Page 9 of The Kingdom of Flames

It had the feel of a place of emptiness.

“It is time for the Tithing, my lady.” Captain Aidric beckoned her forth.

“Already,” Celestine whispered, walking behind him. All she had to do was just keep walking behind him.

Captain Aidric did not answer her. They walked towards the staircase to the next level. The steps were carpeted in a differing color as they rose.

“Your… gods here. Do they even know of the Painted Realm?”

“They are gods to you, Final Bride.” He did not turn as they slowly approached the stairs. “Here, the Seasons are called Lords. Lords of their banner. Lords of their realms.”

“They are men?”

Aidric paused. It was the only time she had seen him waver from the trajectory of his duty since he first took her from her home.

“They are anything but men.”

Is that fear? Is he warning me?

Six more Mirrored guards approached and flanked around them in an honor procession as they walked up the stairs.

“Lords,” Celestine repeated. How strange, for deities to hold such titles. But she had the feeling title wasn’t even the proper word. When Captain Aidric had said Lords there was such a weight to it. Like a prayer. Or a curse.

They crested another staircase upon two more doors where two guards waited.

“Declare thyself,” the first of the guards stated, “those who seek.”

“And those that would be sought,” finished the other.

Captain Aidric turned to her. Celestine nodded. Beyond the door likely awaited her death and a frenzied one at that. She had heard the tale of the grand bride hunt of the Lords of the Calendar Court. Women were chased and set upon, captured, and dragged to dark corners of the earth to die in agony. The uncertainty behind the door made her wish it would stay sealed forever.

Who could bargain with the gods of wind and winter?

Something must save us from the hunger of men, immortal or otherwise.

“I am Celestine of the Unbannered.”

“The Banner that serves,” said the guard on the left.

“The Banner that seeks,” said the guard on the right.

“Step forth, should you be sought,” they both said in unison and pulled the doors open.

Captain Aidric stood at attention. Both heat and cold flew from the room within. Celestine gasped at the image before her. An impossibility of substance, a clash of realities woven from four seasons into one.

She walked within. In the center of the room was a circular dais, surrounded by twelve thrones. Beings that looked like men but were larger than they could be stared at her with eyes of light, of shadow. The roof was open above the central platform, and snow and rain filtered through sunlight and falling leaves towards the ground—disappearing before any substance touched the surface.

“Brides of the Calendar Court,” every voice said in unison.

Celestine stepped into the court. The assault of such confusing temperatures on her flesh made her head feverish. She walked forward to the center of the grand dais; the doors shut behind her, and she looked up into the terrible eyes of the Lords of Season.

The door disappeared when it was shut, as if it had never been there. This throneroom felt like a tomb without exit.

If any feeling permeated the room, it was one of need. Need that demanded satisfaction at any price.

“What is this, Captain?” A voice of deep lumber thundered from a throne to her left. Celestine glanced up and saw a brawny man with brown banners sat around him and a wolf’s pelt on his great shoulders. “We pause conflict for an appetizer? Have you or have you not collected our Tithing?”

“Lord Cedarheart, this is the Tithing from the Painted Realm.” The Captain bowed.

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