In the realm of Palasia, where the Silver Church's iron grip extends across the continent, the conquered Illuri people still cling to the old ways, praying to spirits that have grown quiet. At the heart of this struggle are four souls bound by fate:...
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Her family's royal prayer room smelled of pale-rain, a sweetly scented flower taken from the tribes of the South. It was a distinctly heady aroma that brought with it the earthy scent of the forest. Only the richest could afford to purchase and have such flowers shipped to their castles.
Nodalen placed her face directly in front of the flowers and breathed in. It was the most magical smell. Its magic bringing with it vivid sensations. It was as if she was transformed into a spindly tree, her limbs were branches swaying with the wind, her hair was the leaves trembling beneath gentle drops of rain, and her skin the rigid bark made supple by the morning mist's embrace. It was not as if she was trudging through the forest, but rather she had become part of the earth itself, rooted and dreaming.
"Go on, Arleigh. Smell it. Go on," Nodalen urged her handmaiden, smiling, her long copper hair cascading down her pale cheeks in gentle waves.
Arleigh did as she was told, her lashes fluttering. "Why that is the most godly smell, princess."
Taking a circular wire, Nodalen worked the bunches of pale-rain around the metal, effectively making a circlet of white and yellow jasmines.
"You know my great grandfather discovered the flower during his southern campaign. He said even though the creeks were red with blood and the fields were littered with brown corpses, the pale-rain that their warriors wore around their necks masked the stench of death, and it made the killings so much more bearable... as if God was charging with them into battle. He laid these flowers at the feet of blessed Stefalex and he decreed it was the only flower fit to adorn the pillars of the churches. It's wonderful, isn't it? Now even the poorest of the common people may bask in its fragrance as long as they remain faithful and visit the house of God."
She turned to the older woman, placing the flower crown on her golden head. "Arleigh, you're a vision!"
"Thank you, your highness. But," Arleigh removes the crown and instead placed it on Nodalen's head. "I believe it looks more stunning on the head of a princess... particularly the princess of Ferevis."
Nodalen's smile widened, Arleigh's hands clasping the princess's tenderly.
"You would look even better in the gown Arabelle made for your thirteenth birthday. And the Calyphean sapphires and diamonds you wanted will be here in three days, with enough time for Aron to link them into the most beautiful pieces."
Her face collapsed at the mention of her birthday. In a week's time, she will be celebrating life – her life – enjoying the most expensive luxuries, feasting on the most delicious food the realm could produce, while it was only yesterday when prisoners across the kingdoms were taken to drownsquares to meet their ends. She felt uneasy having to partake in a joyous occasion while death still hung heavy in the air, so much that no amount of pale-rain seemed to weed the thought out of her mind. She enjoyed it less that this joyous occasion was in her honour. She felt anything but joyous. Of course, the criminals were rightfully forgiven for their crimes, and that's what Nodalen told herself to feel better. She didn't.
