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Brodwyn walked quickly through the garden gate that led off the side of the courtyard. The flowers smelt so sweet and it appeared so different from the last time he had visited, even if it wasn’t very long ago. The world before him was a varied green carpet where before it had been white. He wandered the paths for some time trying to remember where he had stopped with Meg, where the place was that she had realised who he was. But he hadn’t been watching the path; he had been watching the way her body moved, how her skirt followed her legs.
He sighed and then stopped as the path opened into a neat square between the hedges, lined with the darkest red roses he had ever seen. The air was filled with their sweet scent and he wondered how often she would walk here when the roses bloomed. The small fountain bubbled away, the soft sound of water and birdsong filling the air.
He could feel her hand in his. It seemed so long ago, long before her sister was marked as Queen, and yet she had been so sure that Elalia would be the one marked. It didn’t matter; she would be Queen of Tands. Or at least she would have been. Their interaction with Princess Elalia, as she was then, and her accusations had been relayed to his father. His father’s face had been hard and his eyes unforgiving. Despite his need to argue for Meg, that she would be what Tands needed, he had kept his mouth shut.
The only good to come from the conversation was his father’s inability to accept that they had been pushed from Rocfeld, that they could be accused of such a thing with no evidence. They were sent back to negotiate officially with the new queen, and with soldiers.
Brodwyn had opened his mouth then to protest, but on seeing Seren across the room he had realised it could be helpful. But his father hadn’t sent him in the first place, and the chances of his going a second time were remote. As he reached the door, his father had called out behind them, “Take Lord Danel with you.”
He had nodded once and taken Seren by the arm as they had left the room.
But now they were back and Meg was gone. Despite her sister’s claims, he was sure that she had been sent somewhere. Could Meg have been sent away because of what had occurred—because of his behaviour, that they were so keen to have her? Was it jealousy? But the queen had assured him they were simply travelling, taking some time to recover from the death of her father. No matter what he had asked Brother Erasmus, he couldn’t determine who had travelled with them.
He couldn’t continue to ask. This was her world, and he was sure the soldiers that flanked the queen would report any whispers they heard. Brodwyn had heard enough of his own, including of a hunting accident that may not have been an accident, of the princess Kellin being locked away, of further plotting before the queen had been marked. Elalia seemed calmer now that she was queen. They had been welcomed to stay as long as they wanted, but he doubted they would have the chance to talk with her again anytime soon.
He worried for Meg so far away, and whether that kept her safer or in more danger. And he didn’t like the idea at all. Nor was he sure how long they could wait for her to return.
“Here you are,” Seren called, entering the garden behind him. “Very pretty.”
“You were to watch Alva,” Brodwyn said, running his fingers through the fountain.
“My orders were to watch over all of you,” Seren said, bowing a little, and Brodwyn glared at him. “I know full well that you can look after yourself, but you have an image to maintain.”
“It might be too late for that. Have you had the chance to talk with some of the soldiers? Perhaps the royal commander would see us.”
Seren crossed his arms. “You could put her in more danger.”
“Rainger met us in the yards in Tands; we could offer a similar interaction here.”
“Commander Rainger has gone with the princesses. Along with Commander Brent.”
“How many soldiers did they need?”
“Too many, I heard.”
Brodwyn pressed his lip between his teeth. Perhaps they were in danger and had been moved to safety, but then he wasn’t sure where that safe place might be.
The Silent Mother watched from the back of the chapel as Elalia bent her head in prayer. She had been bent to the ground too long. She should have watched the shadows that covered the walls, no matter how many times she may have seen them. It was a test; she knew that now as she watched the shadows gather in the room around the Raven Queen.
The same pattern that had flowed over the walls of the chapel continued around the walls. Elalia was testing the magic when she had been told not to. The magic was for Sythia, and Elalia was to wait. She tried not to sigh. She wanted to see what the queen would do and didn’t want to alert her to the fact that she was in the chapel. But she was sure the girl had forgotten her place. She was only Queen for Sythia and despite her new focus, she acted as though she were Queen for herself.
The Silent Mother nodded slowly as the shadows formed into the shape of a woman, a silvery cloud that stood over the bent queen. If they did not do as required by their goddess, the world may not change as they wanted it to. The future may be a different place.
The queen lifted her head and the shadow dissipated immediately, the shadows moving across the walls. The Silent Mother could just make out the silvery edge to the shadow, but there were no images in the pattern. She feared for a moment that the pattern was only for Elalia, and that she couldn’t see it herself. But if that were the case, the goddess would not have shown herself. She nodded again and slipped from the room. Elalia would be with her soon enough and no matter her concerns, the goddess had willed she continue to receive the magic to become what she needed her to be.
“You are not strong enough,” Sythia’s voice whispered around the walls of the chapel.
“I could feel you,” Elalia whispered.
“It is not enough,” she said again.
Elalia nodded and stood slowly, giddy from the hours spent bent in prayer. She had done exactly as she had been told to do. The Silent Mother didn’t have the faith in her that she had hoped, but Elalia knew that Sythia needed her. She seemed to whisper in her ear more and more, particularly as she slept. She spent longer hours on her knees within the chapel trying to focus on the goddess, just as she directed her to do.
But it wasn’t enough. She had felt her within the chapel, sensed her being, not just her shadow, but she couldn’t hold on to the feeling.
She slowly climbed the stairs to the Silent Mother, knowing she would fill Elalia with more of her magic. It would make her feel even less like herself, but it was what she needed to do for the goddess. She watched in silence as the Silent Mother poured the thick liquid into a cup, knowing it would be clear, but it never tasted as it should.
“I already feel hot,” she mumbled, standing by the wall furthest from the small fireplace.
“It will come and go.”
Elalia shrugged.
“What did you see?”
“Nothing today—nothing clear at least.”
The Silent Mother nodded slowly. “You know why you must wait?”
“Yes,” she said. “The magic is for Sythia.”
Elalia took the cup and, despite the earthen smell, she drank it down without hesitation.
She wondered if the goddess told them both the same thing as she walked back to her room, heavy and tired. She longed for sleep. But she knew sleep would not be restful, for the goddess would have more to say of her failed attempt to bring her into the world.
As she closed the door quietly behind her, Elalia rested her head on the cool wood. Her pain wouldn’t matter once Sythia returned, for their world would be different and she would be rewarded for her part in it.