I: Orsella

In the west, the morning sun had begun to rise on Orsella Din Trellis’ eighteenth birthday. It slowly poked out from behind the horizon, tinging the sky a rosy red. Gradually, High-Mountain began to rise from its slumber. The morning markets opened, the docks far down the slope began to come to life, and the bells of the Royal Keep began to sing of the Princess.

Soon, the sun shone bright in the sky. Orsella groaned, the light shining through her eyelids, and lifted her covers over her head to block it out. There she lay for a while, the softness of her bed too irresistible to leave, caught up in the remnants of last night’s dream. Until a dull knock came to her door. ''Damn them. I just want some sleep.''

“Go away,” she yelled through her sheets, keeping her eyes closed. The smell of bread wafted in and made her stomach growl.

“Princess Orsella?” a soft voice called from behind the door. “I’m afraid we must come in.” A moment later, the door swung open and Orsella heard multiple people enter. She threw the covers from her head, finally peeling open her eyes. Malara—a timid little girl no older than fifteen—pulled back her bed’s curtains, letting even more light in. At the same time, Dellore—a tall woman with curly brown hair—placed a tray of food on her table across the room, her stomach pleaded once more.

“S-sorry, Your Highness,” Malara whispered, curtseying awkwardly. “W-we need to dress you for your visit to the Gra—”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Orsella threw the rest of her covers off and got up. When she crossed the room, Malara immediately began to work on remaking the bed. Yawning, she plopped herself down in front of the table and began eating a breakfast of boiled eggs with thick slices of toasted bread.

“Good morning, Princess,” Terissa said as she entered the room. “And may I say, happy birthday.” The oldest—and easily the favourite—of Orsella’s maids, Terissa Kinkaid wore her chestnut hair in a long braid that ran down her back. Her woollen gown matched her bright blue eyes. Often, people had commented on how similar the two of them looked. ‘Like sisters with separate mothers’ her father had once said.

“Thank you,” Orsella said, smiling as she ate some of the toast. “I feel as if I’m still a little girl, not a woman grown.” And soon a married one if fa has his way. Once she was finished with her breakfast, Terissa began working on her hair, brushing her dark locks until they shone and curled about her shoulders. Then, with the help of Dellore, Terissa slipped her out of her white nightgown and into a long, golden dress with a flower pattern embroidered on the fabric. A silver tiara was placed on her head and a golden necklace about her neck. Malara—her head so low that Orsella could only see the top of her blonde head—brought a long mirror so that she may see herself.

“You are beautiful, my Princess,” Dellore told her as she examined herself. ''Yes. Yes, I am.'' She smiled to herself just as there was another knock at the door. All the other girls gave a gasp and immediately dropped into deep curtsies. In the doorway, Orsella’s father stood smiling at her. For a man of fifty, Rellan Din Trellis was finally beginning to look his age. For years, grey hair had threatened to take over from his blond mane; now, it dominated it. Even his close-cropped beard had lost the war. But his eyes, even though the corners were marked with wrinkles, remained as warm as his smile.

“Thank you, ladies. You may leave us, for a bit,” the King said finally, his voice soft. The maids went, closing the door behind them. I wonder if they’ll actually leave, or if they all have their ears against my door right now. “You look magnificent, darling. Happy birthday.” Orsella smiled from ear to ear.

“Thank you, fa,” she stepped towards him and pulled him into a hug.

“I’m going to be away for a few hours,” he told her as he pulled away. “King’s business. I’ll be late to the festivities, I’m afraid.”

Orsella frowned. Why today, of all days? “But I thought—”

The door swung open suddenly. A man Orsella remembered from somewhere walked into the room. “Ah, there you are, Your Majesty,” he said. “Lord Jaeger told me you’d be here.”

“What the bloody hell do you want, Dorter?” Rellan asked, turning to face the man, annoyance flashing on his face. “It’s rude to enter a lady’s room uninvited.” The man—Dorter—finally appeared to notice Orsella standing there. He was a well-built man with thick shoulders and the straight, well-trained posture of a man in the Din Trellis army. His face told little of his age or experience, though his cheeks were beginning to sag and his head was devoid of hair.

“Deepest pardons, princess,” he bowed stiffly in Orsella’s direction, then immediately turned back to her father. “Your Majesty, I was rather wondering if we could once more discuss…”—his eye flicked to her for a moment, then returned to Rellan—“that subject we were talking about the other day.” Another flash on her father’s face told her that ‘the other day’ really meant ‘again’. He turned back to her, slipping on a smile.

“Sorry, little duck,” he sighed. “The King rarely rests. Even on birthdays.” With that, he had to leave her. She smiled as he left with Dorter, but it vanished from her face the moment they disappeared from view.

*

The Grand Temple was a fifteen-minute carriage ride down the slope of High-Mountain. If not for the Royal Keep, the large, hexagonal stone building would be the tallest in the city if it were laid flat. Its steep roof, with its blue tiles and bronze sun on its tip, could even be seen poking out from past the outer walls that encircled most of the city.

Waiting at the front doors of the temple was Voice Taylor, the eldest of the voices at High-Mountain. Probably in the world, too, Orsella thought, stepping out of her carriage and placing a smile on her face. At least eighty, the old man’s face was a drooping mess of wrinkles. Any hair he had left on his head was thin and white, matching the colour of the wooden stick he leaned on. Like all other voices, he wore the long blue tunic of the Voices of the Six, though his had a golden sun pinned onto it to signify his seniority.

As Orsella approached, Taylor looked her up and down, grinning like a child. “Happy birthday, my Princess,” he said. He gave a slow bow, wobbling on his stick. “You are most beautiful today.” ''Quit staring for once and let me in. I don’t want you undressing me in your mind’s eye any longer than need be.''

“I thank you, Voice,” she said instead. “I was hoping to fit in a prayer circle before the celebrations began. Will you be attending?” By Amatera, please say no. I don’t want to feel your eyes on my breasts throughout dinner. Orsella did enjoy visiting the Grand Temple, praying to the statues to the six gods had always given her a sort of cleansed feeling. The only part that had discouraged her—even from a young age—was the ogling eyes of Voice Taylor.

“I’m afraid not, Your Highness,” he told her. A knot released in her stomach. “As much of an honour it would be, I will be joining the other Voices in a prayer circle of our own. In your name, of course, Princess.” She painted another smile on her face as he led her inside. The large hall within, lit by torchlight, contained a statue for five of the six gods; each stood against one of the walls. For Amatera, the sun itself, suspended in the air with wires. For Gaius, a mountain tall and grand, with symbols of trees carved into the marble. For Merina, a giant wave. For Polo, the moon, pocked with craters, also hanging in the air. And for Rota, a mighty dragon, frozen in place as if ready to take off. The only God without a statue was Shinda, an empty plinth stood on the wall where It should have been. ‘Death is everywhere’ Rellan once told her. ‘There’s not a soul on this world that could capture It on marble’.

At each plinth, Orsella knelt, flattening her dress, and placed her hands over her face. There, she repeated the same prayer. Starting with Amatera—Its was just by the doorway—she went around each of the statues and repeated the same plea.

“O Lord,” she started. “I beg for Your grace. Give my father strength. He faces great struggles in the ruling of his kingdom. Bring my brother back to us, I know he wishes to reach High-Mountain in time, but I fear he will be too late. I miss him so. Please give him the same strength our father has so that he may rule as well as him.” Each time she mentioned her brother as she knelt in front of each God, something ached in her chest. The last letter she had received from Cormac had been over a month ago—when he had set off from Cavernite. He’ll be here soon, whether he’s here for my birthday or not.

When she had finished, Orsella bade Voice Taylor farewell. The old man bowed again and she made her way back to her carriage, which was waiting for her in the same place it had been left.

*

The Great Hall had taken only a few hours to be filled. At least two hundred people had been seated on long wooden tables that had been brought into the huge room. People Orsella had never met in her life. Are they here for me or my father? The symbol of house Din Trellis hung high above her table at the front—the split circle, one half blood red, the other jet black.

On her right sat her Aunt Qyther. Quietly nursing a cup of red wine, she still looked young for a woman of forty-five. Her long brown hair, braided and curled into a bun, still retained all its colour. Her green eyes always had a sharpness about them that unnerved Orsella—as if they could cut through whomever she looked upon.

On her left, her father’s chair sat empty. She gazed at it for a moment, until Robyn Dan Jaeger poked his head forward from the other side.

“He shan’t be long, Princess,” he told her. As Second Monarch, lord Dan Jaeger had served both her father and grandfather in their times as king. ''I wonder if he’ll live long enough to serve Cormac, too. Perhaps he’d even make him a Din, too.''

Orsella smiled. “Of course, lord Dan Jaeger. I just worry that he’s pushing his strength a little too far.” At least far enough to miss my birthday celebrations. Robyn took a drink from his wine, wetting the white wisps on his top lip.

“You needn’t worry, Your Highness,” he said. “The King still has plenty of strength left. It’s my job to know, after all.” When he smiled, the scar running along his cheek creased, adding to the growing number of wrinkles on his face. If she recalled correctly, the scar had been given to him at the Battle of Pincer Bay—the last that took place on Tochi.

She dismissed her thoughts of her father and the final battles of the continent just as the first of the entertainment began to come. First came the magicians. Faux sorcerers using cheap tricks of the eye, she thought. The smile on her face began to hurt as the fools approached the table one by one. For a half-hour, she watched as the fools made blunted swords appear and disappear, as they span and switched clothes in the blink of an eye, as they produced flowers and offered them to her; of course, she had to take them. From their tables, the onlookers watched, gasping and gawking, and she wondered whether their amazement was as fake as hers. Next to her, Aunt Qyther was staring at her nails, her face barely masking her boredom.

Next came the musicians, then the jugglers. More and more performers came and Orsella pretended to enjoy them all, but it was a fruitless endeavour. The king’s absence brought with it a knot in her stomach. What could he be doing that’s so important, he is missing his own daughter’s birthday?

When the King finally came, it wasn’t from one of the doors within the castle, but one that led outside. Everyone in the hall stood up at once, but Rellan waved a hand, and they began to sit down once more. This time, he was wearing his crown, the Black-Steel it was made from was inlaid with gems and stones, wrapped around his head like it was modelled specifically for it. He wore his red and black cloak about his shoulders. It dragged behind him as he slowly approached Orsella’s table. Even Qyther had looked up from her fingernails.

“My beauty,” he said. She kept her face still, unsure whether to be angry at him or not. “Pardon my late arrival, but I think you’ll find I’ve not come alone.” He turned back towards the door and Orsella’s eyes widened. Being led by a stablehand was the most beautiful unicorn she had ever seen. Its hair was jet black with a mane and tail as white as the clouds. Its horn, long, thin, and sharp, was a shining silver.

She stood slowly and made her way around the table. She met with the unicorn in the middle of the hall, her father by her side.

“Oh, fa,” she managed, a swell of emotion choking her for a moment. She reached a hand out and stroked the side of its neck. “It’s…he’s beautiful.” Rellan smiled wide, the years seemed to drain from his face.

The celebrations began anew when the unicorn—‘Shella’ was its name, after her great-grandmothe r—was lead back to the stables. This time, the musicians, magicians, and jugglers all pleased Orsella much better now that she sat next to her father. Soon, though, dinner was served and the entertainment returned to their tables. If the hall was lively before the food had been served, it had become practically chaotic after the fact. Meats and pies and jellies and fruits all topped the tables and soon the hall was filled with its smells, reminding her of how hungry she had become. Next to her, Rellan ate a plateful of thickly sliced beef. Orsella chose a pie packed with chunks of chicken and topped with a flaky crust.

“Your Majesty,” a voice said as she was digging into the pie. Looking up, she saw a man with black hair and a clean-shaven face. His eyes were a piercing blue that went well with the symbol on his belt: a rushing river. The few people closest to the table had begun to take notice of the man and were watching him intently. He bowed to the King so deep that he almost kissed his food, then turned to Orsella, his striking eyes almost made her forget the food in her mouth. “Your Highness,” he bowed again.

“Ah,” Rellan said. “You must be…Por, wasn’t it?” he nodded, smiling.

“Lord Reese Van Por, at your service,” he bowed again. The onlookers began to whisper, one even drew a hissing breath. Even Orsella was taken aback. ''A Van approaching the King’s table without permission? This man has some courage, I’ll give him that.''

“Yes, of course!” Rellan said, then turned to her. “Orsella, you know of house Van Por, do you not?” Suddenly, she became very aware of the chicken pie still in her mouth. What is happening? She swallowed quickly, trying to remember the name from somewhere.

“The Van Pors…of Merina’s Choice,” she recalled, her eyes shifting to the river on the Lord’s belt. Van Por smiled again.

“It’s an honour to finally meet you, Princess,” he told her. “They told me you were a beauty but I must confess their description of you was watered down.” ''This man…a Lord? He’s quite young for such a position.''

“Tell me, Lord Van Por,” Qyther spoke for the first time, her eyes narrowing a little. “Why is it you’re here, exactly?” Reese opened his mouth.

“Now, now, sister,” Rellan interrupted the young Lord. “I actually invited the man. He has only recently received his Lordship, and—”

But Orsella had already made out the truth in her mind. “You’re trying to make me choose this man, aren’t you?” For a moment, the King’s smile wavered.

“Oh, Rellan,” Qyther sighed. “By Rota, have you truly stooped as low as to invite a Van here to woo your daughter?” Orsella’s heart beat hard in her chest. The knot in her stomach had returned once again.

“I won’t!” she said. Reese Van Por backed away slowly. “I won't have my match made for me! I hoped you would see that!” Rellan looked back at the crowd of people that were now growing quiet.

“Orsella, you’re a woman grown now,” he said, a softness in his voice. “It’s high time that you were marrying. I hoped you’d find a man years ago, but—”

“What about Cormac?” she asked. The silence had become, but she didn’t care. I don’t give a damn who these people are. “Cormac is your eldest. He’s the heir to the Empire. Isn’t it he who should be needing of a wife more than I am?” Rellan blinked slowly and took a deep breath.

“I will be having this talk with your brother upon his return, too. I didn’t wish to interrupt his studies at Cavernite with a woman,” the calmness in his voice irritated Orsella further. “If it’s Lord Van Por’s name that you dislike, I can just as easily make him a Dan, if you wish.”

“I don’t want him!” she said, rising from her chair, the tears slipped from her eyelids before she could wipe them away. “And I don’t need you to give me a husband!”

She ran from the hall before Rellan’s calls could stop her, down the hallways, up flights of stairs, until she reached her room. She lay in her bed, her head under the covers and curled into a ball, for what felt like hours. Eventually, her tears dried out and she could hear the celebrations echoing in the halls. Celebrating me without me present. She closed her eyes and let herself calm down. ''He means best, doesn’t he? I’m sure he meant nothing by it.'' She rolled over, a sudden fatigue hitting her that she didn’t resist. ''I’ll apologise to him tomorrow. I just hope he won’t try to shove that Lord upon me once more.''

Orsella fell asleep.

And the next morning. High-Mountain mourned.

Trivia

 * First appearance of Orsella Din Trellis
 * First (and last) appearance of Rellan Din Trellis (Alive)
 * First appearance of Malara
 * First appearance of Dellore
 * First appearance of Terissa Kinkaid
 * First appearance of Dorter Van Harris
 * First appearance of Voice Taylor
 * First appearance of Qyther Din Trellis
 * First appearance of Robyn Dan Jaeger
 * First appearance of Reese Van Por