Chapter 36 | The memories of blood

The flowers in the pots before Aire darkened, wilted, and died. Those healthy roots spun from her Wield sloughed to rot. The storyteller did not look at them, even as the smell of decay stunk in the air. Both remained kneeling, in the moment, both unsure where to go.

"How is it that you possess such a memory?" Ferdia breathed. "So clear and vivid that it cannot be a falsehood?"

Though the flowers in the pot had died, those that had bloomed under her shawl had not. Beneath it, sprinkled amongst her moonlight hair, would be soft and delicate petals. One tickled her ear now.

Aire cleared her throat, making a show of plucking that flower. Pulling it from her head felt like pulling a clump of hair, but it was only a primrose with a long green stem. Around it, strands of silver were woven tight. "You are asking me a question that you already know the answer to."

"You could have been a child raised in the palace. A young Aether soldier who befriended one of the daughters." He levelled. "I do not doubt that the palace is a busy place."

"Was." Aire curled her fingers around the primrose. "Did they not raze the palace to the ground after they butchered everyone inside?"

"No. Parts of the city burned to the ground, but the palace remains. A shell of its former glory. They say the palace is haunted now, but the Kaelarian people are not as beholden to the passed souls as the Cearnains and Knechru people are."

She hadn't truly considered it before. The spirits that would wander the halls of the salt-stone palace. Her brothers and sisters, her parents trapped in the shell and unable to pass beyond the gate of the North-Star. "Whatever it once was, it is no longer."

"You consider Cearna gone?" there was a thread of anger in Ferdia's quiet voice.

"I have not touched Cearna soil in over a decade. I have no right to consider anything about Cearna, but even in Irial, we heard how yet another rebellion in Cearna had been brutally crushed. Whole villagers pushed over cliffs into the sea. Locked inside their halls and burned alive." The primrose in her hand sludged through her fingers as rot. The memories hurt, but Ferdia had been distracted from his original point. Her gaze flicked to his. "The Cearna I knew is gone."

"Cearna may be under Kaelarian leadership, but I believe she is waiting for her chance." That thread of anger was determination now. Ferdia looked younger, wilder now as the cloak of just 'storyteller' fell away. "They strike hard at us again and again whenever Cearna rears her head and yet, we do not stay down for long. Cearna's problem is that she is divided. Scattered. The leadership was culled, the Aryshalins apparently eradicated. If this Queen was to return, they would rally to her." Ferdia eyed the rot seeping from between her fingers.

"I suggest you bring that idea to Queen Ríona." Aire rose fluidly, shaking the rot from her hands. His rise was slower, his knees clicking as he stood to his full height.

"You are not done here, Aire."

Aire raised her chin. "I am not waiting to be dismissed like some child."

"You are an Aryshalin. I am sure of it."

Tension ticked inside the training room. Ferdia was tense, as if preparing to move if she ran. He was tall and she bet he would be quick, but she had spent years with people chasing her heels and learning to fight in dark corners. If she moved now – a blade to his throat to cut his voice and kill him quick before he could say anything or stop her.

Her eyes closed briefly, as if to shut out the thought. Valherin already thought of her as a volatile and reckless soul. If something happened to Ferdia here, the entire haven would assume her guilt.

They would assume it and be right.

A beat passed. And it would be a terrible and gutless thing to do. She pressed her fingers against the scarred promise on her hand.

Sensing her flickering, Ferdia pressed. "When I met you, you stood under the shadow of the late High-Queen Éalaire Aryshalin."

Frustration bit at her. How was it that after all these years of careful secret keeping, she couldn't hold onto it. She had spent countless nights laboriously combing Rot-wort into her hair and trying to mask her accent. She couldn't help but wonder if it was something more than bad luck; the will of the moon or the old gods returning to throw their hands in to alter Cearna's fate.

Aire answered carefully, "High Queen Éalaire was a legend amongst her people. A dominant force on the battlefield and amongst other ruling nations. She held the threat of Kaelara at bay for many years – so much so that they did not dare attack until she was dead and buried and Cearna was softened by grief."

Ferdia titled his head. "You cover your head and hair."

"A custom amongst Cearnain women."

"Only if a woman is widowed or entering the temple of Danann. Our people hold great importance in our hair. To cover it has meaning."

Aire rocked on her heels. "How do you know that I am not widowed? You know very little about my life and a lie like that could get me killed her. Queen Ríona would not want any challenge to her authority."

He watched her for a long moment. She held his gaze. His growing disappointment was clear to see, and it only stoked her anger further. What right did he have to be disappointed in her? "Your brows have grown paler since you've been here. When you do not have soil in them."

She longed to reach for them. Her moon-damned brows. As pale as her hair. "Dark brows are fashionable in Irial."

"So, you have been darkening them?"

Aire clucked her tongue. "I do not understand what you hope to get from this line of questioning, Ferdia. You constructed a memory from your Wield and saw what you wished to see."

"You are being evasive."

"I am an orphan of Cearna. A child raised to become a thief and a secret stealer. Nothing more."

"An orphan is one thing. An orphan who was once a princess is another thing entirely." Ferdia's voice eased, softening to a lull. "To hide your true self from everyone around you for years would be difficult. I understand that. To hide your Wield was tough, I imagine. But to hide your lineage, knowing there was nothing you could do for Cearna at the time must have been bitterly painful."

"I -," She frowned, stricken by the softness of his words.

Ferdia cut in, like her confusion was an opening to strike. "You are an Aryshalin. I am sure of it. Whether you confirm it now or continue to lie doesn't matter to me. But I think it would be good for you to admit who you are."

For one long, tired moment she considered it. By the moon, she was tired of it. "Yes."

"Éalaire Aryshalin?"

"In flesh and bone and spirit." Éalaire. A grand name that had belonged to her grandmother. A name she had been honoured to share with her, though her grandmother had been the one to cluck her tongue, ruffle her hair and call her Aire. "You know the names of all the Aryshalin children?"

"I am a storyteller. What kind of storyteller cannot recall the names of the high royalty of Cearna?"

A storyteller was a simple name for what Ferdia was and the importance he would have held in Cearna. Stories were passed mainly by word of mouth and that lore travelled with these tellers, passed over dinner and told before the music began. Particularly influential ones were elevated to the role of Druid, or considered protectors of the old laws and passed judgment in small issues that did not need the interference of the High-King or Court.

He had figured it out and he knew. Careful words seemed to fall from her lips but each one dropped lessened a deep and old weight on her shoulders.

"I shed my name when I fled the capitol. Our ships burned in the Bay of Stars, while the unburnt ships with the Kaelarian banners continued to churn out blood-clad soldiers onto the docks. Waves upon waves of crimson-clad soldiers, like a river of blood flooding the streets."

Until it was blood coating the ground and it had been hard to run without stepping on someone. She closed her eyes, but with her world dark, the images seemed starker. She had forgotten many things from that day, filtered from her mind out of terror and shame, but not that.

"I knew the land well enough. I travelled westwards, hoping to cross somewhere safer. Whatever jewellery or pins or silks I wore were traded quickly. I stole clothes and food and slept in bushes. I passed villages and towns on fire, where the people begged for their High-King to help. Word hadn't reached them that he had been dead for weeks." By the gods, they had begged for aid, but none would come.

" I bound my hair and pinned it tight, travelling with a careful of Vespith performers who were flying back. They crossed the Giant's bridge but did return to Vespith. Word had spread that Vespith's heir had been killed alongside the Aryshalins. I had nothing to trade with them, but I think they felt sorry for me. They thought I was a mere girl fleeing the fighting. They brought me to Irial and dropped me off at an orphanage before they moved to Knechru. There I stayed until the Bloodbound captured me."

"How ..." Ferdia breathed. "Hundreds died in the capitol that day. How could you have escaped from the palace itself?"

"I knew the palace halls like no other." The halls and their hidden doors like ink stains in her mind. Like the stone was speaking to her. Even all those years ago. "But there are patches in my memory."

Ferdia considered it. "Like you have no recollection of having a Wield as a girl."

"There is nothing to recollect."

"Unless there are memories there, buried deep and hidden."

"Why?" Swallowing, she felt the sludge in her hands turn back to soft petals. "Perhaps I am not meant to remember that entire day." She remembered plenty. The smell of smoke, the sharp snap of fire and that terrible, terrible heat. Even now, it was enough to strike fear deep into the pit of her heart. She remembered the screaming echoing in the enormous halls of her home. As she crossed the halls, men in Crimson spotting her and giving chase. The blood she slipped on, warm against her palms as she braced against the floor.

Her maids spotting her and standing before her with pairing knives clasped in their shaking hands. "Run, Éalaire."

They had faced death bravely. As she rounded the corner, a Crimson cleaved the head off her first maid. Thea and Lana.

The memory moved beside her, brought to life by Ferdia's ink. She could smell the smoke, the blood on her hands. The dying plea.

"I cannot do this," She wrenched back, staggering through the memory and the castle halls. "I - I," the air was thinning. It had to be. It seemed to thin in the air around her and her chest quickened. It did not help. "I – do not show me those memories again."

"I apologise," He reached for her, then thought better. "I did not mean to push. My Wield can be insatiable."

It took her a few minutes to calm. With each deep inhale and exhale caused the primrose on her palm to wilt and regrow. She braced her hands on her knees, letting herself take the time to calm. Eventually, she said, "I cannot blame you when my rots flesh when I am threatened."

"With practise, that will not be so."

She straightened and fixed him with a sharp look. "I intend to. Tell me, Ferdia. What will you do with this information?"

"Whatever you ask of me."

Voices echoed in the hall. A sharp peal of laughter from Siseal, followed by a reprimand from Anluan. The low murmur of Nyeth and Brice.

"Cearna deserves hope," Ferdia's voice dropped. "Cearna needs a leader, but not one who is not ready to bear that responsibility. The crown is heavy, especially for one who is unwilling."

She didn't know what to say to that. She wasn't unwilling to bear Cearna's crown. She was unworthy. That was simple and yet, she knew he wouldn't accept that. Instead, she said, "The Bloodbound knows who I am."

Ferdia's brows arched. "How?"

"I grew flowers when my blood fell onto the ground. He has known since then."

He looked perplexed. "How strange? Have you had discussions with him?"

"Some. He is evasive and unwilling to answer direct questions."

The corner of Ferdia's mouth twitched. "Then I imagine a conversation between the two of you goes only in circles."

The chatter in the halls echoed louder.

Taking a swift step back, she looked back to the flower on her palm. She thought of that memory that exposed her. The sunlight, the laughter and those faces that she had begun to forget. The other Wielders crowded into the room and Aire turned to them, a bouquet of flowers in her hands.

She laughed as they jostled her, plucking the flowers and crowing congratulations. Brice tucked flowers into her hair and then turned, decorating Nyeth's hair. Siseal pulled at the petals of one. Only Anluan remained stoic, eyeing Ferdia.

Aire ruffled his hair. "I've impressed you all today. Now its your turn to impress me."

"Anluan hates challenges." Siseal told her conspiratorially.

"I like challenges," Anluan defended.

"Only the ones you are certain to win!" Siseal laughed.

Anluan glowered. Siseal laughed again. I waved farewell to the others, stating that she had earned the right to breakfast. Each step down the hall felt lighter and by the time she reached the main-street, Aire was sure that she would take flight and end up floating out of Valherin's great eye.

Aire stopped by the statue of High-Queen Éalaire Aryshalin. Aire touched the wall of the fountain, looking up at that stone face. "I would give anything to hear your wisdom now."

Aire had asked for their advice over the years, though she was sure that they waited beyond the North-Star. As usual, silence was the response.

| Welcome back to Aire's world.

Tell me your thoughts, theories and conspiracies. Do you think Ferdia is trustworthy? Do you think he can help her?  Why do you think Aire's memory is so patchy?

Until next time, Saoimarie |