dug her fingers into the dusty mixture and held her hand out towards Zidane.
"You'll forget you ever came in here," Bella told him. Zidane did his best to conceal the smile that was slowly finding itself across his face. "And you'll let me do whatever I want tonight!"
"Only if you go to Sarah's birthday ball," Zidane told her. "She's never missed one of yours."
Bella lowered the opaque bowl of ingredients. "As long as I get the last chocolate frog, I'll go."
Zidane nodded. "Deal. But first, breakfast." Zidane came to his feet and wrapped his arms around Bella, who was just slightly taller than him when standing on a stool. "Oatmeal and raspberries sounds like the perfect cure for a stomachache."
...
When Zidane was finally able to coax Bella down to the dining hall, it was a quarter to eight. The two came through the door to find the maids already running around wildly, ordering drapes to be pulled down so new, freshly ironed drapes could be re-hung. Butler's arranged wreaths and bouquets of flowers bursting with bright blues along the walls while another group of maids worked on pinning garlands with the velvet bows to the perimeter of the tall windows that allowed the fresh sunshine of Alexandria to fall into the well-polished room.
Zidane found his oldest and his youngest daughter seated at the long table. There was already a silver platter with an arrangement of fruit and cheeses set between them. Juice and tea were also available. Sarah had her wavy blonde locks pinned into a mountain a top her head, her ruby red house dress dipping low into a sweetheart neckline above her smooth tanned skin. Sarah delicately drank some tea, smiling at Alex, whose little tail beat against her back with excitement.
Sarah Til Alexandros-Tribal XVIII had always been a good big sister. She was attentive and polite, always willing to lend an ear. Though her younger sister, Bella, bore much more of a resemblance to their mother, Sarah truly captured the essence and spirit of Dagger's gentle and tender nature. Sarah was easy-going and especially patient with six year old Alexandra. Bella and Sarah were the likely culprits to butt heads. It was easy to see the younger and darker sister was slightly jealous of her older sister, though Zidane insisted there was nothing to be jealous about. But still, it was evident Sarah cared for her younger sisters, no matter how much they drove her up the wall. On the day of her sixteenth birthday, Zidane saw nothing short of a budding woman who would make a fine queen to Alexandria one day. It astounded him in that moment that it had been sixteen years since he Dagger had given birth to their first child. And it almost made him nervous: Dagger's sixteenth birthday had changed everything.
Zidane came around the table while Bella sunk down into the seat beside Alex. Already bored, the young wishful witch reached for a grape, chewing on it slowly in an attempt to unravel the skin entirely from the fruit without swallowing it whole. Zidane leaned over the tall back of the dark chestnut chair, pecking a kiss on Sarah's forehead.
"Happy birthday, darling," Zidane said, grinning down at her bright face. "Sixteen, sixteen! Oh man, where do the years go? Soon enough I'm going to be a grumpy old man."
"You already are, Daddy!" Alex bust out with a girlish laugh and flushed cheeks. She was easily the female reincarnation of Zidane. She was the spitting image of him in his youth with her chipmunk cheeks and endless energy. Not too mention her loud mouth that never told a lie. Zidane grinned amongst all of his girls, glancing towards the busy help that whirled around the castle in anticipation of the most important ball: The 16th birthday of the princess of Alexandria.