Page 9

Chapter 9

Doubt

G uards stood on either side of the gold balcony doors as Sylzenya entered the High One’s council chambers. Plants and vines crawled across the stain-glassed ceiling, draped along the walls, and spilled onto the edges of the floor. Small willows lined the room, bowing towards the group of marble statues depicting their goddess.

Sylzenya rolled her shoulders back, placing both hands over her heart as she bowed. As is custom, the guards issued the same gesture back, the squeaking of their green and brown leather armor echoing in the large room.

“The High One will be here shortly,” one of them announced.

Sylzenya smiled softly as the guards returned to their rigid postures, eyes pointed towards the entry doors.

The kingdom-wide banquet had already begun. Citizens crowded the gardens below, but Sylzenya had requested a private meeting with the High One. She took a shaky breath as she approached one of the willows, letting the drooping branches hide her in its green fold. Tears stung her eyes. She swallowed them. The emptiness in her chest grew with each day, the reminder of her lost power, an ache slicing just as deep as the one on her back.

If you are to restore your power and protect your people, then Aretta’s Willow is the only way.

Scratching a nail down the willow’s fibrous bark, she let a sharp splinter pierce her thumb. If the compass was inside one of these trees, then she needed to carve into each trunk until she found it. The task seemed impossible, but there had to be a way; if she could find the compass to Aretta’s Willow, then they’d always have enough power to make sure the famine never reached Estea.

This was why she needed to share her vision of the compass to the High One tonight.

Stone cracked against stone as the doors opened. Sylzenya quickly emerged from the willow. The High One strode in, his long white robes matching his hair. A twisted gold coronet lined his forehead, the metallic glint brightening his eyes as he held Sylzenya’s stare. He opened his arms, a wide smile on his face, causing her shoulders to relax.

“A splendid night when the entire kingdom shows,” the High One said as he extended his arm for her, “Now tell me, what honor am I owed to be called upon by our kingdom’s most renowned Kreena?”

Sylzenya’s eyes widened. “Your Grace, with all due respect, I’m still—” She paused, her gaze shooting to the guards, realizing she shouldn’t speak of her powerlessness, “Unable to fulfill my duties as a Kreena.”

His smile didn’t falter. “Don’t sell yourself so short. You’re on the mend, soon to be back in the gardens and creating more than all the other Kreenas combined.”

She didn’t argue with him as she took his extended arm, the gesture unfamiliar. He seemed elated, so unlike the panic she'd seen him wear the day she'd been poisoned. Both emotions were foreign to his ageless face.

“Now, Sylzenya,” he continued, leading her towards a statue. “I’m assuming you’re wondering when the cure will take full effect; I’m pleased to inform you it shouldn’t take any longer than a few more days.”

She took a brief breath, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “That’s wonderful news, Your Grace. Thank you.”

The emptiness inside her chest ebbed, replaced with a ray of hope.

His grin widened. “It is. If that’s all?—”

“It’s not,” she interrupted, her nerves causing her arm to shake.

Cold fingers gripped her forearm. The High One’s brows furrowed, his moment of excitement lessened as he looked at the guards, then at her.

He lowered his voice. “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” Sylzenya quickly replied, “in fact, the opposite.”

Be wary of who you trust.

The bird’s deep blue eyes cut across her vision, its warning thrumming inside her chest. She needed to tell him before she convinced herself not to.

“Wonderful,” the High One replied, “I’m eager to hear what news you’ve brought to share?—”

“Aretta’s Willow,” Sylzenya blurted, closing her eyes at her lack of tact. “I mean to ask, what do you know of Aretta’s Willow?”

The High One’s cold body turned rigid. His smile vanished, and his grip tightened to a point of pain.

“Guards,” he announced, “please give us a moment.”

The men bowed their heads, faces expressionless as they stepped out onto the balcony, the doors closing behind them with a thud.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the High One asked, his voice chilled and grating.

Sylzenya’s skin pimpled. “My apologies, Your Grace. I’m not broaching this subject as well as I intended, and I know tonight is a busy night?—”

“Yes, it is . ”

Sweat building along her neck, she gulped. This—impatience and scrutiny—was an emotion she’d seen far more of from him. She’d hoped to avoid such a reaction, but she knew how to talk to him despite it. He always heard her in the end.

“What my parents did was unprecedented and is causing rumors of upheaval to ripple through the kingdom. I’m ashamed, for it was my family that started this, and so, I mean to fix it.”

The High One’s brows lifted. “Your parents are no trouble of yours. I’m taking care of it.”

“I know that, Your Grace,” she replied, “But their actions impacted not just me, but all of Estea. I fear that when I get my power back, there will still be questions and uncertainty amongst our people about whether the famine will take us. It’s no way to live. I mean to try everything within my power to?—”

“ Sylzenya .”

She stopped, her eyes wide as the High One took his arm away from hers, his cold hands gripping her shoulders instead. His harsh yellow gaze studied her face.

“You speak of things a ruler must worry about, and so I am, more than you know.” He paused, a flicker in his jaw. “Your parents proved who they were, who we always knew them to be—delirious, selfish, and hostile. Wasn’t it I who told you these very things?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Sylzenya said, tears burning behind her eyes.

“No child should experience these horrors from their parents.” He placed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, his cold fingers brushing her neck. “I should’ve protected you, and I failed. This is my wrong to right, not yours.”

Sylzenya’s breaths shortened, a pull in her chest telling her to flee. She ignored it. She couldn’t run from the topic of her parents anymore.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she whispered.

He tilted his head, brows furrowed. “Now, why on earth are you asking about Aretta’s Willow? As you already know, it’s a legend.”

“Yes, well,” Syzlenya paused, the spit in her mouth thickening, “What if it were real? And if we were to find it, then perhaps we wouldn’t have to worry about people like my parents sabotaging other Kreenas or acolytes?—”

“There will be no other people like that,” he seethed, his yellow eyes flaring. “I’m making sure of it.”

Her breath faltered, muscles tense as his keen eyes softened along with his grip.

“If the tree was real, then it’s been dead for centuries, and as a leader, I can’t in good conscience put any of our efforts towards an empty promise.” His smile returned. “It is you who’s our hope, Sylzenya. You are going to bring restoration to our people, and I need you to believe in yourself. In three days I’ll have your cure ready, and I need you to be prepared to take up this mantle.”

Heat rushed into her face and limbs. He wasn’t listening to her like she’d hoped. Despite all his glorious words, a seed of doubt had settled within her heart.

Perhaps she wasn’t enough to save her people.

And if this was true, then they needed something more.

“I understand, Your Grace, and I don’t mean to shirk any of my duties. Once I’m cured, I’ll do as you say, but what if—” She took a steadying breath. “If it doesn’t work, or if my efforts are still not enough, then our people will need more. I’ve been wanting to tell you, that after I failed the rite, I communed with the roots of the altar room, and when I did, I saw a vision of Aretta’s Willow?—”

“ Enough. ”

Everything stilled. The room hadn’t been moving, no water lapping in fountains, and yet, everything froze, Sylzenya’s heart as well. Even if she wanted to speak, she couldn’t find the words, the High One’s face causing her to gulp.

He leaned forward, his cold finger tilting her chin up.

“After all these years,” he whispered, “why are you choosing to doubt me now, Sylzenya?”

The emptiness in her chest grew, her desire to feel her goddess’ power in the soil boundless, and the need to feel the power opening her cut unbearable. She desired a pain she understood, not this .

“I’d never doubt you,” she whispered, tears in her eyes.

His gaze narrowed, mouth thin as he tilted her chin up further.

She stopped breathing. “Your Grace?”

The High One sighed as he released her chin, standing to his full height and lacing his hands behind his back. “Your cure will be ready in three days, but I’m afraid you won’t be.”

Everything within her—her muscles, her lungs, her stomach—seized , as if he’d dealt a heavy blow to her gut.

“I understand why your faith has faltered, but I expected better than this.” He motioned towards the balcony doors. “Your people deserve better than this.”

Disbelief and fear warred with heated anger. She doused all of it, biting the inside of her cheek until it bled, forcing herself to meet her gaze with the High One’s.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she said, her words metallic on her tongue.

He didn’t smile or offer recompense. Instead, he turned to Aretta’s statue and stared long and hard at the goddess.

“It’s my fault you’re not prepared.”

“Your Grace?—”

“If you’re to be the hope of our people, then you must prove to me you’re capable of handling such a task.” He turned to her, mouth thinned and eyes focused. “Until I’m certain of this, the cure will remain with me.”

It felt as if the floor had been ripped from under her feet. The emptiness in her chest widened, threatening to consume her.

“I promise I won’t talk about the tree anymore,” she begged, her fingers digging into her skin, “I promise I won’t doubt myself.”

The High One smiled sadly. “If you had said this to me earlier, I would’ve believed you. Thankfully, there’s still time to remedy this bout of uncertainty.” He trailed a finger along the marble statue. “Starting now, any task I give you, you must do exactly as I instruct. If you’re successful in this, then I will give you the cure when it’s ready. But, if you don’t,” he chipped a piece of marble off the statue, “then we will start over.”

“But what about the famine?” she asked, sweat dripping down her back, a cold tear trailing down her warm cheek. She hated herself for not being able to hold back this emotion.

“It’s like you said last night, we have enough Kreenas and acolytes to keep our reserves full for the time being.” He leaned down, his face inches from hers. “Unless you plan on making this difficult?”

“ No ,” she quickly said, heart racing and palms sweating. Blood filled her mouth, stinging like acid in her throat, “I’ll do as you say.”

He clicked his tongue. “Good. First, I never want to hear you speak of Aretta’s Willow again, understood?”

Forcing the tears behind her eyes, she rolled her shoulders back. It didn’t matter that it didn’t make sense to her; his certainty of her position as Kreena overruled her desire to find the tree. She would have to accept this. There was no room for mistakes, uncertainty, or doubt. If she was to restore the emptiness and gain her power back, then she had to comply.

“Understood, Your Grace,” she said, forcing the shakiness in her voice to stay in the back of her throat.

He stepped around the statue, motioning for her to join him. She obeyed.

“Next, you’re going to make an announcement to the entire kingdom about your return as a Kreena. You’re going to bolster their confidence just as you did with the Kreenas and acolytes last night, telling them your cure will be in full effect soon.” He stopped in front of the gilded doors, eyes narrowed. “Tell them there’s nothing to fear, that the perpetrators have been taken care of, and Estea will live in abundance forevermore.”

She wanted to ask questions, such as what if she did fail his test and they had to “start over” — would that mean it would be another three days of proving herself until she can get the cure? Or was it shorter, longer? Yet the questions stayed on her tongue, for she could see she’d worn his patience thin. For the first time in her life, she’d fallen from the High One’s graces.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t share her true thoughts with him.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied, bowing her head, “I would be honored.”

“Good. And lastly, you will regularly report everything the Vutrorian king says or does.” He shook his head. “There’s much to repair, Sylzenya. Am I clear in these expectations?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered.

He said nothing as he opened the doors, the guards on either side standing tall. Flaming torches and glowing orodytes filled the gardens below, the people ceasing their chatter and movement as she and the High One approached the banister.

“Good,” the High One whispered, so low the guards couldn’t hear them, “now show me.”

Forcing her arms to stop shaking, she accepted the cup of wine offered by the guard. The High One addressed the crowd, proclaiming he had a special announcement from his most blessed of Kreenas. Sylzenya stared into the distance, the view allowing her to see Lhaal Forest—a curse and a blessing surrounding her people—keeping threats out only by harboring monsters within; creatures of instinct, doing whatever they could to stay alive.

She raised her glass to the sky, her people following her lead as she talked of hope, each word widening the emptiness in her chest until the scar on her back burned.

Perhaps she was more like those monsters than she cared to admit.