Birthright: The Contested Seat

Lyra

Lyra and her parents stood just outside the entrance to the castle, between two sets of curved staircases that descended into the courtyard. The gates at the far end of the courtyard were opened as a carriage came rumbling towards them. Warren was finally returning home and Lyra had been patiently waiting. Joy gave way to urgency, in waiting for her brother's return. She had not contacted him since their last discussion, several weeks prior. The majority of her days were spent helping the sick, and she needed to conserve as much energy as she could. 

The carriage came to a stop at the base of the stairs and the servants swiftly made to open its door. Warren made his descent from the carriage, dressed in a leather tunic and breeches. Upon his head was the day crown of Torren's crown prince. A circular silver band encrusted with emerald tempium gems and engravings of protective runes. The gems upon the crown were capable of containing energy from which he could draw on for magic, in place of using his own. It was more akin to a weapon than a crown, but Lyra was grateful for it. 

"My son," laughed their father, clasping Warren's shoulders and giving him a tight hug, "we are so glad you're home."

"Likewise, father. I am glad to be back."

"My sweet boy," cooed her mother, taking his face in her hands and kissing him softly on his cheek, "oh how I have missed you."

Lyra couldn't help but roll her eyes. Her mother made no secret of her favoritism. Warren was her first born and was rarely a disappointment. He knew his place and did not divert from it. Lyra, on the other hand, was a constant thorn in her mother's side. Her place was to be the glittering example for the young ladies of the nation. 

Her official role was to play host for the nobility. A glorified court jester, the way she saw it. She was responsible for planning all events for the royal family. Balls, feasts, and other silly little parties her mother insisted were of the utmost importance. 

That was her place, but she was not comfortable in it. She wanted to be of real use. She loved Torren, its people, and its unique customs. Her dream was to be an ambassador to other nations, to share the wonders of Torren with those beyond its borders. She thought it a bit cruel that the gods would give her these grand aspirations yet curse her with a life that would keep them far out of reach.

"Brother," said Lyra, embracing him, "welcome home".

"We need to talk. It's urgent," she said, this time reaching out to connect with Warren's mind.

He pulled away, meeting her eyes in confusion. 

"It's been quite the journey. I would like to sleep before dinner, if that's alright," said Warren as his father ushered them inside. 

"Of course, get some rest. We'll see you at dinner," replied their mother.

Lyra walked with Warren up the stairs, navigating the halls of the castle until reaching her chambers. He took a seat near the fireplace, and she took the other. Tea had already been prepared for them, but it had cooled a great deal. Using a bit of magic, she heated the tea to an appropriate temperature. She felt the tiniest bit of energy slip away, but nothing of great significance. Smaller tasks, such as reheating tea, hardly took any energy at all. Larger tasks demanded a larger toll, and often required energy assistance from tempium gems, like those found on Warren's crown. 

"What news sister," asked Warren, taking a sip of his tea. 

"I had a vision, the night we last spoke."

Warren's eyebrows raised.

"Interesting," he said, "you haven't had one in ages. The gods must have deemed it important."