Tales of Dead Kings 3/?

Adelai

Adelai knew that Ev would find her. He always did after all (it did help that she'd sent for him). In fact, she was almost certain if there had been any sort of historical reference to the matter, her brother would have perhaps been the best Prince to ever have played seek and find in this era—if not all the eras. Ever. Perhaps that was slightly biased, all things considered, but Adelai couldn't exactly be bothered with all things. She was far too busy reminiscing about when this part of the castle had last been used—and waiting for Ev to come.

It had been years upon years ago, she knew, sometime during a battle or a war. She had been just over there, sitting on the ledge-work that surrounded what was now an overgrown mass of weeds, but had once been a carefully tended bed within which a flowering tree had grown. Ev had stood half across the yard—they were fighting at the time, yes, over what, she couldn't quite recall—talking to what's-his-face of where-ever and Lord something-with-a-Q. Never mind the details. Whatever it was that her brother was being petty about at that moment had long since stopped bothering her and her full attention had been placed on the newest member of their family. And never mind Tantara, while she was never-minding people. Gods' only knew her sister had thrown this together for a bit of attention. Attention that should have been at Adelai's feet, where her niece gurgled in a very baby-ish (and not to mention un-queenly) manner.

But no one really liked to take note of small things like that until they did something cute or smelly. The latter being taken care of out of sight by some nurse maid or other while the former... Well, it was up to Auntie to take care of that. She didn't mind in the least. Perhaps one day, when her niece was old enough to walk and talk for herself and all of the court fawned over the young Princess, Aunt Adelai could tell them it was nothing new and they had simply failed to notice thus far.

Surely, though, there was one thing they would notice, without a doubt, but most likely never mention in her presence. Thank the Gods her hair is red. It was such a blessing, to be sure, that the girl had not met the same fate as the few of her bloodline... No, the girl's hair—even in infancy—was a deep and vibrant burgundy. She was not a Silver. The Flame had kissed her. She would not end up like her Aunt...

Adelai looked up then, hearing footsteps entering the silence of the bay-side courtyard, and smiled. No matter their youthful bickering of days long past, Evarin was her dearest brother—her smile became a smirk—even if he was copper-headed and herself marred with corn silk. It was their brandy-wine eldest sibling at the source of all the trouble—but that was what too much of the Flame did to you. Rather than silently melding into the background, you went mad.

“Adi?” had white-lashed, blue eyes turning upward to meet ones nearly black. Evarin was nice enough to remove his helm then, in case his younger sister could not recognize him by the familial name.

She returned from the past without much hindrance and offered him a slight bow. “Sire,” addressed him in a joking manner. “Pleasant weather, yes? Though I do hear the sea breeze does terrible things to chainmaille.”

“Adi...” rose again, but with a distinct note of exasperation. Plush lips curved at the tone, breaking to show just a hint of teeth. Yes, it was childish of her to pick on him, but if not him then who?

“Yes, dear brother,” she said, finally standing and brushing at the black skirts of her gown. Admonished, “Of course,” her head dipped again in his direction. Before those blue eyes could raise, however, she was alerted to the presence of their audience by the clacks and scrapes of metal-on-stone as sworn men took the knee in the courtyard. “Sir Anders,” she directed to the first knight. “Sir Rhys. You may leave us. Be assured we are safe nowhere if not here.” The Aavartti men waited an appropriate amount of time before their lead stood with a Sir and My Lady and dismissed himself. Rhys Haele and, what she could only assume were the few and far between men Lord Perquin had been willing to spare, took a bit longer, though. They shuffled to their feet, more than anything—an older gentleman requiring help to rise and Sir Haele, himself, doing the aiding.

And then grinning at her.

Of all the things. It was the sort of grin only achievable by those still doused in youth, as the young knight was. Surely he thought it winsome and, surely, it was quite grand as far as maids of the countryside were concerned. His, “Lady,” though, and the bow that went with it only made her blink, despite.

Once all of the men's backs had turned and vacated the space, she tilted her face to the side and up to study that flat-line expression her brother now wore. He was very good at that stiff, unsmiling-ness. Without hesitation, she took up a line that would have belonged to their father, under different circumstances, “Come, now, hug your sister.” Adelai held out her arms in case he had forgotten how. Evarin thankfully closed the space with no questions and hugged her loosely—and briefly. It was only at her scowl—and patronizing dusting of his attire—that he finally greeted her in earnest.

When the embrace broke, “You summoned me?” was managed on his end.

“I may have exiled myself to be with Father, but I-” unlike someone she knew, “-have retained my place here.” A Silver she was, but as long as their ailing father drew breath, she was still of the Blood. And she could still wield the Aavartti.

He ignored the chance for argument she'd given him. “And how long since you arrived? I've only had word of the King's untimely demise for a week. We rode hard to get here.” She figured he had driven them hard, most likely. If for no other reason than to give Sir Haele the fewest opportunities to speak as possible. His voice quieted to near a whisper, “Even if you had the Fleet at your disposal, Tenate is three weeks off.”

“I have been traveling since before then,” she answered simply, if only for that hint of irritation that crossed his face and had his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

His next concern, of course, would not be her, but, “Father?”

“He is fine,” she assured. “Tenate is an isle of priestesses. There are plenty to keep him safe in my absence.” Rather than wait for further questioning, she tacked on a quiet, “I missed my home. You don't know what it's like... You've only seen him twice.” Ev didn't reply. Still, she had missed her family—home. Not the way it was now, but the way she remembered it.

In the vision, her father stood tall. Nearly black hair—that seemed to catch fire in the room's light—only just beginning to give way to the grays at his temples. His right arm was outstretched, O'duren, his sword, thrust at an imaginary foe. She and Ev watched with nothing less than child-like enthrallment from their seats on the floor, breaking into giggles as their father dropped the sword and quickly fumbled to cover his hand with the white sleeve of his shirt. Waving it in the air, he yelled. “And then the thing bit off my hand!”

“But Papa,” Evarin had objected, “you still have your hand.”

“Magical, Kingly powers of regeneration,” was enough of an explanation, at the time, for Adelai, but Ev had just shaken his head.

Nonetheless, “Tell us about the good dragons, though,” was demanded.

Then, Father had shaken his head, looking tired. “Not tonight, Adelai.”

“Please?” they had chimed in unison. “The sand dragons!” Ev added, smiling.

“Yes, papa, the sand dragons!” she called out, as if it was her idea, jumping onto the bed with a bounce. “After that we'll sleep so soundly you won't even know we're here,” she promised.

“Alright, alright,” he had sighed. Both of them knew he would be telling the short version, but there were no complaints even as their father's voice picked up pace. “It is said that, long ago, the great dragons of the world all converged in the wastes. It was a meeting, of sorts—there were dragons that were Kings-”

“Like you,” she grinned.

“-And dragons that were councilors. Somme were old and wise, while others were young and full of fire. They talked for several days on how to bring peace to themselves and the world of man, but, all was not well. Far, far off, farther than you can think, there was darkness breeding—biding its time and looking for a weak spot. And if found it here.

“Man was young, then. We still relied on the old races and had yet to gain the power to truly defend ourselves. Without the watchful eye of dragon kind, we were helpless. No one will ever know what the darkness had planned, but, instead of simply destroying the people, it went after the minds of the good dragons—attacking mercilessly for days and weeks and months until ever last one turned to stone—and we could not help them.”

“And then they became the sand?” Ev asked, getting a nod in reply.

“Dragons all but vanished from the lands. But that's not the end of the story, for, you see, the Wastes are growing. Some say the dragons are still multiplying—living their lives even as sand—and now the darkness is long gone. Occasionally, a lost caravan will spot one trying to take shape and rise from the desert—bringing them water or protection until they can safely be on their way. The people claim that one day, a great inferno will come to them. It will burn so long and so hot that the sand dragons will all melt. And, what happens when you melt sand?”

“You get glass!” Adelai could remember the awe in her voice—even if she had heard the story several times.

“Yes. And then the glass will cool and the dragons will be whole again. They say that on that day, magic will return.”

She could fell her brother climb into the bed, then, before sleepily asking, “Will I be able to use the magic?”

“I don't doubt it. Magic has run in our family since long before we came to this land.”

“As long as it skipped Tara...” had been her drowsy whisper. Father had simply shaken his head, at that, and kissed their foreheads, not bothering to take Ev to his own room...

Blinking back, she was almost startled by how much her brother had aged. Nowadays, it didn't seem possible that he had ever been the type to enjoy a bedtime story. Although, Adelai assumed, that had been the last one they'd truly enjoyed—after all, she had long since blocked out how that night had ended, but, on occasion, her nose would still prickle with the scent of blood as she drifted to sleep.

“You should go back,” he said, unnoticing of the amount of time that had passed for her since she'd last spoke. “It's not safe here, you know.”

Though, she noted, he would never say why. Adelai knew, of course, and didn't even flinch at, “Because she killed him, you mean?” They both knew their eldest sister was capable. “Because, even though you can't step up without breaking your vows, I could still technically produce a legitimate heir.” It wasn't as entirely unheard of as was thought. There had been a few rare occasions in which the child of a Silver had managed just enough of the flame to sit the throne. “Maybe that's why I left Tenate. The only man there is Father, after all...”

She watched him blink at her for a few, quiet moments.

“The King is dead,” words she had spoken before. “What do you think she will do now?”

His still gloved hands fell to her shoulders, griped them and gave her a small shake. Adelai didn't fight it, though, she knew he was stubborn. “I think it's all the more reason to go back!”

Send her back to the Gods' Shore and Father, yes. There was a possibility that he was right, but was she the only one who felt the sense of imprisonment in it? It wasn't like he had spent the last five years in a foreign land with a dieing man who didn't know anyone anymore... “No,” she said, eyes set on his. “This time we fight.”