The Chronicles Of The Council #1: The Sun's Tears

Bonus Chapter 1: Caith - Fragile

I have seen her once before - while her father was still alive. I was curious to see the Ardam King as I did not get involved during the times of his conquests. My brother would have killed me if I had so much as breathed the same air as one of his favourites. For reasons that I cannot fathom, he greatly admires the Vaubadons.

I can't even remember how I came to be near the princess as she was just a six-or-seven year-old with muddy, bare feet roaming the castle and the apple orchards. I wonder what happened to the orchards. They were quite magnificent - spanning this entire mountain slope. She had a crown of flowers in her pale curls and somehow ended up giving me one of the bruised flowers. Perhaps I should have kept the flower and not thrown it into the nearest shrub.

My attention is called to the present by soft feet on stone. Princess Aebbé is dressed in blue - a sign of courtesy to my order. She seems out of breath, as if she ran here. I doubt anyone else will notice it, but it is part of my curse: observing all that others barely see. At first glance there is nothing significant about her, a human in a blue dress, but her scant jewellery immediately catches my attention - only two small golden earrings, barely noticeable. Usually the human nobles display their entire jewellery collection at the same time; every time.

Her hair is pulled into a simple braid, barely containing her curls; pale skin from not spending enough time in the sun, yet more tanned than that of the other ladies in the hall. She frowns when she takes her first step, but then seem to realise that she shouldn't be frowning. At first her smile seems to be plastered on, but soon it changes to a genuine smile that she tries to hide. It baffles me why.

She seems to halt when she passes Eoghan and then flashes him a brilliant smile. She momentarily stops in front of our table, intimidated by something. I steal a glance at the king and his brother - now understanding her reaction. Their rage is evident in their scarlet faces, but then she continues to her place without a hint of her previous hesitance.

"Sister, you are late. We started the feast, because we did not know when you will come, and we could not wait for a single girl."

She bites her lower lip, but refuses to respond to his insult.

I rush to her aid, not because I am a knight of valour, but because I find this king despicable. "King Friduric, I am sure that the Lady Aebbé has a valid excuse for her tardiness. Do you, my lady?"

She almost smiles, but suppresses it as her big brown eyes - warm and honest, yet isolated - locks with mine. For an instant it looks like she is about to start giggling, but then her expression turns somber again. I feel her eyes boring into my being, sizing me up, and I find myself hoping that I measure up.

Her compassionate eyes still hold my gaze and she pierces through to my sadness, stirring emotions I have forgotten. The irrational fear that she sees past my disguise - into my sadness - and knows who I am comes to mind. Curiosity flickers in her eyes, quirked by whatever she saw in mine.

She takes a moment too long before she answers. Her answer seems to be well thought out and composed.
"My lord Commander of the Second Order, I am honoured to welcome you at our table. I beg your forgiveness for my late arrival. I was delayed at the tent for our injured soldiers. I could not abandon them in their hour of need."

A pensive moment passes. I withdraw my words: there is something significant about her, and it is truly upsetting that I don't know what makes her unique.

A devilish thought crosses my mind and I decide to see what she does if unsettled. We have yet to get acquainted publicly, as last night and this morning's meetings was outside of court.

"Princess Aebbé, it is an honour to meet you. I have heard tales of your beauty and your unusual behaviour, but I have never believed any. I must confess that I believe them now."

The words are uttered before I wove them together coherently. Did I just tell her she is beautiful? On the Ancients, I think I did! It is customary to compliment noble ladies when you greet them, but I have never done it until now.

She frowns, as if I have just insulted her.

The prince prevents her from giving me the reply she is formulating: "My sister would do well to do her duty more often, and not behave as curiously as she does."

Her face scrunches up into another frown. I never knew someone could have such a colourful variety of frowns!

Before I can stop myself I retaliate in her stead: "Prince Ferdaid, I meant both parts of my statement as compliments. It is not often that you meet people, especially those born of nobility, who are prepared to leave the security and comfort of their homes, in order to help nameless soldiers. Princess Aebbé, you are your father's daughter in that aspect. He was also bold and courageous. That is what made him the conqueror that he was. But please, take your seat, my lady. You must be famished and tired after your work."

Why did I just give her father a compliment? I despise the man. He took what wasn't his to take and oppressed my people.

My reactions tonight is truly perplexing and I don't repay her incandescent smile with one of my own. Standing up, I tell myself that I am just being polite by pulling her chair out. I wait until she takes her seat before pushing the chair back and resuming my own.

"It is told that you are a healer," I state, knowing I have to strike up a conversation as etiquette dictates, but also because I am intrigued.

"I am. My father and Master Elan thought it a necessary skill for the daughter of Ardam. I was trained by Master Elan for a few years before going to Inwir City." She doesn't seem pleased with the answer she has given, or she doesn't like talking about herself.

Intellect flash in her eyes as she calculates something. "But I have not been introduced to you, my lord. I know that you are the head of the Second Order, and that is all. You already know my name, my brothers' names and that of my father. And you know where I reside most of the year," she says, not impolitely, but guarded.

Fearing that a true and elaborate answer would allow her to decipher all that I am and was, I retaliate with an unbecoming answer: "I am Caith. My father's name and the town that I come from are not important or relevant."

She seems momentarily taken aback, but then she starts chattering. "Lord Caith, it is an honour to meet you. How long have you been serving with your order? Was it not very difficult to distinguish yourself in your order? You are still quite young, even by the measures of men."

"I may be young, and human, but I am the best in my order."

Divulging anything about myself would allow her to pick the seams of my being apart - and how fragile and frayed are they!