Aureate Fates

16

                 A CROWN GIFTS BURDENS

                                 —THEMA—

Thema's mother was dead as soon as the soldiers dragged her away from her hut, the tether between them had been broken—severed. The curse that Gretta trapped her with no longer existed.

Because there was nothing left to kill. She was no longer afraid.

Thema saw her mother now, in a dress of dove's silk.

They were in a moving caravan. Or a carriage. The terrain was rugged on the tires, which jostled her left and right. It was dark inside, and something told her that her companions were not yet awake from the serum that Delphinia had given them.

Except one. He was staring right at her. Just as Thema realized it, her mother vanished. She fought the yearning ache in her stomach, but she knew that her mother would visit again, in that dress of white silk.

"Hello, Erik Orvar," Thema announced, quietly. That was his name, for she had heard it in the prophecy laid out by Delphinia in the greenhouse.

King of Verskyia, now. Former leader of the deadliest group in Ziralem. Thema recalled her clear caution as a child whenever the ghostly group would breeze past her, like tendrils of darkness.

But she was not cautious or afraid now. The spirits had given her too much wisdom for her to fear men forged from the same dirt and rock she had been crafted from.

"You wear the robe of a whore," was all he said. Simply and unflinching. His face was shadowed in the dark caravan, yet she forced herself to gaze at his pristine features. Strong and handsome. Around the age of twenty.

"I do," Thema admitted, knowing that Gretta's robes were notorious across Ziralem. She did not cower. "And what is it to you?"

He shifted. It was then she realized that they were still chained. "It is nothing to me, only that it looks distasteful on youth."

"I am not youth," Thema challenged, though she was. Thirteen. Despite his observation, he did not pity her. She sensed it.

Suddenly, her sight lurched and she was given one of her rare images. A vivid vision. It was Erik. He appeared to be dressing himself in a vertical mirror. A simple, mundane task.

In the vision, Erik turned to his left where two small plants rested. Their leaves were silver. He plucked one—and the vision vanished.

"You keep two Hiebler plants," Thema stated, abruptly. Her mother had warned her to steer clear of such a plant. Its sap was poison. "Silver leaves."

If Erik was surprised that Thema knew the intimate detail about his life, he didn't let on.

"Interesting," the ghost-like male declared, tilting his head only slightly. "Yet, I'm not impressed by magic tricks—not when I have some of my own."

"Is that why you don't believe the prophecy?" Thema dared to ask, with a whisper. Though she was certain the rest were sleeping, unaware of their discourse.

Erik laughed a little. It was not kind. "The same people that put on those foolish theatrics back there, now have us in chains, sweetheart," he said, with a dash of humor. "Would you trust your captor?"

"We are in chains only because they believe we will harm them," Thema rivaled, shrugging. "You'd kill them the second they take those chains off. They know it, and you know it, too."

He stared at her for a long moment. She could not hear his breaths. As Thema looked beside Erik, she found a spirit. It was an older gentlemen, he wore a crown. Bronze. He sat beside Erik, and seemed to examine every inch of his warrior-suited body. The spirit frowned.