23: Silver and Gold

23

Stellina

The guards are stoic, faceless behind their masks; could there really be a person within all that metal? Iridea receives no response to a name she gives but, with a clank, they turn aside. The gate staggers open between them. I lead us through into empty, whispering gardens. Not even birds perch on the pruned trees.

The gardens are perfected so that they have lost their natural element, standing only as representations of man. Hedges angle and veer around a massive fountain at the lawn’s centre. The same guardians standing at the city’s entrance curve in a circle here, holding hands. Water spews above them, speckling their gray skin. Their eyes follow our path. A shiver ripples through me. With one conversation, I could have the Castle’s four allies on my side: the Elf clans, Dwarves, Humans, and Halflings (although I am not sure of their military prowess). Surely, the Castle’s army would be enough to challenge Hyxver’s forces. The poster crushed in Iridea’s head swirls back to me. What if it all goes wrong? Perhaps they are already against me.

The castle is at the tip of the city. Without the obstruction of clouds, I can see everything: Xeorka hidden under rainforest, Xeoda under snow. The Light Elves’ former city would not be far from here. If I had been on this mountain four centuries ago, would I have seen their city spinning in the sky? Iridea told me that they disappeared after the attack on my home; where did they go? Water is all that surrounds us. Would they have survived waves as tall as their soaring towers?

“Never by the Tamashimi Serpent did I imagine I’d be so close to royalty,” Hawthorne squeaks, “We aren’t actually going to see the King, are we?”

“That’s our hope,” Iridea scowls, “Unfortunately.”

I had forgotten neither of them knew my status. It has not felt important to discuss. What is a princess without her kingdom? I do not say anything still because it will bring a wave of questions and memories. Distraction is the last thing I need before the imposing palace doors. The white stone already reminds me of home.

A human boy bursts from the hedge. He halts in front of us with his palms lifted. 

“Weapons, please.” His gaze bores into the decorative tiles. Hawthorne places the sword in his hands, careful with its edge. The boy bounds away and reappears a minute later with a paper slip. Iridea plucks it from his fingers. I peer over her shoulder to read the scrawled message on the torn sheet. Words blend together in a quick and distracted manner. ‘Busy’ and ‘wait’ are all I can cipher. 

“Is that a letter from the King?” Hawthorne bounces on his heels.

“If I had direct communication with the King, I wouldn’t live in Jemtong.” Iridea folds the paper with a snap of her fingers. “Can you take us there?” The boy nods.

We follow his scurrying pace around a massive turret and through a door hidden amongst a thicket of leaves. He trails through kitchens and washrooms - the air thick with flour and soap - up tightly packed stairs, and along expansive corridors with fanciful doors. The palace is spotless and barren. An occasional figure rushes past with their head held down, keeping to the shadows. It is nothing like home, where Xada’s heels clacked along the crystal halls and the laughter of soldiers bounced between walls. At any point in my palace, you could look up at the sky or down at the bridges crisscrossing between buildings. Everyone was connected. Here, the only windows we have spotted are far behind us. It feels more like a prison or tomb. Even my dead city succumbing to Zyrona’s embrace felt more alive than this. Before a grand door with gold in its crevices, the boy stops and bows. Without delay, he scampers off. Two statuesque guards await, Iridea approaches them with the slip of paper brandished. 

“We’re here by invitation of Commander Eric,” she says. My teeth sink into my inner lip. I should take the lead, this is my fight after all. My kind did not die for me to cower in the shadow of another. The helmets swivel to investigate the paper.

“Commander Eric is not yet done with his meeting. You will wait here.”

“We hold important news.” I say, shoving myself in front of Iridea before she can speak again. “News King would be interest in.”

The helmets exchange an empty look. They converse in a series of unspoken messages, their gestures ringing like bells in the empty halls. Do the bells sing of bereavement or glory? They lift their shielded heads.

“Please wait here.” One of them breaks free of his post. His armour stifles his movement as he attempts to nudge the massive doors open. A thought zaps like lightning through my body, electrifying my limbs. This is my opportunity. The door inches wider for the guard’s bulky armour. My feet dart forward before I realise, easy on these polished floors. Xada’s last lesson is echoed in my movements as I swirl my hands and whisper the commands. My foot strikes the floor onto ice as I shape my directory. Momentum carries me through the closing gap. I arch my back to dodge a grasping glove. My hat is whisked from my head. My silver braids spiral around me. The doors bang shut.

Cries ring and swords draw. My hands fling outward on instinct and I stumble as my path breaks. A circle of guards springs to action. Energy rushes into small wards to keep their harsh metal from striking my body. The pointed room draws a straight line to the King’s throne where he stands with his arm held steady in the air.

“Please, let me speak! My name is Stellina Lumnia, daughter of Queen Lianora Lumnia and King Verlonti Lunasa. The Last Star Elf.” Heavy stillness encases the room. The sun streams through a window encircling the King’s imposing stature. His eyes swallow any hint of emotion, pooling like black holes. His cloak of ivory feathers murmurs as his hand falls to the table, fingers splayed. The soldiers swing their weapons to their sides.

“Stellina,” The King rolls my name on his tongue, “Quite the entrance.”

My shields dissipate. Golden dust falls on my hand as I brush my hair from my face. Silver and gold. The King’s crown is simplistic with four towers arising from a solid ring inlaid with various gems. Yet, despite its simplistic design, beside the gems, every part of the crown is crafted from gold. Even his outfit - his cape and clothing - are lined with golden thread. In Lumnia, we had no gold. It was a metal reserved for the Gods, hidden deep in Zyrona’s crust. Only the Light Elves dared to test fate; adorning their buildings, themselves, and even their cutlery with the rich metal. They saw themselves as above the rest of us. Perhaps above the Gods. Please, Zela, let gold be seen differently here.

“Forgive me for intrusion, Your Majesty.” I sweep into a curtsy. “I did not know how else to enter.” The King assumes his throne. His cloak spills over the seat’s arms to create sloped wings.

“You need only announce your name and any door would open.”

“My friends told that would not be wise.”

“Friends?”

“They wait out door. May they enter?”

“I have other guests to close my business with first, if you do not mind.” I had not noticed the small gathering of hooded figures at a table in front of the throne. They have not uttered a sound; their heads bowed in meditation. At the close of the King’s sentence, they rise, bow, and sweep from the room. Like spirits, they leave no trace, only a cold breeze to follow them. As soon as the doors open, Iridea and Hawthorne rush in. 

“Mother of Oceans, I don’t think my heart can take that again.”

“You couldn’t have given us a warning? A signal?”

Their eyes trace over the graceful ceiling, the colourful tapestries that showcase vicious battles hanging from the walls, the stone floor leading to the King’s risen platform. Hawthorne drops into a low bow when he spots this dominating figure. Iridea squeezes her wings to her.

“What are the names of these friends of yours, Stellina?”

“Thorne - Haw. I mean, Hawthorne. Dexter. Your majesty.” Hawthorne dips lower, his forehead close to the carpet.

“Where are you from, Mr. Dexter?” The King’s eyes glaze over Hawthorne’s bowed form. 

“Xeoda. Your majesty. But my mum is from Myan.” Hawthorne straightens. His hands patter at his side while he speaks,

“Your dad is Xeodan?” Hawthorne nods, “Hm. Is Hawthorne your real name?”

“It’s real enough. Your majesty. I do have a second name: Tse Shanxa, if that’s what you’re looking for. Tse is my father’s family’s name. Shanxa is the name they gave me. I chose my mum’s name when we had to move here.” The King looks disinterested. He waits with folded lips for Hawthorne to complete his explanation. Then, he directs his gaze to Iridea. She opens her mouth.

“Iridea Laudene,” a disembodied voice scorns. A guard steps from the shadows behind the King. He tugs off his plumed helmet, allowing it to hang at his side. Unlike the other guards, whose armour is lined with navy, his is lined with silver. “You didn’t mention the Star Elf in your letter.”

“Your King’s posters didn’t make some of us feel welcome, Eric, ” Iridea bites back. Lines bracket the guard’s mouth as he frowns. This must be Iridea’s connection. How does she know him? She had referred to him as a Commander before, but how high was that in military ranks? The King fixes his gaze onto Iridea, like a hawk sizing up its prey.

“You seem a smart girl,” he says, “there have been sightings of Xeoserps and Deprecors in the area, along with other abominations…” Iridea huddles close to me. “What better way to combat such threats than by getting the citizenry involved?” Without waiting for a response, he moves onto the next subject of conversation.

“You are here to ask The Castle of the Four to help you defeat the Cursed One. Before we discuss this, I must ask-” he rises and circles the ornate table, “-what makes you think you can defeat him when all of your kind failed?”

My breath hitches. A flying elf crushed by an almighty beast. Blood on my mother’s hands. Her blood? No. Mine? A hiss thrown through the air. Ash coating my tongue. The ground beckons me into a downward spiral. Images from the past blur into my present. The window behind the King explodes. The shards are teardrops of blood. Birdsong rises into screams. Spears embed themselves into the King’s smiling face. In an instant, his expression is neutral. The beast’s eyes envelop me, pulling me in. Gold dust shines around the Commander. An elbow jabs into my side. Light filters through a pointed window. No. Curved. Circular. Not like Lumnia. A red dotted patch on a ragged coat in front of me - Hawthorne’s coat. A strange fae’s, Iridea’s, brilliant orange eyes. The clank of a guard shifting. Birds chirping, just like in Lumnia. My throat bobs as I swallow. Dizziness strikes me as the world rights itself. I conceal my momentary imbalance by taking a step forward. What was said last?

“ With your forces and help of clans, we bring him down.”  With every awkward Myan word, my face flushes. “Help me get him. That is all I ask.”

“That is all,” he scoffs, “Naive girl. It is evident you have been gone for some time. Otherwise, you would know that you must first face the Cursed One’s army of turned people, his ice snakes, his inventors…The Western Shadow Elf clan came to me - they’re going to join him to protect their people. They asked if we would follow suit.” My stomach sinks. The Shadow Elves… they would not. But then, Iridea told me their sister tribe did the exact same thing. Would they join Hyxver? Even as the furthest clan from his forces? Has the Castle of the Four joined him? Are we in enemy territory? 

“I said no, of course. That’s one less ally for you and another obstacle you have to push through. That you want me to put my people through.You are right about one thing: my forces are strong. Men are resilient creatures. We have held the Cursed One at bay for four centuries. Though times are dark, for the first time in millennia we have held our own governance. You remember quite clearly the age of Elves; when your mother and father ruled over the largest expanse of Zyrona and your allies enslaved our people. You ask me not only to risk blood, but our acquired power? Our freedom? How do I know your true desire is not to steal it back from us?” My face heats as blood pumps wildly through my veins. My parents were just rulers. We are nothing like the Light Elves. We would have welcomed humans into our forests, just as we accepted the fae. He leans against the table to catch his breath, reeling from the idea of losing all that his ancestors had gained. He shakes his head,

“You understand, I cannot simply accept. I am not sure if you would be a necessity in taking him down. As I said, we have fared well without you -”

“Half of Zyrona is gone without us.” My anger forces itself out before I can hold my tongue. Hawthorne’s eyes dart toward me as the King falters in his speech. I am about to scurry back into my protective shell when I see the corner of Iridea’s mouth rise. No. I will not let him speak to me like this. My whole world was destroyed and I am determined to avenge it. He is content with the division of the continent, with the murder of my kind, because it gives him power. He knows he can not fight Hyxver. One of his ancestors may have tried and failed long before him. The Star Elves were the only people keeping the necromancers in check, as was our duty. I will continue our legacy. If he wants to remain in power, he needs me as much as I need him.

“You fare on edge. Shadow Elves are gone. One less ally for you. Hyxver-” even the King flinches, “- will pour into Fantomnia and then into Myan. He will take your power. You need me to keep it.” Armoured hands shift as guards grip their weapons tighter, ready to spring on command. My fingers rub against each other, testing the energy within me. The air is electric. The King stares at me, frozen in place. As the seconds tick on, my confidence fades. Have I jeopardised any hope I had of getting him on my side? My mother would scold me beyond the stars if she were here. My poise begins to slip. My vision waivers as tears fill my eyes. Iridea nudges me. I allow myself to look away to see her mouth: Own it. I take a deep breath and draw myself straight.

“We did not ask to die. I had no choice. But I am here. I choose to be. I will take him down. You help me, I help you.” The tension stretches on. Then, the King’s mouth ticks.

“Alright. First I must see that your goal is strictly to take down the Cursed One for the betterment of all. Not to side with or take his place. Once I have seen this, I must know that you have some semblance of a plan so that I do not march my men recklessly into a massacre. Until then, you may reside in my Castle. You and your friends will be under my protection. You may indulge in my meals and comforts. When I have a clear idea of your intent and the security of my people, we can complete our deal.”

What sort of monster would side with the murderer of their people? Who would want to take Hyxver’s place in the torture of millions? Despite my frustrations, I let the King’s words slide off when I remember what Xada once told me about diplomatic meetings: when you can not get your way, aim for half. With a curtsy, I agree to his terms. Any ally is beneficial to me, even a reluctant one. While we are still negotiating, I bargain for military training, access to the library, and a space to practice magic. He accepts these terms but adds his own in return: we must have an escort at all times and my presence must be made public for our alliance to function. Iridea bristles beside me but what does it matter? Sooner or later everyone will know. Releasing the information to the public can not bring me any more enemies than I already have, but maybe I could find support. I could follow the King’s tactic and get the citizenry involved. Then, a whole city would be by my side. Still, he does not offer his troops for battle. In time, I will prove myself. Be it with flashy magic or a thought out plan. He will have no reason to decline. In time, I will have an army and I will paint Hyxver’s lands with blood. Let it be known that the Star Elf has returned. Everything is under my control.