VEILS OF SHADOW

Dreams and Duty

A piercing scream broke the stillness of the night. Semira writhed in agony, sheets bunched underneath her as the searing pain lanced through her left ankle trailing up to her hips. The putrid scent of burning flesh grew nauseatingly thick. Gasping, she shot up as a vision of flames, raging and malicious, flashed before her. Sobs wracked her pale frame, warm fluid trickling down her thighs wetting her shift and soaking the sheets. Excruciating pain speared her temples and she shrank into the bed her hands clutching the sweat soaked strands by her temples and her body curled up, rocking, hoping, waiting for the torment to pass.

Semira didn't know if seconds, minutes or hours passed as she lay still, sweat and urine soaked sheets wrapped around her waist. Her eyes squinted at the glinting window panes, moonlight caught in the glass illuminating the chamber.

The shift stuck to her skin as she climbed out of bed, a dull ache replacing the searing pain as she padded to the window. The gentle touch of a cool breeze provided temporary relief, ruffling the curtains and lifting the wispy blondes plastered on her forehead. Divesting herself of the shift she stood by the window, letting the breeze kiss her glistening skin.

Semira awoke to cold marble and the brisk pitter-patter of the servants in her chamber. Water sloshed into the bathtub. The odour of stale urine and sweat assaulted her making her retch; the open windows did nothing to dispel it. She shivered, goosebumps erupting along her naked form.

"You should tell this to the high priestess, my lady," Jane, her nursemaid said as she yanked the crumpled sheets from the bed, putting them into the basket balanced at her heavy waist.

"High Priestess doesn't need to know," Semira rasped, rising from the marbled floor. She limped towards the bathtub.

"But your mother does."

"She is not my mother," climbing onto the tub, she sank into the warm embrace of the steamy water, eyes closing, " not since the day I left her womb." The warmth soaked into her skin, turning last night's vision into a soggy illusion and yet the dread remained, gnawing at her mind. Gentle but determined fingers probed at her shoulders, knots unfurling at the maid's expert ministrations.

"The visions, what do you see?" Semira avoided Jane's piercing gaze, fixing her eyes to the ragged, tear-stained reflection on the mirror.

"Fire, Jane. I see fire." Semira reached for a tumbler of water, the cool liquid a blessed relief against her sore throat.

"I still think you should tell her. The gods don't send the sight for nothing, not repeatedly."

"Maybe."

"Promise me you will."

"I will," She promised, immersing herself completely in the water one last time before the maid unplugged the tub, draining the tub to refill it with freshly heated water.

Semira's hands ached from gripping the sides too hard. The heated water now reminded her of the flames and the shame of enuresis. The sight made no sense; it served as a cursed gift. The future was ever changing, never certain. Seers were usually scorned, unwanted-rarely welcomed. As she was, by her own blood.

Telling the high priestess about the visions would only lead to Semira being mocked by her family. After All, visions hardly ever manifested.

The scent of orchids cleared her thoughts and Semira leaned back, closing her eyes and her mind while the maid scrubbed her clean.

Dressed and scented like a wreath of wildflowers, Semira made her way to the East wing of the palace. The morning rays reflected off the white marble arches; the luminescent glow making the corridor look like the pathway to paradise. The palace of Vertholth boasted of unmatched beauty and splendour, true to the merchant blood running in the veins of its King the kingdom thrived on trade.