Eight Maidens To Greet Death

Chapter one.

July eighth is the day that all the New World celebrates--the one day that all who are fortunate enough to wake, smile, sing, and writhe in the glory that is sunshine and cool springs, celebrate. The day that the heavens peer down and rain warmth and blessings onto the people of the earth until it glistens with a slick feel upon their skins and fizzes too sharply in their ears.

The highest day of summer, when darkness cannot venture from the pools of the Lythian River and choke the life from the Nymphius people.

The Summer Solstice brings life into the cold winter days that will close this year. However, on this July eighth, there will only be the feigning of pleasure and warmth. For as the dusk of mortal fragility slinks low over the lands at the end of this day from the Lythian River and clouds out the high, blinding sun, this day will end in the death of one Nymphius girl. A sacrifice that, for all who are present, will sigh in relief upon her fate.

Vaycy prayed to the Zephyrine that she would not be the soul that is chosen, that she will not be the one sent into the undercurrents of their world to be the Hadragonistic King’s bride.

This has been the ever-present thought of Vaycy’s since becoming one of the Queen's acolytes. The prized maidens who were in training so that on the Summer Solstice of the three-hundredth crescent year, one of them could become the new bride and save their world from the darkness.

She knew it was a great honor to be an acolyte and no one of the Lovermornney House would ever dare to utter anything different. Vaycy could not think of her parents when she awoke at night to vomit the anxieties that plagued her as the Summer Solstice drew near.

She was a Lovermornney and to serve the Nymphius people was an honor.

The festival was taking place in the only bordering village to the Lythian River and it was still a day’s travel away.

She could stave off her worry until they reached Wister Woods village.

Vaycy carefully picked up the small sprig of a Smilax flower like she had done every morning of their seven-day journey as she awoke with it on her pillow.

It was a distraction, that flower, from the nearing terror of the festival, but it was also a token of Juniper's affection.

Vaycy could not bring herself to say that her dear friend cared deeper than a sisterly affection her but sometimes, back in the Capital City, when they had a free night from training and would watch the stars shooting blinding scars into the heavens--on those nights when Juniper let her curl up in her warm embrace, Vaycy thought that the smell of the Smilax was not nearly as sweet as what her friend might feel.

It was the only echo of true peace that she had while being a Maiden. But peace and affection are not the catalysts to tip a heart over into love.

Thinking of Juniper, the molten curiosity in her eyes and the fire of her hair, was the best form of distraction and Vaycy thought her friend knew just that.

With a sigh, she traced the sharpened curve of her fingernail down the stem and looked about the tiny private cart that she was given to sleep in. The curtains were still drawn and the door was latched firmly, oak wood on brass, so different from the white-boning work that covered everything from her home village.

Vaycy blinked the thought away and set the Smilax in her sights. As she blew out a pile of heated air, it began to frost and tighten within the damp summer air around her. The frost from her lips coated the flower and the touch of her fingers upon it hardened the frost into an ice casing that bent along the petals and bore down into the green texture of life.

The magic soaked the life of the flower up, leaving only a preserved remnant of what was once beautiful and alive. Vaycy wondered if whichever girl was chosen in two nights would resemble one of her frozen flowers.

Perfect and lifeless.

Chapter two.

The clearing the Queen was given to use was tucked away between heavily barked oak trees and briar bushes. Vaycy thought of their camp as a choir of tents all buzzing as the servants strung up the heavily jeweled fabric that would conceal each acolyte from the mass of villagers that were currently bustling through the village center. Those villagers would definitely have woven baskets full of decorations for the festival tomorrow.

Vaycy loved watching the gems glitter and glow in the sun as they were draped along their strings over Queen Heathertoll’s tent. She always had an odd peace sweep over her at the sight of beautiful things but on the eve of the Summer Solstice Vaycy had no appetite for pretty wonders.

“Such an odd thing,” A singing voice whispered along the border of their regal camp. “A creature of dark delight sitting so sullenly in the shadows .”

Vaycy looked up from her perch, beside a tall pine tree, looking for that sharp, bright voice.

“Such an odd thing,” Vaycy countered. “To have a lonely tree sprite delude herself to the role of a pest.”

“Oi,” Juniper revealed her form at last. She shimmered from the center of a drooping fir tree--not three feet from the oversized pine Vaycy was using as a barrier from the world beyond. “So snappy today, my friend--and when there will be wine and dancing so soon.”

“And the choosing.”

“No,” Juniper stepped forward with her long gait and caught Vaycy’s lips between the soft pad of her fingers. “No worrying or sulking or any other form of misery. We are in your home village, no?” Juniper set on Vaycy the pinnacle look of vicious curiosity. That smile set Vaycy’s heart to pounding. “Show me your home, Vay.”

Juniper entwined their hands, dragging her upright and, within a reluctant moment, both girls were hurtling as quiet as field mice through winding trees and singing flowers that were ready to soak up the sun.

Chapter three.

The village was transformed by color from the bone and wood buildings Vaycy remembered. From the edge of the village center where the girls hid, it was clear the focus tomorrow would be the large stage that was set in the center of the village.

The rest of the village center was lined with booths upon booths and even though swaths of silk and gauzy fabric painted a rainbowed hue over the pallid village of Vaycy’s childhood, she could still see the large animal bones that were curved perfectly amid the wood of each building and booth. Some booths, the ones that would no doubt hold exotic perfumes and sweets, were made entirely of Mammoth bones, imported from their northern neighbors.

“Look at it,” Juniper slapped a slender hand to Vaycy’s arm, making the brown skin redden angrily.

“Watch it, will you!” Vaycy did not move her arm from Juniper's touch but glared at the girl all the same.

“It’s beautiful,” Juniper breathed, leaning forward and almost drooling from the pure desire pooling her soft features in want. “I must have it.”

Vaycy looked where the girl stared and saw the definition of golden delight. It was a clothier’s booth and the garment that had caught Juniper’s eye was magnificent. The skirt of the dress was a riot of yellows, ambers and glimmering, blinding gold. Stitching that was bold and woven into thick patterns of Drodge, the Elephant of Prophecy and the Winged Tigris, and Archerous of Prevision, covered its length. Then, upon the cropped, capped sleeve top was beads of suns and raindrops so minuscule Vaycy wouldn’t have noticed it if it was not highlighted by clear crystals. The border of the cape that was lifted from the ground and draped over a wooden peg showed the astounding craftsmanship of light, golden silk, and raw, harshly-cut crystal.

“Wouldn’t that be the dress to become the Bride in?” Juniper muttered, bitterness and longing swirling in a dulled tone around both girls. The villagers, however, did not pay them any mind.

“You do not know if you will be chosen,” Vaycy snapped, the thought of losing Juniper or even one of the other girls to that dark, hellish world was repulsive.

“Well, we know it won’t be you,” Juniper looked at her, hand sliding down to touch Vaycy’s fingers. A cold spark shot from the blunt ends of her last three fingers to attack the tree they stood behind. “Not with your ‘extra-abnormal gift’ as our Queen loves to say.”

Vaycy grimaced but could not bite out any of the words that were thickening the embarrassment in her throat.

“Sweet Zephyrine!” A voice gasped next to their hideout and both girls jumped--colliding with one another. They both looked toward the new arrival.

“Have you seen such an array of chocolate before?” Balsama, another acolyte and friend, stepped closer to the bustling village center.

“We can’t get too close,” Juniper hastened to grab Balsama before she could run off and gorge herself. “Queen’s orders. No mingling.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Enjoying the sights?” Vaycy offered, knowing full well Juniper would have nabbed that dress if she could have gotten away with it.

Balsama snorted in a decidedly, un-maiden-like way.

“These villagers wouldn’t care if we had a walkabout. One of us is destined to become the Hadragonistic Bride,” Balsama smiled with too many teeth showing. “They would probably give us sweets just to stay on our good side.”

“You’re disgustingly indecent when chocolate’s involved, Bass.” But Vaycy smiled as Juniper grasped both of their hands.

“Oh, what the hell,” Juniper sighed. “If one of us is destined to become the Bride of the Aethervoid then why not enjoy the perks while we can?” And all three girls hurtled off in search of delicacies they were not permitted to explore in the Capital.

They must have spent hours wandering from booth to booth, trying the savory lambs and confections that were readily offered to them once the villagers saw the telltale garments of slate grey and white that marked them as acolytes. Those cursed maidens of Death.

Juniper was devouring her fourth cream and goat cheesecake while they both watched Balsama sweet talk the man at the booth next to them into giving her a basket full of Valley Lilies. The village was known for the flower and the string of poison that ran through its petals would not harm a Nymphius person--except for Vaycy.

The man held up a hand to Balsama and a string of vine sprouted from his skin, blossoming small pink buds that sprung open at her touch. The man plucked the vine and wiped away the smear of blood that was left. Balsama beamed at him and Vaycy was reminded that the magic that called her veins home did not come from the same place as other Nymphius people.

“Would you like a cake too, dear?” The old woman at the booth Juniper was eating at called. Vaycy stepped over and reached out to take the little cake. “It seems your friend is very hungry.” She winked. Vaycy laughed.

“I’ll try to keep her from getting to this one.” And with a hearty bite, Vaycy crammed most of the cake into her mouth. It was pure, warm bliss; and as she chewed, the woman continued to stare. However, that light smile was gone from her lined face.

“I know you,” the woman spoke, loud and stunned. “I forgot they took you to the Capital. I didn’t realize…” The woman stepped back into a pot that was cooling with more cream mixture. “An acolyte. It fits. A wint plagv for the Hadragonistic King.” Winter plague.

The cream cake hardened in Vaycy’s stomach and started to freeze. She had thought that, perhaps, with two years of separation and the maturing of her features, the villagers of her home might not recognize the girl that had killed their crops more than once by accident with frostbite in the height of spring.

“That is a foul thing to say to one of your acolytes!” Juniper hissed, streams of vines pricking the skin of her bare shoulders.

“Leave it, Juniper,” Vaycy pulled her away. The woman would not cease to be frightened and Vaycy did not want to hear that name be belted at her again.

The girls left the eastern line of booths. Balsama, seeing that they were gone, hurried over to them, but did not comment on Vaycy’s dark skin turning ashen. Juniper laced their fingers together and placed a quick kiss to her temple. A pleasantly warm shock raced through her chest.

“Here,” Balsama held out a bit of dark chocolate and Vaycy swallowed it at once. “Jup, look!” Balsama spun the girls around.

Three red-headed girls, all much younger than them, stood holding baskets of ribbons. Juniper whimpered at the sight of them and Vaycy knew these were the sisters she had left behind when her village had given her to the Queen. Without a word or look back at Vaycy or Balsama, Juniper took off for them and as the three little girls saw their sister they promptly dropped their goods and enveloped her in their arms.

“I wish I had siblings.”

Vaycy looked over to Balsama.

“Do you think your parents will travel here for the festival?”

Balsama did not answer but stood staring at Juniper.

“You aren’t alone, Bass,” Vaycy slung an arm around her friend, noticing how short the girl was but finding comfort from her familiar posture. Balsama leaned her head on Vaycy’s shoulder and lifted the basket that was too heavy to swing on her arm.

“I talked three villagers into giving me water-crisps, sugarcanes, leaf lemon toffees, and, of course, chocolate.”

Vaycy peered at the desserts.

“Who needs siblings when there’s sugar?” She asked the other girl, and both laughed--good and hearty sounding.

“Well, I sure hope that isn’t how you really feel.” A deep, humor-filled voice cooed from behind them. The girls whirled and Vaycy came toe to toe with a boy that was hiding behind a fringe of black hair. His brown skin was the same glowing hue as her own and the dimpled cheeks mimicked hers as if he were her mirror-image set in a different mold.

“Oakliv,” Vaycy whispered on a breathe and fell into the embrace of her brother.

Chapter four.

Sage and ash. Her brother had never smelled like anything else. It was the scent of stories that were told under clouds at night and the tickle of pine needle forts. It was peace that Vaycy now buried her face against and breathed into her lungs.

Oakliv held her as tight as she needed and murmured hellos to Balsama who in turn had made her own voice too high and breathless.

Vaycy sniffed the watering of her eyes away and pulled back.

“Oakliv,” She couldn’t help but say his name again.

“I thought you might be wandering around the village center.” Oakliv looked around them, eyes snagging on a booth to the far, eastern part of the festival, and then flitted back to her. “It’s good to see you, Vay.”

“I wasn’t sure Mother would let you come.”

“She would have been hard-pressed to keep me from seeing my little sister after two years.” Oakliv’s glowing, umber eyes dulled. Vaycy shot a quick look behind him, hunting for any warning of a tall woman with black curling hair and a strict face that could make even the Queen straighten her spine.

“Mother didn’t come into town.”

Vaycy watched her brother, aware that Balsama was still breathing a little too heavy behind her. So, their mother stayed in their large house that cradled a stream right on the outskirts of Wister Woods.

“That’s fine,” Vaycy swallowed down the guilt that always sprung like a festering leak inside of her at their mother’s rejection. “I only wanted to see you anyway.”

“Good,” Oakliv began to smile and Vaycy was reminded that her brother was born with shards of the sunset beneath his skin, and, when he smiled, there was nothing but blinding beauty. “I have no intention of letting you out of my sight until the festival starts.”

Oakliv grabbed her hand and turned to pull her down a side street from the village center and more booths with odder wares. Vaycy halted and looked back at her friend.

“Oak, can Balsama come along?” Vaycy held out her other hand to the girl. “I don’t feel like leaving her company just yet.” A wink to Balsama. A sharp smile was the girl's only reply.

“Course,” Oakliv set that bright smile to Bass and all three of them began their eager march of curiosity on the villagers.

They saw things that Vaycy had forgotten: white dragon fish, as large as her torso, swimming lazily down Birch street in the carved out streams the villagers of old had made for them. There was a legend that the fish used to talk to the villagers of Wister Woods as a first warning system if ever the Hadragonistic King ventured up from the hell below.

Balsama marveled at the silk workers and leather cobblers and a booth that was set before a Colors Store and sold an array of paint in every shade that the Nymphius eye could see. Vaycy and Oakliv had as much fun watching Balsama’s reaction to their home as they had retelling their stories from the past two years. Mundane and wondrous, it was a relief to share each experience of Queen Heathertoll’s brutal training with someone that had not grown used to the royal family.

“You’re jesting with me.” Oakliv gaped for so long after Vaycy recounted to him their teachings from the Wise Elders of Delf, that the ice cream that was sitting precariously on his cone toppled off and splattered the cobblestone ground below.

“Not one bit.”

“But that’s...” Oakliv shook his head, neck reddening in indignation for her. “...that’s cruel.”

“What did you think the life of the Hadragonistic Bride would be like?” Balsama asked, using a slender vine that had sprouted from her finger to inch towards Oakliv’s ruined ice cream and grew a flower to scoop the un-dirtied ice cream onto her own, empty cone. “What?” Bass snapped. “We’re not allowed, sweets. You should be ashamed of wasting it.”

Despite himself, Oakliv gave a weak-sounding laugh. Vaycy understood it well. Bass had a gifted way of interjecting humor upon a person when they least expected to feel it.

“Vaycy Lovermornney!” Spit a commanding voice that rattled the stiffening bones of her body. All three looked around to find the village Governor standing before them with Juniper, sullenly, by his side. “What are the three of you doing in the village? You are to be preparing for the Sunrise Dance of Maidens.”

Vaycy could do nothing but stare. It had been 731 days since she had last seen the Governor of Wister Woods as he left the palace estates of the Heathertoll royal family.

“Father,” Oakliv muttered, climbing to his feet. “They were just walking about town. Nothing wrong was hap-“

“The Queen has expressly stated that all acolytes are not to mingle.” Her father’s tall form straightened, even more, shading over Vaycy and Oakliv like one of the pines they loved climbing as children. “I’m taking you back to your camp.”

“No,” Oakliv threw out an arm to Vaycy as she stood beside him. “Father, please, this is the first time we’ve gotten to talk in two years.”

“Oakliv,” Their father sighed. “I will not have my family lose their heads for disobeying Queen Heathertoll. Now, come.”

The girls followed the Governor back through the tiny winding streets of the village. Oakliv staring all the way.

Chapter five.

The jeweled tents came into view. Juniper and Balsama did not hesitate to walk the rest of the length back into the throng of glittering satin and pale, plush whimsy. It was a stark change to the world of peasants and merchants they had just come from.

Vaycy could see Queen Heathertoll sitting stoically behind a sheer, champagne tent lined with pearls. The Queen’s back was to them and perhaps this is what gave her father the courage to reach out tentatively and graze her shoulder.

Vaycy turned, the padding of her friends’ feet fading away. Governor Lovermornney stood and watched his daughter. The look on his face was one of a stranger’s that had grief as a constant companion but found the nagging ache to be none too unpleasant to live with.

“Rest well for the festival tomorrow.” The words hesitated on his lips. “Vaycy.”

Then he turned away and walked towards the lining of trees just as he had done two years ago.

“Acolyte Lovermornney,” The dense voice of Queen Heathertoll called. Vaycy found she wanted nothing more than to curl up at the feet of her Queen and listen to the stories of Old Worlds and newer adventures of their time, but she doubted the monarch would be in such a mood.

Vaycy made her way to the Queen and sat in the empty seat the woman indicated beside her. The Queen took a moment to watch Vaycy over the delicate porcelain cup that was steaming before her.

“Did you enjoy seeing your brother and father again?” It was a smooth question, too light for the fact that Vaycy had disregarded a direct order.

Vaycy swallowed on impulse as Queen Heathertoll took a sip of her tea. “I found myself too excited with the prospect of seeing my family again-“

“Acolyte Lovermornney, am I not also considered among the family you belong to?”

An edged question that had more than one way to slice yourself on. The Queen had been harsh and distant at the beginning of their training, but as time went on, as Vaycy continued to ruck up the simplest of tasks and her magic could not find anywhere to soothe itself but to spurt out of her own skin, Queen Heathertoll had become something of a comfort; a helping hand that did not mind taking the extra time to soothe those nervous edges that froze over Vaycy’s insides.

“You are my family above all else, my Queen.” As Vaycy murmured the words that had been greeting and gratitude to the Queen for two years the fresh image of Oakliv snapped behind her eyes.

“Vaycy,” The Queen smiled now, red lips wide on her dark face and the close crop of her hair shined from the sunlight that lit the pearls of this tent. “I wish to discuss the festival tomorrow. More the choosing that will come at its end.”

“Yes?”

“I suspect it will be Acolyte Saddcap that becomes the Bride.”

Juniper’s flushing face pelted Vaycy’s mind and she became rigid in her seat.

“She has demonstrated every requirement the Hadragonistic King has given to our people for his bride and after the choosing, the rest of the acolytes will return to their families or go on to seek further education.”

Vaycy fought to keep her eyes focused on the Queen. The frantic bleating of her heart zeroing in on a life that was absent of Juniper. To live with the knowledge that her best-friend, her… That Juniper would be damned to live in that other world until her body gave out-

“Vaycy,” The Queen murmured on a gentle breath and Vaycy forced all her attention to the conversation. “I have grown used to having you with me and I dares say I am not fond of the thought that you will be leaving me so soon. You are familiar with Daylyn, my second son.” It was not a question and as Queen Heathertoll set her cup on a tray she did not wait for a reply. “I would like for you to marry him. To become my daughter in full .”

The Queen reached out then and grasped Vaycy’s ever freezing fingers. The Queen softly stroked the coldest part of her thumb.

Marry the second-born prince? As lives went, she would be greatly cared for and to stay with the Queen…Vaycy looked over her monarch, the pure oil-black eyes, and calculating face. Her Queen was everything but sweet in appearance, but she could be kind, had always been that to Vaycy and, perhaps, it would be nice to have a family that would want her. The second prince was nice enough, quiet when Vaycy had met him but he did not have light stitched to his eyes or fire raging through his veins.

“Consider it for me, my dear, hum?”

“Of course, your majesty.” Vaycy bowed her head and as Queen Heathertoll’s hand released hers she knew that this conversation was finished. Vaycy rose to leave but looked once more at the Queen. “It is an honor to be considered by you as a potential member of your family.”

The Queen gave a small smile as Vaycy walked away. If Juniper was truly to be made the Bride then…Then securing her future would have to be the only concern Vaycy had. After all, no one could rescue the Bride once she was chosen, and among the Nymphius people they would think it a horror to do so.

Chapter six.

“Stop fidgeting Vaycy.” Juniper adjusted, for the hundredth time, the sheer silver cape that would be the only cover on her back. The dove-white top cut so low that it skimmed each girl's waist before the swaths of white fabric that made up their pants began. It was only for the granite-hued cuffs on their ankles that kept the yards of spun silk from drowning their forms.

Vaycy looked over to Juniper and Balsama, wearing identical costumes as she was.

“Move, move,” Hissed two other acolytes as they brought up baskets of silver masks. Each girl was to wear one during their second dance of the festival. All around them in this back area that was curtained off at the edge of the stage was filled with baskets upon baskets of gear for the performers that would be the main entertainment for the day.

“Breath Vay,” Balsama grinned at her. “Think of all the villagers as your admiring fans. You’ll do fine.”

“How can she have fans when no ones seen us dance before?” Juniper asked. Bass shrugged.

“How do you know they won’t love her dancing.” Balsama tossed her fair hair back. “After all the sweets the villagers gave me yesterday, I’m imagining the front row will be full of smiling boys too bored with village life cheering for us.”

Both Vaycy and Juniper snorted.

“The Queens about to call us on stage.” Whispered Acantus, smoothing down her silvery cape. “Don’t forget your parts, girls.” It might have been said to them all, but Acantus’ blues eyes narrowed at Vaycy.

She averted her gaze from Acantus, furious at the girls hidden slight but…with feet more meant for hurling through thickets or standing sturdy, dancing was not a music that had been born in her bones.

Vaycy looked out to the thick brush of the woods. It was a hollow of light, no darkness was meant to crouch out of the Lythian River this day.

A tree, twenty paces from the acolytes, faded from the sun-lightened glow and erupted with quiet shadows. Vaycy gasped a silent, startled, cry. Two angled slivers of amber poked through the shadows’ swarm and looked at her.

She tried to suck down air through her nose and grabbed the nearest basket of gear for something sturdy to tether herself to. On contact with the dry straw, ice crawled from Vaycy’s skin onto the woven strands and within a heartbeat, all the contents were frozen solid.

Numb to the ruckus of the girls around her, she looked back to the forest. The shadow and amber eyes were gone.

“Vay,” Juniper hissed. Vaycy snatched her hand away and as her skin left the basket it shattered. Sharpened shards of ice erupting upward. The acolytes tried to muffle their squeals.

“Shit,” Balsama pulled Vaycy away and quickly grabbed the basket and tossed it out into the woods.

“Shut your mouths,” Juniper snarled at the other girls as they stared in horror at Vaycy’s frost-coated hands. “Here, wipe them off.”

Just as Vaycy bent to smear the ice onto the grass, Queen Heathertoll called for the girls to enter the stage.

Chapter seven.

The Maiden’s of the living world, pledged on behalf of their families, to sate the Hadragonistic King’s rage.”

Vaycy and the other girls watched through the slivers of the silk curtain that kept them hidden from the villager’s view as the Queen called out each Maiden by name to take their places on the stage for the Sunrise Dance of Maiden’s.

“Acantus Aster,”

The blue of the girls eyes glinted in a nervous glee as she stepped onto the stage.

“Balsama Enrubio,”

The sun-whitened locks of her friend's hair were tied back in a chaotic bun and disappeared through the curtain.

“Cosima Woodii,”

The tall, timid form of the girl squeezed behind Balsama onto the stage.

“Juniper Saddcap,”

Warm fingers found Vaycy’s and squeezed tight before her friend disappeared with a blinding smile.

“Maple Rafflesia,”

A light glowed under the girls’ dark skin, rich and warm and as she threw back her mane of black hair, Vaycy noted how queen-like she looked.

“Nepenthes Tanix,”

The girls’ cheeks looked as silver as the thread of each Maiden’s garment and her eyes were nothing but pale crystals as she frowned, slipping through the curtain.

“Penna Baylisian,”

Vaycy watched the thick curls that spiraled down the girl's back. Penna was the last Maiden before herself.

A thrumming beat trickled to a roar as every villager took up a steady clap in honor of the Maiden’s whose families had sold them to the Queen.

To be a symbol of honor for their towns.

To be a prized Nymphius woman.

To be a martyr for them all.

“Vaycy Lovermornney,”

~

“When our world was young there was still another, neighboring world, that pressed against our own and in this world, all things of the dark reside. It is called the Aethervoid and the creatures from this darkness thrived in the shadows but found themselves curious with our light.”

The acolytes curved their arms to the side, shifting their bodies into a half-moon and causing the morning sun to glimmer mutedly through their capes. Vaycy panted as she stood towards the back of their staggered formation, listening to the ques in the Queens story.

“Many beasts of dark damnation came into our world and brought us the night. They wondered at our sun and marveled at our flowers, but there was one creature that dreamed more than the rest of the Dark Horde.”

The acolytes stepped forward in a spinning leap, one after another, falling into equal rows of three. As they spun each girl detached their wrist cuffs and snapped them together, causing a clashing lull to fall among the watching crowd, just as the Queen had wanted.

“This creature was the ruler of all that produced agony and thrilled in pain.”

The front row lunged forward into a wailing crouch. Vaycy followed her fellow acolytes in the second row to flourish in glee as they spun in a graceful pirouette at the words of horror.

As Queen Heathertoll hissed and recounted the plague of all that came from the Aethervoid and the eons of darkness that befell their world, each acolyte clapped their feet to a rhythm made entirely by themselves. A thrumming drum that collided with the wakening fears of all who listened, all who watched their retelling of the Old World’s darkest days.

“Then...” the Queen whispered as the acolytes spun out to make the shape of a sun with their formation, bringing up thick silver sheets high above them. As the sheets fell back to the stage it seemed that they hovered a touch longer in that free-flowing air as the Queen turned to the crowd and smiled. “There was hope for the Nymphius people, yet.”

The silver sheets landed like dew-heavy paper and, in a snap, bright orange and red banners shot up from the stage by the acolytes at the end of the sun formation. Vaycy twirled as she was taught, legs held in the perfect, bent way that looked dainty, but had to hold like iron. In a blur of whirling banners made of silken-fire, Vaycy and Juniper stilled in the middle of this cocoon.

“Smile,” Juniper murmured and Vaycy tried to mimic the perfection that was curving Juniper's face. “Vaycy,” The other girl placed a pouch into her palm. “Today is the brightest day of the year. Smi-“

“But tonight-“

“No,” Juniper wound the slender lengths of her fingers into Vaycy’s hair. The soft press of Juniper's forehead rested heavily against her own. Vaycy stepped closer, feeling Junipers’ sleeves brush her stomach.

The smell of Juniper’s jasmine blossom and sweet-spring scent flooded the hollow of space the two girls occupied in the swirls of fabric and banners. But within a heartbeat more, Juniper pulled away and kissed Vaycy on her bow.

Grinning with a high flush to her cheeks Juniper spun them both toward the crowd just as the banners fell and the girls tossed the contents of the pouches in their hands high. White and leaf-green gems rained down.

Children who had been watching behind their parents’ legs sprang forward to grab the tiny gems.

“The Hadragonistic King bartered the absence of his kind in our world for a bride. One perfect girl to spend her life amongst his nights.”

Vaycy, breath clogged somewhere near her tonsils, looked over at Juniper. The girl was radiant, head high and hair fanning from her long neck in tendrils made of burnt sunshine. If Queen Heathertoll was correct in assuming Juniper to be the next Bride, Vaycy did not care how it would happen, but she would rescue her dear friend from such a fate.

Chapter eight.

The festival was a rage of dancing and wine. Both taken with eager frivolity and even Vaycy found herself willing to give all of her senses to any experience Juniper, Oakliv, or Balsama wanted.

It was their one day to live and taste freedom.

It was their last day to breathe and share this life.

It was for this ever-pressing reason that the day seemed to speed through all that the four of them seemed to have done--and in the end, like all days, the sun began to set and Queen Heathertoll called the acolytes back to the stage.

Governor Lovermornney was waiting there as well, curling elkhorn in hand. Vaycy knew what was next and so she did not hide her hands as she reached over and clasped both Juniper’s and Balsama’s. The Nymphius people might find being an acolyte an honor but it was not them that had spent two years learning of the Aethervoid nor forfeiting their life for the protection of the realm.

“The people of Wister Woods and the entirety of Nymphion pledge to you the gratitude we have at your sacrifice.” Queen Heathertoll looked each of the acolytes in the eyes, then lifted a hand to the Governor.

He took a steady breath and raised the horn and blew.

It was a sound like the tearing of a caterpillar’s cocoon, gentle but as insistent as a spring rainfall. Both persistent to achieve life, to fill the world around them. Vaycy had the indecent urge to laugh. The Nymphius people might be nothing more than a caterpillar or rainstorm in their desire to survive or retain the living home that they knew but they did not care for all its inhabitants. They were grateful to the acolytes.

Relieved that it was not them.

A soft patter from the eastern forest sounded in the direction the Lythian River lay and a creature of horror and wonder appeared.

Vaycy had heard stories of the Zephyrine. That antelope woman whose body was too tall and too long but could be nothing else but an animal, with a face that would appear no different than another Nymphius person.

The whole of Wister Woods watched as Zephyrine cantered easily down from the forest and walked slowly, steadily, onto the stage. Even the Queen looked ready to give the antelope-woman a heaping amount of space.

“Nymphs,” Zephyrine greeted .

A small shock shook through all that gathered. Her people might have been descended from that ancient race of beings but Vaycy had never once heard anyone call another by that name.

“My King is due a bride of merit unlike any that has come before. One that will live and bring life to the darkness.” Zephyrine walked in a clopping strut along the line of acolytes. “A maiden of virgin purity that will see the night and open her heart to it. One that will find the enchanting currents of his world and bleed her magic into it.”

The creature stopped in front of Juniper, Vaycy, and Balsama. Its woman’s head straight on its furry neck and looked into each of the three girls’ eyes, then to their hands, and back. Vaycy wanted to close her eyes so that Zephyrine could not see all that she was and all that she could be.

The hollows where the creature should have had round eyes were nothing, but holes filled with shadow.

It shifted and pitched with whatever thoughts were swirling inside of that strange mind and Vaycy found that in the center of her fear she did not want to look away but stare and see if those grey shadows would clear and the whole of Zephyrine would be revealed.

Zephyrine took a turn to measure Balsama and Juniper. The creature stepped closer to Juniper and Vaycy tightened her grip, feeling the frigid leak of her magic slip into Juniper’s palm. Both her friend and Zephyrine shivered.

If the creature was about to announce Juniper as Bride, she would freeze the Zephyrine until it shattered. Until this whole village was nothing but splinters of ice cutting into its people. She would not lose her. Not like her parents, or brother. Not Juniper. Anything but-

“The Bride,” Zephyrine breathed and with a startled realization Vaycy felt Juniper's hand go limp in hers.

The need to see what state Zephyrine’s consuming gaze had on her friend was pressing on the backs of her eyes and itching down her arms, but Vaycy could not look. Her sight remained on the full, grotesquely human mouth of Zephyrine as she paused in doling out their agony.

“Yes,” Zephyrine murmured again, her upturned nose widening as she smelled the sweet spring and jasmine scent that perforated from Juniper. “You will be the Hadragonistic Bride.”

A silent moment as all the maidens continued to stand before Zephyrine and then like a bull roaring the gathered Nyphmius people cheered.

A dull mewl pilfered Vaycys’ ears and she stepped toward the half-woman creature that was no better than hells messenger but the hoars frost that swam in her veins stilled, causing Vaycys’ breath to stutter out of her.

Then the unmanageable magic inside her began to boil.

Vaycy slumped to her knees, teeth gritted and unable to so much as a gasp. All the other Maidens stayed still and silent. The Queen and the Governor watching on with panting breaths.

Zephyrine lowered her furry elongated neck, the haunches right above her shoulder blades standing on end.

“Not all death is permanent and not all goodbyes mean farewell.”

Vaycy scraped her fingers against the waxed wood of the platform.

“I give,” She forced through the hold Zephyrine had doled out with painful mastery upon all that was rooted to the platform. “myself.”

“One, that is of your kind, would not survive his palace. Death already knows you. She,” Zephyrine sought the fire-bright of Juniper's tall figure. “She is life.”