31, October

Everlight

Snow blankets the mountains of my hometown in late October. The sky is dark by late afternoon. And I layer wool blankets on top of chunky knit sweaters on top of fleece leggings if I must leave my flat.

     But here in the capital city of Everlight, the sun still paints golden ribbons across a lavender sky as the marble clocktower on the Crystal Prospect chimes eight times. The street lamps come to life slowly, like little stars flickering into the atmosphere. And I’m draped in a tulle skirt wider than I am tall, under a tight, satin bodice, under a fluffy, mink wrap.

Autumn Fridays back home meant settling in with a book in front of the fireplace in my attic apartment, my brother, Trey, with a fresh sheet of paper and a smoothly sharpened piece of charcoal.

Autumn Fridays in Everlight mean three hours in front of a gilded mirror. Irene bronzes my skin, outlines my hazel eyes in charcoal black, and brushes shimmering powder over my cheeks. Tie the corset up tight and I’m no longer longer the pale Trader girl from the mountain village.

My least favorite part of the process is shedding my metal-framed spectacles. Whoever my birth parents were, at least one of them was far-sighted. The candles go a little blurry when my maid stashes my glasses in their velvet pouch and tucks them in a pocket of my dress.

And before I know it, I’m descending the grand stairs of Charming House, a painted horseless carriage waiting for me in the cobblestone drive.

The night is beautiful, and strangely, so am I.

I  can get used to the coconut oil in my thin, yellow hair. I can adapt to a fast-paced city, Her Majesty’s palace towering over the Prospect lined with mansions that look like babies compared to the palace. I can even learn to make nice with all these glitzy Royals inside their fancy homes.

But I won’t ever forgive them.

Because though I smile my shiny pink lips, and dance my part in their silky waltzes, the Trader in me will never forget.

The Royals are the reason my family is dead.

~ ~ ~

31, October

Everlight

This sparkling, candle-lit, straight-out-of-a-fairytale ballroom is the last fucking place I want to be. My shoulders are cold. My elbows are tickled by the flouncy sleeves. And my hands are sweating in these white, silk gloves that I’ve already smudged lipstick all over.

I’m filled with dread.

I’m not one of them.

And I want to go home.

But there is no more home. My parents saw to that when they tried to kill me before I was born.

“Lady Nichola!” A simpering voice grates against my ears. I try to look away but Sidra Van Claire has already narrowed her pointy eyes on me. The Court Favorite is followed by her annoying coterie of airheads. One has a sheet of black hair, one has strawberry gold curls, and one has yellow hair almost the same as Sidra’s. What a show of diversity.

“Are you not looking, sugary, this evening?” Blood red lips open over blinding white teeth. I’m not sure which is brighter, Sidra’s enamel or the wide tiara resting on top of her pile of curls.

I hate that her description isn’t far off base.

My dress is poofy, scratchy, silky, and lacy. Doused in pearly beadwork and several diamonds.

And a shade of unmistakable virgin white.

“Oh, yes,” Strawberry Gold Hair pipes in, a malicious sneer spreading across her matching red lips. “A little treat for Caritas Van Aiko to devour tonight?”

I’d like to wipe the glee off all their faces. And if I were back home, in my ripped jeans and heavy boots, I would.

But I’m not Nixa Chai from a small mountain town anymore. I’m Lady Nichola Van Iris, long lost granddaughter of the Countess of Wisdom, and everyone expects me to act as if I’ve always been so.

They also expect me to perform my first Ritual tonight at midnight. Because I’m Royal now, and Royals have only one job.

Make babies and rule the queendom.

~ ~ ~

22, September

Shadow Hill

I’m not lonely. Trey says I am. He says I put up walls, and I don’t let people in, all because I was separated at birth from a mother who tried to kill me in her stomach more than once.

I’m not supposed to know, but I do.

Maybe that’s why my hair never grew in. The rest of me is pretty normal. I have a dark birthmark the shape of a teardrop on my inner thigh, and a big bald head, but other than that, I’m nothing out of the ordinary.

Sorry to disappoint you, birth mother. I’m still living.

~ ~ ~

“What we’re doing is not living,” Trey growls next to me. His boots,  caked in mud and reeking of manure, stomp over the packed earth path underneath us.

Purple thunderheads chase us to the fairgrounds where the festival is already underway. It’s Autumn in the northern hills and days shorten to crisp, silvery evenings. Trees glow golden with pops of red berries, and amid the foliage, white tents are erected to celebrate the Autumnal Equinox.

My favorite season is summer, with her endless sunshine and the dance of heat over my skin. But I appreciate the balance the first day of Fall brings to the world. Today only, there are equal amounts light and darkness in the world.

After today, darkness takes over.

“We don’t even get to enjoy most of the festival,” Trey continues his rant. “We’re just there to clean up after the spoiled Royals.”

“We get to watch the parade first,” I offer, trying not to let Trey pull me into his whoa-is-me funk.

Three rules when you’re a Trader: learn a trade, marry when you’re told, and adopt a baby when you’re told. The rules for the Royals? Well, I guess they don’t have any. That’s why Trey hates them so much. As long as they make babies, the get to live like goddesses, the lot of them.

But they do put on a spectacular show. Ornate carriages painted in Autumn colors and covered with yellow chrysanthemums and red roses roll through the center of the white tents. Madame Mayor leads the procession, a mother five times over making her the only Duchess in Shadow Hill. Next comes her oldest daughter, the Lady of Harmony in a royal blue ball gown whose skirts dip over the sides of her carriage. She is expecting for the third time, if the rumors are true. But she’s also had three losses so I don’t blame her for not announcing anything to the Council yet.

And here comes the Council in a procession of gold-painted chariots pulled by chestnut mares. These six women determine everyone’s fate in Shadow Hill. They decided Trey would go into agriculture, and that I would go into herbal healing. They also decided Amma would adopt us both. But as Amma always said, they didn’t make her love us, we did that just by being us.

Goddess, I miss her.

The parade ends at the largest white tent, where coaches and chariots deposit their passengers at the grand entrance and then park along the riverbank, creating a colorful line along the black water.

The youngest Van Audrey granddaughter is performing her first Ritual tonight. Though I hardly have any interest in watching, Traders are only allowed to bare witness once a year, and it’ll be noted if I’m not present. So I break off from Trey and follow all the other women from town along a path of broken white seashells and red rose petals to the Van Audrey tent, where the Ritual is just beginning.

~ ~ ~

The Baroness Van Audrey sits in a mahogany armchair dripping in blood-red peonies. The full moon casts a double in the river’s reflection beyond the tent, bathing the celebration in a silver glow. The sound of rushing water only enhances the commanding presence of the Van Audrey matriarch, sitting upon her throne in a teal gown and a jewel-encrusted diadem, like a water goddess herself.

“Happy Harvest, friends,” the soft voice of a wispy, sheath-robed priestess says as we enter. “We are honored to have you bear witness to the Ritual of My Lady’s youngest granddaughter. Please make your way behind the pavilion…”

An intimate circle of Ladies sit in white chairs, on bales of hay, or stand around a dais erected on the riverbank. Us Traders take the standing room left, crunching on dead leaves and dry grass begging for the rain on its way. Thick white candles light up the space, some floating in glass bowls of lavender water, some raised on silver pedestals. A block of marble in the center of the dais is covered in layers of animal skins and bright white sheets trimmed in lace. The same wispy priestess now kneels at the head of the stone altar, ready to preside over the Ritual.

And draped leisurely across the furs, showing not the slightest hint of trepidation, is Levana Van Audrey, chocolate hair falling to her waist, shiny locks tickling her alabaster skin.

Her suitor, some Lord whose name I hadn’t bothered to learn, sheds his black cloak and joins Levana on the altar. The sheets preserve their modesty, though Levana’s breasts bare themselves to the witnesses, her nipples pointing up to the watching moon. But the silhouette of their coupling is clear.

Levana Van Audrey is no longer a maid in the small town of Shadow Hill.

She is a Royal Lady now, claiming her title and her power this night, and if the goddess is watching with benevolence, this Ritual will produce a child for the greatness of the queendom.

~ ~ ~

There was blood after that.

But so entirely unforeseen, it’s no wonder Trey panicked.

I was watching the Ritual, watching two people, born into Royal blood, born into the gift of being able to make life, create life before my eyes.

And then my stomach cramped, barreling me over it was so insistent. I grew woozy. The pain in my abdomen was too much.

The clock in the town center chimed a dozen times. The last thing I saw before falling into darkness was shock on my fellow Traders’ faces, horror on the Royals’ faces.

My eyes traced down from my snow-white blouse to my trembling hand, grasping at my linen pants, my hand now dotted with dark, crimson blood.