Chapter 3
Safhia reached the palace gates just as the last of the sun sank beneath the horizon. The guard recognized her immediately and smiled as he opened the gate for her. She stopped and curtseyed quickly, thanking the man before hurrying inside. It was late, and evening court would begin in less than an hour.
The courtyard was far from quiet: men and women in court-dress stood in small groups here and there, sharing news and gossip, while a group of children about Safhia's age played among them. They laughed and squealed happily, chasing each other around the courtyard in a game of tag, sometimes hiding behind their parents to avoid being caught (who quickly shooed them back to their friends). Safhia longed to join their game, to run and play like a normal little girl with the other children, but she knew better than to try. It wasn't that they wouldn't let her play with them; they were the sons and daughters of Kinmokian nobles, after all, and they would do so with perfect manners. But, as she knew from experience, once the game began they would do all they could to ignore and generally exclude her from it. She was too far separated from them; after the years of private schooling with the mystics, which the children saw as some sort of special treatment that she had not earned, it had been too long since she had last done anything with them as a group. All of the children knew of her failings, they knew she was weak in body and had no magic, at least not of the kind they understood. She was the first princess of Kinmoku, and yet she would not inherit the throne. It didn't matter that she had an even stronger power, it didn't matter that she could crush a man or level a building with the strength of her mind alone, and it didn't matter that the only reason she was being taught by the three mages was to help her control that strength, or that one day she might use those very powers to protect them. They were only children, after all, and most of them children who were cared for by governesses or other servants rather than their parents. They often were left to themselves, and so they drew their own conclusions, unaware of just how unfairly they had treated Safhia. They only saw that they, as they believed, had been slighted in favor of one who, in their eyes, was undeserving of such treatment.
And so they shut her out, made her feel like a foreigner in her own land, and by their very presence reminded her everyday of just how much of a failure she was.
She hadn't realized that she'd stopped walking, or that she'd been staring at the group of children at play, until most of them had halted their game and were staring right back, unheeded by the adults. One of them, a young boy named Taro, met her eyes and shook his head slowly, his eyes locked on hers. He was the son of the Baron of Kinron, one of the largest city-states on Kinmoku, and would inherit his father's land and power in just three years. He was a good two years older than most of the other children, and so he generally as looked upon as the leader when they were all together as they were now. Safhia read an unspoken warning in his eyes and looked away, continuing on her way through the courtyard with her eyes looking straight ahead. She could feel their eyes on her as she passed, heard their silence above the chatter of the adults around them. She wanted to bow her head in shame, but she wouldn't let them see her guilt; she wanted to run from their as fast as she could and not stop until she was safe within the palace walls, but she wouldn't show them that she was afraid. Today, as in so many of these encounters, her pride was the only thing that kept her from making a fool of herself.
And so she walked gracefully past the last of the adults and through the open door at the end of the courtyard, into the reception area with its grand curving staircase and cascading arrangements of lilies and ivy in tall vases in the corners. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and sent refracted the light from the mage-lit lanterns on the walls into a thousand bright rainbows. She had always loved that chandelier, had loved to watch the rainbows as they danced against the walls, but today she barely looked at them as, hidden from the hot stares of the other children, she broke into a run up the stairs and into the hall above, which would lead to her private chambers. She felt hot tears stinging her eyes, but ignored them. She told herself that it wasn't worth crying over; this happened all the time, it was nothing she wasn't already used to.
And yet, even after all this time, it still hurt.
Reaching the door to her chambers, she pulled it open and slipped silently inside, then shut the door quietly behind her. For a moment she stood with one hand pressed against the door, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She was still required to appear in court tonight, and thankfully the other children rarely attended. They usually preferred to stay outside and play, for it was one of the few times when they could do so without their parents (or other adults) looking on. Reminding herself of that fact, she finally moved away from the door and went to the open window, drawing the gauzy white curtains closed so that she could change. A soft breeze filtered into the room and toyed with her hair as she untied the belt that held her robe closed. She always wore a robe like those the mystics themselves wore when she was training in the vale; it was simpler in cut and decoration but quite beautiful, and was the most comfortable piece of clothing she owned, for it was made of the softest, lightest fabric in Kinmoku. It was made as such so that she would not be distracted in her studies by uncomfortable clothing (even the smallest distraction could be dangerous, when working with mind magic). Despite all this, however, it was certainly not suitable for a court appearance, and having shed the robe she walked into her closet to find a more appropriate outfit.
A few moments later she emerged wearing a dress cut in the traditional style of Kinmokian royalty: all in red and gold, it fit her upper body tightly and fell to the floor in a full skirt of red satin. The sleeves were puffed at her shoulders, but below were long, wide sleeves of golden chiffon. The bodice was adorned with golden embroidery, and at the waist was decorated with small golden bells that tinkled as she walked. Her slippers, made of the same red satin, were embroidered similarly around the ankles. Into her hair she placed the small golden tiara of the first princess, and fastened a golden chain around her slender neck, along with matching bracelets around both wrists. Now she stood before the full-length mirror on her wall and studied herself, thinking. She looked, she knew, exactly as a princess should look: feminine, dainty, and wealthy, just like a little china doll. She sighed and touched the tiara in her hair. It just didn't feel right; it was beautiful, but all the same she hated it. She didn't want to be a princess, she didn't want the responsibility, the expectations, the pressure…and though she was happy to have been relieved of the duties of ruling Kinmoku, she felt guilty. She didn't want the throne, and she never had, but she felt as if she had failed in her duty as the Queen's first-born. Now her sister would be forced to take her place and shoulder her burden, and who was to say that, when the time came, she wouldn't feel just the same as Safhia did now? Who would be there to help her to bear its weight?
Here, safe from prying eyes, Safhia allowed herself to drop her eyes to the floor, her shoulders slumped slightly in weary sadness. None of it seemed fair, not to anyone. She knew her mother had undergone as much pain as she herself had; she knew the way people had spoken of the Queen before Kakyuu was born…the way some still did…and she also knew that it was because of her. She sometimes wondered if she hadn't been born at all, if Kakyuu had been the first born, if everything wouldn't have been easier for them. The shame of knowing what her weakness was putting her family through was overwhelming. It seemed like every night it became harder and harder to face the noblemen and women who attended Kailia's court, knowing what they said about her and her family. She wanted to protect them, wanted to make them proud of her…
And yet she still could not bear the very idea of having to ascend the throne. She knew it was selfish, but she couldn't help the way she felt. To even think that she would have been responsible for the well being of an entire planet terrified her. These opposing feelings were tearing her in two, or at least they would if she'd let them, but once again her pride was her salvation. It was one of the few things she had inherited from her father, and it kept her from falling apart when she was feeling as she did now. Though she inwardly believed that much of what the people thought of her was true, she would not show it. She held her head high in the presence of others and pretended she didn't care what they said, and hoped that eventually they would run out of things to talk about.
'Safhia, you're going to be late again,' came Kailia's gentle voice inside her mind, breaking into her thoughts and bringing her out of her musings and back to the real world. She hadn't realized just how long she'd been standing there.
'I'm sorry, mother, I'm coming,' she sent in reply, practically running out of her chambers and back down the hall towards the staircase. Upon reaching the top she stopped for a moment and checked herself, smoothing her dress and making sure her tiara was straight, before stepping into the light of the reception area and into view of the mass of adults who were milling about below, having moved inside from the courtyard as it grew nearer to the time when evening court would officially begin. Taking a deep breath she began her descent, realizing that the eyes of many of the men and women below were on her and trying to ignore them, holding herself erect and trying to look as if she hadn't a care in the world.
Safhia reached the palace gates just as the last of the sun sank beneath the horizon. The guard recognized her immediately and smiled as he opened the gate for her. She stopped and curtseyed quickly, thanking the man before hurrying inside. It was late, and evening court would begin in less than an hour.
The courtyard was far from quiet: men and women in court-dress stood in small groups here and there, sharing news and gossip, while a group of children about Safhia's age played among them. They laughed and squealed happily, chasing each other around the courtyard in a game of tag, sometimes hiding behind their parents to avoid being caught (who quickly shooed them back to their friends). Safhia longed to join their game, to run and play like a normal little girl with the other children, but she knew better than to try. It wasn't that they wouldn't let her play with them; they were the sons and daughters of Kinmokian nobles, after all, and they would do so with perfect manners. But, as she knew from experience, once the game began they would do all they could to ignore and generally exclude her from it. She was too far separated from them; after the years of private schooling with the mystics, which the children saw as some sort of special treatment that she had not earned, it had been too long since she had last done anything with them as a group. All of the children knew of her failings, they knew she was weak in body and had no magic, at least not of the kind they understood. She was the first princess of Kinmoku, and yet she would not inherit the throne. It didn't matter that she had an even stronger power, it didn't matter that she could crush a man or level a building with the strength of her mind alone, and it didn't matter that the only reason she was being taught by the three mages was to help her control that strength, or that one day she might use those very powers to protect them. They were only children, after all, and most of them children who were cared for by governesses or other servants rather than their parents. They often were left to themselves, and so they drew their own conclusions, unaware of just how unfairly they had treated Safhia. They only saw that they, as they believed, had been slighted in favor of one who, in their eyes, was undeserving of such treatment.
And so they shut her out, made her feel like a foreigner in her own land, and by their very presence reminded her everyday of just how much of a failure she was.
She hadn't realized that she'd stopped walking, or that she'd been staring at the group of children at play, until most of them had halted their game and were staring right back, unheeded by the adults. One of them, a young boy named Taro, met her eyes and shook his head slowly, his eyes locked on hers. He was the son of the Baron of Kinron, one of the largest city-states on Kinmoku, and would inherit his father's land and power in just three years. He was a good two years older than most of the other children, and so he generally as looked upon as the leader when they were all together as they were now. Safhia read an unspoken warning in his eyes and looked away, continuing on her way through the courtyard with her eyes looking straight ahead. She could feel their eyes on her as she passed, heard their silence above the chatter of the adults around them. She wanted to bow her head in shame, but she wouldn't let them see her guilt; she wanted to run from their as fast as she could and not stop until she was safe within the palace walls, but she wouldn't show them that she was afraid. Today, as in so many of these encounters, her pride was the only thing that kept her from making a fool of herself.
And so she walked gracefully past the last of the adults and through the open door at the end of the courtyard, into the reception area with its grand curving staircase and cascading arrangements of lilies and ivy in tall vases in the corners. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and sent refracted the light from the mage-lit lanterns on the walls into a thousand bright rainbows. She had always loved that chandelier, had loved to watch the rainbows as they danced against the walls, but today she barely looked at them as, hidden from the hot stares of the other children, she broke into a run up the stairs and into the hall above, which would lead to her private chambers. She felt hot tears stinging her eyes, but ignored them. She told herself that it wasn't worth crying over; this happened all the time, it was nothing she wasn't already used to.
And yet, even after all this time, it still hurt.
Reaching the door to her chambers, she pulled it open and slipped silently inside, then shut the door quietly behind her. For a moment she stood with one hand pressed against the door, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She was still required to appear in court tonight, and thankfully the other children rarely attended. They usually preferred to stay outside and play, for it was one of the few times when they could do so without their parents (or other adults) looking on. Reminding herself of that fact, she finally moved away from the door and went to the open window, drawing the gauzy white curtains closed so that she could change. A soft breeze filtered into the room and toyed with her hair as she untied the belt that held her robe closed. She always wore a robe like those the mystics themselves wore when she was training in the vale; it was simpler in cut and decoration but quite beautiful, and was the most comfortable piece of clothing she owned, for it was made of the softest, lightest fabric in Kinmoku. It was made as such so that she would not be distracted in her studies by uncomfortable clothing (even the smallest distraction could be dangerous, when working with mind magic). Despite all this, however, it was certainly not suitable for a court appearance, and having shed the robe she walked into her closet to find a more appropriate outfit.
A few moments later she emerged wearing a dress cut in the traditional style of Kinmokian royalty: all in red and gold, it fit her upper body tightly and fell to the floor in a full skirt of red satin. The sleeves were puffed at her shoulders, but below were long, wide sleeves of golden chiffon. The bodice was adorned with golden embroidery, and at the waist was decorated with small golden bells that tinkled as she walked. Her slippers, made of the same red satin, were embroidered similarly around the ankles. Into her hair she placed the small golden tiara of the first princess, and fastened a golden chain around her slender neck, along with matching bracelets around both wrists. Now she stood before the full-length mirror on her wall and studied herself, thinking. She looked, she knew, exactly as a princess should look: feminine, dainty, and wealthy, just like a little china doll. She sighed and touched the tiara in her hair. It just didn't feel right; it was beautiful, but all the same she hated it. She didn't want to be a princess, she didn't want the responsibility, the expectations, the pressure…and though she was happy to have been relieved of the duties of ruling Kinmoku, she felt guilty. She didn't want the throne, and she never had, but she felt as if she had failed in her duty as the Queen's first-born. Now her sister would be forced to take her place and shoulder her burden, and who was to say that, when the time came, she wouldn't feel just the same as Safhia did now? Who would be there to help her to bear its weight?
Here, safe from prying eyes, Safhia allowed herself to drop her eyes to the floor, her shoulders slumped slightly in weary sadness. None of it seemed fair, not to anyone. She knew her mother had undergone as much pain as she herself had; she knew the way people had spoken of the Queen before Kakyuu was born…the way some still did…and she also knew that it was because of her. She sometimes wondered if she hadn't been born at all, if Kakyuu had been the first born, if everything wouldn't have been easier for them. The shame of knowing what her weakness was putting her family through was overwhelming. It seemed like every night it became harder and harder to face the noblemen and women who attended Kailia's court, knowing what they said about her and her family. She wanted to protect them, wanted to make them proud of her…
And yet she still could not bear the very idea of having to ascend the throne. She knew it was selfish, but she couldn't help the way she felt. To even think that she would have been responsible for the well being of an entire planet terrified her. These opposing feelings were tearing her in two, or at least they would if she'd let them, but once again her pride was her salvation. It was one of the few things she had inherited from her father, and it kept her from falling apart when she was feeling as she did now. Though she inwardly believed that much of what the people thought of her was true, she would not show it. She held her head high in the presence of others and pretended she didn't care what they said, and hoped that eventually they would run out of things to talk about.
'Safhia, you're going to be late again,' came Kailia's gentle voice inside her mind, breaking into her thoughts and bringing her out of her musings and back to the real world. She hadn't realized just how long she'd been standing there.
'I'm sorry, mother, I'm coming,' she sent in reply, practically running out of her chambers and back down the hall towards the staircase. Upon reaching the top she stopped for a moment and checked herself, smoothing her dress and making sure her tiara was straight, before stepping into the light of the reception area and into view of the mass of adults who were milling about below, having moved inside from the courtyard as it grew nearer to the time when evening court would officially begin. Taking a deep breath she began her descent, realizing that the eyes of many of the men and women below were on her and trying to ignore them, holding herself erect and trying to look as if she hadn't a care in the world.
