Away with the Faeries

Chapter Thirty-three

 Who?

It was a question I had asked Marcel in the arena, repeatedly, in attempts to help him recognize me. I reminded him of a Faery, my gut twisted as I realized who. Lillian Benett. I reminded him of his dead wife. What must have Marcel thought when they showed him my lifeless body? Just like he had been shown the body of his wife. Was it me he saw in the arena; or Lillian?

I groaned at the thought, my head falling heavily into my hands.

"Rayne," my mother said, pulling me from my thoughts. Her brow was furrowed, hazy eyes contemplative. "Rayne," she echoed.

"Yes?"

She grew quiet a moment; "You can't have flowers without a little—," her eyes met mine, something stirring within. "Rayne. That's what he always said, he loved to garden. I remember that much. I was never in want of flowers. Even when we moved to that village in Bana." She paused, lips thinning at the words. "His garden followed him, even there."

I remember the vines of flowers growing within his halls. The elaborate greenhouse garden. It all made sense. Otis had named me.

I met my mother's eye, "Rayne?"

She only nodded.

———

The weeks went by in a blur of war strategies and late-night wine fests. Other allied monarchs had been rolling in during the passing weeks. The King and Queen of Aer arrived first. My mother had greeted them warmly and I swore the pair beheld her as if they had seen a ghost. They are our closest allies, my mother had told me. A week later the young Queen of Bana followed. Queen Visha. Both her parents had perished not long after her birth. A turn my mother had not been expecting. But she held her head high and welcomed the new queen.

Each night my mother and I strayed toward new topics. Keeping far from old ones. During long nights I had come to learn that before we migrate to America we owned a dog. Her name was Sally. I found the idea that my mother was once a dog owner deeply amusing. Images of her trekking down the thin, winding roads of France in her heels, dog leash in hand filled my mind. A smile broke across my face at the thought.

"What are you smirking about," Lana pouted from my knee, her arms crossed bitterly as she side-eyed the large oak doors to the meeting hall we had been kicked from.

A war meeting between my mother, the Anima Council, Aer, and Bana continued on through the doors. We were no longer invited. Which I found absurd seeing as I was the one who was prophesied to win the war.

"What are you pouting about," I retorted, "you're the one that got us booted."

Her lips fell agape as she placed an offended hand upon her chest, "Me?"

"You were insistent we nuke Bloed," I reminded, quirking a brow.

Lana threw her hands into the air; "They asked for suggestions. If you want to win this war," she said, "big boom, all the way."

"They were asking for suggestions on how to liberate Marcel," I clarified.

"You agreed with me," she stressed, tugging at her dark coils.

"I was joking," I hissed.

Lana glanced at the large pair of doors, her eyes trailing slowly back to where we sat on the floor. Waiting. "That's not what they thought."

With a grumble my head fell against the cool stone wall; the chilled corridor steadily grew dimmer as the sun sank lower past the windows. Acolytes fluttered about, lighting candelabras and attending to whatever evening tasks they had. Lana idly twisted clusters of tiny braids onto my hair as she rambled on about the gender injustice in Nuea culture, but I had long tuned her out.