Word Count: 2589
VII
There once was a deaf man who spoke of trees. He claimed that their voices were the cool breezes of the night, the showers of spring, the snows of winter. They were serene, they were mournful, they were wrathful. And when they spoke, only the man heard the whisper of their words through the disturbances of nature.
One day, the man took his grandson into the forest at night to listen to the trees. It was windy and the black canvas of sky was wrapped in a blanket of cloud so thick no star could shine through. The boy shivered through the chill of the hour, though his grandfather, sheltered from the cold with nothing but a thin layer of clothes, continued into the shade of the forest as though it were a hot summer noon.
"Can you hear them cry?" His grandfather asked, staring up distantly into the thick branches above.
The boy strained his ears to listen, but could only hear the wind in his ears, and the rustle of leaves.
"No, I cannot."
As if he had heard, his grandfather grabbed his wrists and pushed him against the tree, his eyes shut. Then he whispered, "You will."
When he opened his eyes, the colors of his eyes were gone, leaving but a blank wash of white. The boy screamed.
It was as though the wind had suddenly become solid. It crushed his body, and when his grandfather stepped away, he fell to the forest floor. The wind pushed inside of him, and he could feel it down his throat, through his nose. It filled his lungs and clogged his ears until he heard the screams.
The trees were screaming.
He pressed his hands to his ears to try and make it stop, but the cries came from within him and no amount of effort and pleads could hinder them.
Then suddenly, it all went silent. The screams halted and vanished.
The silence was most deafening.
He could hear nothing. Not the wind, nor the leaves, or his own breathing. He cried out in anguish, but could not hear his own yell.
His grandfather was suddenly before him, his eyes white and glowing.
"The trees are afraid." His voice boomed loudly in his mind, the only thing he could hear. "They are afraid." His grandfather's voice trembled. He was afraid too. "But not of what was or what is now. No. They have left-the voices of the trees. They have left because they are afraid of what will be."
His grandfather receded, and his voice faded. He was already heading back home, leaving the boy in the forest.
"Wait!" He tried to call, but it seemed no words came out. If his grandfather could hear him speaking like he did before, he made no indication of it. "What will be? What will happen?"
"Afraid." His grandfather was suddenly ten feet away, pointing behind the boy. "Afraid of that."
The boy got to his feet, painfully and slow, then turned. Behind him was
Was. She had been stuck on that word for days, staring at the blank spaced that followed and wishing that ink would simply etch itself onto the paper. When she was worried, or afraid, or even simply bored, she had always picked up a pen and notebook. But it had been days since she had written something good, scribbles and crossed our words turning her story into a jungle.
It had also been days since she had left her room.
To think of such a beautiful place as a prison would have seemed near impossible before, but as Calida spent more time wandering the corners of the room, glancing out the window, she felt the burden of the shakles to her wrists and ankles all the same.
Lucien had not returned since his disappearance the first day, but Isobel had managed to keep her company for a few hours of each day.
"You're stories are lovely, Your Majesty." Isobel said as she finished reading everything Calida had written in her notebook.
Calida cringed. She still had not grown accustom to being referred to as Majesty. "Please, call me Calida."
Isobel bit her lip in hesitation, before nodding. "If it is with your permission, Ca-"
"I recommend you do not finish that sentence, Isobel." The doors burst open and Lucien swept in, his mouth pressed into a line, his eyes hard. "It would be improper to call your queen by her name, wouldn't it?" Lucien was dressed in a dark uniform that seemed too heavy for the season- the same uniform the men days before had worn.
Calida looked between herself and Isobel. They had been sitting on her large bed, cross-legged, reading her stories. She was still in her nightly attire, and the bed was unkepmt from her restless sleep, which Isobel was suppose to have fixed when she had gotten to Calida's room. Nothing about their actions seemed like the proper interactions between a queen and her subject.
"Yes, yes it would, Lucien." Isobel turned to Calida and bowed her head, slowly slipping off the bed. "My apologies, Your Majesty. My behavior was inappropriate."
"No! You were not-"
Lucien interrupted, "Isobel, you may go. Her Majesty has business to attend to."
Silence followed, and Lucien stood by the door, arms crossed, waiting. With a sigh, Isobel trued twoards the door and Calida sent her an empathetic look. The blonde girl shut the door behind her with but a slight click. It was the only noise in the quiet moments to follow while Calida ryed Lucien weakly, trying to determine what he wanted. But the boy's face gave off no hints.
Calida exhaled slowly, "What do you want?"
"You have duties here as a Queen."
Calida held up her hand. "Duties? I've been held in this room for days! How dutiful."
"You will simply have to trust me on this."
Calida scoffed and got up to cross to the point of the room farthest from him. "I have no reason to trust you! You killed Thea and you kidnapped me."
Lucien sighed, his stony composure crumbling, and he ran a hand through his messy hair. "I can assure you that she is fine."
"How can I bel-"
"One hour after Thea's supposed death, your young sister woke up in her bed, completely unharmed. When I did not shown up to take her to the party, she went anyway, though hours late. She stayed there for a few hours, got tipsy because a boy stood her up, then was taken home by her friend and passed out. Currently, she is at the market with your mother." It was the most he had spoken to her, and his words stung slightly.
Calida gulped and lowered her eyes. "Do they not even care that I am gone?" A sort of shame flooded her, augmented by the fact that Lucien was there to witness it. Her parents had never cared for her nearly as much as they did for Anthea, she had always known that. Yet she had never thought them so insensitive towards their eldest that they would not care if she were missing. Her heart tightened slightly in her chest, and she refused to look Lucien in the eye for fear that he would see all the hurt she felt like it was painted on her skin.
Lucien took a tentative step towards her but paused when Calida stiffened. The last times he had been near her, things had not gone well. "That's not the case. They just don't know that you're gone."
Calida barked a bitter laugh. "How is that any better?"
Lucien sighed and shut his eyes for a second, like he was searching for words. She could see the exhaustion when his eyes were closed, and his hair was messed up as though he had run his hand through it many times. It was incredible how young and vulnerable he almost looked then, though the looked ended a moment later when he opened his eyes.
"How do you think Thea is alive right now? You saw me push her into the fire right info of you, yet she is alive and home at the moment. How?" His voice is hard, like he spoke to a grown child that refused to learn.
Calida scoffed, "I don't think Thea is alive right now."
Gold eyes flashed with annoyance. "So say that she is alive. The way that you believed Thea was there in the fire is the same way your family has not realised you have gone. To them, it seems that you are at home, just as always. Except you've been asleep since."
"That's impossible." The words that came from Lucien sounded as if they had been spun from her grandmother's innovative mind. They belonged in a fantasy story; not in her customary life. However, nothing had been truely systematic in her life since Lucien found his way into it. The gravity in her life had disappeared, and everything floated out of order, unpredictable.
"It may seem that way now," he sighed, "and things may seem unusual. But life will always change, Calida, and the only way to survive is by leaning with the flame and not into it, or you'll burn."
It was a strange metaphor, and yet the significance it had to her own life made her shiver. She felt his gaze travel to her eye patch, and it seemed he was speaking about the story it represented, though he couldn't possibly know.
Turning her back to him so he could not see her face, she whispered, "Is this the only reason you came? Is this why you took me here?"
Instead of an answer, she was met with the sound of his footsteps. Calida stiffened when he came next to her, but he continued to pass her, making way to the other door in the room. She had not dared to open it before for fear of what laid on the other side. Lucien's hand met the golden handle and opened the door without hesitation.
Silence met them.
Lucien raised an eyebrow, taking in her plain expression. Behind him, she could see a dark corridor, lit by torches hung on the walls.
"Let's take a walk."
Had there not been torches lining the walls, the corridors would have been black as ink. There were no windows, and the fire painted a yellow glow down the halls. It was incredibly warm, and the crackle of fire left Calida on edge. She drew hers arms together in attempt to keep away from the torches, despite the distance between the walls.
Lucien walked slightly infront of her, leading her down the hall. She felt as if its length was everlasting, and panic began to seep in. Her steps trudged and slowed, scarping against the dark carpeted floor. Following Lucien was foolish. Not trying to escape had been foolish. There had been so many opportunities to attempt and escape. What she would do after she escaped her prison, she wasn't sure. However, anywhere seemed better than trapped in there. Lucien was taking her for a walk, and they had exited through a door from inside her room. That must mean the door lead to an exit all along.
Or rather, an exit that did not involve Calida plummeting to her demise.
Yet the panic subsided when they turned a corner and at the end of a short hall, two doors were illuminated. Lucien opened the door to the left, and Calida flinched when she was met with a burst of pure sunlight. She stepped through the door and allowed her eyes to adjust.
The first thing she noticed was two pairs of amber eyes peering curiously at her.
Calida blinked once, believing it to be a trick of the light. Two children, both peciliarly blonde, stood before her. Lucien shut the door and came up behind her. The girl of the pair, seemingly a handeful of years younger than Calida, gaped openly at Calida, a bundle of blankets cradled in her arms. The boy, slightly older, had his mouth pressed into a tight line, reminding her of ever-solemn Lucien, but his eyes were slightly widened.
"Lidi, Lev." Lucien's voice drew their eyes away from Calida for a moment, and Lidi's mouth clamped shut. Lucien stepped forward and turned to Calida slightly. "Apologies, Your Majesty. They were just small children when you died, and their memory of you is not too keen."
Lidi and Lev both took a sharp breath. They dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. "Your Majesty."
Calida shot Lucien a glare, who returned hers with a serious look, motioning towards the two. She didn't know what to say after they bowed. It had been just as awkward when Isobel had done it, and the word "rise" caught in her throat.
Lucien sighed. "The two of you, finish up."
They rose then, scurrying to their feet and exiting in the opposite direction. Only then did Calida properly view the room. It was spacious, with large couches and tables along the edges; it seemed to be a simple lounge room. Two draped windows on each wall allowed the sunlight to enter, a deep contrast from the dim, torch illuminated hallway they had just gone through. Lucien stood with his arms crossed, allowing her a few moments to sweep the room with her gaze.
The beauty of it all left her slightly breathless, but Lucien had given her little time to recover before motioning for them to continue.
"Come on."
He lead her across the room towards where Lidi and Lev had left. It exited into another corridor, brightly lit with windows to view the town far below. The tour seemed to last forever, down halls lined with closed doors, staircases, and through empty rooms. Each room her breath away at the sight of them- she doubted she would ever grow used to such beauty after living in her rundown home for her whole life thus far.
Yet there was no one around. The only two others she had seen besides Isobel were Lidi and Lev.
Lucien led Calida towards a staircase, and she peered up at the steps dauntingly. Her legs were already tired, and the stairs seemed to stretch for miles. Lucien, however, began to ascend them without a moment's pause, and Calida huffed along behind him. She was panting by the time they reached the top.
"Why is this place," she puffed, "so large? It's like a castle."
Lucien's face gave no expression and he said plainly, "You are suppose to be the queen. Where else are you suppose to live?"
Biting her lip, she flushed and turned her face away. He made no comment on her silently implied clueless, and began down a hall towards two large wooden doors. When he threw the doors open, she stepped inside and spun in a circle, eyes wide.
The room was brightly lit through many large windows, draped with red curtains. Two glass doors led to a balcony, and the walls held paintings of beautiful landscapes. What really caught her eyes, however, was on the far wall of the room.
A painting of a large fire bird hung behind a beautiful golden throne that glimmered like fire.
And besides it was a portrait of her.
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