Page 26 of Heir Of Sun And Moon
“You hungry, Bells?” I pant, moving to grab her some food and fresh water. She eats quickly before settling on the couch and watching as I repeat the exercise sequence over yet again. I push myself harder and harder, until I am sick to my stomach. My body is the only thing I allow myself to focus on; the turmoil that lurks in the corners of my mind stays out of sight temporarily while I move.
I want my mind to be like the prison I live in: a void of silence. When my body feels like it might not be able to make it up the stairs and my long hair is a tangled nest from sweat, I collapse on the floor with a huff. I turn and look out the open doors of the balcony, the sky a dazzling display of purple and twilight blue layers as the sun nears the horizon in the west. I can hardly see the outline of the moon rising in opposition, its silvery color barely set aglow by the sun’s setting rays.
I think about how the moon wouldn’t be seen if it were not for the sun, how its very visibility is tied to how brightly something else burns. Maybe I’m more like the moon than I realized. Except thesomethingthat set me aglow was actually asomeone.Does the fact that they are gone now mean I’m destined to be invisible? To float away in a dark night sky with no one knowing that I’m there? To disappear without a trace, like I never existed to begin with? Then I think, maybe that would not be such a bad thing.
Chapter Fifteen: Bahira
Aknockatthedoor pulls me from sleep, my eyes slowly opening as I stretch my arms overhead. “Yes?” My voice is gravelly as I call out.
“You have a Flame Ceremony to attend this morning, Your Highness. It is time to get ready.”
I groan out a “thank you,” rolling to my side on the bed and silently cursing the ancient mages who thought doing these ceremonies right after the sun rose was a good idea.
My father attends every blood ceremony in the kingdom, as the participants must travel to the Temple of Petalum in Galdr. I didn’t start attending them until I began investigating what is blocking our magic. Now I try to attend them all to make note of how large the flame is for each of our newest magic users. It’s all data to me; the trick is figuring out how to take that data and turn it into something that I can experiment with, something that is tangible.
I lay in bed a little longer, running through different theories and ideas in my head. Once magic is expelled from mages, by infusing water or casting a spell on a physical object, it doesn’t seem like it can be used to influence someone else’s magic. I have run experiments to see if stronger mage magic can fill in the gaps of a weaker mage’s spells. The magic stays completely separate from each other, not absorbing or able to be used outside of its original intended purpose. Admittedly, there isn’t a ton known about the origins of mage magic, though many ancient mages have done plenty of their own experimenting on it. So not only am I trying to understand why it’s suddenlynotworking as it used to, but I’m also trying to decipher where our magic actually comes from. Idoknow that we have a magical relationship with the land, and that in part, is why mages can manipulate the elements as they can.
Stumbling out of bed, my vision is still blurry as I draw the curtains open in front of the veranda attached to my room. Pushing the wood-encased glass double doors open, I step out into the cool early-morning breeze. Thick green and purple vines wrap around the slats that make up the roof for the outdoor space, creating a natural shade cover. Little flowers—no bigger than my thumb nail—in pink and white dot the vines, their sweet, delicate scent barely a hint in the wind. The dawn’s golden rays trickle through the gaps in the thick canopies of the banya and pirang trees that tower above us, their wild limbs intertwined together in a chaotic vision of brown and green. Blue and gold macaws squawk at each other from the branches as they wake from their resting, preparing to take flight for their morning hunts. As much as I want to complain about being up so early, I find it easier instead to take in the beauty of the land. Of my home.
On the way to the bathroom, I stop at the other three windows in my room to open the curtains until all the shadows are chased away from their corners by the light filtering in. I start the shower, and within seconds, steam curls around me as I step in, the hot water raining down from the spout above me. My muscles instantly relax from the heat. Another groan, this one less annoyed, echoes off the tiled stone walls around me.
After I’ve showered, I braid two front sections of my hair around the crown of my head, leaving the rest of the thick, curly waves down to air dry. Generally for ceremonies, it is expected that the attendees dress a little more formally than the everyday relaxed garb. Moving around my closet, I thumb through the blouses, skirts, and dresses hanging from metal hooks attached to a carved tree branch. Shorts, pants, and undergarments are folded neatly into a wooden dresser tucked into the corner. I choose a flowy white off-the-shoulder blouse to be tucked into a deep plum high-waisted skirt. I add a silver chained girdle belt with attached amethyst stones to complete the look. Stepping in front of the standing mirror in the corner of my room, I smooth out the fabric of the skirt and center the belt as another knock on the door sounds.
My mother’s voice comes from the other side. “Bahira, it is time to leave. Are you ready?”
“Yes!” I call back, running to the closet to grab a pair of light brown leather flats. I join her out in the hall when I’m finished, linking arms with her as we head towards the stairs.
“Do you know if it is a little boy or girl whose Flame Ceremony we are attending today?” I ask.
“A girl,” my mother responds, her serene voice carrying in the staircase. She gives my arm a little squeeze as we round a corner and see my father standing in the receiving hall in his traditional mage robe. The navy and silver garments are embroidered with the Mage Kingdom sigil of an albero tree under the stars and were made to wear specifically for important events like a Flame Ceremony or a royal council with another king or queen. The crushed velvet material is tailored perfectly to his tall frame, barely brushing the tops of his feet. He holds a staff of wood made from a banya tree, the top adorned with a smooth round piece of black dragon stone.
My father pulls me into a hug, his chin resting on my head affectionately. “Did you sleep well, Daughter?”
I nod, the movement difficult in his embrace. When he releases me, I step back and see Daje standing behind him. Dressed in his finery, the dark green and gold long-sleeved tunic fits impeccably paired with his dark brown trousers. Black boots complete his look, and even I must admit that he fills the outfit out well. Our gazes briefly clash, an apology written in his eyes that I accept with a nod.
My father holds out his hand for my mother with a look of pure adoration. While their marriage was somewhat arranged—my father, then the crown prince, and my mother, the daughter of a former mage on the council—their foundation is built entirely on the love they have for each other. It’s the kind of the love that sustains, that encourages and supports. That allows room for challenging each other while knowing that there will always be a safe spot to land. It is such a unique thing, a once in a lifetime kind of love.
We wait in the receiving hall for the rest of the council to join us. When all ten are finally present—eight men and two women—we proceed through the tall wooden double doors leading out to the front of the palace. The woodsy scent of the forest surrounding us permeates the chilled air, my bare shoulders breaking out in goosebumps from the cooler temperature. In groups of two we take the steps down from the palace and out to a gray stone landing where four horse-drawn carriages are waiting. I watch as my parents and two of the oldest councilmen get in one carriage while the remaining eight council members split up equally into two more. Which leaves one left for just Daje and I to ride in. Our carriages are carved from the dense light-colored wood of the albero tree and left open at the top, letting the elements in. When the temperatures dip in the winter or when rain or snow falls from the sky, the carriages can be spelled to keep the occupants dry and warm.
Daje opens the door and extends a hand out to help me up, which I take as I dip my head in thanks and step in. He follows behind, shutting and latching the door before sitting across from me. Settling down on the purple velvet cushion, I look out the glass window to the side as the carriage lurches forward and we make our way to the temple.
It’s blissfully silent, my mind once again working through possible experiments and ways I haven’t yet tested out magic, when Daje clears his throat. Without turning my head, my eyes dart over to where he is sitting across from me. His booted ankle rests on top of his knee, arms spread out wide over the back of the bench. His face is carefully unreadable, which is unusual for him considering he tends to wear his emotions on his sleeve.
“Something to say, Daje?” I ask with a smirk, returning my gaze to outside the carriage as we move down the bumpy stone pathway. He doesn’t immediately respond, the extended silence causing me to narrow my eyes.
“Did you know that there are… rumors about you?”
I slowly turn my head again to look at him, a single brow raised in question. “You will have to be more specific; I’m aware of many rumors about me.” Being a magicless mage—and a princess no less—means that my name is often either gossip fodder or in the center of drama about the state of our kingdom. Some feel uneasy that there is a spare heir to the throne that is, in their minds, defective.Though are they wrong?
“It has to do with your sleeping habits,” he says cautiously. His choice of words brings me out of my thoughts.
“I find it odd that people would make up rumors about how I’m falling or staying asleep,” I volley back, grinning wider when he rolls his eyes at me. Teasing Daje is something I enjoy immensely. I’m also hoping it eases some of this tension between us. We haven’t spoken since our fight, and I hate it when the silence goes on for too long.
“You know that’s not what I mean,” he sighs, running a hand over his short hair.
“I do,” I relent, forcing my face to relax, “but ignoring it has always been the best course of action. You know that no matter what I say or do, it just feeds into their need to make disparaging remarks about me.”
“But are those remarks true?” he asks quietly.
