Gate of Containment

Chapter 6 - Bolt

The day of celebration came. Immediately upon my waking, I was forced into dress; showered with jewels and Winbow orchids. The rare species of flower was only grown within the gardens the castle guarded, meant only to be seen by those allowed in. Few were ever blessed with the sight. In times of war, they were used to warn enemies of Winbow's upcoming bounty, but now they adorned a glowing nest of golden hair.

"Perfect." My eyes shifted focus from myself to the woman standing behind me. She stood with her hands curled around my bare shoulders, a tight-lipped smile meeting deepening wrinkles and sunspots. "You shine like the golden sun, darling daughter."

I rested a hand over hers as I rose, the gentle whisper of the kingdom's silk filling the small room. The dress Sylmare had made was tailored to fit each crevice and crook of my body in just a night's time - no doubt a sleepless night by the way Sylmare had looked upon delivering it early this morning. "I am no Sun, Mother. Just a girl."

She clicked her tongue in disapproval. I flashed her a toothy grin through our reflections in the vanity mirror. "Your Father would have your tongue if you spoke those words to him." The grim statement made my mouth fall. She spun me then, pinching the thin skin of my cheek between her finger and thumb. "But today is not a day of fear - it is a day of fun. The festivities are to begin soon." I watched her aged face gaze inquiringly out the small, open window of my bathroom.

 Mother was right, with the way I could hear horns of many sizes sound their blaring excitement in the distance. The cheers of awaiting crowds called for our appearance. My heart pounded in my ears. "I think they have already begun."

"Yes, yes. Without us, as always." Even though my eyes were not fixed upon my Mother's face, I imagined her eyes rolling. "Let us join them."

—--

The walk down from the Castle was grueling. I've made the adventure twice now, two days in a row, which had worn uncomfortable blisters onto the backs of my feet. Each step sent a sharp stinging pain up the backs of my legs, but I trudged on. It was customary for us to make the walk from the tall hill the tower was placed on, as no carriage (or horse) would survive the journey down.

Among the common people, the Castle was dubbed 'Tessarion's Keep'. Lush greenery hid most of the grand stone walls from sight, only the Northernmost tower tall enough to be visible from the City of Brawn. The tower in which I slept in, overseeing the City from above. I'd spent long nights imagining a day such as this, where I walked amongst my people.

But I was not to speak and not to look as we passed. I followed Mother's royal posture, with my back straight and head high. The clatter of iron-clad knights preceded and followed from each direction - a burden Marcia had left behind on our trip into the city the day before. "Your Father will speak first, introducing the new Tradition of Knighting to the people. He will introduce the competitors, and then the decision will commence."

"I know, Mother." Her loving demeanor had vanished upon approaching the rugged staircase exiting the Keep. "To my recollection, I had been the one to attend the rehearsal yesterday."

 After Marcia had finished her cooing about my dress, she'd taken me back to the castle and into the private stage-room where musicians once were invited to play in. We met with Father, as well as the Chancellor and Constable. They carefully went over each detail of today, excluding Father's and Inalios' speeches that each had their own place in the show. I'd listened only out of pure boredom, unable to busy myself with other tasks. We'd stayed in the room until the Dinner bell rang, joyfully singing for my dismissal.

"I had other matters to attend to." Her response did not reflect my understanding of her non-appearance. Father and I had exchanged quiet words over dinner, his concern lying with Mother's drunken slumber she'd been in since earlier that afternoon. But I knew her pride did not allow her to admit to such pleasures, not even to me. An excuse would always be first.