Apologies for the delay, readers. There was a death in the family a couple of months ago and it hit me pretty hard, and so I fell a bit out of my usual momentum. On top of that, we decided to move houses. Again. But I'm back and hoping to pick up the slack these next couple of weeks. Thank you for your patience!
Shout-outs to the anonymous reviewers, since I'm not able to reply to those directly with ffnet's review system. I really appreciate and adore your feedback, and your comments are so encouraging! Thanks so much!
I would also love to mention that there is now Curse of the Dragon art! :D A couple of wonderful artists were kind enough to draw a bit for this story, and I am super honored and flattered that they did so!
Please take a look at their tumblrs! The link to their artwork for Curse of the Dragon will be on my profile page, and definitely check out their other works as well!
Curse of the Dragon
Chapter 8
Segue
Femio lounged on the chaise in the corner of his guest chamber, his crown in his lap. He idly traced the jewels encrusting the crown with the tip of his finger and watched dully as his slaves shuffled about his guest chambers, packing his many lavish belongings and hefting large trunks full of garments out the door. Montand, as always, stood beside him, his gaze downturned as he fanned the prince.
After consulting his advisors, he elected against remaining in Vineta for the remainder of the week. Montand was right—there would be no peaceful agreements to be made here. Not with people of such uncivil, discourteous subjects under Prince Siegfried's rule!
It wasn't as if Prince Femio personally familiarized himself with the state of the Rungholtan Army, but Montand assured him that they were strong and quite a force to be reckoned with.
Yet, Femio did not feel so cheery over his ill-fated trip to Vineta. He slouched, slumping down into the plush seat with a sigh. War was a rather rash and hasty decision, wasn't it? So much time and money would have to be put aside for such a campaign, not to mention the energy and manpower necessary to maintain their position of strength. And war resulted in so much death.
His frown deepened. He'd witnessed the funerals held for those who have passed on in search of Prince Siegfried's fiancee. There had been such grief in the prince's eyes, and even now, Lady Ahiru had not returned! While Femio was hard-pressed to understand the plight of loving only one woman, to lose such a piece of one's heart sounded simply agonizing!
Though his subjects and his decisions were questionable, Prince Siegfried presented himself as a generous man. A good, decent ruler. Femio admitted that much. To think, they could have been very good friends! It was a shame, then, that these grievous events must come to pass.
Montand was right. Prince Siegfried, rumored to be steadfast, honorable, and composed, was at his weakest. Now was the time to take advantage of such weaknesses in his character and his country.
With a sigh, Femio leaned back and glanced up at his valet. "Ahh, Montand. I do suppose we will be ready to depart within the next day or so?"
He was met with a simple nod.
"Yes, yes. Perhaps even by tonight. And then, we will wage war. Oh, what anguishing news I will bring to my subjects upon my return! Such woe, such uncanny heartache for a prince as gracious as myself~!"
Rising to his feet, Femio made his way to the large window nearby, overlooking Vineta's majesty. This was, indeed, a rather noble-looking capital city for Prince Siegfried's country—the rolling hills stretched out in the distance, the crystalline lake glittering below in the noonday sun. Even from his vantage point in one of the towers of the Grand Chateau, the little people were visible, going about their peaceful business in the town beyond the castle grounds. Once Rungholt conquered it, then the lands extending from the southern straits to the coast would belong to him. It was everything that a prince of Femio's stature deserved. And Montand made a point to mention what valuable slaves could be taken from these lands!
So … why was his heart so heavy? He'd never felt this way before. Even when the ladies of his court vied for his affections (for he couldn't possibly choose just one!), he'd never experienced such an ache—such a tear and displeasure in in chest.
Montand came to stand beside him, fanning with more enthusiasm. And with his valet's presence, Femio attempted to soothe his racing heart.
Such thoughts were unbecoming! This war would be quick and clean, and Femio would be remembered in history for his glory forever. In that, he would be content.
"Montand, fetch me a thimble of brandy! I must calm my nerves before we bid farewell to my fellow prince."
"Ahiru, I think you've scrubbed it enough."
"Eh?"
She'd been grinding the dress into the washboard with unnecessary force. Her fingers were wrinkled and numb now. "Sorry," Ahiru mumbled, shoulders slumping.
Rue sighed and stood up from her seat on the stool beside her. Kneeling down, she tried to pry the fabric from Ahiru's grip. "I'll finish up. You've done quite enough lately."
Indeed, with everyone distracted by repairs on the upper ground, they didn't have time to do their own chores—Ahiru washing their soiled clothes almost every day had been a surprising help to them, and Rue made her gratitude known by taking on the rest of the task.
"But I—!" Ahiru actually enjoyed doing the laundry. Still, Rue was insistent and she was forced to relent when Rue's sharp eyes met her own. "Alright …"
Though this wasn't Rue's favorite chore, she set right to work. "You seem rather distracted. I take it your search didn't go well."
Ahiru wiped her soapy hands on a spare rag. "I couldn't find anything yet."
"That was to be expected."
Defensive, Ahiru countered with a pout, crossing her arms over her chest. "W-Well, I didn't get through all of it yet!"
"It's been days." Rue huffed and frowned down at the washbin and unfinished laundry. "How could it possibly take you this long?"
"I've been distracted! With all the chores and—" Ahiru crossed her arms, "—some other reading, I guess!"
Rue wrung out a pair of Uzura's tiny bloomers, standing up to pin it to the clothesline. "Other reading?"
Ahiru fell silent, recalling just how fussy Fakir had been upon finding his books open in her lap. Well, he'd been more than fussy. He was downright angry. What exactly was he so ashamed of?
Should she say anything to Rue? If Fakir had been so secretive of his writing, was it even her right at all to share what she'd come across?
His stories enraptured her. She found herself yearning to learn more about him, regardless of how violently he protested to her sticking her nose in his writing. Glimpsing into the past gave her a decent understanding of his power, but it was only the day before when she came to realize that he had real talent.
Did he stop writing entirely? Was it so terrible if he continued, even if his power had been taken from him?
"Ahiru?"
"Eh? Oh, I just—I guess it's kinda hard getting things done, since it's all in Fakir's house and he didn't really like me snooping around," she admitted, plopping down on the stool. Maybe it was best to just be open about everything. "Doesn't seem right! He has to keep being punished for something that happened so long ago! I looked at all the things he's written before. They're beautiful, and the curse thing wasn't even his fault, really—!"
"I know that," Rue retorted, blowing her bangs from her eyes as she pinned a pair of trousers to the clothesline, "but leave it be."
Ahiru's jaw fell slack. "You're his sister, though!"
Rue turned her crimson eyes to Ahiru, sharp and guarded. "Yes, I am his sister. And I also know that Raven has his reasons for everything. If he demands that Fakir keeps the manuscripts in his home, then it is to be done without question. If he wants Fakir to never write again, then there is a purpose for it."
"Rue—"
"We trust our Elder," Rue insisted.
At this, Ahiru bit her lip and slipped back into silence. She couldn't pretend she understood the depth of or reason for Rue's unwavering faith in the village elder, but it didn't sit well with her, particularly if Fakir ended up suffering for it. Between Rue's defense of Raven and Autor's sharp remarks almost a week ago, Ahiru wondered if Fakir always had been the brunt of that much negative attention for the whole of three centuries.
It seemed lonely. And while Fakir was rather unpleasant as a person, he still saved her. He appeared to care deeply for the people of Wyvern, moreso than anyone else.
She let her gaze drift off and her eyes landed on Uzura nearby, the girl drumming and marching repetitively. "... Does Raven really keep Fakir from writing? Even for fun?"
"It's for the best." Rue glanced away, likewise watching over Uzura as the little girl stopped to stare up at the soft glow of the nearby lamppost. "And it hardly matters. It's not as if Fakir seeks to try again anyway."
Ahiru drew her knees up to her chest and sighed.
"Don't you have other things to worry about?" Rue placed her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. "Other things to occupy you?"
"Well, I guess I could go back to researching when I can go back to Fakir's place …"
Rue frowned, exasperated, but attempting to maintain some patience. "Ahiru, I told you, if there was any other way, we would have found it by now. Stop looking."
She refused to let her heart sink. "I want to keep going, though!"
"Then you will continue to be disappointed."
Ahiru winced at the severity in Rue's words—and the finality behind it.
When one of Prince Femio's advisors informed Karon that they would not be staying for the rest of the week to continue their negotiations, a blanket of trepidation settled over those who congregated in the conference hall. Karon licked his dry lips and wrung his hands, the wrinkles over his brow deeper than ever before. General Lysander collapsed into a plush chair nearby, head hanging low. Even the usually chattery and loudly anxious councilmen lacked words.
Prince Siegfried never looked so empty.
They weren't fools. Prince Femio choosing to leave so suddenly after a silly incident at a ball gave them enough of a indication as to what would result.
Despite their hopes and efforts, war was on the horizon.
"Perhaps," one of the younger councilmen suggested, "we could … withhold Prince Femio and his company from returning."
"You mean to suggest we hold him prisoner. Out of the question," Siegfried declared from his stance at the window, his back facing them. "If he intends to return to Rungholt, then let him. And if war is declared, then we will defeat him in battle."
A chill swept over Karon at the uncharacteristic severity in Prince Siegfried's icy words. " … Yes, Your Highness."
"Any news of my fiancee?"
Silence prevailed for a moment, thick in the air. Then, Lysander, with his helmet in his hands, swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking. "No such luck, Your Highness. I—uh, I'm sorry." He shifted uncomfortably in his armor. "If we truly come to these … these engagements with Rungholt, then I don't think we can safely spare any men—"
Siegfried's gaze, sharp, accusing, and flashing a strange pink hue, snapped to Lysander, almost as if daring him to continue that train of thought. All froze, stunned.
Lysander scrambled to recover. "I—not that I was implying—the search for Lady Ahiru will continue, full force, Your Highness!"
When the prince turned back to the window, the rest of the room's occupants released a collective breath, unnerved by Siegfried's behavior. Karon admitted that the prince, even as a young boy, always held a strong will and steadfast spirit, but his behavior as of late displayed a new facet of him that Karon never encountered before. It appeared that Karon wasn't alone in this—the others didn't know what to make of it either.
The door creaked open, loud and clear in the silence. Raetsel slipped into the room and gave them a deep curtsy as they stood and bowed toward her in exchange. Though her typical allure still exuded from her, she lacked her usual energy, likewise affected by the recent happenings no doubt. "Prince Femio and his company will be departing now," she announced, "Will you see them off, Your Highness?'
There was a pause before Prince Siegfried spoke. "... Yes." He straightened out his tunic and brushed his cape aside, carefully controlling himself and his composure. "I will see to him at once."
The prince strode with purpose out the door, General Lysander and the rest of his councilmen following after him. Karon chose to linger behind, catching Raetsel's attention for a moment. "Miss Raetsel, how are you? You seem … ill at ease." He forced out a weak smile, attempting to reassure her somewhat.
Raetsel hesitated for a moment. "I … to be expected, and I'd imagine you're all feeling the same."
Sensing a peculiar note of apprehension beneath her words, Karon nodded in agreement, leading her out of the conference hall to follow the rest of the crowd. "Indeed. You must still be troubled then, from what you've witnessed."
Karon recalled how Raetsel collected Prince Siegfried, General Lysander, and himself after the ball. She'd seen something strange—it might have meant nothing at all, but they couldn't seem to rid it from their minds. "I stumbled upon Montand, Prince Femio's servant, performing some ritualistic witchcraft in the guest chamber," she told them that night, her voice hushed as the rest of the servants cleaned up the remnants of the ball.
"I—pardon?" he replied in disbelief, "Witchcraft?"
"I don't remember it clearly, but it appeared so. He sat surrounded by candles and roses, and Prince Femio didn't appear to be shocked by it, either."
Despite the growing alarm between them, Prince Siegfried remained seemingly unconcerned. "It changes nothing about our current circumstances. Let him have his rituals."
"But, Your Highness—!"
"Enough. We have no proof nor standing with which to accuse a man from another country of any such magic. Leave it be. It is out of our hands."
Thus, the subject was dropped, but Raetsel appeared far less willing to accept its dismissal.
Karon reached out to place a supportive hand on her shoulder. "Come. There are other things that require our attention now."
They fell into mutual silence, trailing after the collection of councilmen as Prince Siegfried led the way to the entrance hall. Prince Femio and his company were already gathered there, his caravan of slaves and garish belongings lined up to depart. As always, Montand stood beside his prince, eyes downturned with a basket of rose petals in his hands. Raetsel stiffened at the sight of him, and Karon gave her shoulder another squeeze.
The two princes stood before one another, stiff as boards. Siegfried's careful neutrality met Femio's haughty pout. Then, they bowed.
"I hope you've enjoyed your impromptu stay, Your Highness, and I'm sorry to see you leave so soon." Despite the civility in Siegfried's words, Karon could feel the icy timbre beneath them.
Prince Femio turned his nose up. "Well, I can certainly say I will leave with a deeper understanding of your little country! Until next time, Prince Siegfried. I will see you again."
"... Indeed."
With no further comment, Montand opened the door to the jeweled Rungholtan carriage, and with a swish of Femio's thick, fur-lined cloak, the prince boarded, the door shutting behind him. Montand bowed his head to Prince Siegfried before retreating to his bench at the head of the carriage, pulling the reins on the bulls as they set off, a trail of rose petals in their wake.
They were left in fragile silence, until Karon shattered it. "I … will sanction the clean-up. Again."
"And I … will prepare," Lysander muttered, "for whatever Your Highness wishes."
Prince Siegfried reached up and scratched lightly over his heart.
Ahiru gripped at her skirt, stood before Fakir's doorway, and took a deep breath.
This time, she wasn't going to let him and his bad attitude deter her. Uzura waddled up to stand beside her, the little girl blinking owlishly at Fakir's hut. "Are you gonna study more-zura?"
Ahiru's expression softened when she glanced down, a smile touching her lips. She didn't understand why Uzura all but attached herself to Ahiru's presence these past few days, but she found that she didn't mind so much. Uzura was welcome company, an island of comfort in a sea of strangers. "That's right! And I'm not going to let Fakir chase me off this time."
"Ohhhhh!"
Puffing out her chest and placing her hands on her hips, Ahiru marched right through, pushing the fabric to the side with a swipe of her arm.
However, she was met with an vacant room. Ahiru paused at the threshold while Uzura scampered inside and hopped onto Fakir's bed. "Ohhhhh, he's not here-zura!"
"Well, that's better for me then!" she declared decidedly. Maybe she lost the immediate opportunity to apologize for breaching his privacy, but she also avoided whatever confrontation awaited her when she faced him again. It did make her wonder, though, where he'd gone off to in his condition. Infuriating or not, he was still severely injured, even after Freya's diligent care.
Uzura amused herself by bouncing lightly on the small bed while Ahiru made her way to Fakir's shelf to get started. It appeared emptier than usual, the older, thicker volumes absent from the collection of documents and scrolls that occupied the space. Upon flipping open the remaining material and scanning the pages, she knew that these were not written in Fakir's hand. He must've removed his own work from the shelf entirely.
Ahiru pouted. Was he really so angry that he had to go and hide all of his stories like that? Could he really be that shy?
Well … she supposed that it wasn't any of her business, anyway, even if she was curious. There was work to be done.
She picked up a few of the journals that had been left there and sat beside Uzura, trying to find where she left off. Hopefully, she'd be able to remain focused and get something done and figured out before any more time passed. She'd wasted enough of it as it was.
But barely a few minutes went by before Ahiru began to tire. With a sigh, she flopped back onto the cot beside Uzura, staring up at the cracked ceiling of Fakir's hut. The words all blended together again, and she still made no progress whatsoever. There was something missing. There had to be.
Her hope dwindled.
Despite herself, Ahiru couldn't help but recall Rue's insistent words earlier. The Wyvern villagers were kind people, if a little stern, and they would've chosen a different avenue had it been available to them, wouldn't they?
Could she really reason through this in less than two months, when they failed to do so in three centuries?
Ahiru whined and covered her face with her hands.
"Are you sad-zura?"
Sad? Ahiru considered herself far past sad. She felt absolutely wretched and distraught, torn between resentment and guilt, floundering in the middle of a huge mess that both was and wasn't her fault at the same time. How could she express that to a child—to a little girl who would likewise benefit from Ahiru's demise without even realizing the gravity of everything? How could she explain this chaos when Ahiru herself hardly grasped it?
She settled for the simpler answer. "Yes, I'm really sad, Uzura," Ahiru murmured, rolling over to face her. "This is really hard ..."
"But you shouldn't be sad-zura! We're going to see the sky-zura!"
"The sky?"
"Mm! Elder and everyone said that you're gonna show us the sky-zura!"
Ahiru sat up, blinking down curiously. "Do you mean …? Hmm, I guess it makes sense that you don't really see the sky that ofte—" She paused, and then straightened in realization. "Wait—Eh?! You mean you don't see the sky at all?!"
"Fakir said it was big and blue and full of clouds when he went up to come and get you-zura! And they all said you're here to show me the sky, too-zura!"
It dawned on Ahiru, then, that Uzura probably forgot all about what the surface was like. Three hundred years might as well be an eternity, even for a person frozen in time, and especially for a child as young as she was when the curse fell upon them.
Uzura's eyes gleamed with a spark of delight at the mere mention of the sky. In fact, Ahiru had never seen her so happy. Enthusiastic, loud, and energetic, yes, but never quite so elated.
What must that be like? The other villagers retained their treasured memories of their lives on the surface. They strived for something they genuinely missed. Uzura, on the other hand, knew nothing beyond her life underground.
For Ahiru, growing up in Hedeby was a blessing. Even during the last week or so here in Wyvern, when she rested her head onto the scratchy pillow and sheets, rendered restless as the days and nights blended together in the absence of the sun, thoughts of home comforted her—the salty, sea breeze sweeping in through her open window to caress the gossamer drapes as she awoke in bed; the rustle of leaves above her as she rested against the bark of her favorite oak tree; the soft 'quacks' of ducks and 'honks' of swans that floated gently on the lake as she dipped her toes into the calm water; her father's laughter, her mother's dance and that beautiful, blue sky …
And Ahiru glimpsed into Wyvern's past with Autor's power. She beheld the beauteous landscape, the serenity of their lives, and the reverence and joy with which they celebrated their magical heritage. They lived a peaceful existence, its wonder and sweet simplicity comparable to Ahiru's own fond childhood home.
Uzura possessed none of those precious memories.
"Duck-zura?" Uzura's tiny hand brushed against her freckled cheek.
"Eh?" Broken from her dizzying reverie, Ahiru shook her head. "Ah, sorry! I was just … thinking about things."
"Are you excited about the sky, too-zura?"
A cold heaviness settled into Ahiru's gut, weighing her down and grounding her into reality. The citizens of Wyvern had gone out of their way to introduce her to the intimate, vicious details of their past, the sad, desolate state of their present, and their hopes and desperation for a future. Despite, however, how much they'd shown her, they'd apparently never told her about this.
It was in Uzura's wide, curious, happy eyes where she finally grasped all of what was at stake.
Didn't she deserve the sky, too?
Ahiru attempted to conceal the rush of wretchedness and self-contempt with a shaky, lopsided grin. "M-Maybe that's enough studying for me today!" she blurted out with an unnecessary hitch in her voice.
No, she couldn't possibly focus now. Later. She would try again later, when she could keep her head straight and her heart steadfast. She needed something else—a breath of air from the darkness in which she suddenly found herself drowning. Something to keep her afloat.
When had she been the most calm down here? Playing with Uzura? Doing laundry? Reading Fakir's stories? Or ...
Her mind fixated on the little fairy—lady bug—that danced around in the light of her lamp and comforted her with such an affectionate, warm light when she needed it most. The same little lady bug who disappeared beneath the ground to a place she'd yet to explore.
Ahiru leapt to her feet and reached for Uzura's hand. "Come on! Let's go on a little adventure instead!"
"Ohhhh! Adventure-zura!"
However, it wasn't much of an adventure. Ahiru remembered the exact location of that mysterious trap door in a shadowed area of the lower ground. She'd considered venturing down there quite a few times already, and now she finally had the chance to see for herself what rested deeper into the abyss. Perhaps that lady bug would be there waiting for her, to give her just the strength and inspiration she needed to keep pressing onward.
Uzura curled her little hand in Ahiru's, her stubby legs trying to keep up with Ahiru's bouncy stride. At some point during their trek to the lower ground, they stumbled upon Raven and Autor—Ahiru immediately averted her gaze and picked up the pace, not too keen on stopping to make conversation with her least favorite people in Wyvern.
Thankfully, they allowed her to veer off and away from them, Raven with an amused smile and Autor with a scowl.
"You don't like Elder-zura?"
Ahiru sighed. "Something like that. He's kind of … creepy."
Uzura brought a finger to her chin in thought. "Ohhhh! They said Elder was friends with my mommy-zura!"
"I … I guess he must've been, if that's what they're all telling you."
"Mm! Mommy was really nice, is what they say-zura! And Elder misses her a lot-zura!"
"What they say?" Ahiru paused in her step for a moment. "So, you don't remember your mom? At all?"
Uzura shook her head, unperturbed. "Mm-mm."
She didn't remember the sky or her mother.
Ahiru remembered hers with such warm fondness. She smelled of flowers and springtime, with soft, red hair and a swanlike neck. When Ahiru closed her eyes, she could still make out the silhouette of her mother's form, dancing on the tips of her toes and twirling with effortless fluidity and sweetness. And, most of all, Ahiru missed her embraces—so full and all-encompassing, tight and secure, holding her and protecting her from her most vivid nightmares.
Though her eyes burned and blurred, and her chest ached anew with the memories, at least she had happiness with her mother. At least her mother could live on in her heart.
Ahiru's spirit almost died when her parents passed. To feel no loss at all seemed so much worse, and Uzura's easygoing, carefree attitude toward a mother she didn't remember sent Ahiru even deeper into remorse.
The rest of their trek was silent. When the trapdoor came into view, Ahiru dropped Uzura's hand, feeling eager for this venture. She'd spent days, almost a week, in this bleak, broken place, and though it was likely that this basement-like level was even darker, at least it was new. And perhaps the lady bug awaited her arrival.
Ahiru gripped the handle and pulled, once again pleasantly surprised at the lightness of the wood. The hinges moved smoothly, and no dust or cobwebs clung to the edges. This place must have been used or visited often.
That was even more apparent when Uzura didn't even hesitate to begin descending the ladder that led to the level below them, as if she was familiar with it already. The little girl's form turned dark as she continued lower, framed by the glowing ground beneath—so like the gleaming, white grass back up on the surface. How was that possible?
Well, Ahiru supposed, only one way to find out!
Puffing out her chest, she followed Uzura down, clinging carefully to the ladder.
She only reached the halfway point when she slowed to a stop, suspended and latched onto the wooden rungs as the sight before her stole her breath away.
Below her, the deepest level of this underground village brimmed with a white, glimmering and radiant glow, the expanse casting light in the deepest shadows. The sight put even the pearl grasses on the surface to absolute shame. All around her grew a meadow of twinkling, lustrous flowers. They reminded her of daffodils, the happy, yellow colors replaced by luminescent, white petals, quiet and still in the deep abyss of Wyvern. Absent were the dismal, stone huts and old roads on the levels above, and the fire-lit lampposts she grew familiar with completely paled in comparison to the sheer, serene brilliance beneath.
All this time, this entire week, this place had been here!
She registered that Uzura made it to the ground safely, her small silhouette slipping through the flower field. Still, Ahiru couldn't move from her spot, resting her chin on the rung as she sighed in awe. For all of the horrors and injustices she'd endured thus far, she did feel a certain melancholic sense of gratefulness to be able to see such wonders.
In the near distance, Uzura's small form approached another, much taller, shadowed figure, near the edge of the meadow where the platform ended and the abyss began. Ahiru squinted, vaguely recognizing the stature, the poise, and the lean shape as her eyes adjusted.
So Fakir had been here this whole time? A sour taste spread through her mouth and her previous foul mood welled back up in her chest. She considered forgetting about this beautiful place and climbing right back up, but curiosity gripped her and she remained, watching from her vantage point as Uzura bounced on her toes next to the tall figure.
He bent forward and picked up something from a stack on the ground with his uninjured arm. A book—one of his books, Ahiru realized. When he exhaled, a tiny ribbon of orange-yellow embers swept from his lips to ignite the corner of the tome, the hot color sharply contrasting with the serenity of the surrounding, glowing blooms.
He was … he was burning his books!
"Wait!" Her quack-like voice shattered the peace, slicing through it with a jagged edge.
She scrambled down the rest of the ladder, stumbled a bit as she almost lost her footing, and then made a mad dash for Fakir and Uzura. She threw her hands up as she bounded clumsily through the glimmering flower field, her antics earning her a mirthful laugh from Uzura and a deep scowl from Fakir.
His stare didn't deter her. All but leaping at him, she carelessly snatched the burning book from his grasp, trying to stifle the small flame with her bare hands in her panic. "D-Don't burn them! You can't—ow!"
"Idiot!" Fakir slapped it out of her grip so it landed with a 'thud' onto the soil. With a stomp, he put out the fire with the bottom of his shoe, ruining the book even further. "What is wrong with you?!"
She cradled her throbbing hands to her chest, bottom lip trembling. Alright, perhaps that was a bad idea.
But she remembered his stories. She remembered every character and their happy endings—the prince and princess married; the knight settled down and became so much more than he thought he could be; the duckling found peace within herself. Each universe he'd created was precious, and seeing him throw that away—!
… Ahiru lacked a talent like that. She couldn't write (she could barely pay attention while reading!), nor could she dance like Rue or her mother, tend to others' wounds properly like Freya, draw like Malen. She couldn't even feel or relate to others like Hermia, so wrapped up in her own daydreams as usual. Certainly, she wasn't queen material, and Prince Siegfried would've come to know her eventually as a … disappointment.
Even if Fakir didn't write anymore, he couldn't just burn them. Did he not know the value of being to do extraordinary things?
With the very tips of her fingers, she reached for the empty space where her pendant should've been, tears welling up from both the pain in her hand and the pain in her heart.
"Duck-zura?" murmured Uzura, her blue eyes rippling with worry.
After a long pause, Fakir grumbled. Then, he reached out, his eyebrow twitching. "Let's see them."
Ahiru blinked in surprise while trying not to let the tears fall. "E-Eh?"
"Your hands." He sounded like he was fighting for patience. "Let's see them."
She swallowed, staring at him with suspicious uncertainty, before acquiescing. Her hands throbbed, though not as fiercely as they had initially, and the center of her palms grew red, even in the soft glow of the surrounding flowers. Fakir cupped the back of them and lifted higher so he could scrutinize the damage. Despite his calloused fingers, she had to admit that his hold was rather gentle, as if he really was capable of being concerned. Shifting uncomfortably, Ahiru dropped her gaze to look down at the concerned Uzura instead of the way Fakir's jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed.
"Hmph. Could be worse." He fixed his gaze on her, his frowning softening. "Freya has something for this. Doesn't explain what possessed you to want to burn yourself."
She sighed, unable to meet his eyes for some reason. Instead, she turned to the half-burned book on the ground, and the stack of his other journals a few feet away (thankfully untouched). "I just … I know I wasn't supposed to read your stories, and I should've asked first." She rubbed at the base of her neck with knuckles, wishing she still had her pendant with her. "I really am sorry. But … do you really have to get rid of them like that? They're good. I mean it. They're really, really good!"
Finally, Fakir dropped her hand. He adjusted the sling over his shoulder, expression dull, but at least he didn't seem angry anymore. "It's useless to keep them around at this point."
"It's not useless!" Her volume rose a bit, eyes wide. Beside her, Uzura cooed, kneeling down to poke at one of the glowing flowers, ignoring their conversation entirely. "With or without that power, you're still a great writer—!"
"That," he growled, expression hardening all over again, "is none of your business."
Yelling didn't solve anything last time, so she tempered herself. "It might not be! But you're really, really talented! And …" She took a deep breath. "You brought me all the way here, and you've been down here so long. I know that you want to sacri—you want me to give up my—you really want to break this curse. Don't you want to be able to write if you're finally free?" Her shoulders slumped. "Up there, at home, with the prince … I don't have talents like those. Shouldn't those things be treasured? Shouldn't you want to keep doing it, just because? Even without powers behind it, stories are so … so important!"
Slowly, the wrinkles of Fakir's brow softened, his eyes unreadable. She didn't know what to make of it. Then, he scoffed halfheartedly. "Even if I wanted to—which I don't—I don't have ink, and I'm out of practice. Why can't you just drop it?"
"I—!"
"Ohhhhh!" Uzura cooed. "They're awake-zura!"
Ahiru glanced over, and her jaw fell slack.
As Uzura hunched down over the flower, the gleaming petals began to spread, blooming further as a little lady bug emerged from within, gossamer wings fluttering with a shimmer. The fairy yawned cutely, and all around, a few scattered flowers likewise shifted as the lady bugs stirred throughout the meadow.
This is where the lady bugs lived? Ahiru brought her fingers to her lips in awe.
Their giggles chimed like bells, echoing and sweet. And after moments of soft laughter and the 'swish' of flittering wings, the lady bugs took flight like shooting stars in the darkness. A flurry of dancing lights, they left Ahiru utterly dazzled as they circled and twirled, filling the air with a soothing warmth. She'd forgotten how to breathe. There were so many of them!
Uzura released a high-pitched squeal of delight and scampered forward, jumping and sprinting back and forth across the meadow, dancing along with the playful lady bugs around her. And despite the throbbing pain in Ahiru's palms, she couldn't help but join in, leaving Fakir standing wordlessly where he was.
Somehow, as Ahiru spun clumsily on her toes and threw her arms out, welcoming the lady bugs to play with her hair and dance on her shoulders, she laughed, unrestrained and undaunted. She took Uzura's hand with her fingers, carefully avoiding pressing her palm against it, and together they bolted back and forth, dodging flowers and lady bugs in a playful game without rules or reason.
For the first time in many months, Ahiru felt light—like she was floating.
Finally, winded, the two girls collapsed into the ground, panting from the exhilaration. Ahiru's grin had yet to dissipate, her chest heaving up and down.
Then, she felt tiny hands on her cheek and turned to look. "Ah!" She recognized this lady bug in particular, with her long, flowing hair and billowing gown of light. "It's you!" The fairy from before, the one she'd met in her hut by her little lantern. "I missed you so much!"
After catching her breath, Ahiru sat up, cradling her favorite lady bug in the crook of her arm. The rest of the dancing fairies settled down, perching on flowers and twirling on petals. Some continued to buzz about here and there, linking hands and spinning together in the air, casting shimmers of light across Ahiru's features.
Uzura leaped to her feet and scampered back toward Fakir. And that was when Ahiru realized that he'd simply been watching, sitting silently on the stack of his books on the ground.
"Ohhhhh! Fakir-zura! They're all awake and dancing and it's so pretty-zura!"
Fakir remained silent for a moment, before tearing his gaze away and standing up. "Yeah. Come on, Uzura, settle down now."
After another moment, Ahiru stood up, still cradling the lady bug in her gentle hold. Slowly, she approached Fakir and Uzura, mindful about not stepping on any wayward fairies in the flowers. "I didn't know that this was down here. That these lady bugs lived down here! With all of you, all this time!" Even now, Ahiru couldn't stop smiling. "I didn't even know fairies or anything existed before coming down here."
Shrugging one shoulder, Fakir glanced away. "Lady bugs make their homes in sun flowers. They only ever grow in this area, and they sunk down into the ground with us. It's no wonder you never knew about them."
"Sun … flowers?" Ahiru released a mirthful laugh.
"What's so funny?" Fakir asked, eyebrow raised.
"I … never mind! I just … I get it! Makes sense!"
Then, Fakir snorted, the barest curl of a smirk touching the corner of his mouth. Ahiru took pause at that. "Idiot. Let's go. You still need those hands looked at." Uzura took it upon herself to scamper ahead toward the ladder, waving and greeting fairies as she passed.
"O-Oh." Ahiru's eyes fell down to the lady bug, who made herself quite comfortable in the crook of her arm. "Can I bring Lamp with me?"
"Lamp?"
"Mm! I don't know if lady bugs have names! So I figured I'd call her, 'Lamp'!" Ahiru might as well have sprouted silly wings of her own by way Fakir stared at her, so she spoke up in her own defense. "She's warm! And bright! And I found her dancing around the lantern in my room! It makes sense, it really does!" When his expression still had not changed, she fired back with, "You call them 'sun flowers' and 'lady bugs' and I can't call her 'Lamp'?!"
At this, Fakir actually looked … mildly amused. He shook his head and shrugged again. "Weirdo. Fine, take 'Lamp' with you, but hurry up before you irritate your hands even more."
She was the weirdo? He was a fire-breathing dragon-person with serious privacy issues, and she was the weirdo? She elected to keep that to herself, though. Instead, she had more pressing things on her mind. "What about your books?"
He was already walking off, following after Uzura as he called out over his shoulder, "If you like them so much, then keep them. I don't care."
Keep them?
Somehow, that little compromise wasn't so bad. Ahiru's smile returned, and she made a mental note to come back here for them.
Even with the time ticking away, could a little extra reading really hurt?
Montand believed that no time should be wasted. Even as he sat in his dreadfully bumpy carriage ride back to Rungholt, Prince Femio found himself with the daunting task of drafting and looking over the official declaration of war.
Really, all he had to do was sign it.
Why did the quill feel so heavy in his hand?
He'd signed many, many things in the past! Most of which he didn't even bother to read through beforehand! Was this truly so different? Hadn't Montand assured him that the war would be won and Siegfried's forces conquered within the span of a month or two?
Femio sighed dramatically, slumping back into his plush seat and staring out into the passing view. It was a shame. Vineta, capital city of Goldkrone Kingdom, and all of its surrounding regions, were quite beauteous.
Montand said it would all belong to Prince Femio sooner rather than later.
But would it be the same? Still so picturesque?
Ah well.
Another dramatic sigh, and Femio signed his name.