Penny

My gasps echo in the king's throne room.

His grip is taut around my neck, fingers impressing their stay upon my skin as his brows draw in anger, lips set into a displeased expression.

 "You will tell me of the Heavens' visions when and where they come upon you. You will find that here, in this kingdom, mercy is far from me."

Contracting his grip once, he releases my neck, throwing me below the foot of his throne, down the set of steps before it. Pain grips the bones of my right thigh and shoulder as I land on my side, upon cold, stone floors and ground pebbles.

Tears threaten to overcome me as I recall being told of the Doloran king's cruelty. I find myself at its beckon, and that knowledge alone adds to my overwhelming sadness. Allura had been right. I'd had everything a village girl could ever want-- a palace, the love of an ascending monarch, and a noble family who loved me. Why did I ever wish for something beyond that? How could I have?

"There is something more awaiting me out there, the search for my identity is not something that can be satisfied with pretty dresses and hundreds of attendants," I'd said.

My lover held me in her arms, knowing of her doom, wishing only to make love to me and savor our ultimate moments together, and I repaid her love with ambition, her affection with disdain. And now she lies in our sleeping chambers, her body weak with illness and her heart stricken with grief. Now, it is she who lies with her crimson locks splayed about her fair countenance, now her pillows are those surrounded by speedwells, roses and daisies.  

And now it is my burden to carry the knowledge of my own imminent end while my lover slumbers in indefinite enchantment.

The future lays bare before my eyes, and I see her in the realm of my dreams. I see my end, and I see hers. My lover was seldom wrong, it was her virtue-- and that which made her a fearsome commander and a formidable enemy. Had I not urged her lips to spill forth knowledge, the truth behind my illness and identity, perhaps the Fates would have taken pity upon us and altered our fate. Perhaps we would find their kindness and wed as we both so earnestly wished.

I would have made a fine monarch, I should be so content as to live in the outskirts of her shadow, if only to continue gazing upon her and loving her, even in ignorance of me. I never knew my family, never once set eyes upon them, but my lover was set in believing they loved me and sheltered my curse a secret for many years, so it must be truth. 

But my thirst for the beyond far succeeded my love for the palace, and now it is this blunder I must live with.

"Fair Eithne of Nolan," a voice mocks, laughing, eliciting the laughter of the noblemen present in the king's court.

I've heard of their greed, and of their love for profit. These men are noble in name, but honor is far from them. The people of Dolor work themselves to exhaustion as the wealthy feast upon the fruits of their arduous labors, sucking dry even the marrow of their bones after years of working the barren earth. 

A hand suddenly appears beneath my chin, forcing my gaze upwards. 

The face of cruelty mars my vision, ugliness his expression. With tendrils as inky as the feathers of a lone raven and lips contorted an unpleasant curve, the king of Dolor is renown as the Master of Deceit and Bringer of Chaos. 

My lover's lips did make known to me the horrors of the Kingdom of Lovely's division. It was none other than he, Evil's ally, whom bore the stain of the moon's envy, and fostered the growth of the seed which brought chaos and destruction upon the people of Lovely. He brought upon his own people poverty, hunger, and illness-- but Fate held naught his thread in disdain always.

Once upon many years ago, in his youth, he was an illustrious warrior, a bringer of justice and keeper of peace within the gates of one prosperous Lovely.

Lovely's songs tell of his conquests and glorious exploits when its soldiers come forth victorious from battle, speaking of the legendary guardian of harmony and how Lovelish youth have overcome even him in the battle fields.

"The moon writhes with envy," he laughs, striking pain to my heart. My lover spoke to me sweetly those words two nights ago. Only someone within the palace walls would know what was uttered in soft tones that evening-- or perhaps someone once welcome within my chambers.

The acrid taste of betrayal travels up my throat, unfurling in my mouth as bitter acid.

My lover would betray me naught, this I know for certain. Her kisses are honest, her lips are dripping only with honey, not falsehoods. Her love is not seeking, it is pure. As virtuous as an early lily in blossoming Spring.

Certainly. 

"Pray, fair Eithne, what secrets have the Heavens made known to you?"

The King's voice is scornful, his tone shameful. But the Heavens and Fate are not to be made a mockery of. Within the last diurnal course, the Heavens granted me a most horrid vision. A vision of destruction, of loss, of my and my lover's ends. And of the king's end. Of the fall of an empire.

My voice is broken, eroded by pain, my lover's betrayal and her imminent end-- but it is clear. And it is solemn.

"The heavens have granted me a vision."

The King is surprised, but he is pleased. In my vision, the one which came to me after slumber forsook me, the Heavens made known to me his plans for my gift. Many years he has been given to atone for his transgressions, to repay his debt to the Lovelish people, but not one opportunity did he take.

Instead, his heart's greatest desire is conquest, to know the future and be one step ahead of his enemies. Once again, greed has overcome him, and the object of his wishes is the land which lies beyond the Neodrach fields-- a land of prosperous people, of produce and game, and water as pure as the ambrosia of the gods.

His features are almost earnest, though his eyes lack the unsulliedness.

"The lands beyond your borders will once again be whole--"

Ambition reflects in his dark irises, anticipation in his grinning mouth.

"But their sovereignty belongs to another."

His lips quickly dip in displeasure, and he thrusts his arm forth, summoning a guard to force me into submission, spouting words of hate and indignant-filled ire. But I am not the future, I am but its ambassador. The Heavens turn to the stars for their age-old wisdom, their sentence hangs in the balance of the universe as the Allotter determines struggle, and her sister the Inflexible, the end.

I wield merely their gift, a mere reflection of another's power. Shaking my head, despite the pain coursing my veins distributed by my withering heart, my voice is clear as day. He has asked for the future, and the future is comeuppance. 

"The ruler of the lands of Lovely is not one tarnished by Evil's stain. Their heart is struck naught by the moon's greed. In their heart lies only the best wish for their people. Your days of ruling are numbered, Bringer of Chaos. Your iron fist will yield to your avarice, your nobles to the rebellion of your very people, of whom you have taken from but not given. The empire of Dolor will fall, and along with her, her king."

The court has fallen silent.

Nobility and king alike look upon me with disdain and quivering lips. Enraged, the king reaches for my arm, eyes alit by insult.

"You dare slight your king!? You insolent, worthless Lovelish whore! Now, you will know the severity of--"

I expect pain to come. The sting of a palm, the brunt of furled fingers-- but for a moment nothing comes. Instead, seconds later, chaos envelops the court as the king is interrupted by an onslaught of spears and a single sword which flies across the room in one seamless, protracted spiral.

My heart soars as for a moment I am fooled by my own wish to look upon my lover, thinking perhaps Fate has taken pity upon me and delivered me from my doom. But, when I look to the court's entrance, I realize my savior is not a woman clad in shining knight's armor with the gales of the west pivoting about locks of titian luster. 

No, my hero is naught but a man dressed in sable attire, with coils of copper-- as if he himself were an envoy of the Fates come to free me from the clutches of the Master of Deceit. With drawn brows, I watch him stride a path to me, his eyes anchored to my spot by the king.

This was not in the vision the Heavens granted me, but for the first time since my lover's quarrel with Allura in the Neodrach fields, two words immediately come to mind. They do not slink into the shadows of my mind, hidden from my understanding. They are forthright, blaring before my eyes as strong, blinking lights.

Penelope Sanchez.