luv, sorka
~~~~~~
Mirianne tore through the palace, irrationally panicking as she stumbled into the bright sunlight. Fiercely fighting off the thorny branches, her old gashes reopened and she gasped at the sharp, burning pain of both old and new scratches stung.
She was nearly to the riverbank before she stopped, panting for breath. Hands trembling, the girl washed the scrapes and bleeding skin lacerations with the cold water. "What was I thinking?" she thought, laughing inwardly at herself.
The idea of a spirit, or an elemental, in the palace chilled her more than the icy water. "Silly of me," she scoffed. "It was dark, wasn't it? And I probably did not see the words, carved as they were." The wounds in her arms still bled, and she sighed, swiping at the small pricks of crimson.
Twitching her long, layered skirts out of the way, Mirianne wondered when the early spring weather would permit her to switch to lighter, single skirts and dresses. But then she frowned, for it hadn't been the least bit chilly in the palace. "No drafts," she assured herself, eagerly finding justification for any oddity of the quiet place.
After a brief half-hour's walk, she came to the well-worn path. Miri stopped, confused, as her green eyes scanned behind her. "It was at least a handful of hours yesterday, to the palace..." she muttered. Turning, she saw no sign of the tall turrets or the deep grey battlements.
She was about to turn around and walk directly back, when a shout reached her ears. Her eldest brother, along with what seemed like half a regiment of soldiers, galloped up the dirt path, followed by the sulky, spoiled pony of Alliaria. "Mirianne?"
"Kayden?" she asked, suprised, before remembering that she had been missing for the entire night and at least half a morning.
He dismounted, handing the reins of his fine, black dappled stallion to his first-in-command. "We've been searching the woods," he told his sister reproachfully, "All afraid one of the hungry keneks or larger brown mesols had attacked you." And quieter yet, the prince asked Mirianne, "What happened?"
"Not much," she replied, thinking of the silent stone castle. "After dark, I stayed away from the large trees."
"I meant," he continued dryly, "with Alliaria." Kayden's mouth twisted to the side slightly as he regarded his full-blooded sister sourly. "She's a wicked one, is she not?"
"She's your sister."
"And so are you. Despite what she says."
Mirianne bit her lip and sighed, something she had been doing quite often, lately. "What she says is true, though perhaps not in exactly the same light," she replied diplomatically. "And while her sharp tongue was let out of it's scabbard last night, it was no reason to stay lost in the woods at night."
"Whatever you say," the prince brushed away her words as he mounted his horse. "I still think she's a useless appendage." This he said loud enough for the elder sister to hear, and Alliaria scowled at Kayden. "And whatever did you do to your arms?"
"Thornapple bushes," Miri murmured succinctly, brushing at the beads of blood before lightly leaping behind Kayden onto his horse's back, something that Alliaria would never attempt. She held this ability in high regard, knowing that her sister needed a stepping block to mount even her small pony. The company rode back to the city in higher spirits, and Miri even allowed herself to smile at her strange secret.
~~~~~~~~~
"Father," Miri repeated once more, "I am safe in the woods, as long as I do not spend another long night in it's shadow."
The King rubbed at his temples with a sigh. "I should hope so; you spend enough time inside it. But I would prefer..." His eyes on her were filled with vague kindness, the easiest way for the monarch to deal with the daughter that his people did not want.
Olyandar let out a small cough. "Sire, it proves useful for the girl to practice her herbcraft, for she does seem to have a gift at plants and healing." The king's personal mage stood firm, pale violet eyes glinting like a peaceful dawn before a storm.
The mage's words stung, for the connotation of magic was a sore spot in Mirianne's heart. How the king trusted him so readily, she would never know. "I have no gift, sir," she began stiffly, before his hand waved her protests away.
"I apologize, Princess, for the unlucky slip of my tongue," Olyandar continued, eyes piercing into her own. "Despite the - well, rumors-"
The hardness in the King's voice stopped Olyandar in his train of thought. "We were discussing the matter at hand," he said coldly, once more leaning his greying head onto a tired fist. When had her father grown so old? His strong arm was no less powerful, yet a shadow of age had cast its dim hand over his presence.
"I deem it safe," Olyandar pressed, and the King acquiesced to his mage and advisor's glib words. Her father nodded, allowing her permission in the same way he always had, since she had been a small child.
Departing from the council chambers, Olyandar on her heels, the mage asked, "Was it truly dangerous?" The tone of his voice, slightly grating, sent a slight ray of consciousness into her weary mind. "Have you seen anything?"
"Of course not," she scoffed, for the mage's tone implied her incompetance. "There was nothing out there but trees, no wild keneks to be seen or heard." Her throat was squeezed tight as she spoke, as if an unseen hand gripped it with clammy palms.
"I meant," said Olyandar's, voice chilly, "Was there anything there? Such as a cottage, or structure..." His violet eyes were like steel bands around her neck, Miri decided uncomfortably. And for what motive would he want this information, what good would it bring? A light sweat broke out on her pale, unblemished forehead.
She remembered the time three years ago, when middle-aged Olyandar had pressed for marriage, first with Alliaria and then with herself only to be denied by both the King and Kayden. His sly ambition had bothered her even then, and had ever since she could remember as a tiny child in the large palace. Since he had first patted her hair, murmuring a prayer or incantations of sorts, when she was but four years old, a silky flower in her tiny hand.
She hated speaking to him, and the strange flickering light in his oddly colored eyes frightened her.
"Nothing," she told him firmly. The mysterious castle, and its secret, were hers alone. The weight that rested upon her chest grew no lighter, as it had not during the past twelve years since she was four, and she carefully walked away from the sorcerer.
~~~~~~~~
As she travelled the flowery paths along the forest, Mirianne allowed herself a derisive laugh at her own fear. "I mean, after all, the words were probably there to begin with. In the shadows."
"But then why," she added to the listening air, "am I arguing with myself, if it was simply nothing?" The silence had no answer to that question. Steeling her nerves, Mirianne had convinced both her father and Kayden to allow her to wander the woods again, for both herbs and plants. Despite her strange, irrational fear, she did wish to return to the quiet stone walls, and her curiosity was afire.
"At least, Alliaria is not allowed with me, anymore." Swinging the basket freely, for it was yet empty, Miri felt the urge to sing in the cool, sweet spring air, though she restrained the urge. Once again, she stepped off the path hesitantly, feeling her soft boot rustle in the soft grass.
Miri followed the same path she had before, along the river bank, but this time her feet seemed to know exactly which direction to walk. And to her surprise, the way seemed quite shorter, though not the half-hour of the day before.
This time, small knife in hand, she carefully pruned back the thornapple bushes, only pruning those branches that were dead or dying. Creating a small, narrow path, Miri slipped through unscathed and through the courtyard. "What a mess," she murmured, peering at the weeds and wildflowers poking through the stones. "Does no one else come here?" She truly hoped not; being the only one was exciting in its own way.
Reminding herself to bring a trowel the next time, she walked through the door, which opened slightly more easier than before, and towards the statue chamber once more. Despite the slight prickles on the back of her neck, Miri forced herself to keep walking forward.
Timidly entering the room, a quick glance reassured her. "What is your name" still graced the marble scroll, and the still and ever-calm face of the young man was constant.
"You have no idea how relieved I am," Miri told the statue. "I was afraid you were magicked, or whatnot." Resting her basket of herbs on the floor, she produced a small stack of fabric squares and some thread. "I make these, for the palace. I like herbs, and plants, and green things, you know," she continued conversationally. Her deft fingers stitched rapidly, leaving a row of neat, uniform stitches in their path. "My mother loved plants, every kind of them." Miri swallowed, remembering the hated word whispered in court- Greenwitch- and smiled brightly instead. "I think I've inherited her obsession."
"I must be crazy!" she exclaimed, still speaking to the statue. "Why am I pouring out my life story, while I'm talking to an inanimate carv-" Miri's eyes widened, her numb fingers dropping needle and thread.
The words on the scroll had changed yet again. Though the man's face was as serene as the day before, a new inscription followed the original.
What is your name?
I listen.
Mirianne's heart pounded, and stumbling up from where she was seated backed away from the marble figure. "What is happening?" she whispered, before her knees gave way. "What enchantment is this? I am a healer, no sorcerer mage!"
Her legs would not carry her slight weight, so she dragged herself towards the figure like a supplicant, on hands and knees. A tear ran down her cheek even as her pride stubbornly refused to let her leave. "So confused," she murmured, wiping her eyes as she fought to breathe evenly. The silence cushioned her, wrapping around her shaking form as softly as a lover's arms.
"My name is Mirianne of Tirradel," she began, voice shaky. "Does that help? I am of the family line Rosatyne, Fireflower in the old Language, and the third child and second daughter of King Teros." Staring hard at the marble scroll, the words remained the same.
After several minutes of this, she sighed and stared at her hands. "I think I am going crazy," she told herself once more, but this time Miri's voice held a smile. "I accept this, strangely. I would think I would be more frightened, but I think my initial hysteria is over."
"You listen?" she began, looking up, and for the second time read a message-
I thank you for your name,
for I have not heard any spoken
words for many years.
Will you talk to me?
It is very lonely where I am.
"I should not look away, for then you write to me," she informed the statue. "First, I have a question. Who- and what are you? Where are you, strange Lord, that you might be lonely?" Miri looked away, then peered at the scroll again. No change. She tried again, but with the same result.
"Ah, but you have caught me, haven't you?" Though her hands were yet shaky, she picked up her sewing once more. "Then I shall simply talk, if that is what you yearn for, my Lord. These are sachets, for ginnelle leaves, but not for scent: under your pillow can help chest colds."
Her tears had faded, and Miri felt strangely content as she leaned her back against the marble statue's base. The stone was strangely warm, and it was a comfort to rest herself against it. It almost seemed to lift the solemn, painful weight in her chest with its consoling serenity.
~~~~~~~~~
