|  Author | Topic: The Brightleaf Chronicles: The Force of Destiny (Read 276 times) |
Mírwen Ladybow
Maia
The Ruler of Rivendell
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Joined: Jan 2005
Gender: Female 
Posts: 582
Location: In the panic room!AHHHH!!!!!!!
|  | Re: The Brightleaf Chronicles: The Force of Destin
« Reply #15 on Mar 30, 2009, 9:22am » | ![[Quote]](http://s1.images.proboards.com/buttons/quote.gif) |
Lol, glad to have made your day, m'dear!  I figured Borëalis was a faerie-like name, and it was too pretty/cool to pass up. Aw, Syrrien had nearly forgotten what having kids was like, and now he's being painfully reminded, lol! Muahaha I love how King Syrrien totally gets PWNED by King Deveron. It's like the only time it happens, and it's so funny!
Here's Chapter 10....
Chapter 10
A Long Night in Albor
Despite Sir Tiren’s words in the carriage, Syrrien’s opinion of Florese’s upbringing did not improve. In fact, one might say it got worse. It wasn’t her fault in the slightest, but that made no difference. He was quite vexed to discover over dinner (a feast for Florese, but a rather meager supper compared to what the king was used to) that his granddaughter had terrible table manners. She kicked her feet, tipped her chair, planted her elbows squarely on the table, and when the customary chalice of water was brought for her to wash her hands in, she drank out of it instead.
Syrrien was stunned and could not speak, but Borëalis whispered in her ear.
“Princess, that water is unfit for drinking, you’re supposed to wash your hands in it.” he said.
Florese quickly put the cup down and obliged.
“She didn’t know, Sire.” Borëalis expained, hoping King Syrrien was not too upset.
“Of course she didn’t,” Syrrien murmered, “carry on.”
When the soup came in, Florese didn’t fare much better. She picked up the teaspoon instead of the tablespoon (her mouth wasn’t big enough), and slurped the soup rather loudly.
At first Syrrien just drummed his fingers on the table, trying to ignore it (he had enough on his mind already), but after a minute he spoke.
“Florese, soup is not to be slurped,” he said in a soft, but commanding tone, “It is to be sipped--quietly and delicately--with the appropriate spoon.”
“But the other one was too big!” Florese protested, reaching for a roll.
“And when you would like something else to eat,” Syrrien continued, “you ask the servants politely to get it for you. You needn’t reach across the table and dirty your...sleeves.”
Florese’s sleeves were very long, and at this moment, the edges were sitting in her soup.”
“Is that the only dress you have?” Syrrien inquired, hiding his disgust by taking a swig of wine.
Florese looked down at her soup.
“Oops,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “yes, it is. Sorry.”
“It’s quite all right,” Syrrien replied, though his expression said exactly the opposite, “we’ll get you a proper wardrobe when we get to Isindryne.
Florese’s face lit up.
“What’s it like there, Grandfather? Is it beautiful? Mister Tiren--Sir Tiren I mean--he said there were mountains all around, and that there was snow!”
“Only in the winter, dear.” Syrrien replied, raising an eyebrow, but doubtless amused, “and yes, it is stunningly gorgeous in Isindryne, year-round. You’ll love it there, I’m sure.”
“Do I really have cousins?”
“You have one cousin, yes. His name’s Amonde, he’s precisely two and a half years older than you are. And he’s been looking forward to meeting you. I’m sure he’d be happy to show you around the city when we get there.”
“Amonde…that sounds like my Daddy’s name, Amrado.”
“It should,” Syrrien said dryly, “their names come from the same ancient derivitive for the word ‘Tree’. Amonde’s name means ‘Sturdy Oak’. Amrado means…well, ’Driftwood’.
“Oh. That’s…nice to know.” Florese murmured, stirring her soup with her spoon.
“At any rate,” Syrrien went on, “you’ll learn all about the old tongues when you start your royal education.”
Florese made a face.
“Education? You mean like school?”
“Of course.”
“My Daddy said I didn’t have to go to school!” Florese protested.
Borëalis winced, awaiting his lord’s steaming reply.
It wasn’t long in coming.
“If you want to remain an ignorant commoner all your life, then by all means, truancy is your best option. But no one can expect to be a Faerie Princess without the proper education. You’ll learn history, geography, penmanship, how to speak jeruvrian, kelarian, and nymphan, how to play the harpsicord, viol de gamba, lute, and faerie harp, how to ride a horse, shoot the bow and arrow, how to sew tapestries and sing and go hawking and hunting. And most importantly, you’ll learn etiquette, and how to behave like a faerie princess, instead of…”
“Instead of what?” Florese asked timidly, already sitting lower in her chair after hearing the long list of daunting school subjects.
“Never mind.” Syrrien dismissed, waving his hand, “the point is, you’ll learn.”
He had been going to say, “Instead of an elfin peasant like your father,” but it was high breeding, not sensitivity, that stopped his tongue in time.
* * * * *
For Sir Amrado Brightleaf and Avion Ariendell, it seemed like the day would never end. “Up the stairs, down the stairs, don’t spill a drop!” was the cry that rang through their ears, and they obeyed it until their shoulders and ankles ached with exhaustion.
“I don’t see what that wizard needs all this water for,” Avion grumbled on the way back to their quarters, “its not as if the goblins care whether the water they drink is purified or not.”
“I doubt they drink it anyway,” Amrado replied, “they seem more of an ale and wine sort. Water’s too soft for them.”
The goblin guard leading them back produced a low growl, but was too disinterested to do more.
“So Amrado,” Avion began, “have you dealt with a lot of goblins on your adventures?”
Amrado chuckled softly.
“Well, not really. They usually don’t come out of the mountains. I’ve got to hand it to that wizard though, it was a smart move to recruit them. Hundreds—maybe thousands—of able-bodied soldiers just sitting in their mountain caves, warring with each other. It’ll be a tough lot for Albor to defeat.”
“You think we won’t be rescued?” Avion asked in a low tone.
Amrado grinned.
“I said it would be tough, I didn’t say it was impossible. Plus, with the Faerie King on our side, how could we lose?”
Avion smirked.
“Forgive me if I don’t hold a high opinion of the Faerie King. I used to live in Isindryne, the sky faerie capital. Sky faeries don’t take kindly to Fire Faeries. They think we’re inferior. I don’t think King Syrrien would stick out his neck for a few wood faeries and fire faeries, especially from the Alborian colonies.”
“Maybe not for them,” Amrado whispered, glancing around, “but I have reason to believe he might…for someone he cares very deeply about.”
Avion colored and pulled a wisp of hair from her eyes.
“What are you talking about.” she said sharply, almost defensively.
“I have reason to believe that there’s someone here who he can’t help but rescue. Someone special.
Avion laughed.
“Someone special, eh? Won’t make a difference. That King Syrrien is a coward. A pompous old fool, who’s too proud to stick his neck out for a bunch of peasants. His son though…the Prince Kasyre…there’s hope for him yet.”
“You’ve met the prince?”
“More than met him. We hit it off rather well, actually...”
Avion trailed off and stared into space, reminiscing.
“Oh, the stories you tell,” Amrado sighed, “but don’t lose faith yet, Avion. We’ll get out of here. I promise.”
They had reached her cell. The guard unclocked the door, and two children immediately sprang out and hugged their mother. They both had vibrant, red hair and emerald eyes, just like Avion.
“Mommy, I missed you!” the little girl said in a broken voice. It sounded as if she had been crying a moment earlier.
The boy said nothing, but clung to his mother silently and desperately.
Amrado felt rebellious tears surface in his eyes as he thought of his own children. Burrone, waiting for him with Miradelle…and Florese…who could say where she was? He hoped Tiren was looking out for his little girl. For the first time, he wondered whether he would ever see her again.
“All right you faeries,” the guard sighed, “move the reunion inside, we’ve got more to lock up for the night.
“Goodnight.” Amrado said to Avion, with a slight bow of his head.
She smiled at him,
“Eryndor, Féya,” she said to her children, “say goodnight to Mommy’s friend, Sir Amrado.”
“G’night, Sir ‘Mrado!” Féya said cheerfully, in high spirits with the return of her mother.
“Goodnight…Sir Amrado.” Eryndor said hesitantly, unsure if by ‘friend’ his mother meant ‘potential lover’.
She usually did.
Amrado was soon ushered into his own cell. Miradelle was waiting up for him, and greeted him with a warm, heartfelt embrace.
“I’ve missed you.” she acknowledged.
He smiled and held her close, letting his tears stream freely down his face.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he whispered, “it was my first day working, and the whips left me in a horrible humor. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“You act as if it were all your fault,” Miradelle replied, forcing a laugh, “I’m afraid I was the one doing most of the yelling. And name-calling. I promised you I’d never call you a peasant. I can’t believe I’d forgotten.”
“I can,” Amrado offered, “it was a long time ago. Where’s Burrone?”
“Sleeping, actually,” Miradelle lowered her voice, gesturing to the cot, “he’s had a horrid day. No one to play with, nothing to do, and i’m afraid i’m a rather boorish companion for him. He still doesn’t know me that well. He wanted to stay up and see you…maybe I should wake him.”
“No,” Amrado said distantly, moving closer to the cot, “let him sleep. Perhaps in his dreams he’s far away from here. Far away and free.”
“Are you…are you crying?” Miradelle asked, surprised.
Amrado wiped his tears away with his sleeve.
“I’m all right, Mira. Really. It’s just…I miss Florese. And I hate that you and Burrone have to live here like this, when you should be living in a palace. I can’t help but wonder…what if we’re stuck here for a very long time? What if he kills us? What if he violates you, or hurts Burrone? We are at the mercy of this wizard and his goblins.. We’re literally his slaves, and I…I can’t bear it. If anything should happen to either of you…”
“Sh, don’t talk that way,” Miradelle soothed, “Now calm down. You’ll wake Ronie.”
Amrado nodded, rubbing the tears from his eyes.
“And really, Ams,” Miradelle said gently, putting her hand on his shoulder, “you’ve got to pull yourself together and be the strong one around here. You know what an emotional wreck I can be when I get started.”
Amrado smiled.
“I’ve missed that nickname. Ams.”
Miradelle kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair.
“Don’t get used to it, Sir Amrado.”
Amrado blushed and diverted his gaze. Miradelle, seeing his reaction, realized that perhaps she had crossed the line of propriety a little, and cleared her throat.
“Well, I suppose you need your sleep.” she shrugged, “we should probably be getting to bed. You have another hard day’s work tomorrow.”
“Don’t remind me.” Amrado moaned.
“You know…” Miradelle began, “You can sleep on the cot tonight. If you want.”
“But where would you sleep?”
“I can manage the floor.”
“But—“
“But what? I’m a princess? You’re the one who has to face the goblins’ lash every day. The marks on your back will never heal properly if you sleep on the hard stone floor every night. You need something soft to sleep on. With your son.”
“I suppose…we could switch off.” Amrado hesitated.
“That’s the spirit. Here, I saved you some…well, mush. I think it’s supposed to be some sort of stew.”
Miradelle handed him the bowl.
“Thanks…” Amrado returned, making a face.
She laughed her tinkling bell laugh, and the sound of it make Amrado feel better. As if somehow, everything would eventually turn out all right.
“Good night, Mira.” he said softly.
“Good night, Ams.” she returned, and the two of them fell asleep, knowing that in the morning they would have to face yet another day of slavery.
* * * * *
Florese wasn’t tired in the slightest. Her nap a few hours earlier had bansished any previous desire of sleep, and the dreary candlelights in the old, creaky mansion kept her up long past her bedtime. She tossed and turned, trying to ignore the whistling wind outside and the ghostly shadows inside. Finally when she could bear it no longer, she got up, and tiptoed to her grandfather’s room.
If King Syrrien hadn’t been so tired from his journey and encounter with King Deveron, he would have found it hard to sleep as well. But exhaustion won out in the end, and he dozed rather peacefully until he felt a little hand lightly shaking his shoulder.
“Grandfather.” Florese whispered.
Syrrien pretended not to hear her.
“Grandfather,” Florese persisted, “Get up!”
“Why?” he mumbled, “Are we under attack by an angry mob?”
“What? No, I was thirsty.” Florese answered, a bit confused.
Syrrien sighed.
“Then ask Borëalis to get you something to drink.”
“But he’s asleep!” Florese protested.
“So was I, darling,” Syrrien said, burying his head in his pillow, “why don’t you ask Sir Tiren to get it for you?”
“He’s outside guarding the house.”
“Of course he is,” Syrrien sighed, “all right, since i’m already up, I might as well.”
Syrrien put on his robe, lit a candle, and led Florese downstairs.
Florese clutched his hand tightly, staring at the shadows in the corridors. She had to take twice as many steps to keep in pace with him, even though he was walking rather slowly. Feeling Florese’s small hand in his, Syrrien was reminded of a time when expeditions to find a drink of water were more commonplace. His grandson Amonde never wanted anything from him at night. Or if he did, he always awoke Prince Kasyre to get it for him. But when Miradelle was younger…when she was younger, everything was different. His wings began to droop from the memories.
“How thirsty are you,” he asked, banishing the thoughts from his mind, “I don’t want you waking me to go to the bathroom later on. You do know how to use a chamber pot, don’t you?”
“In Evergreen Forest, we had an outhouse.” Florese said hesitantly.
“Just promise me you won’t wet your bed.”
“Okay.” she answered.
Silence reigned until the arrived at the kitchen, and Syrrien presented her with her desired cup of water.
“There. You don’t need anything else, do you?”
“No, i’m fine.” Florese replied, making sure she sipped her water silently instead of slurping it.
“Good. Now lets go back to bed.”
As Syrrien finished speaking, they heard a crash upstairs.
Florese jumped.
“What was that?” she cried.
Syrrien made no answer, he simply started for the staircase again.
Two more crashed were heard.
“Grandfather, what are you—“
“Stay here.” he ordered.
Syrrien ran back upstairs, and met Borëalis in the hall.
“Borëalis, what happened?” he questioned sharply.
“Sire, it sounded like broken glass. The window—“
Syrrien brushed past him and opened the door to his room. There were three gaping holes in the windowpane, and three burning bottles of wine were lying on the floor, setting the room ablaze. One bottle had landed by the bed, and had already succeeded in setting fire to the blanket and pillows. It was working on the wooden headboard.
Syrrien grew pale, and backed out of the doorframe. Borëalis took in the view and gasped.
“Sire…”
“Well, don’t just stand there, put it out!” Syrrien exclaimed.
Borëalis ran to the washbasin and doused some of the floor in water. He then tore a drape from the window and beat the flaming bed sore.
“Your Highness, get back downstairs,” he called, “I don’t think this fire’s going out anytime soon.
The curtain he was beating the flames with started to catch fire, and another bottle flew through the window and started setting fire to the remaining drape.
“Borëalis, forget the fire, just get out of there, now!” Syrrien cried.
Borëalis needed no second command. He dropped the curtain and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He and Syrrien flew downstairs, only stopping for Syrrien to snatch up Florese before they escaped out the front door.
“Tiren Silvamore, you confounded idiot!” King Syrrien called, “You were supposed to be guarding the house!”
Tiren flew in from his post at the front gate, looking very tired, and not altogether sure what was going on.
“Sire, I was guarding the gates, if someone entered from the back, or from the side--”
“Oh spare me your excuses and just get in the carriage.” Syrrien interrupted coldly.
Tiren cringed, and meekly obeyed his king. Syrrien helped Florese into the carriage, and shut the door.
“Borëalis,” he ordered, “fetch the horses from the stable and get them hooked up. And, Borëalis…”
“Yes, Sire?”
Syrrien sighed.
“I’m…sorry I didn’t listen to you.” he finished in a voice barely audible.
Borëalis smiled.
“It’s forgotten, Your Magesty.”
He got the horses hooked up to the carriage in record time, and before long, the carriage was rolling off into the night.
“Grandfather, is your house going to burn down?” Florese asked, yawning.
Syrrien grimaced.
“Yes lark. But that’s alright, it was hardly fit for anything anyway. And it won’t be long before we aren’t welcome in Albor as it is, so it wasn’t that much of a loss.”
“Were those men trying to kill you?”
“I suppose they were. They set fire to the bed at any rate. And if I hadn’t been busy getting you that drink of water, they would have set fire to me too.”
Florese’s eyes widened.
“Does that mean I saved your life?”
Syrrien laughed.
“Not really. It was just a lucky set of circumstances. But you definitely helped preserve my life.”
Tiren grinned.
“I don’t see what you have to smile about, Sir Tiren,” Syrrien continued, “this little incident will be on your record, you know. This is the last time i’ll ever trust you as a night watchman.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“It was badly done, Tiren,” Syrrien continued, “i’ve half a mind to send you to the front of our next battle.”
“I’m sorry, Sire.”
“It was badly done indeed.”
“I understand, Sire.”
“Oh, don’t be mad at Mister Tiren!” Florese begged, “He tried his best!”
King Syrrien narrowed his eyes, then sighed and ruffled Florese’s curls.
“I’m sure he did, child. Now I know the carriage is a bit bumpy, but try to get some sleep.”
“Are we going to Isindryne now?”
Syrrien chuckled.
“I’m not staying in Arthenyarn another minute. So, yes, we are going to Isindryne.”
“Good,” Florese said cheerfully, “I can’t wait!”
“Neither can I, dear.” Syrrien said, gazing wistfully out the window at the night sky, “neither can I.”
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Read my fantasy novel here!
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I'm also one of Luthien and Melkor's adopted daughters.
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Mírwen Ladybow
Maia
The Ruler of Rivendell
member is offline
*hacks up posters of Ed Cullen with gondolin blade* What? That's my Indian name! Totally...
Joined: Jan 2005
Gender: Female
Posts: 582
Location: In the panic room!AHHHH!!!!!!!
| | Re: The Brightleaf Chronicles: The Force of Destin
« Reply #16 on Apr 6, 2009, 8:16am » | |
Aw man I've only written one more chapter and its not finished yet....i'm gonna have to start writing more regularly, lol!
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Read my fantasy novel here!
http://enarda.proboards41.com/index.cgi?....play&thread=168
I'm also one of Luthien and Melkor's adopted daughters.
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Lindelos
Vala
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| | Re: The Brightleaf Chronicles: The Force of Destin
« Reply #17 on Apr 8, 2009, 4:00pm » | |
*gasp* You mean... no more Brightleafs (Brightleaves?) to feed my addiction? *collapses in shock*
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Mírwen Ladybow
Maia
The Ruler of Rivendell
member is offline
*hacks up posters of Ed Cullen with gondolin blade* What? That's my Indian name! Totally...
Joined: Jan 2005
Gender: Female
Posts: 582
Location: In the panic room!AHHHH!!!!!!!
| | Re: The Brightleaf Chronicles: The Force of Destin
« Reply #18 on Apr 11, 2009, 6:04pm » | |
Well i'll keep writing, but it will just take a longer time. I have 15 pages from a later installment though (when Flora is all grown up! ), but it's rather epicful and dramatic. And it would probably be confusing since the backstory behind it hasn't happened yet... *helps Lindy off the floor* but anyway, here's chapter 11, where Florese meets her Uncle and Cousin (they r so awesome! Muahaha!) It's a little longer than usual, I guess I was having too much fun writing for royalty, lol!
Chapter 11
A Day In Sky City
When the faeries finally arrived in Isindryne, it was approaching noon. Having driven by coach for half the night and most of the morning, they were all feeling rather cramped and tired, and glad to be home at last. Syrrien released Borëalis from his duties until dinnertime (it was the least he could do for his poor valet) and told Tiren to go home to his mother. Tiren gladly did, after a short but painful goodbye to Florese (she had grown quite attached to him and hated to see him go, even though she was promised a visit the next day.)
“Well Florese,” Syrrien said proudly, “How do you like Isindryne?”
Florese stared at the graceful towers and breezy balconies with wonder.
“It’s like heaven,” she answered, “I didn’t know anything in the world could be this beautiful!”
Syrrien smiled.
“I know,” he said, “i’m of the firm opinion that it’s the most beautiful place in the world. I’ve never seen its equal. Do you like the palace?”
Florese nodded eagerly.
“It’s just like in a fairy tale!”
Syrrien laughed.
“Well, we are faeries, after all. It’s only befitting. Let’s go inside.”
They climbed the huge staircase leading to the main gate, and passed through it into the interior of the palace.
“This is the foyer,” Syrrien explained as they walked, “ and this is the main hallway. To your right are the recreational rooms like the library, sitting room, and music room. To the left is the dining room, the grand ballroom, and my study. These doors here lead to the courtyard, and beyond that is the kitchen, and the servant’s quarters. The stables and hawk house are out to the far right of the palace (i’ll show them to you later), and this, as you can see, is the grand staircase. If you go up to the Right Wing, you’ll run into all the assorted bedrooms. We use the Left Wing mainly for storage, but there’s a wonderful portrait gallery down that hallway…you’ll need to see that sometime. It will help with your history when you learn about your ancestors.”
“Is there a picture of mother there?” Florese asked hopefully.
“Yes, there’s several different ones,” Syrrien replied, “we had her portrait done every few years, the last one was painted around six years ago, we haven’t gotten a chance to do a more recent one, for she spends—spent--a lot of time in Arthenyarn. We’ll have your picture done soon, it’s been a while since we’ve had an addition to the gallery.” he finished quickly, trying to draw his mind away from his missing daughter for the time being.
“Father,” called a voice down the hall, “Father, is that you?”
The speaker came into view as they rounded a corner. It was a faerie who looked quite a lot like King Syrrien, only a bit younger. He had the same dark hair, and the same smile. His eyes, however, were a deep blue.
“That’s a nice welcoming committee you set up.” Syrrien said, addressing him.
The faerie looked confused.
“I’m sorry? You said you’d be gone a full week, I didn’t think—“
“That’s your problem, Kasyre. Just leave the thinking to me. Obviously there’s been a change of plans, or I wouldn’t be here.”
“Did your meeting go smoothly?”
“Yes…quite smoothly.”
Kasyre brought his eyes lower to the ground, noticing Florese for the first time.
“Who’s this?”
“Oh, this is Miradelle’s daughter, Florese. Florese, this is your Uncle Kasyre.”
Kasyre was stunned, but nevertheless managed a proper greeting.
“How do you do?”
Florese’s reply was less than satisfactory.
“Um, okay I guess.”
Syrrien cleared his throat.
“She hasn’t completely mastered royal etiquette yet. She grew up…well…in a forest. In a treehouse, with her father.”
“You mean, she’s…she’s the daughter of the elf from Evergreen—“
“Of course she is,” King Syrrien interrupted, “Didn’t I tell you?”
Kasyre shook his head.
“No,” he said defensively, “You never tell me anything.”
Syrrien shrugged.
“That’s usually because things don’t concern you.”
“But the fact that I have a niece could stand to have been mentioned more. Especially if she was coming for a visit.”
“Oh, she’s not here to visit. She’s here to stay.”
“She is? But you said she was living with her…Father, what did you do?” Kasyre finished angrily.
He was touchy when it came to his father manipulating the lives of commoners. It happened more often than he would have liked.
King Syrrien just sighed.
“Really Kasyre, I did nothing. Her father and brother were captured by goblins and ended up with the other colony faeries in Korin. I’m simply taking care of my granddaughter in her parents’ absence.”
“She has a brother too?”
“Yes, he’s her twin.”
“Does King Deveron know?” Kasyre asked in a low voice.
Syrrien’s wings gave a nervous twitter.
“Of course he knows,” Syrrien answered flippantly.
“And…he doesn’t mind?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say he doesn’t completely mind…but he certainly accepts it.”
Kasyre raised an eyebrow.
“And he’s still sending his army to help us?”
Syrrien winced.
“Well, the thing is…”
“He’s not helping us, is he?” Kasyre asked glumly.
“Not…as such, i’m afraid. But who needs his help anyway? His soldiers are restricted to land only, ours can fly to the highest tower of Korin without a problem. He doesn’t even have a decent calvary. The Domëi Knights are what holds that kingdom together, and they aren’t even really his to begin with. So you see, strategically speaking, his help wasn’t needed. It’s just protocal to ask.”
“We may not need his help,” Kasyre said sadly, “but whatever are we supposed to tell Miradelle? She’ll expect her husband.”
King Syrrien cleared his throat.
“About that…i’d like to continue this discussion in my study. Privately.”
Florese tugged on his robe.
“What do I do?”
“Run along and play in the courtyard. I’ll come and get you when i’m done.” he indicated to the direction of the courtyard.
Florese ran down the hall to the door.
“Florese, darling,” Syrrien called, “Princesses don’t run. They walk slowly and gracefully.”
Florese stopping running, and walked the rest of the way to the courtyard.
“Well, she’s not very graceful,” Syrrien remarked, “but she’ll learn.”
* * * * *
“So King Deveron threw you out of the palace?” Kasyre asked.
Syrrien sighed, collapsing into his chair.
“He didn’t throw me out, exactly.
“But he didn’t want you coming back.”
“Not really, no.”
“And he didn’t indicate that he was even slightly interested in taking Miradelle back as his queen?”
“I don’t know…he very well might. He likes her well enough. If she can stomach the indignity of bowing before him and begging to be taken back, he might forgive her.”
“Was he upset enough to declare war on us?” Kasyre asked in a low voice.
Syrrien put his hands to his temples.
“I don’t know. Perhaps if it were any other king….but this is Deveron we’re talking about. He risked his life once to save yours. I’d like to think this alliance was as important to him as it was to me.”
“Perhaps…if I spoke with him…”
“You shall do nothing of the kind. Albor is no place for the Crowned Prince of Isindryne. It’s more dangerous now than ever before. There was an attempt made on my life, and we barely escaped in one piece.”
“Someone tried to kill you?”
“Yes, and it was a rather jarring experience for Florese. I’m not having any other member of my family running loose in Arthenyarn City, we have enough to deal with as it is.” Syrrien went on, rummaging through the papers on his desk, “What’s all this?”
“Just taxes and appeals. I went through most of them yesterday.”
“You went through them? You didn’t sign anything, did you?”
“If I hadn’t, you would have had double the amount of work to do when you got home. I was just helping you out a bit.”
“If I needed your help, I would have asked.” Syrrien muttered.
Kasyre smiled.
“No, Father, you wouldn’t.”
“You could have upset the economy of the whole city.”
“Father, how am I ever going be a successful king if I never get the chance to learn?”
“You’ll be fine, Kasyre. No one expects you to be successful.”
“Excuse me?”
“Not at first I mean. The whole first year of your reign is reserved simply for making mistakes. The rest of your reign is reserved for fixing them. Now, do you think you could send some servants into the Left Wing to get a few trunks of Miradelle’s old clothes? Florese doesn’t have a thing to wear. And is her room ready?”
“Her room?”
“The spare one we were renovating?”
“Oh…I wasn’t aware we needed it so soon…I thought it was just a protacol update. I sent the workers back to finish the chapel.”
“You did what?”
“They were working on it before, and I thought they should get a chance to finish it. It seemed more important than a spare room.”
“Well it wasn’t, obviously. Send them back to work on Florese’s room, and in the meantime, she can stay in Alphenna’s old room.”
Kasyre’s eyes widened.
“You can’t put her in there! Think of Amonde!”
“His mother’s been dead for years, and I see no reason to let a perfectly good room go to waste. He needs to learn to accept her death, and grow up a bit. To stop reading those silly storybooks and concentrate on his studies. My childhood ended when I was half his age, and I lost a lot more than he did. But I still learned to deal with my loss, and became a king. It’s time he learned to do the same.”
* * * * *
Florese wandered around the courtyard and walked down the lines of freshly trimmed hedges. She ran to a flower bed, knelt down, and started sniffing the flowers one by one. When she was finished, she pranced over to a hearty little pear tree and began to climb. The tree’s bark was smoother than the trees in Evergreen Forest, which made it a bit more difficult, but she managed to get a good distance from the ground. It required a vast amount of concentration. She was deeply engrossed with the art of tree-climbing when she suddenly heard a voice.
“What are you doing? You can’t climb that!”
Florese jumped, and twisted around to see who was speaking. As she did, her little hands lost their grip on the branch, and she came tumbling down. She landed on three big lambs’ ear plants, which was fortunate for her (though unfortunate for the poor plants).
“Are you all right?” came the voice again, and Florese slowly sat up and looked around.
A dark-haired boy around her own age was running to her aid, his brow knit with agitation. He knelt down and surveyed first Florese, then the mess of plants she sat in.
“You’re not hurt…are you?” he faltered.
Florese shook her head.
“I’m fine,” she replied in a daze, “but I think the plants are squished.”
She was afraid the boy would be upset. Instead, he smiled a broad grin, and started to laugh.
“You, you fell on them! Splat! And then they got flattened just like that! You should have seen you though! It was really funny!”
Florese began to laugh a little too. There was something comforting and familiar in his smile.
“Here, let’s get you out of those plants before the gardener catches you,” he said, helping her up, his eyes dancing with merriment, “he’s so silly about the herbs and flowers. Treats them like they’re really alive. You’d better get away from here before he catches you.”
He began to walk her from the scene of the crime.
“You must be new around here,” he ventured, “I mean, not everyone would have the gumption to climb one of the King’s private Bradford Pear trees.”
“Oh, is that…not allowed?” Florese hesitated.
The boy laughed again.
“Of course it isn’t! He doesn’t even let me climb them! You must have come from a very long way away…” he trailed off, gazing at her golden hair.
“Yes, I did come a long way.” Florese replied, “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing. So, what’s your name, and where are you from?”
“I’m Flora, and I live here now.” she said simply “What’s your name?”
The boy’s sky blue eyes sparkled, and he gave a sly smile.
“I don’t have a name,” he announced, “you may call me whatever you wish and i’ll answer, if I like it.”
“Really?” Florese asked in awe, “But surely your parents gave you a name!”
“Maybe they did, but they died before they could tell me.”
“That’s too bad.” Florese said, remembering her own parents and how much she missed them.
“It happened a long time ago,” he shrugged, “but it was very dramatic. We were on this boat, see? And then these pirates came along and tried to take us prisoner, but my dad fought them off. Before they left, they shot a bunch of holes in our boat so it would sink! And then there was this huge storm! The sky was so dark that we couldn’t see the shore, and the waves got big and washed all over the deck! My mom fell overboard, and my dad had to jump in after her to save her. So there I was, steering the ship all alone. And the water kept getting higher and higher, and the wind kept blowing the rain in my face, but I still tried to keep our boat afloat.”
“Then what happened?” Florese asked, quite interested.
“The holes were too much, and the boat finally took on a heapload of water and sank,” he continued, enjoying the story as much as she was, “But not before I grabbed a lifeboat and rowed back to shore. My parents weren’t so lucky. I tried to find them in the water, but the waves were just too big! Sometimes at night, I see their ghosts haunting the palace. They’re all gross and dripping wet with seaweed, all over them. I hear them crying out, begging me to find the pirates and avenge them. They say—“
“Amonde! Amonde, what are you doing?”
The children turned around to see Prince Kasyre coming toward them.
“Oh, botheration,” the boy sighed, kicking a pebble from the gravel path.
“What’s wrong?” asked Florese.
“My uncle, that’s what.”
“He’s your uncle too?” Florese exclaimed, “But that means you’re my--”
“Amonde, you’re supposed to be in the middle of a Nymphan lesson!” Prince Kasyre scolded, “Where’s your tutor?”
Amonde grinned slyly.
“He had a little emergency with the calligraphy set and a bowl of porridge.”
“You run right back to Mr. Tallpine and apologize for whatever atrocities you’ve done to him, and finish up your nymphan and your harpsicord lesson. I’ll have you know, your grandfather will hear about this,” Kasyre shifted his eyes to Florese, who was trying to hide behind Amonde, and not doing a very good job of it, " I see you’ve already met your cousin, Florese.”
“Cousin?” Amonde cried, dumbfounded, “She’s my cousin?”
Florese smiled and greeted Amonde with a slight wave.
“Nice to meet you.” she said.
Amonde was either too shocked or too unruly to offer a reply.
It was then that Kasyre saw the crushed plants.
“What’s this?” he continued, “What have you done to the lambs ear?”
“That wasn’t me!” Amonde protested, “It was her!”
He pointed a finger at Florese, who backed away slowly.
“It was an accident…” she said softly.
“Five minutes with Amonde and he’s already started to corrupt you,” Kasyre groaned, “I really don’t know how i’m supposed to cope with two of you little hooligans running around the palace. Really, a prince and princess should behave better. Come along Florese, your cousin still has school to do. And we need to get you something suitable to wear in time for dinner.”
He took her hand, gave Amonde a warning look that sent the boy trudging back to his tutor, and led Florese away.
* * * * *
Before long, Florese was dressed in an old, but pretty blue frock that had belonged to her mother. The sleeves were long and ruffled, there was a design of lace stars on the chest, and the waist was tied with a silver sash. Florese soon discovered the joy of spinning around in circles and watching her dress float in the air. Then a pair of bloomers were put on, and Florese found herself a little less mobile.
Miradelle Starwing had been a good deal taller than her daughter when she was young, and the servants had to spend some time hemming the dress so Florese wouldn’t trip over it. After she was dressed, her uncle brought her to the room that had belonged to Amonde’s mother. Florese looked about her with wide eyes and an open jaw.
“Wow! This is beautiful!” Florese cried, seeing the canopy bed, windowseat, and balcony. Prince Kasyre led her to a vanity, and sat her down before the mirror.
“The maid will be along shortly to do your hair,” he told her, “until then, you must sit very still and try not to crumple your dress.”
Florese gazed around the room curiously. On the surface of the vanity, there were two miniature portraits of a very little boy, and a faerie that looked very much like Kasyre.
“Who are these people?” she asked, picking up the pictures.
“That small child is Amonde, when he was around two or three years old. That man is his father, my brother Sedore.”
“Didn’t he die?”
A shadow seemed to pass over Kasyre’s features before he replied.
“Yes, he did,” he said softly, “he and his wife were lost in a horrible storm at Lake Elysieum…you would have been a baby when it happened. It was a sad day for all of us, and Amonde has never fully recovered.”
“My parents are gone now too,” Florese sighed dolefully, setting down the portraits, “Mister Tiren thinks they’re dead.”
“Does he?”
“Yes. Do you think they are?”
Kasyre shook his head.
“I honestly don’t know what to think. Your mother at least has probably been left alive as a bargaining tool. We’ll rescue them soon. So try not to worry, and enjoy your stay with us.”
The maidservant entered, and the remaining few hours were spent braiding the sides of Florese’s hair into two thick braids with blue ribbons and silver cords, and pinning the braids up to the sides of her head. The rest of her hair was brushed and allowed to fall down her back freely. Kasyre stayed and conversed with his new niece in an attempt to know her better. His father seldom left him any royal duties, and as Amonde was still busy with school, he found he had no pressing matter to call his attention away. He soon learned of Florese’s previous life in Evergreen Forest, of her relationship with her father and brother, and her recent adventures with Tiren Silvamore. Kasyre listened intently and questioned her with the interest of a new relative. The interest her grandfather had never taken in her.
“It would be easier to style if her hair were longer,” said the maid when she was finished. Florese’s hair went a bit past her shoulders. Her hair was in fact longer than it appeared, for when it curled it took away most of the length. But the texture and length made it difficult to braid gracefully.
“It will have to make do for the present,” Kasyre replied, “thank you for your time.”
A pearl necklace was added that wrapped closely around Florese’s neck twice before loosly falling lower down her chest. A broach in the shape of a silver nightingale was pinned to the side of her head, and she was finally pronounced fit for dinner.
Kasyre led her down the stairs slowly (Florese was still not used to walking in such a dress) and brought her to the music room to wait until dinner was ready. Amonde was already there, seated before a rather large harpsicord in the center of the room. He was lazily playing a series of chords with his left hand, while looking over a book with the other. When Kasyre left to make sure dinner was in order, Florese walked up to Amonde and watched him intently. Several moments passed.
“What are you looking at?” he said finally, squirming uncomfortably in his seat.
“Nothing,” she said simply, “what are you doing?”
“Inversions.” he mumbled.
“In what?”
“It’s a series of three notes in a particular order going up and down the staff, except you play three notes at the same time….it’s sort of like an arpeggio….well I guess you wouldn’t know what that is either. Let’s just say it’s very hard and complicated.”
Florese scratched her head.
“If it’s so hard, how come you’re doing it with one hand?”
Amonde graced her with another devilish smile.
“Because…i’m a genius, that’s why.”
The answer satisfied Florese, who rarely doubted anything anyone told her.
“What’s that book about?”
Amonde sighed.
“It’s about monsters and dragons and high faeries of old—warriors who fight against the evil creatures and save people—but it’s too scary for you. And too long.”
“It sounds exciting,” Florese ventured, “but I can’t read yet.”
Amonde let out a chuckle in spite of himself. It didn’t sound at all like a nice laugh, but Florese wasn’t old enough to understand what was meant as hearty laughter, and what was unkind jeering.
“Didn’t they teach you anything in that forest?” Amonde asked, letting his current mood get the better of his high breeding.
“What do you mean?”
‘What did you do, climb trees all day?”
Florese thought hard.
“Well…yes…but we also learned about plants and mushrooms! Did you know that when a mushroom eats its food, it throws up on it first, then the food melts down in the ground and gets sucked up by the roots?”
Amonde stared blankly.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing i’ve ever heard,” he baulked, “how’s it supposed to throw up to eat when it has to eat to throw up in the first place? And besides, it doesn’t have a mouth! It’s just a plant!”
“It’s not a plant,” Florese protested, “it’s a fungus!”
“Same thing,” Amonde countered.
“But it isn’t!” Florese protested, stamping her foot.
The potential argument was postponed when Kasyre entered the room again to take Florese and Amonde to dinner.
“Amonde,” Kasyre said, “did you finish your inversions?”
“Yes, Uncle,” Amonde replied in a low, tired voice.
“In all the modes?”
“Yes.”
“Even the hypo counterparts?”
“Yes!” Amonde nearly burst out, “And while you’re on the subject of school and learning in general, you might want to explain to little miss golden locks that plants don’t have mouths, or throw up on their food.”
“But they do!” Florese continued, “you can ask the gardener, and he’ll tell you the same thing!”
“That’s because he’s a low bred commoner, and knows no better.”
“Amonde!” Kasyre said harshly, “Don’t let me hear you insulting the gardener, or any of the other servants again. It is a priviledge to have him tend to our plants instead of having to do it ourselves. It is a pleasure having someone to cook our meals, and make our beds. Don’t take it lightly.”
Amonde rolled his eyes, but did not speak again. Kasyre took Florese’s hand, and led the two children to the dining room.
King Syrrien was waiting for them, and looked particularly pleased to see Florese dressed presentably and looking more like a princess. Florese was seated beside her uncle and across from Amonde. When the servant brought the water, she remembered not to drink it, and dipped her hands in it instead. King Syrrien noticed, and smiled slightly in spite of himself. She was already beginning to adjust.
In time, he told himself, she might indeed make a fine princess. One to be proud of.
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Read my fantasy novel here!
http://enarda.proboards41.com/index.cgi?....play&thread=168
I'm also one of Luthien and Melkor's adopted daughters.
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Lindelos
Vala
member is offline
Joined: Jan 2005
Gender: Female
Posts: 1,582
| | Re: The Brightleaf Chronicles: The Force of Destin
« Reply #19 on May 24, 2009, 1:25pm » | |
Have I left you alone long enough that you've written more? ...Please?
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Mírwen Ladybow
Maia
The Ruler of Rivendell
member is offline
*hacks up posters of Ed Cullen with gondolin blade* What? That's my Indian name! Totally...
Joined: Jan 2005
Gender: Female
Posts: 582
Location: In the panic room!AHHHH!!!!!!!
| | Re: The Brightleaf Chronicles: The Force of Destin
« Reply #20 on May 24, 2009, 4:06pm » | |
Lol, actually, yes. Here's chapter 12, I need to start work on chapter 13, hahah, I haven't even started yet...
Chapter 12
Letters of Interest
Prince Kasyre was a peacemaker by nature, with no vanity or pride to stand between him and his goals. His father King Syrrien felt too high and mighty to apologize to King Deveron, complete with the necessary groveling and fawning that was required to set things right. But Prince Kasyre felt no shame in it, and, being a particular friend of King Deveron, decided to write a letter to him to ease the feud, and save the alliance from crumbling.
Coming to this conclusion over dinner, he delayed just long enough to stop Amonde’s assaults of grapes and cherries that the boy was slyly flinging at Florese, and scold him for his ungentlemanly behavior. King Syrrien paid no attention, and was too absorbed in his own thoughts to care in general about what his grandson did. Kasyre signalled for Florese to take her elbows off the table, and addressed his father.
“Father, the current state of our relationship with Albor cannot continue any longer.”
“You think they’ll declare war, do you?” King Syrrien said, staring into space.
“No, that’s not at all what I meant,” Kasyre replied, flustered, “I simply thought we might want to make peace with Miradelle’s husband so we don’t lose the alliance, and so she has a home to go back to when we free her.”
Syrrien sighed.
“I don’t see the use of that. I already apologized to him, and he would hear nothing of it. He washed his hands of the whole thing. We might as well wash our hands of him too, and i’d rather Miradelle wasn’t married to him anyway. He’s rather ill-tempered, and she’d be much happier here with her family.”
If the matter weren’t so serious, Kasyre could have laughed at the irony. King Syrrien had sweated blood and tears to bring the match about. The same match he was now happy to see dissolved.
“Don’t you think that if we sent a message along--another apology--he’s had time for his anger to blow over now, and perhaps if he thought rationally about it…”
“That’s ridiculous. He’d only laugh at us, and now isn’t the time to be showing weakness to him or to anyone. We’ve got a battle to plan, and if Albor isn’t involved, so much the better.”
“But we haven’t had a functioning army for years!” Kasyre protested, “Our knights are either rich courtiers, veterans who’s fighting days are behind them, or fresh boys who have hardly seen service, much less a battle. The soldiers in the garrison aren’t much better, and their numbers are few. We’d have to draft the villagers, and then train them, and even then they wouldn’t stand half a chance against goblins and wizardry.”
“Well that’s a chance we’ll have to take.” Syrrien answered simply.
At the mention of a battle, Amonde had suddenly lost interest at flinging cherries at his cousin, and began to pay more attention to his uncle’s words.
“Uncle, can I fight too?” he cut in briskly.
“Of course not,” Kasyre exclaimed, “you’ve only just turned eight, and it would be far too dangerous. A battle is no place for a child!”
Amonde was silenced, hung his head, and began poking his food around with his fork.
“We’ll need you to stay behind at the castle,” King Syrrien said, trying to cheer the boy up, “and protect your cousin.”
Amonde glared at Florese skeptically. He had heard who’s room she would be staying in, and coupled with her deception of her identity in the garden, he was forming a rather ill opinion of her, and had already taken a slight disliking to her.
“A draft would take far too long,” Kasyre continued, “and training, even longer. We need to free Miradelle as soon as possible before any harm comes to her. To do that, we need Albor’s army. Even if they are only foot soldiers, their numbers are far greater than ours. If we had his help, we could be at the wizard’s door in a week.”
“More’s the pity,” King Syrrien said quietly.
“If you will not write to King Deveron,” Kasyre replied firmly, “then I will.”
“Don’t be silly. He wouldn’t listen to me, what makes you think he’d listen to you?”
“He’s my friend, father,” Kasyre pressed, “He saved my life. He showed kindness and compassion once, and he may do so again, if only given the chance. The reason he was angry is not because he hates us, but because he loved Miradelle. He loved her and trusted her, and now that trust has been betrayed. If I could only offer my sympathy, explain how much his friendship means to us, and persuade him to help us--if only to see Miradelle and hear her side of the story before dismissing her--i’m sure my hope would not be in vain.”
“Very well, if you must write to him to satisfy your sensitive consience, I won’t stop you. But he won’t help us, we might as well order the draft in the meantime.”
“The people won’t be happy about that.” Kasyre mused.
“Well they shall have to learn to contain their displeasure,” Syrrien bristled, “After all, i’ve been a good king to them thus far, and these have been peaceful times considering the turmoil they faced during my father’s reign. They’ve had nothing to complain of but the taxes being a bit higher than they’re comfortable with. It’s about time they went into service for their kingdom.”
“So when are we saving my mother?” Florese asked. Most of the plans had gone quite over her head, having never heard of drafts or taxes, and not understanding what the words had to do with rescuing her family.
“If we receive no help from Albor, it could take up to five or six months.” King Syrrien answered, “I was hoping we would be able to help her sooner, but it seems King Deveron has thought better of lending us his aid.”
“Why?” Florese cried in dismay.
“Because of your father, dear,” King Syrrien responded, “he’s rather put out by your parent’s marriage years ago, he’s not too pleased that you and your brother exist, and he’s not fond of the idea of your parents together in the dungeons.”
“But, but if he doesn’t want them together, he could just break them out and send my daddy away,” Florese replied, clutching her spoon a little tighter, “after all, my daddy never spent time with Mommy before, and he’d be happy to stay in Evergreen Forest with me and Burrone.”
“I’m sure he would,” Syrrien answered dryly, “he’d be a very happy elf if he settled deep in that forest, married a nice elfin maid, and never set eyes on my daughter again. But, assuming he’s even alive, King Deveron will have quite a score to settle with him. And it’s rather unlikely he’ll let him off the block that easily.
“The block?” Florese repeated, confused.
“The chopping block, that is. I think it would be wise to try to forget your father, for it seems rather unlikely that you’ve ever see him again.”
“Father!” Kasyre cried out in surprise.
“Well it’s the truth, isn’t it?” Syrrien replied, “She can’t go on thinking everyone will miraculously forgive him for what he’s done, and that she’ll be allowed to go back to that wretched forest and live like a peasent again. We’d best condition her to reality now rather than later.”
Kasyre made no answer to King Syrrien. Instead he turned to Florese.
“I think it’s time you went to bed, Florese, you’ve had a rather long day.” he said softly.
He took her hand and led the poor girl away from his father’s thoughtless words, which took a few moments to set in. Kasyre was already out the door with her when she began to cry.
“Come now, none of that,” Kasyre said softly, bending down to dry her tears, “he didn’t mean a word of it. He’s just upset by this whole cursed business, and exaggerated your father’s crimes and punishment a bit.”
“My Daddy didn’t do anything wrong!” was Florese’s tearful reply, accompanied by a stamp of her foot, “Mommy was the one who left us in the forest, she was the one who got married to someone else and forgot all about us and then got herself captured! And Daddy only got captured because he was trying to save her, which is more than anyone else has tried to do!”
Her words struck home, and Kasyre’s eyes softened for a moment. But he soon regained his composure.
“I’m sorry,” he said simply, but sincerely, “I know you must love your father very much, but no one really knows what’s happened to him, or what will happen in the future. I can promise that we’ll try our best to help him and the others, no matter what. And don’t pay any attention to your Grandfather’s speculations, either. He’s a bit of a pessimist, and will always see the worst in things. You look like someone who likes seeing the best in things.”
“I—I think so.” Florese sniffled.
“Then try to see the best in this,” Kasyre continued, leading her up the stairs to her room, “you have a beautiful new home, lots of new dresses and toys to play with, and a grandfather, uncle, and cousin who all love you very much, and will do everything they can to save the rest of your family. That’s worth something, isn’t it?”
Florese nodded, already feeling a little better from her uncle’s kind, gentle words.
“You’ll sleep here tonight,” Kasyre said, opening the door to the room belonging to Amonde’s mother.
It was darker than before, but the sunset was peering in the corner of the windows, giving the room a cozy, safe feel. A complete contrast to the room she had stayed in at Kenvent Gardens in Albor. She scurried to the canopy bed and leapt onto it. She looked at her uncle, unsure if she was allowed to bounce on it or not. Kasyre smiled.
“Go ahead and give it a few good bounces. It needs it, I’ll warrant. No one’s slept there for a long time. Some maidservants will be up in a while to get you ready for bed. In the meantime, don’t break anything.”
Florese gleefully set to work bouncing on the bed, certain that despite what her grandfather may believe, she would see her father again, and all would be well in time.
* * * * *
Burrone lay awake in his cell, his mind a flutter of thoughts much too disjointed and complicated for him to fully make sense of. He had to find a way to bring his parents to love each other again, and for his mother to come home. But what of Albor, and King Deveron? Would King Deveron punish Amrado for loving Miradelle? Would Amrado be free of the Dungeons of Korin only to be locked up somewhere anew in Albor? What about the Faerie King? Would he refuse to give Florese up? Would he demand custody of Burrone as well?
Burrone sighed. One thing was certain, it wasn’t safe to stay in the wizard’s dungeons, waiting for some goblin to find an excuse to whip him or his parents. He didn’t trust King Deveron to rescue them, and things might get worse if he did. He needed to find a way to escape.
The sounds of his father’s light snores were interrupted by a sudden grating sound from the left side of the cell. Startled, Burrone held his breath, listening intently. When the sound continued, Burrone got up, and tiptoed over to the wall to see what was making such a noise. A brick from the foot of the wall had been loosened and slid out of place, leaving a hole in the wall between his cell and the next.
“Hullo? Is anyone there?” whispered a voice from the other side.
Burrone got down on his hands and knees, and peered through the hole.
Staring back at him were two emerald eyes. He looked closer, and beheld a faerie boy around his own age with scraggly red hair and a very faint light.
“Hullo.” the boy said simply.
“Hello.” Burrone answered.
“I’m Eryndor Ariendell. What’s your name?”
“Burrone,” Burrone replied, “Burrone Brightleaf.”
“Brightleaf? Is your father Amrado?”
Burrone nodded.
“Yes he is. Do you know him?”
“My mother knows him,” Eryndor shrugged, “They’re slaves together.”
“Oh.” Burrone answered, not knowing quite what else to say.
“Can you read?” Eryndor went on.
Burrone raised an eyebrow.
“A little, but not very well.”
“Can you read this?”
Eryndor handed Burrone a srap of paper, yellowed with age. Burrone took it and crossed over to where his mother was sleeping. Her wings were still glowing brightly, and provided an ample reading light. He sat down by her side and stared at the paper. He couldn’t make out most of the words, but he skipped the ones he didn’t understand, read the ones he could, and speculated the rest.
To the unfortunate inhabitant of this cell,
As you have discovered, this brick can be removed at will, as can all the 13th bricks to the left in all the cells to the right of this one. They are loose because I loosened them all, one by one, until I made it to the side of the fortress. From there I will now make my escape, as I advise you to do. If you’re small enough to fit through the hole, that is.
Regards,
J. P.
Burrone walked back to Eryndor and handed him back the letter.
“Where did you find this?” he asked.
“It was wedged under the stone.” Eryndor said, “what did it say?”
“Well,” Burrone replied hesitantly, “I think it said something about being able to move a stone in all the cells and escaping when you get to the end. It was sort of confusing, and I don’t know for sure—“
“Well lets find out then!” Eryndor cried, and without further adieu, crawled through the hole into Burrone’s cell.
“Sort of a tight squeeze,” Eryndor murmered, standing up.
He was taller than Burrone by about half a head, and Burrone supposed he must have been six or seven years old. He did not ask why Eryndor was not able to read yet.
Eryndor ran over to the wall on the other side of the cell and started pushing on all the bottom bricks, one by one. When he got to the thirteenth brick to the left, his pains were rewarded, and the brick slid backwards.
“Burrone,” Eryndor said breathlessly, “do you realize what this means? We can escape! We can escape right now! And no one would even realize we’re missing until tomorrow morning!”
“Sh! You’ll wake my parents!” Burrone hissed.
“We could clear the forest in about an hour,” Eryndor went on, pacing the floor, “and if we can find the main road, we can get back to Albor. We could find a faerie colony to take us in until our parents escape or get rescued.”
“Or better,” Burrone mused, “I used to live in Evergreen Forest. It’s much closer, and I know exactly how to get there from the main road. My aunt still lives in our treehouse. We could live with her, and the goblins wouldn’t be able to find us again. And we’d be able to get there in less than a day.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Eryndor replied, “I wish…I wish our parents could come with us. But I could barely fit through. My little sister can come with us though, she’s much smaller than I am. Whoever escaped through these holes must have been a very small creature, maybe a pixie.”
“A pixie or a pai,” Burrone agreed, “but we shouldn’t leave right away. We should at least say goodbye to our parents, and maybe my dad can draw us a map or something. It would be awful to get lost in that forest…”
“All right, tomorrow night then,” Eryndor nodded, crawling back through the hole leading to his own cell, “I’ll see you then. Goodnight Burrone.”
“Goodnight Eryndor.” Burrone whispered.
Eryndor slid the brick back into its proper place, and all was quiet. Burrone broke into a devilish grin.
He was going to escape.
* * * * *
To his Royal Highness King Deveron of Albor,
I extend my warmest greetings, and hope to find His Majesty in good health. I was as surprised as you when I learned of what had transpired years ago between my sister, Queen Miradelle, and a certain knight of the Domëi order. Yet that was indeed years ago, and by concealing their affiliation until now, they have succeeded in preserving the goodwill between our people thus far, though they now threaten to destroy it. I cannot begin to comprehend the betrayal you must feel. Even I felt betrayed simply because I was not told. We must not forget, however, that we both learned of this secondhand. My father is not the best when it comes to breaking delicate news, and I have no doubt he left you in a stunned humor. He was out of sorts himself when he returned, and I fear he may have given you the wrong idea about our side of this alliance, and what your friendship means to us. We intend nothing but goodwill towards Albor, and hope more than expect that you do not feel any less friendship for us in light of the unfortunate circumstance that has been unveiled. We have no one as yet who can answer the pressing questions we face. Without Miradelle standing before us, we cannot condemn her for her actions, nor even ask her if there was a good reason for them. What court writes a verdict before hearing the defendant’s plea?
I know she has hurt you deeply, and I am truly sorry for it. If you plan to dismiss her, I do not blame you. But please, do not turn your back on her yet. I beg of you to help her, if only to give her the right of defending herself before your throne. Show her the mercy you once showed me, and you will be justly rewarded for it.
I remain ever yours,
Kasyre Starwing, Crowned Prince of the Sky Faeries, and heir to the throne of Isindryne.
Kasyre studied the letter with a heavy heart. He knew King Deveron was a kind man, but he began to doubt that a simple letter would cool his anger and move him to rescue Miradelle.
If only I were allowed to talk to him myself, he thought.
But his father had made it quite clear to him that traveling to Albor was not an option. He sealed the letter, and rang for a messenger.
“I hope this works.” he whispered.
* * * * *
King Deveron sat in his thrown room, his hands resting firmly on his temples. He was still out of sorts from the news King Syrrien had brought him the day before, and could hardly keep his mind from wandering while Captain Galivane gave his evening report.
“The garrison is taking up an inventory, and the knights are itching for a battle,” the captain was saying, “all that remains is for you to say the word, and the necessary preparations will be made. However, there has arisen an unforeseen complication, one that has—“
“What complication?” King Deveron asked, dreading the answer. He hadn’t told anyone about Florese and Burrone, and he dearly hoped no one had found out about them yet.
“It’s about the Kenvent Gardens estate,” Captain Galivane continued, “the one that the King of the Faeries was staying at. It caught fire during the night.”
“Fire? How?” Deveron asked, snapping to attention and sitting straighter in his chair.
“It’s being investigated, but it’s hard to tell. We think it might have been vandals, but not much remains of the place…it burned to the ground.”
Deveron’s eyes widened.
“Did King Syrrien and his party escape?” he asked quietly.
“We don’t know that either,” Galivane answered sadly, “Their carriage is gone, but it might have perished in the fire as well. It hasn’t been seen anywhere in Albor.”
“I see.” Deveron said softly, diverting his gaze.
He thought of his harsh words to King Syrrien the day before, and of his refusal to help Miradelle. He thought of little Florese, and how he had refused to even see Miradelle’s only daughter, much less help her. He closed his eyes, wishing to heaven she and Syrrien had escaped in time.
“Your Highness?” the captain pressed, “We will continue looking for the faeries among the rubble, though I hope we will not find any. But if we do, it could look very bad for us--the fact that King Syrrien was in Albor when it happened.”
“Yes, yes I know all that.” Deveron said grimly with a wave of his hand, “but if we find his body it means Kasyre is the Faerie King, and he’s much more peaceable and forgiving than his father. If we don’t, then there’s simply nothing to worry about.”
But Deveron worried nonetheless.
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Mírwen Ladybow
Maia
The Ruler of Rivendell
member is offline
*hacks up posters of Ed Cullen with gondolin blade* What? That's my Indian name! Totally...
Joined: Jan 2005
Gender: Female
Posts: 582
Location: In the panic room!AHHHH!!!!!!!
| | Re: The Brightleaf Chronicles: The Force of Destin
« Reply #21 Yesterday at 2:10am » | |
HAven't posted here in a while, so in case you're still reading, Lindy, here's the next chapter. I've finished the whole book now, actually, which is a relief. I thought I'd never finish!
Chapter 13
“Dad, I need to ask you something.” Burrone said the next morning.
Amrado rubbed the sleep from his eyes and crinked his sore back.
“Dad? Since when did you start calling me Dad? he muttered, “You’re five, you’re still supposed to be calling me Daddy.”
“This is serious.” Burrone protested.
‘All right son, i’m listening.”Amrado yawned.
“What if there was a way to escape,” Burrone said hesitantly, “what if there was, say, a tunnel that led out of here…but it was so small that only kids could fit through it. You’d let me go, wouldn’t you?”
Amrado was silent for a few moments.
“Burrone,” he said finally, “one does not simply ‘escape’ from Korin, (or for that matter, the Black Woods), without risking deadly repercussions. If the wizard found out…if he caught you and punished you…I don’t want to lose you. It’s far too dangerous, especially for you to attempt alone.”
“But I wouldn’t be alone,” Burrone protested, “Eryndor and Feya would be going with me!”
“Those fire faeries?”
“Yes!”
“And how old is Eryndor?”
“I don’t know…seven or eight maybe.”
Amrado shook his head.
“Escape is dangerous even for a grown warrior. I cannot allow my only son to risk the consequences.”
“So you’re asking your only son NOT to escape from slavery in the wizard’s dungeons overrun by goblins with whips?” Burrone shot back.
“Ronie, listen to me! You haven’t given anyone a reason to hurt you yet, now I don’t want you going out there looking for trouble! We’re going to be rescued anyway, so there’s no point in—“
“You don’t know that.” Burrone said in a low voice, “They’ll probably only rescue Mommy, they wouldn’t care about us.”
“That isn’t true.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know Tiren,” Amrado answered softly, “and I know he would give his life for his friends. He won’t give us up that easily on us. Just sit tight, be patient, and don’t get into any trouble.”
Burrone sighed.
“Fine.” he mumbled.
But he didn’t really mean it.
* * * * *
“Kasyre, I don’t suppose you have an explanation for this letter?” King Syrrien said as he strode into the library.
“It would help if I knew what it said.” Kasyre said, his eyes still glued to the book he was reading aloud to his niece and nephew. Florese, seated on her uncle’s lap (she had taken quite a liking to him), perked up immediately.
“Is it from Albor?” she asked.
“From the desk of King Deveron himself,” her grandfather replied, “he writes to congratulate us on our safe return to Isindryne, and to request a rendevou of our forces on the green outside the Black Woods less than a week from now.”
Kasyre could only smile at his father’s surprise.
“I don’t know what you said to him, Kasyre,” Syrrien said in an almost accusing tone of voice, “but whatever it was turned him around completely. I hope you didn’t make any ludicrous demands.”
Kasyre chuckled.
“Demands?”
“What did you offer him? Half of Isindryne, or just half of the treasury?”
“I didn’t offer anything,” Kasyre answered quietly, “I simply admitted we were in the wrong, and humbly asked for his help.”
“Humbly?” Syrrien muttered, “You probably put us all to shame with your begging and fawning. Still, what’s done is done. We’ve only to gather the knights and get the garrison in order, and we can be on our way tomorrow if we have to.”
“Tomorrow?” Florese cried gleefully. She hopped down from her perch and gave King Syrrien a tight embrace.
Amonde, wary of competition for his grandfather’s affection, watched his reaction anxiously.
Syrrien hugged her back lightly, and patted her head.
“Now I fully expect you two to be on your best behavior while we’re gone,” he went on, turning to Amonde, “the palace is not a playground, as you well know, Amonde. Try to keep her out of trouble.”
Amonde rolled his eyes.
“Amonde can’t stay out of trouble himself,” Kasyre remarked, “much less keep Florese out of it.”
Amonde glared at his uncle sullenly, affronted by his words, but not willing to dispute them.
“Well come along Kasyre,” Syrrien said, “we’ve a lot of work to do and only a day to do it in.”
“Why don’t you and Florese go out into the courtyard?” Kasyre told Amonde, shutting his book, “Sir Tiren is expected for a visit around lunchtime.”
“Really? Yay!” Florese cheered. She had forgotten about Tiren in the excitement of palace life, but once reminded she missed him dutifully.
* * * * *
Florese skipped down the courtyard path. She wasn’t thinking of going anywhere in particular, but she was in a relatively good mood after hearing King Deveron’s decision and upon remembering Tiren’s promise to visit her. Amonde lazed about at a slower pace. He snapped a twig off a tree and started dragging it in the gravel.
“Don’t wander too far!” he called, not because he was actually worried, but because he felt a growing need to put her in her place.
“I’m not!” she called back happily.
Amonde sighed. Her growing happiness was making him irritated.
“What are you so jolly about anyway?” he said, “it’s not as if we’re going with them to battle.
“I know,” she replied, sitting down on the soft grass by the pond, “but they’re going to save my mommy and daddy. And Burrone too. And then i’ll get to see them again! I’ve never seen my mommy before.”
Amonde let out a chuckle. It wasn’t at all a nice sounding one.
“Who? Aunt Miradelle? She’s all right. She doesn’t visit from Albor often.” he said leisurely, sitting down beside his cousin.”
“She never visited me.” Florese acknowledged, “but soon we’ll all be together again, like a real family.”
“A real family? You were never a real family. She’s going directly to Albor when she’s freed, and who knows what they’ll do to your father.”
Amonde had been listening a little too closely to King Syrrien’s words at dinner the night before (whenever anyone mentioned a battle or execution he paid absolute attention) and had already decided that he didn’t like this ‘elf’ from Evergreen Forest.
“They wouldn’t do anything to Daddy!” Florese protested, “He didn’t do anything wrong! He’s good! He’s even a knight!”
“Being a knight doesn’t mean he’s good,” Amonde said, picking a few blades of grass and tossing them into the pond, “There are all sorts of evil black knights riding around doing horrible things. I know; i’ve read all about them in the library.”
“My Daddy’s armor isn’t black!” Florese cried.
“How do you know? Have you ever seen it?”
Florese was silent. Her father had always returned to Evergreen Forest wearing the brown tunic of his people. She had never actually seen his armor. She didn’t even know what his coat of arms looked like.
“He’s not evil.” she repeated sullenly, hugging her knees.
“I bet he is,” Amonde continued, “And I bet when he gets out of the wizard’s dungeons they’re going to lock him up again in Albor. And he’ll deserve it too.”
If an adult had said such things, like King Syrrien the night before, Florese would have burst into tears on the spot. But hearing a boy like Amonde say it made her feel quite differently about it. It made her mad.
“You—you take that back!” she demanded.
“I shall not; It’s perfectly true.” Amonde returned haughtily.
Florese’s eyes narrowed. She got up and kicked him smartly.
“Ow!” Amonde cried, surprised.
He grabbed her foot and yanked it out from under her. Florese fell down, but was up again in a moment—and so was Amonde—she ran at him, but he was stronger than she. He pushed her backwards (harder than he meant to), and she fell with a splash into the pond.
Amonde stood staring at the bubbles surfacing for a moment, quite stunned. He did not know how deep the pond was, for he was secretly terrified of water himself and made a point never to swim in it.
The moment was broken by Tiren Silvamore tearing down the path to the pond.
“What have you done?” Tiren cried sharply.
“Nothing! I didn’t do it!” Amonde denied, growing frightened.
His protests were lost on Sir Tiren, who had already jumped into the water to fish out little Florese. He soon emerged with her slung over his shoulder. He climbed out of the pond, and set Florese down on the grassy bank. She coughed and sputtered, shaking with cold, anger, and fright.
“You…you mean…nasty…horrible…” Florese shouted to Amonde between coughs and sobs.
“You were the one who attacked me!” Amonde accused.
“Your Highness,” Tiren broke in harshly, “She’s your cousin! Have you no shame? What will your grandfather think?”
Amonde furrowed his brow, and ran off toward the palace.
Tiren took Florese in his arms and comforted her.
“I’m sorry about the Prince,” he said quietly, “he gets carried away sometimes.”
She brushed the wet hair out of her face, giving one final sputter.
“I hate him,” she cried, “He’s horrible! He’s nothing like Burrone!”
“They’re not so different deep down.” he mused, “Perhaps if Burrone had been raised a spoiled prince by his grandfather…but Amonde isn’t so awful once you get to know him.”
“I don’t want to ever get to know him!” she replied vehemently, “I don’t want to have anything to do with him as long as I live!”
He picked Florese up and bore her down the path to the palace.
They entered quietly, dripping water down the hall.
“Where’s your uncle?” Tiren asked.
“He’s in Grandfather’s study talking about the battle.” Florese said shakily.
King Syrrien and Prince Kasyre’s heated discussion about whether to use cotton tents or canvas was interrupted by the arrival of a very wet Tiren and Florese.
“I’m sorry to disturb your highnesses,” Tiren apologized, “but there’s been an accident…”
“What on earth happened!” Kasyre cried.
“Prince Amonde pushed her into the pond.” Tiren explained.
Kasyre took Florese from him and cradled her in his arms.
“Amonde would never do such a thing.” King Syrrien said, defending his grandson.
“He did!” Florese protested, “And if Tiren hadn’t come—“
“There now, darling,” Kasyre soothed, “you’re all right now.”
He removed his outer robe and wrapped Florese in it like a blanket, settling down in an armchair with her.
“He must be punished, Father.” Kasyre continued.
“I’m still not sure I believe it,” King Syrrien retorted, “that boy is so deathly afraid of water himself that he wouldn’t dream of getting close enough to the pond to push anyone into it, let alone his own cousin.”
“But he did, sire, I saw it myself.” Tiren protested.
“Then he must have been astonishingly well-provoked.” Syrrien replied coolly.
“They were engaged in quite a fight by the time I arrived.” Tiren acknowledged.
“And how did that start?”
“He called my Daddy names!” Florese cried out.
Kasyre help her closer.
“More violent duals have been fought with that preface.” he sighed, “by stronger, grown-up warriors, too.
“He said my Daddy was a bad, evil knight.” Florese murmered sadly.
Tiren’s eyes softened.
“I can attest to the contrary, Princess. Pay him no heed.”
“Can we not leave the children alone for one moment without them causing each other harm?” King Syrrien exclaimed wearily.
“I’m afraid not,” Kasyre answered, “they’ve been at each other’s throats all day. I managed to settle them down with a book earlier, but they can’t be trusted without supervision. Did you know they nearly turned the library upside-down this morning by throwing books at each other?”
Syrrien slumped into a chair and sighed.
“Then what in heaven’s name are we going to do with them when we leave for Korin?” he muttered.
“I suppose,” Kasyre said, “we could take Florese with us. Not to the battle of course, but we could supervise her at the campsite, and after all, we are freeing her parents.”
“Kasyre that is the most ridiculous idea you’ve had yet,” King Syrrien scoffed, “a battle is no place for a child! And who would watch her?”
“I would, Father. You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. She would be in more danger being left here with Amonde. Just think of what would have happened if Tiren hadn’t found her in time?”
King Syrrien, proud and pompous as he was, couldn’t help but shudder.
“It seems she must go.” he said quietly, “As long as you take care of her, Kasyre.”
“I will.”
Tiren exchanged a glance with Florese. Amonde was not going to be pleased.
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Read my fantasy novel here!
http://enarda.proboards41.com/index.cgi?....play&thread=168
I'm also one of Luthien and Melkor's adopted daughters.
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Lindelos
Vala
member is offline
Joined: Jan 2005
Gender: Female
Posts: 1,582
| | Re: The Brightleaf Chronicles: The Force of Destin
« Reply #22 Yesterday at 3:09pm » | |
I know you finished the book! You sent it to me! 
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Mírwen Ladybow
Maia
The Ruler of Rivendell
member is offline
*hacks up posters of Ed Cullen with gondolin blade* What? That's my Indian name! Totally...
Joined: Jan 2005
Gender: Female
Posts: 582
Location: In the panic room!AHHHH!!!!!!!
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