The next morning Alden takes Thora to the artist hall where they are met by a female painter.
"I'm sorry," Alden says, taking Thora's hands, "I should have listened to you. You were right, we are equals and we need to trust each other. You are not my helpless princess. You are my wife, my friend and my equal."
Thora smiles at her husband, she jumps into his arms and kisses him as he cheeks and the tips of her ears turn red.
The artist has Thora and Alden stand chest to chest, both dressed regally with nearly identical crowns. They are portrayed to be standing in a garden that blooms with hundreds of flowers. Thora and Alden look at each other with nothing but love in their eyes.
...
Two months pass and Thora's belly continues to stretch, it grows so much that Thora has to have new dresses made, and every day that passes, Thora can feel herself getting bigger.
"Damia," Thora says one day as she stands in front of a mirror, "I think I need more dresses."
"Have you grown out of them already?" The lady says, Thora nods her head and sighs.
"I just want this to be over," Thora says, "How can my husband find me attractive like this?"
"You're carrying his child," Damia says, standing near Thora, "Any man who finds that unattractive in a woman shouldn't really have children."
Throa laughs as she and her lady sit down for tea.
"Your grace, may I ask a favour of you?" Damia says as Thora stirs sugar into her tea.
"Of course," Thora says with a smile, she has grown quite fond of her lady.
"Would you tell me what you know about the war of the wolves?" Damia asks, Thora raises an eyebrow but then shrugs off her confusion.
"I don't know much," Thora shrugs, "But from what my mother told me, the war was unlike anything ever seen. The Ilanndians stood against the wyverns and their masters, the Tikadi thought themselves to be gods because they could tame the wyverns."
"Why did the Ilanndians hide in the woods?" Damia asks, leaning forward wanting to absorb every detail of the stories, "Why didn't the wyverns just burn down the trees?"
"The wyverns couldn't burn the trees because the trees could not be burnt," Thora says, recalling what her mother had said, "The first time the wyverns attacked it was in autumn, the leaves die and they become easier to burn, but most of the trees cover themselves in a wax that does not burn, so the wyverns had to ground themselves and slither into the woods on their bellies. The second time, the came with the rain, the water crept into their scales and the wyverns again had to slither into the woods, a cold wyvern cannot make fire."
"What happened to the wyvern bones?" Damia asks.
"They were left in the woods," Thora says, "Deep in keta territory, so no man has ever been able to gather them."
"And the Tikadi relics? Where are they kept?" Damia asks, leaning on her elbows in interest.
"I don't know," Thora says, frowning at Damia in confusion, "Destroyed I'd imagine, if not, then perhaps in a vault, why do you ask?"
"I just love hearing about the wars and kings of our past," Damia says, her eyes fluttering as she picks at her dress.
Thora smiles and spends the rest of the afternoon with Damia, talking of history and legends.
Months pass quickly as Thora still continues to grow.
"I look like a cow," she complains, as she has lunch with Esmilia, "None of my dresses fit, even my feet are growing."
YOU ARE READING
Daughter of War
FantasyOne would think that Thora would be happy with her position; she is highborn with a powerful family name, and yet, Thora Illian's deepest wish is to be a warrior. Thora has a taste for adventure, for action, but her father would never let her wishes...
