The Wings of Ashtaroth

Chapter 5: Mazna: Section I: Vivaen

Vivaen: The Helit Sea, Near Qemassen

The woman who'd been Vivaen all her life, and who'd now be Princess Bree forevermore, gazed across the waves at the heat-blurred coastline of her future prison, sweltering in the fine furs and heavy jewels the queen had forced upon her. Queen Eaflied stood beside her, sweat beading on her forehead but no sign on her handsome face that she was concerned at all about the fraudulence of her daughter.

Vivaen of Back Alleys would wed the noble Prince Ashtaroth, future King of Qemassen, and save her native Feislands from Lorar, whether she wanted to or not.

She'd become sick with fever the day after she'd taken on the mantle of the doomed princess, but what the gods had refused Queen Eaflied the first time, they'd granted the next. The princess was spared a second death, even as the real Bree's body bloated beneath the waves of the Helit Sea.

A coastal wind rippled through Vivaen's braided black hair, tugging hopefully at loose strands, as though it yearned for her freedom as much as she did. The breeze was cooling, a slight reprieve from the sun's angry glare. She'd known it would be hot along the southern shore, but sailors' stories hadn't prepared her for the way the brightness chipped at her skull like a chisel.

At home in Atlin, the people worshiped the sun as a life-giver, but in Qemassen it must be worshiped from fear. The goddess Skaetha could hump the sun up the arse with her wintry spear, and she could hump Eaflied right alongside it for having forced Vivaen into these sweaty clothes.

You must look a princess, Eaflied had counselled as she'd frantically started letting out her dead daughter's dresses to accommodate Vivaen's adult body. The Massenqine will not be impressed otherwise.

At least Eaflied was suffering beside her.

Like Vivaen, Eaflied's dress was slit at the shoulders, loose-fitting and held together by intricate brooches. The base fabric of Eaflied's gown was a rich purple, a colour not often found in the Feislands, worn today as a show of reverence for the valuable purple trade along the southern Helit. Vivaen herself had suggested the dye, though she was robed in bright green, with blue and orange trim around the neckline and hem. Both of them wore heavy, metal and leather belts to cinch the waists of their linen dresses, and both were cloaked in mink pelts with silver and gold bands about their wrists.

Vivaen had never looked or felt so fine as this, her hair pleated at the front, the back left to hang long and loose all the way to her waist. Eaflied had brushed Vivaen's hair last night until it shone like a black, sea-polished stone, scenting her with musky imported perfume. She might have enjoyed the fussing, but for what it presaged. The tender hands that had reminded Vivaen of her own long-dead mother were better likened to those of a cook, dressing a hog for roasting.

And roast they both would.

"Could we remove the furs, at least? It'll be hours before we've docked." A bead of sweat dripped down Vivaen's forehead and was netted by her lashes. She wrinkled her nose and wiped off what felt like a second skin's worth of sweat. If she found herself disgusting, what would this trumped up prince think?

Eaflied pursed her lips. She grumbled something unintelligible, but reached for the pins securing the mink in place. She slipped the fur from her cloak like it was a sacred object.

Vivaen hastily did the same, though with considerably less reverence. The air caressing her shoulders was like the first dip beneath the waves at the height of summer, but then the bright sun sizzled at her skin.

Maybe it had been preferable beneath the cloak.

Eaflied smoothed her hand over the rail as gulls keened above them and sailors called directions to the rowers below. "I've paid the crew to transport your dowry to the palace if need be, though King Eshmunen will likely send his own once they've spotted us," said Eaflied, more to herself, it seemed, than to Vivaen. "We should have brought more men, but I suppose they would have died with the others." Eaflied's mind was clearly overrun with the tasks she'd set herself. She'd been this way since her daughter had died. Best to leave her to it.