The air was warm, salty as it caressed the tattooed skin of Netilaa's shoulders, playing in her golden curls as she looked out across the sharp blue sea. Small, inked swirls made their way over her knuckles and across her bare arms, swallowing her skin in their intricate beauty as she rested her palm against the ancient stones. The designs were shades of gold and silver, occasionally flecked with dark black swirls, each mark indicating a cycle of life that she had completed and worn with pride.
None of the patterns, though, seemed to bear the same weight as the newly acquired tattoo that danced across her forehead and down either side of her cheekbones. Its lines were a mixture of sharpness that gave her a warrior's edge and softness that made her amber eyes easier to meet. At the center where the lines met above her brows, the sharp jutting of mountains cradled the crescent of the moon, a soft swoop that nearly met her hairline. Down either side of her cheeks were the soft swirls that symbolized the waves of the sea.
This marking was the symbol of her power, her bloodline.
This tattoo crowned her Queen of the Artillian people. Her people.
Their lands were nestled between the crescent of the Moon Mountains to the north and the shimmering waters of the Cobalt Sea to the south. The air stayed nearly perfect all year, and Netilaa had spent a lifetime swimming in those beautiful waters with her brothers, watching the sun sink below the western edge of the mountains. Still, the waters never dropped in temperature, even when the sun spent weeks in the Dark Season slumbering.
"We are lucky," Ektor whispered, drawing his sisters attention as he laid his own tattooed hands beside hers. Contrast to her own, Ektor's markings were much darker. "To live in isolation from the world as it rages into war, for our people to remain untouched by the savages beyond the mountains, it is a miracle."
"And one we are here to celebrate," Netilaa spoke, her voice carrying the weight of her newly inked crown.
Today was indeed cause for celebration amongst their people, as they hadn't crowned a new Queen in almost a hundred years. The Artillians lived long lives thanks to the magic of the waters that had once flowed through their mountains coming from the far northern Fae lands of Kaskadan. Though the waters had stopped filling their wells and springs a long time ago, the remnants of that fae magic still ran through their bloodlines. This gave them a glowing, ever-young complexion and the ability to live hundreds of years, much like the fae.
Once, a couple hundred years before, magic flowed freely in their lands, through the trees and the rocks. It could be felt by the people, easily accessed by those of Artillia. That magic always kept the lands fertile, the flowers blooming and the animals thriving, ensuring a bountiful harvest and a successful hunt.
"Have the horne returned to the forest?" the Queen asked of her brother as they took stride beside each other. It had been several weeks since the last horne had been spotted, a long-legged creature with horns covered in silk and enough meat to feed a single family for three weeks. They were the primary game, and had once been attracted to the oritz, an oversized purple berry that grew in the forests of Artillia.
"If all goes well tonight," Ektor spoke, though his hopeful tone didn't quite meet his eyes. "We are hoping for a bountiful hunting season."
Netilaa nodded once, sharing a glance with her golden eyed brother. Their people would not survive the finish of the year and the start of the Dark Season if they could not collect enough meat for their people to eat. Even with the eternal warm weather, the Dark Seasons had become harder and harder for the Artillians to survive, so much so their numbers were dwindling from each Dark Season's losses.
Livestock had become hard to keep, the majority dying off from sickness at a very young age. It was undeniable that they would struggle to carry on their bloodlines if new resources weren't discovered soon. If magic wasn't returned to the lands to produce sustenance for the Artillian people.
YOU ARE READING
Queen Of Nothing
Fantasy"A warrior with nothing left to lose is a precarious threat to those with kingdoms left to crumble." The last of her kind, newly crowned Queen Netilaa finds herself plummeted into unforeseen adventure after watching her people die brutally at the ha...
