Za's Storm - Chapter Two

            The King tilted his chair in the midst of his distracted thoughts. His study was silent outside of his head as the sun set farther and farther away. His wide mahogany bureau was empty except for a single leaflet from the highest court among the temples, but his eyes averted the fine ink in favor of the old portraits and landscapes on the paneled walls.

            His eyes slowed on the shelf of books at the other end of the room. The bookcase was only half-full of logs and journals as the librarian prepared another library across the hallway. He hummed and rubbed his eyes.

            The King had expected sleepless nights when Lady Safia insisted on keeping Diana in the same room. He remembered his whiny brothers and sisters long after they married and went their separate ways to distant kingdoms. Either Diana had not made a sound in the past three nights, or he had slept the dead man’s slumber. Safia roused early in the morning to coo to the feisty child and nurse her, and the babe was still quiet.

            His thoughts lingered on the logs and the child. She was slightly small for a six-month old, but she was also weak from starvation. The King righted his chair and sauntered to the logs, opening the pages of Shallowbrook’s births on the day of the prophecy. In a lieutenant’s plain script were the words No Recent Births. Safia had noted this as well as no one could nurse the orphaned girl. Glancing at his massive map of the land, he looked through reports from the neighboring inns, towns, and villages for a black-haired infant with a scar. Nothing. His search grew faster as he widened the radius more and more.

            “By Alesia’s holy name!” he cursed.

            The King turned to the first page and skimmed each entry. Perhaps he’d missed an inn or town. Once he reached the last page, he slammed the leather binding shut. How far had Diana’s mother traveled? Was there an emergency elsewhere that prompted her to travel so far from Shallowbrook when the child was born? He opened the second log to skim through the pages. It contained half the capital town’s record, encompassing nearly one hundred births on the night of the storm and thereabout, but with every fair-haired baby or rambunctious baby boy, the King was anxious to find Diana.

            “Again, my love?” Safia cheered from the doorway. He looked over his shoulder at her glowing smile and the black-haired infant in her arms. The tailor had sewn Diana an oversized hat, and the baby’s cheek-to-cheek smile suggested she liked the foolish thing.

            “I was looking for Diana in here,” he said, resisting the contagious smiles. “I thought she would stand out.”

            Safia pursed her lips. “Right as ever, my lord. Why not look near Shallowbrook?”

            “I did,” he said with arched brows. “She wasn’t born anywhere near Shallowbrook.”

            The Queen hummed with curiosity and smiled to Diana. “Well, then, where were you born?” she cooed. The babe opened her mouth with a silent laugh and grabbed for her toes. “Let me have a look.”

            “Nay, I must take care of the endowments to the temples. We will look for her some other time.”

            “No, I am curious now.” Safia lowered Diana into the oversized reading chair and scooted the foot stool to the edge, but Diana looked thrilled to watch the Queen flip through a third log. “Perhaps you should just sign off whatever Orik recommended and be done with the bill.”

            “That would be one way to keep him happy,” the King muttered, glancing at the bill on his desk and smirked. “But I don’t like making Orik happy.”

            “He is the High Priest of Alesia,” Safia argued.

            “One more reason not to let him decide Alesia’s share of the people’s taxes. If he was a more pleasant man, it’d make that bill easier to look at.” He sighed. “If I sign it, he will stop calling us to the temple meetings.”

            The shimmer in Safia’s eyes was all the assurance he needed. The King scribbled his approval, sealed the bill, and left it in the care of a page boy. Then, with the midnight-eyed babe’s adoring watch, they flipped through each page of soldiers’ reports. Safia was the faster reader and finished the third volume within the hour, frowning, and looked to the next three tomes. She lit several candles and pulled the tomes to the table. With the second tome finished, it was conclusive that Diana had not been born in the city or anywhere near Shallowbrook. They skimmed through entries from the Hawk’s Cliff, Cold Marsh, Summer Wood, and the eastern lakes, but there was no entry for a scarred babe with such deep, dark eyes or a dark scar on her right temple and eye. They skimmed the final volume, a thin record of births from the thinly-populated plains in the north, but could not find her. The King closed it and glanced at both his wife and the staring baby.

            They were quiet. The Queen didn’t miss a speck of dust and was a trained scholar. She would never miss a word. The King always found what he wanted. He would not have missed Diana if she was in the books. The soldiers had searched every inn, bath house, manor, hovel, alley, and ship within a month’s ride for every babe and recorded every detail, but Diana was not in any of the tomes. The King let out a slow breath, and Diana shaped her glowing face into a silent laugh, and the hat fell over her face.

            “What does it mean?” Safia asked quietly.

            “I don’t know,” he said simply, lifting the hat. “Are you a great hero, Diana?”

            She rocked in the chair in an attempt to grasp her toes while still smiling, and the King could not bear it a moment longer. He lifted her high up into the air and down, up and down, until her eyes twinkled with silent laughs. Safia grasped her bosom in a moment of fear, but the King stopped to coddle the girl.

            “I am starting to love her,” he whispered with a smile.

            Safia wrapped a tendril of soft hair around her finger. “I have loved her from the moment I saw her,” she added. The King kissed her cheek and then the baby’s forehead just as the sun finished setting over the far-off mountains.

            The High Temple’s central chamber, a private oval-shaped room guarded by corridors of locked doors and rows of guards, was lit by the noonday sunlight. The circular table, embroidered by fine carvings around the edge, was surrounded by the high priests, the King, and the Queen. The Queen bounced Diana in her lap as her eyes drooped; her midday nap was approaching quickly. Orik, Alesia’s holy representative, frowned at the sight under his red cap and flat nose. He was seated directly in front of the king in the highest religious position at the table. At his right sat the High Priest of Feya, Joy, a quiet and mildly agreeable elder woman, and to her right sat the High Priest of Lyro, Erica, a troublemaker of sorts that argued for fun. To Orik’s left sat Geoffrey, High Priest of Ramos, a mercurial man that often agreed with the King but would violently protest against violating certain traditions for strange reasons. Beside him sat the High Priest of Za, the youngest priest and an idealist at heart. He often argued with Orik and lost each time, but his spirited talks often won over Joy and Geoffrey.

            The final preparations for the celebration of Alesia’s Fire were finally complete after hours of deliberation. The holy fire would be replicated as was usual and spread across the city. A wooden dragon could be prepared by a new art guild as the usual makers had disbanded in the past year over an internal strife, and the dragon would attack the castle town as usual with the help of several dozen men carrying the piece. The King would lead the battle chant, and with song and dance, the town would defeat it. The Queen called the meeting to an end, and the King stood to dismiss them. Safia led the way into the antechamber where platters of breads, cheeses, and apples waited.

            Once the other priests had left, Orik approached the king with his usual heavy frown. “Your Majesty, if I may speak my mind,” he said.

            “You may,” the King invited.

            “The child,” he said. The King bit his tongue and refrained from rolling his eyes. “She is nearly two years old.”

            “She has no one to tell this council’s secrets to, Orik. Our talks are safe,” the King said as patiently as he could.

            “See, Your Majesty, that is the thing. She makes no noise. She has not spoken a word in her life, and that makes me uneasy.” The priest’s frown quivered. “She is strange.”

            “I love her all the more for her quietness,” the King laughed bitterly. “I’m sure when she has something meaningful to say, Orik, that she will speak her mind.”

            The high priest bowed gently and murmured a pleasantry before joining his brothers. The King let his tongue free and laughed to himself. If the man wasn’t worrying for the heathens and blasphemers, he was worried about those who hadn’t sinned yet. He stepped into the foyer and paused, for the glow of the sunlight on his queen had never looked more beautiful than it did at the moment when her gold hair sparkled and the light bended around her dancing arms. She ate an entire apple with grace only she could ever possess so bountifully, inhaling every bit without sparing a single drop of succulent juices. Diana waited patiently by the window, her hands crossed over her pudgy belly and her eyes taking in every face. The King smiled to her, scooped the girl up, and stole a kiss from his queen.

            “Shall I have the baker send more cakes to our bedchamber, wife?” the King whispered into her ear.

            She giggled and patted his hand away. “I am eating for two, my lord. I can have as many as I like.”

            “Yes, you may,” he coaxed and kissed her cheeks. “You are always welcome to eat all the cakes, my love, eating for one or for five.”

            She kissed his cheek and looked to Diana nearby. The orphaned girl had doubled her height and tripled her weight in the two winters since Safia saved her. She’d begun walking and running about the halls and played hide-and-seek with the servants, often terrifying the nurses when she found a particularly devious spot. Her yellow satin dress was dusty at the knees, and bits of sugar powdered her lips from one of the many treats in her reach.

            Orik paused at the child’s side and glared down at her. Just as Safia started for the girl’s side, Diana stared back up at the man and furrowed her brow. Her deep eyes were suddenly fierce and frozen, shocking even the Queen. Her hands balled into fists, and she pointed her chin at the man standing over her. Orik wrinkled his nose and continued on toward the Temple of Alesia, and the King’s muffled chuckles slowly calmed.

            The Queen tied the ribbon of her favorite robe over her ripe belly and admired herself in the mirror for a moment. She was still full from a week-long celebration filled with cakes and fresh fruit pies. She was four months pregnant, the longest of her attempts at producing an heir, and was able to finally breathe easily. Diana was still growing quickly, and the King was happy. The kingdom celebrated the Queen’s pregnancy by sending more delicious foods and gifts.

            Safia had begun reading her favorite novels to Diana before bed, hoping the toddling girl would begin to speak if she knew more words or was alone. She followed the text with her finger and read slowly, but the girl only followed with her eyes. The Queen began to worry, but the King knew in his bones that the girl was terribly smart.

            As the cusp of five months approached, the Queen grew merrier and more hopeful. She began reading to Diana her favorite romantic stories. Only when she lost herself again in the books did Diana follow with her little fingers, and the Queen knew that the girl understood the stories. Lost lovers, lost battles, lost heirlooms – the tragedies widened the child’s eyes and tightened her muscles against the Queen’s in anticipation. Several nights the two fell asleep together, and the King could not pull them apart for fear his heart would snap in two.

            On the first night of August, the Queen finished her very favorite book of siren that fell in love with a warrior prince. She gave him the ability to breathe the ocean water to be with her, but as the temptation of a coastal kingdom’s treasures lingered, he used the power to kill and not to love. In the end, the siren strangled him in her bed and was so heartbroken that her body turned into sea foam. Diana yawned and hugged her stuffed bear as sleep drew on. Safia tucked her long black hair over her ear, kissed her cheek, and found the narrow opening for the book on the book shelf.

            Then the pain came, suddenly and with the wrath of a kicking horse. Safia fell to her knees and let out a cry, but the pain came again, harder. It consumed every bit of her mind in its gnashing and clawing except for the familiarity. A guard stepped in, saw the Queen writhing in pain on the floor, and yelled for a cleric. Her eyes widened with agony as she rolled on the floor screaming.

            She felt another pair of hands on her stomach and lifted her head. Diana pressed on her belly, her face wrought with terror, and Safia clenched her teeth shut. She was scaring the girl, and if it killed her, she would not let Diana be scared. “Diana, sweetie, it’s going to be okay,” she sobbed.

            “Arianna,” Diana said, her voice a crystal of clarity and alto.

            Safia muffled her scream as best as she could and sobbed. Footsteps echoed down the distant staircase as help approached, but she knew no one could stop this. Diana closed her eyes and pressed into the Queen’s stomach.

            “Arianna,” she said again.

            The pain closed into the Queen’s outer core into a biting throb. She breathed, sucking air into her nose and mouth at once. It was gone. It was over. She lifted her head, but there was no bloody mess at her legs. Diana still pressed against her stomach, rubbing the rip lump with a furrowed brow. Her nails needed clipping, but the light scraping was comforting. Safia lay on the floor a moment longer.

            “Arianna?” the Queen said gently. Diana blinked and nodded deeply. “Is that her name?” Diana nodded again.

            The King and Queen had thought about such a name years ago – named after the Queen’s grandaunt and her mother’s dearest friend. They had not spoken of names since their first heartbreak. How had Diana known if no one else had heard such talk? How did she comfort the Queen on Death’s doorstep?

            The cleric and the King ran in, gasping. Safia reached a hand to him, and he collapsed at her side with the cleric nearby. “Gods, Safia! What is going on?”

            “I – I had such pain, but I am all right now,” she said. “I think I am all right now. I am sorry I caused such a commotion.”

            “My wife is not grounded by trifles!” The King lifted her shoulders and cradled her. “Is it he baby?”

            “Arianna,” Diana said again. The King blinked as his mind cleared slowly. “Arianna!”

            “I am all right,” Safia said. “Let us go to bed together, my lord. Diana has something she would like to tell us.”

            “Yes, let us get you to bed.”

He nodded to the cleric to follow, and the King helped his bride to her feet. She wove her fingers with Diana’s and followed her husband to their grand bedchamber and all of its satin luxuries. The King disappeared behind the painted screen to change into his nightgown, and the ladies crawled under layers of heavy, silky blankets into the sliver of moonlight from the window.

“My lady, some tea,” said the cleric’s apprentice.

“Thank-you,” she said with a quiet smile. The cleric presented the china cup, and she drank hesitantly. The drink was grainy, but it was better than many of the cleric’s usual potions. He nodded, took the platter, and was off.

Diana sat up in the bed and wrapped the blankets over her like a beggar. The Queen rolled onto her elbow and wrapped a hair over her ear. Before she could say a word, the King joined them in the wide bed and wiggled an arm around his queen. “What is it, Diana?” he asked.

“She spoke today,” the Queen began. “Tell him what you said, Diana.”

The girl looked to the queen’s belly and then to the King. “Arianna,” she said. Her crystal, alto voice came quietly.

“Princess Arianna?” the King repeated. “Perhaps. We haven’t met her yet, have we?”

Diana frowned for a moment but smiled again. She cupped her hands toward each other and closed her eyes until only a sliver of black remained. A spark of intense light appeared between her palms. The Queen gasped as her king held her with anticipation. The light grew larger and brighter, the size of a tea cup, and was bright enough to illuminate the room. Diana cringed.

“Oh Diana, what is that?” the Queen said.

            The girl lowered the light to the Queen’s stomach and pressed it inside. The Queen gasped. Soothing, numbing power flowed through her body for a moment as her womb lit like a dark study to a candlelight. Through her thin gown, her warm flesh and blood vessels, she saw a shadow against the light that basked in its brilliance and flexed tiny black fingers.

            “Arianna,” Diana whispered. “I gave her half my soul.”

            The Queen blinked. “Half of your soul?” the King repeated. Diana nodded. “Diana-!”

            “I have plenty,” Diana said and rubbed her eyes. She lowered herself against the headboard, oblivious to their stares. Her face was pale and her breaths long. The Queen kissed her cheek and lifted the blanket.

            “Thank-you, Diana,” Safia whispered. “Dream of good things.”

            “Goodnight,” Diana whispered.

            The King wrapped his other arm around Safia and patted the girl’s hand in his reach. Once Diana’s breaths were long with sleep, he whispered, “I knew she was a good girl.”

            “And for that, I worry,” Safia whispered. She pressed her stomach and felt the warmth from inside and spirited kicks from within. “A princess, then? How grand.”

            “If she looks anything like her mother, she will be wise and beautiful.” The King kissed behind her ear. “Sleep well, my love.”

            The King fell slowly into a deep slumber, and the Queen joined him much later in the night. She held Diana against the girl’s nocturnal wiggles and rolling for a while before the infant roused her from a comfortable spot. When she finally slept, she dreamed lucid images of places she had never seen, of waterfalls in monstrous mountains that reflected white skies and trees bigger than castles. Then, just as she felt the fingers of the waking world approach, she saw a bird of fire fly from a dark valley, screeching so loud that every mountain in her sight echoed its cry. The bird opened its golden and fire wings against the sun and let forth such beautiful light that it brought the Queen to her knees. With it, every seed blossomed in the field, and the earth let free the scent of life.

When she woke, Safia could still smell the aroma in her nose. The King had left for his duties, and Diana was still asleep beside her. It was late in the morning, but her body was not quite awake enough to stand. She hugged one of the pillow and lingered a moment longer. Was the dream because of Diana’s gift? If it was, her gift was magnificent. Was Diana the infant they had been looking for? Perhaps, but Safia loved the girl just the same – if not more.

The girl followed the Queen closely after the night of the blessing. They sat together at the council meetings in the High Temple despite Orik’s wary looks. None of the high priests knew that the girl spoke, but the king was certain that the girl was trustworthy enough not to spill the highest secrets. Who did she have to tell anyway? Still Orik watched her with heavy, furry brows and a permanent wrinkle from his thin frowns. No one knew about Diana’s power, though the Queen was certain that even she didn’t know its full potential.

Once the moon lost its crimson glow and the people began preparing for the winter solstice, the queen’s water broke. She stood before the council with a glowing smile, anticipating the finest foods after a month of bland sugarless breads and the newest band of violinists that had come to visit the castle, when the water spilled across Alesia’s dais. The King quickly stood to call off the rest of the meeting, but the Queen dismissed his proposition, commanded him to finish the last details, and walked herself to her bedchamber with Diana in tow. The midwife hurried in with the cleric and handmaidens at every corner, trying to throw the girl out of the room, but the Queen silenced the older woman’s orders.

Diana took the Queen’s hand into her own and lowered her eyes, and a soft warmth enveloped all of the Queen’s body. “No, Diana,” she said gently, “it’s okay to hurt sometimes. We need to hurt sometimes.”

“It will hurt a lot,” Diana warned quietly.

Safia patted her hand and braced against the first of the contractions, and Diana stayed close to her side. A handmaiden warned the midwife of the King’s approach; men weren’t to be in the sacred room of childbirth. The King waited patiently and coaxed his bride from the door and braced himself against her first shrieks and yells. The day turned to night, and pages hurried to bring towels, hot water tubs, water and food to the chamber. As the moon’s zenith approached, the queen grew exhausted and finally opened her hand to Diana, and warm silence passed over her stressed muscles and bones.

“I see it,” the midwife cheered. “Coming right out, Your Highness. One good push ought to do it!”

Then, with a single crackled cry, the princess was born. She let out a slow cry before screaming with all of her newfound lungs. The midwife swaddled her quickly and tended to the approaching placenta as Safia took the babe into her arms. The King hurried in at his daughter’s cry and held her with the Queen, and Diana hovered at their side.

“A beautiful baby girl,” Safia whispered. She let out a groan as the afterbirth came and went, and the midwife carried out the rest of her duties. The night wound down, and news spread quickly across the kingdom that a princess had been born.

Once the umbilical cord was severed, the babe’s skin washed of blood and waste, and her gentle skin clothed in soft cloth, the King took his daughter into his arms and looked into her face. “She looks like her mother,” he cooed.

The Queen rested her tired head on her husband’s shoulder. “Arianna,” she gently called. The babe blinked her tiny eyes open. “You like that name?”

“Arianna,” Diana said again, and the babe blinked in her direction. “Princess Arianna, welcome.” The girl stepped to the floor and bowed, taking the Queen’s breath away for the moment.

“Diana, you needn’t bow to her,” the Queen rasped. “You shall love and protect her as you would your sister.”

            The girl hesitated. “Very well,” she said, and joined them again.

            In the distance, fireworks popped and splashed the sky with bright reds and oranges. The cheering of the people could be heard from within the castle walls. A princess was born, healthy and beautiful, and all was peaceful for a little longer.