Sprucepaw flopped into her moss bed, tail hanging limply over the side, and gave a shudder of relief.
Her head still pounded terribly, but the silent darkness of her room within the twisted tunnels calmed her considerably.
Branch, a dark brown she-cat with green eyes, scurried into her room silently. She was the favorite of Sprucepaw's three maids, mainly because she didn't talk that much. Well, at least to Sprucepaw. The young princess wasn't sure if that was the case when she wasn't around, but she didn't mind. Noises bothered her, and while Lilac and Nettle were pleasant enough, they felt the need to chatter.
The small maid carefully placed a piece of wetted moss next to Sprucepaw's head. The grey tabby she-cat accepted it gratefully, nodded ever so slightly to Branch (to avoid hurting her head further) and lapped it up greedily. She paused, realizing she wasn't really acting proper, but then figured she was practically alone so what did it matter? She continued until the moss was quite dry.
"My Lady," mewed Branch softly. Sprucepaw met her soft green gaze and blinked for her to continue. "Do you wish to go to your waterfall?"
Sprucepaw tilted her head thankfully to Branch, who always knew what she needed. "Yes," she mewed, wincing as her voice came out somewhat strained and hoarse. "That would be wonderful."
The princess stood up, tail flickering gracefully behind her as she was taught. Her head pounded again, rather violently, and she winced. "Um, Branch? Could I go see a healer first?"
Branch hesitated. "This is the third time this week," she pointed out softly.
Sprucepaw suppressed a hiss, as she knew that her anger was caused by the pain pounding through her. "I know," she replied. I know they're running low on herbs and that I'm wasting a ridiculous amount of the crown's money paying herb gatherers to relieve my pain. But I'm selfish and just really want it to stop.
Branch flicked her tail, then moved her gaze to Sprucepaw suddenly. "My Lady, are you ordering me to find a healer?"
Sprucepaw winced, knowing exactly what the young maid meant. Branch didn't agree with her seeing the healers, and wouldn't do it as a favor. However, as she more or less belonged to the descendants of Creststar, she couldn't disobey a direct order from her given Princess unless the King himself halted her. "Yes," hesitating, Sprucepaw replied.
Branch's expression darkened, but she lowered herself into a bow. "As you wish, my Lady." She left the room, posture stiff, and Sprucepaw collapsed back onto the moss.
Some part of her felt bad for ordering Branch to do this for her, to force her to do something that she didn't want. But the pain was too great, and movement was too hard, and she just wanted the pain to go away and leave her alone.
She curled up in the center of the moss, tail curled around herself protectively. Her eyes were shut tight, and the room was dark enough that no light entered them.
But blocking out the light didn't stop her pain. Instead, it forced her to focus on it, and it felt like something was squeezing around her head, like a tail that someone had clamped right above her eyes and was tightening continuously, with sudden bursts of strength that made her whimper in pain.
She once had asked her mother why her head hurt all of the time, and Brindleflank had told her gently that it had come from Sprucepaw's grandmother of FernClan. Wavewood-- for that was her grandmother's name, though she had died before Sprucepaw was born-- had told Brindleflank that the pain was not a curse from StarClan but simple preparation, testing her and preparing her for pain so that when challenges came, she would have already conquered another and be prepared.
"It's your job to endure them," Brindleflank had mewed, grooming a young Sprucekit's fur carefully as the kit curled up tightly. "StarClan wouldn't give them to you if you couldn't handle them."
But Sprucepaw couldn't handle them, and even though she knew she was weak for asking-- no, begging for herbs, she couldn't help it. And when her head pounded and squeezed, her thoughts were squeezed out of her head, and she couldn't even try to concentrate on anything at all.
Today was the worst of all. She had an idea of where they came from-- though she couldn't know for sure as she was the only one she knew of that got headaches-- because they would appear whenever she hadn't eaten or was under stress or, sometimes, when it rained and thundered outside. Today, she thought, was probably the stress of the ceremony--
She froze.
The ceremony.
She opened her eyes suddenly before wincing and closing them; she couldn't remember what was different about having -paw after her name. She'd passed the test on history and politics and all the noble families, after much practice and many failed attempts, only yesterday. She'd passed it a little earlier than her cousins, Fawnpaw and Silkpaw, had: they'd passed at eight moons and her at seven-and-a-half. Maybe she should ask them what she was supposed to do? Her head was hurting too much for her to remember.
She opened her eyes, a sound reaching her. There were suddenly two sets of soft pawsteps outside of the entrance to her den. Their scents drifted towards her: Branch, of course, and Lamb, one of the healers.
The white she-cat approached Sprucepaw, cautious. "Princess?" she mewed. Her voice shook slightly, but Sprucepaw had become used to that by now. That was just how her meow sounded. "Are you awake?"
"Yes," Sprucepaw responded, with a snarl in her voice that she hadn't intended. She forced her eyes open to look at Lamb straight in the eyes.
Lamb shuffled back a half step. "Sorry, my Lady," she mewed. A cat that Sprucepaw vaguely recognized as a kit of one of the maids hurried up next to Lamb and neatly deposited a bundle of something. The white-furred healer unrolled it carefully, observed its contents carefully, and carefully dumped them onto a piece of moss, which she lifted and placed next to Sprucepaw.
Sprucepaw licked up the mixture hurriedly, wincing slightly at the strange taste of not just the individual herbs but all of them combined, before forcing herself to swallow them. Her head pounded violently, and Sprucepaw cried out in pain at the sudden increase in pressure.
"My Lady," mewed Lamb, "I apologize, but the medicine takes a little while before it starts working."
Sprucepaw nodded, somewhat annoyed; she remembered that.
The white she-cat cleared her throat nervously. "I-- this is the last dose that we have mixed up." She paused, hesitant to continue. "We've run out of chervil, so we'll have to get more from Sunny and-- oh, my pardons, Princess, you don't need to worry about that, but it might be awhile before we have more herbs."
The princess nodded absent-mindedly. "Thank you...for your service to MistClan," she mewed.
Sprucepaw saw Lamb bow through the sliver of her vision; her eyes were almost closed. "May I take my leave, my Lady?"
The grey tabby nodded, eyes shutting completely-- the herbs always made her sleepy. "You may."
There was the sound of footsteps echoing through the hallway softly, and Lamb's scent faded away. Sprucepaw exhaled, her head still throbbing but feeling relieved that she was, for all intents and purposes, alone now. The only sounds that her ears could pick up now was the sound of Branch's and her own breathing, which echoed around the room faintly. Then she heard a slight rustle as Branch sat down quietly next to her.
There was blessed silence for a moment-- just a moment, because then Branch opened her mouth and spoke. "My Lady, do you require my assistance?" Her voice was cold, and Sprucepaw (rather distantly) noted that she must still be mad.
"No, you're dismissed," Sprucepaw's voice escaped her mouth, sharper than intended like it always was when her head was trying to crush inward onto itself.
There was another rustle as Branch presumably stood and padded out of the room. Sprucepaw let out a sigh of relief as the she-cat's scent faded into nothingness, feeling the emptiness of the room with a desperate relief she hadn't felt all day.
Sprucepaw let her head move somewhat, trying to readjust on the moss, and she noticed that the flower was still on her head. She was astounded for a moment, before the memory of Lilac weaving it into her fur after the ceremony returned to her.
She attempted to weakly knock it off of her ear with her paws, but they were weak and clumsy. All she succeeded in doing was turned the white flower slightly on its side.
Sprucepaw repressed a hiss of frustration. She knew that she should be proud, thankful that she had finally matured, that she wouldn't be called an infant any longer, but instead she felt a worry snake around her and take hold of her mind. As a 'paw, she knew that she was technically eligible for betrothals. Aunt Blazetooth had warned her of his only a half-moon ago, her voice shaking as she whispered to Sprucepaw that most marriages were not like Aunt Leapfeather and Uncle Goldbloom's. "They'll marry you off as a favor," she'd whispered, then added, "although you might be unimportant enough that it won't happen to you."
Sprucepaw didn't feel hurt when Aunt Blazetooth told her that: she knew it was true; being fifteenth in line for the throne meant she wasn't the most desirable bride. Besides, she had two older cousins who were undoubtedly more suited for marriage than she was, not to mention excited for it.
Still, Sprucepaw couldn't help the terror that crept up her spine because she didn't want to be married off to a random tom who might be horribly arrogant and terrifying like Waspstrike (she refused to call him uncle).
Her head pounded, but more weakly now. The young princess felt a surge of relief. Carefully, the grey tabby rolled off her moss bed and stood on her feet shakily. She paused, simply standing for a moment, before exhaling again and stepping out of the room.
Sprucepaw blinked and squinted as she turned to her right. Light streamed in through holes in the dirt that had been filled in by what she knew was melted sand. The sun passed through it--sort of; the sand had been mixed with dirt and clay and other things so the bubbly solid that the light tried to pierce was muted and brown. Still, it was better than pure darkness (at least in the opinion of her family; in her perfect world, she'd much rather it be dark and quiet), and it prevented the floors from turning damp and freezing when leaf-bare came.
She was underground, of course-- or at least sort of. Long, long ago, Creststar had found that a massive hill was made up of almost entirely of clay, and ordered it be dug through to create the caverns of his new castle. When rain had collapsed the palace on itself, smothering the monarch as he slept, his son ordered that it be rebuilt and supported with branches and rocks and anything else that could be found. And it was so-- rocks were pressed into the roof and walls of the tunnels, and pine and oak branches laid to support the roof. Then moss was placed on the floor and the walls and the outside of the structure (Redstar had ordered the outside to be carved carefully too, to prevent rain from pooling). Windows were caved, lined with branches, and all was quite beautiful.
That was when the lightning hit.
It was strange: MistClan had believed it was safe, as the storm had missed the palace itself. The trees weren't even damp. But the lightning had leapt out and struck the palace at an angle, lightning the wood with a mighty woosh.
Within moments, the entire structure was ablaze. The moss smoked, the pine crackled, and the royal family ran for their lives. Almost none escaped, save for a few nephews of the king.
Everyone mourned at the death of the royal family once again. Legend says that the fire raged for days, so much wood had been laid, and that all of the burnt bits of wood refused to cool for even longer. Indeed, the fire still burns: Sprucepaw had heard that the fires in the kitchen that were used to sear their food and melt their sand were all from the same embers left from seasons ago, fed carefully for generations by pine and oak.
The people finally entered the palace again, cautiously, taking care not to touch the coals. To their surprise, the fire had hardened the clay, and water no long changed it and caused it to fall.
There was soot trapped in the clay, soot that painted the floor and walls and ceilings in swirls of ashes and smoke. It couldn't stain her paws anymore: these were ashes that had been trapped in the clay, scarred there by the fire and never able to leave.
Sprucepaw found these patterns beautiful.
Ahead and to her right, she heard the mewing of her little cousins in the nursery. There was the sound of pawsteps skittering around on moss-covered floors, little squeals of excitement and, occasionally, a word of warning from their loving mother.
Sprucepaw paused outside of the entrance to the nursery itself, tilting her head slightly to the side and peeking in. Flykit spotted her immediately and bounded over to her, excitement plain in his bright green eyes.
"It's Sprucepaw!" he squeaked. The brown tom turned to face his sisters. "Look, look, look!"
Sprucepaw purred softly and entered carefully. She glanced over at Acornmist, who looked utterly exhausted, and gave her aunt a small smile.
Pinekit's head shot up from where she was tearing up a small piece of moss, presumably trying to do it faster than her sister (for the life of her, Spurcepaw couldn't understand why that was a fun game for anyone). The calico she-kit's face lit up. "S-Sprucepaw!" she mewed, sounding strangely out of breath. "I beat my sister in- in a race!"
Heatherkit looked up from her moss and huffed, flicking her tail in a motion that reminded Sprucepaw strikingly of Fawnpaw. "It wasn't a fair race, anyway! Flykit tripped me!"
"I did not!" yelled the kit in question, turning to face his sister with an almost hurt look on his face.
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"DID NOT!"
With a tiny hiss, Heatherkit launched herself at her brother, and they starting whacking each other and tussling with sheathed claws.
Pinekit pulled herself up, looking haughty. "Well, I would've beaten you anyway, Heather, so it doesn't matter."
Acornmist shot Pinekit a fierce look. "What did I say about calling your sister that?"
Pinekit rolled her eyes. "Not to do it."
Acornmist nodded. "That's right. Only the commonfolk don't get a suffix. You're very lucky to have one, and it's not nice to get rid of it."
Pinekit pouted. "But Heatherkit doesn't care, do you, Heather?"
Heatherkit and Flykit had broken apart their fight to listen to their mother scold their sister. The she-kit paused for a moment, seeming to consider whether she should tell the truth or get back at her sister. "Well...no. I hate it." She stuck out her tongue at Pinekit.
Pinekit hissed. "HEATHER-" she yowled, then hastily added, with a glance at her mother, "-KIT!"
Sprucepaw sat down, curling her tail around her paws as the two sisters began fighting and Flykit watched in amusement. Then the small brown tom-kit tilted his head and suddenly jumped into the fight, making it a three-way battle.
Acornmist purred, padding over quietly to her niece. "Lively, aren't they?"
Sprucepaw nodded. "Yeah." The medicine had reduced any headache she had to a barely discernible ache, now, and her head swirled with thoughts of sleep. She flicked her tail. "I can't imagine them grown up."
Acornmist curled her tail around her paws. "Me neither." Her expression darkened slightly. "But royalty grow up fast, faster than most."
Sprucepaw nodded, thinking suddenly of her brother. "We do," she sighed.
Acornmist shivered. "I'm scared, sometimes, you know? That something's going to happen to one of them."
Sprucepaw laid her tail against her aunt's in an attempt of comfort.
That was when the yowls started, yowls of terror and worry and anger.
There was a pitter-patter of steps, getting louder by the moment. For some reason, Sprucepaw's heart bounded out of her chest as if she already knew what had happened, and the kits stopped their game and huddled beneath their mother, terror in their eyes.
It was Bee and Vole who came in, claws unsheathed and eyes alight with panic. "Are you all okay?" asked Bee, eyes scanning the nursery as if looking for something. "Have any of you eaten anything?"
It was Acornmist who answered, her voice small. "N-No. They wanted to play a bit more, and Sprucepaw..." She turned to the princess, "you had a headache, didn't you?"
Sprucepaw nodded, throat dry.
"What happened?" asked Acornmist, terror making her voice higher than usual. Her kits huddled closer.
Vole looked furious as he stepped forward, checking behind him quickly before mewing, "Prince Birdscar has been poisoned."