Page 8 of The Kingdom of Flames

“You may depart, Bride.” The Captain who had steered her carriage opened her door. How long ago had they left? Weeks? Days?

“A moment, please.” Celestine breathed and shut her eyes. If she asked, would they take her back? Is that what the Silent had done? Had they seen the enormity of this place and refused to learn what awaited within?

I am in the den of hungry beasts and am only a morsel compared to the feasts we used to provide in the Tithing. I have never been this alone until now. Always among the people of the Painted Realm. Among my father, among the warring of the seasons.

The Captain opened her carriage door and held a gloved hand out, waiting.

Celestine chewed her cheek, a habit she had tried many times to cease. The attendants of her father’s court had always scolded her for it, saying she imitated the cattle instead of ladies of the realm. She knew people prayed to these Seasons, even without knowing their names. But she had only prayed to one person her entire life.

Mother guide me, please.

“You may depart,” The Captain repeated, his gloved hand never wavering.

She was more than an offering. Her journey here was not to sate hungers alone, it was to deliver a message. She thought of the people in her land without hope. They could not even depend on what the sky wrought. Winters that lasted three days. Summers that lasted a week. Seeds planted only to be frozen over. Crops grown and then flooded before the scythe could even find them.

And the wars. The rolling mobs of men following warlords and upstarts. Women weren’t the only scarcity. It was a world of barren women and skinny children, of men dying in wars to fight over the little amounts of food and the scarcity of women they wanted to possess but only destroyed.

If I do not leave this carriage, they will grow skinnier, and women will view the world through bars of cages to protect themselves from monsters.

Celestine opened her eyes and took the Captain’s hand. It was strong like iron.

“The court awaits,” the Captain said as she stepped down. The protection of the carriage gone, her shoulders felt the strange air of this place. Celestine gazed into his mirrored face. Who stared at her behind it?

I, too, have always been a mirror, a mirror of what the realm needed and would not answer. It was easier to be everything than to be some single thing. Are you and I the same, Captain?

"Thank you, Captain. May I have your name?” In the tumultuous cliff of this universe, she grasped for a morsel of nicety. Of another human.

The Captain bowed slightly. “It is no longer used, my lady. The Mirrored are here to serve and to assist in the service.”

“Perhaps you might indulge a young maiden if only to thank her protector on a perilous road.”

Did his eyes move? Or was it a trick of the light? Celestine stood on the cobbled driveway, a manicured garden of lovely and wicked design. Everything here clashed. Everything here gave way to another idea, another season.

“I was called Aidric in my time, lady.”

“Thank you, Captain Aidric.”

The Captain stared at her for a moment, black cloth covering his eyes under the silver mask. It was as if she had stunned him. Then he turned away and shut the carriage door.

The rumbling sound of two gigantic doors, taller than her father’s keep, swung open slowly. Mirrored attendants pushed them, and the light from within the castle of Calendar was so golden it almost beckoned her forth.

Some predators lure their prey within.

Twin doors to Calendar opened, taller and grander than any she had seen, and the glow from within beckoned her. Mirrored guards and attendants appeared suddenly, drenching the staircase with tall halberds of mirrored silver.

Stone staircases awaited.

Celestine stepped forth, moving one foot in front of another. Every step felt like a choice. Above her, the sky swirled in leaves, pollen, sunlight, and a blizzard, all whirling together like some great spiral that spun and spun, clashing and riposting. As she walked within Calendar, it felt like a great focal point coming together.

Centered on her.

Chapter 4

The Court at Calendar

Calendar was a castle made of enslaved and captured art, at war with twelve different styles, yet melded together with an elegance that swirled in its perfect balance.

Framed paintings lined the walls, the ceiling, to where you could not tell what color the walls were. Candles and braziers were lit everywhere, and the world glittered with crystal.

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