Page 11

Chapter 11

Hope

“ Y ou’re leaving the temple?”

Sylzenya grunted as she shoved her only pair of linen pants and her only shirt into a burlap bag. She had little else to pack, every acolyte a devout practitioner of minimalist living. Besides, there wasn’t much she’d need for three days out in the village. A couple extra robes would be good enough.

“Yes,” Sylzenya replied.

“Right now?” Nyla questioned as she helped her pack.

“Yes, Nyla, right now.”

“The High One really trusts you, doesn’t he?”

Sylzenya fluttered her eyes closed. The High One had trusted her. Now he was testing her. She was to watch the prince and report back any suspicions, yes, but this was just the beginning. She needed to wear her holy, bloodied robe to show her devoutness, she needed to speak loudly and fervently of Aretta’s graciousness, and she needed to do so as often as she could. Only if she followed through with these expectations would he give her the cure in three days.

All because she decided to mention the damned mythical willow. She should’ve listened to Nyla’s advice back in the altar room. She should’ve listened to the bird’s warning before she agreed to pay it’s enigmatic price.

“Something like that,” Sylzenya said with a thin smile, a small well of anger burning in her chest.

Her friend paused, a fresh Kreena robe in hand. “You’re troubled by this task.”

“I’m out of my depth,” she said, the trousers fighting against her as she shoved them into the bag, “I have to keep track of a prince who’s been presumed dead for over a decade, and he knows I’m only his guide so he can be watched.”

“He should’ve expected it.”

“Either way, this isn’t what I’ve been training for all these years.”

Nyla set down the robe and looped her arm around Sylzenya’s shoulder, bringing her into an embrace.

“You’re going to do fine. Great, in fact,” Nyla said as she squeezed her, “You’re not in charge of his actions, you’re just reporting anything you see or hear, and then you’ll be back in the gardens fully cured in three short days, alright?”

Sylzenya gulped. She wanted to tell Nyla everything — Aretta’s Willow, the vision, the High One’s dissatisfaction with her — but she feared the High One’s response. He might add more days before he gave her the cure if he found out she’d told someone.

“Thanks, Nyla,” she said, a real smile on her lips as she embraced her friend back. “And I’ve been thinking more about what you said about my parents; I think you’re right. The High One says he’ll take care of them, but I’d like to hear from their mouths why they did this to me.”

“Confront your parents?” she asked, “Why would you do that?”

“You’re joking with me, right?”

Her friend tilted her head, amber eyes shining with a curious glint. “Why bother talking to them? It’s like you said in your speech—it’s over. Let the past be the past.”

“What—” Sylzenya shook her head, “Everything’s changed, Nyla, just like you said this morning. We just talked about this, and it was your idea that I confront them, so don’t make me feel crazy.”

Nyla scratched her head. “Look, my mind’s a bit hazy from the wine, but I don’t remember saying those things. If the High One said he’s taking care of your parents, then you should let him. ”

A chill ran down Sylzenya’s spine as she tried to find any humor in her friend’s words. But, she couldn’t find the usual smirk or upraised brow.

Nyla meant every word.

“What about the increased protection at the banquet tonight?” Sylzenya pushed, determined to make her friend remember, “Dynameis were assigned to protect you. That’s never been done before.”

Nyla smiled wide, patting her shoulder. “And thanks to your announcement, that won’t ever happen again. Now anyone who’s deranged enough to try and sabotage our kingdom knows they can’t succeed; our goddess will always find a way to protect us. Why are you doubting the High One like this?”

Her insides froze. There was that word again: Doubt. But she wasn’t doubting, never had, not about her goddess or the High One. And she didn’t plan on doing so now.

“I’m just confused,” Sylzenya replied, “You honestly don’t remember?”

She shrugged. “Sounds like a dull conversation anyways. All you need to worry about is this prince and letting the cure do its work.”

A loud knock sounded on the door.

“Sylzenya,” one of the priestesses announced, “it’s time.”

Taking a deep breath, she fastened her green cloak over her bloodied Kreena robe and slung the full burlap bag onto her shoulder.

“I’m kind of jealous,” Nyla said as they followed the priestess through the door and down the hallway, “I wish I could leave the temple and see how things are fairing.”

Sylzenya bit her tongue hard as she held back the anger swelling in her skin. It wasn’t right, this frustration, for she’d brought these circumstances upon herself. Perhaps the bright fire inside her chest wasn’t anger at all, but something darker—stickier—like a claw covered in orodyte serum, wrapping around her heart and puncturing her flesh

Not anger, not sadness, not uncertainty…

Shame.

Yes, that was it. She could feel the resonance sting along her bones as she repeated the word over and over, her sandaled feet rhythmically slapping on the marble stone.

For the first time in Sylzenya’s life, she felt shame.

Silence swelled in the sanctuary, thin and stretched, as if one wrong step would shatter every stained-glass window.

Forcing her chin up and shoulders back, she approached the High One, ignoring how everything between them felt bent out of shape. It was like a willow burdened with too much weight, its roots tearing from the ground as it tipped. Her parents’ betrayal was enough; she couldn’t bear the idea of losing the High One as well.

His yellow eyes sharpened on hers. She held her breath, a cool rush of relief flowing through her muscles as he extended his hand. No words needed to be exchanged as she carefully accepted the gesture. His gaze softened, and her shoulders relaxed.

“Sylzenya, you understand this isn’t what I want for you, correct?” the High One asked as he took her other hand in his.

Clenching her jaw, she held back tears and nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Cold fingers pressed into her palms. “I’m doing this because you’re to bring salvation to our people, and such a task comes with a heavy burden. There’s no room for doubt.”

Sylzenya held her head high, forcing herself to remain steady despite her knees threatening to wobble.

“I understand, Your Grace.”

Tightening his grip, he whispered, “Your parents were jealous of your destiny, jealous that our goddess and our people needed you more than you needed them. Don’t let their envious act deter you from your path.”

Was that why they’d done it? Out of jealousy?

“I won’t,” Sylzenya replied, nostrils flaring, “I promise.”

He smiled. “Good. Once you’ve spent these next three days sharing this same message with our people while keeping an eye on the prince, I will give you the cure. Your power will be restored, as well as my trust in you.”

The pain from her back ached at his words, the deep desire to feel the earth sing through her fingertips and into her veins causing tears to blind her vision.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The High One nodded, staring at her hands. “You’re our only hope, Sylzenya. Not just for our kingdom, but for me.”

He turned his gaze back to her, a deep emotion sitting in his eyes. Her spine shivered as he carefully dug a hand in one of his robe’s pockets, revealing a long golden chain. Connecting the chain was a piece of orodyte—symmetrical, clear in its make, and glinting off of the torchlight.

Perfect.

“This is for you,” he said, “Once your powers are restored, I want you to use this piece of orodyte to create the willow I had asked for your Kreena Rite.”

Shame and hope twisted inside her chest. Dark and light. Poison and power. She bowed her head, the cold metal of the chain stinging her warm skin as its weight fell onto her shoulders.

“You’re everything a ruler could’ve asked for in times such as these.”

Suddenly, the bird’s deep blue eyes flashed in her mind.

Be wary of who you trust.

She ignored it. The vision and the bird had done nothing but bring more problems.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she whispered again, lifting her head and touching the orodyte.

“Now,” he paused, motioning to the doors, “it’s time.”

Back stinging and cloak heavy around her shoulders, she offered a strong nod and followed him out into the gardens. The prince and two guards stood underneath a circle of torchlight and willows.

Blood pumping loudly in her ears, her pain sharpened as the royal stared at her with bright green eyes. Dark hair fell to his shoulders, loose strands framing his face as he crossed his arms, his strong build accentuated by a broad chest and formidable arms. He looked less like a royal and more like a warrior, especially with the scars peppered along his arms.

He leaned forward, brow raised in question.

“ Sylzenya ,” the High One said, the softness in his face gone.

“Apologies,” she replied, pushing the pain as far away as she could manage, “I’m ready.”

As the guards led them out of the Temple's main gate, the prince's smile vanished. Sylzenya looked back.

The High One’s harsh yellow gaze vanished under sandstone wall.

She gripped the orodyte necklace.

“ Sylzenya, right?” the prince said, interrupting her thoughts as he stepped in front of her. “Look, I don’t mean to rush things, but I am. So if we could find an inn, tavern, anything really, then we can get out of each other’s hair and sleep. In fact, I’m not against us staying in separate places for the night either.”

She narrowed her eyes. “There’s only one inn, and it’s not far. We’ll go there.”

He laughed. “ One inn?”

“My kingdom doesn’t have need for two inns,” she replied, “That would be unnecessary excess.

“What about travele—?” He stopped, brows furrowed. “Ah, right.”

“Everyone in Estea has a home, so there’s no need for inns. But we have one for people like yourself.” She took a deep breath. “Or apparently people like me.”

“I see you’re looking forward to these next three days, then.”

Sylzenya’s face burned, but she quickly collected herself. “I’m happy to do whatever it is the High One asks of me.”

“Oh yes, I gathered that.”

Sylzenya ignored him. She walked in step with the two guards as the prince trailed behind. The dirt path smelled like fresh roses, the scent reminding her of the many days she had walked it with her parents before her time at the temple. Her mother would pick one of the flowers and tuck it behind Sylzenya’s ear.

Flower bud.

Sylzenya’s back suddenly stung, warm blood beginning to soak through her robes. Damn this orodyte serum that kept her from healing, and damn her parents with it.

Cursing under her breath, she turned her focus to the prince. He was an easy man to stare at—a strong jaw with some light stubble, thick dark hair tucked behind one ear revealing gold hoops, and a curious gaze drinking everything in its path. His gaze found hers. She looked away, pretending to observe the trees as intently as he had been, but she didn’t miss the smirk pulling at his lips.

“We’ll be there soon,” she announced, “The guards will fetch you some fresh garments while you get yourself settled. The High One knows Lhaal Forest doesn’t allow for much traveling gear.”

“How thoughtful of him.”

Despite his handsome face, she didn’t miss the bite of sarcasm in his tone, and it set her nerves on edge.

“It is thoughtful of him. More than you know.”

“Glad we can agree on it.”

She stopped. “Is there a problem?”

He smirked. “Is there? I thought we were in agreement: The High One is very thoughtful.”

“You—” She caught herself, closing her eyes.

She was tired, hungry, and parched. The last thing she needed was to get in an argument with a man—a royal—she’d just met. He was new to her kingdom, and he’d just gotten through Lhaal Forest. Surely he needed rest as well.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled. “Right. We agree.”

He leaned forward and whispered, “ Right .”

Heat rising along her neck, she quickly turned and walked past the guards, leading them through the last stretch of pathway and into a large clearing.

Sylzenya’s heart stilled.

Towering trees createded a canopy overhead, fireflies floating just below like twinkling stars. White stone buildings circled the plaza, each structure covered in twisting vines and blooming flowers. Torches lit the night, providing subtle warmth while people walked, laughed, and drank wine.

A memory brought her to a hot summer night long ago. Her father had crafted two nets, and they had spent hours chasing fireflies until they fell into the tall grass, their chests heaving in laughter.

He left her at the temple two days later.

“Praise be to Aretta!” someone shouted from the center of the square.

Sylzenya jumped, backing into one of the guards, their firm hands tightening around her shoulders.

“It’s her ,” another shouted, their speech slurred, “the one who will save us from the famine!”

“Great,” a low grumble sounded in her ear, “more drunks.”

She turned to find not one of the guards, but the prince, holding her. His fingers dug into her cloak as his eyes narrowed at the crowd, a look of disgust in his features. A shiver ran up her spine as she flinched out of his grasp.

“It’s called celebrating,” Sylzenya responded, “Most people enjoy it.”

“Not all,” he muttered.

She disregarded him, turning to find the guards staring at her. Bodies rigid, they stood as if they were trees themselves, roots securing their feet to the ground.

Waiting.

“Show us!” another person in the crowd shouted, “Show us Aretta’s power!”

The orodyte around her neck grew heavy.

“Quite the crowd,” the prince said with a sigh, “Anyways, where’s the inn? Food sounds like a good place to start…”

Sylzenya didn’t hear anything else; everyone in the square had stopped their sauntering and drinking to stare at her in anticipation. An opportunity had presented itself to proclaim her destiny as Estea’s security for a fruitful future. She had to make it clear she could take on this burden—had to make it clear so the High One could trust her again.

Taking a steadying breath, she stepped forward.

“…and is there any clean water here?” the prince continued, “Hang on, what are you doing?”

Sylzenya unclipped her green cloak, motioning for a guard. He promptly took it from her grasp and draped it over his forearm. The crowd murmured, conversation increasing as she revealed her Kreena robe, the same one she wore the day of her failed rite.

The proof of power.

“I’m sorry to interrupt whatever the fuck this is, but what are you doing?”

Sylzenya waved her hand at the prince. “Patience, Prince of Vutror. We’ll get to your soft royal bed soon enough.”

He cursed under his breath as she stepped forward and spread her arms, the crowd falling utterly silent.