Page 65 of The Divine Shallows
“Are you prepared for tonight?” Elyria asked, avoiding his gaze as her silver eyes remained fixed on the deep blue depths of the sea.
“I am,” Sylas affirmed, sensing her unease in the silence. He drew closer to her until his bronzed, moon-inked hand hovered just inches from hers, offering silent comfort. “Yet, I find myself unable to fully relax.”
Turning to face him, Elyria met his sea-green eyes, mirroring the beauty of the waters surrounding them. “I find that the impending Seventh Day unsettles my nerves even more. Tomorrow, we'll be crossing the Bridge Between Worlds.”
Sylas fell silent, his hands finding the pockets of his trousers, his mahogany waves dancing in the breeze. “I know,” he finally murmured.
With a shared nod of understanding, Elyria and Sylas stood together on the soft shores of the Swyn Sea, awaiting the arrival of sunset, when theVituswould begin.
The majestic Driftmoorcastle rested upon one of the seven islands of the Elune Isles, appearing as if sculpted from radiant pearls and carved from alabaster-hued coral. Its walls housed intricate channels and waterways, paying homage to the Swyn Sea that surrounded it. Each kingdom of Neramyr possessed its own captivating allure: the mountains of Eriden, the forests of Mirthwood, and now, the singular beauty of the Elune Isles. Each were a sacred realm within the feylands.
Elyria, now dressed in a stunning floor-length gown, had exchanged her earlier chiffon shift dress for the occasion. The monarchs of the Elune Islesalways encouraged their guests to treasure the sea and sands, appreciating those who didn’t shy from their wading waters. Hence, when formally invited to the Elune Isles, many from Neramyr would stroll barefoot along the shoreline of the Swyn Sea to pay tribute to its magnificence. If fortunate enough, a fey might catch sight of the two guardians of the Elune Isles gliding through the crystal depths: theanimusof Queen Aletta and King Tydred, loch hydras—dual-headed serpents of the Swyn Sea.
Elyria’s attention was drawn to a figure passing by, her eyes settling upon her Uncle Edwyn. He entered the Great Hall of Driftmoor in attire befitting the customs of the Elune Isles. His surcoat, a brilliant teal, was embellished with golden threads weaving powerful patterns across his torso and sleeves. Draped on his arm was a sorceress sworn to House Driftmoor; she possessed deeply tanned skin, iridescent abalone eyes, and hair cascading in waves of lapis lazuli. Clad in a dress of turquoise chiffon that left little to the imagination, she radiated a striking beauty, accentuated by the goldenaureumdraping down her back and her divine Mark decorating nearly every inch of her body.
As they passed by, Elyria acknowledged her uncle and his guest with a kind nod of her head. Her knowledge was limited around him; however, she was well aware that secrets within the Fangwright family were as abundant as the grains of sand along this island’s shore. The lapis-haired sorceress met Elyria’s gaze, offering a demure smile as she leaned into Uncle Edwyn’s side to whisper something. Edwyn nodded in response to her murmurs, his hand resting gently upon hers as they made their way to her.
Despite her Uncle Edwyn’s pleasant smile, hidden beneath her composure, Elyria couldn’t shake the shudder that ran through her at his resemblance to her father. “Dear niece,” he began, his voice warm, “I’d like you to meet Princess Cleora Driftmoor, sister of Queen Aletta Driftmoor, and princess of the Elune Isles.”
With poise, Elyria dipped into an elegant curtsy, her gaze meeting that of the Driftmoor princess. “It’s an honor to be welcomedas a guest of House Driftmoor, Princess Cleora. The kingdom of the Elune Isles is beautiful.”
“Please call me Cleora,” the princess replied, inclining her head towards Elyria. “The pleasure is all ours. I wish you luck in theVitustoday.” Her voice was melodic, eloquent, and refined.
“Thank you, Cleora,” Elyria responded, offering a grateful smile to the Driftmoor princess, captivated by the prismatic, iridescent irises that mirrored her own. “I hope to leave a lasting impression on those who are watching.”
If Elyria had to estimate, Cleora must have been two centuries old. In Neramyr, it was notoriously difficult to gauge age based on appearance once individuals reached their late twenties or early thirties—a truer indicator of age was one’s aura. Cleora possessed an exceptionally compelling aura, weighty and prominent.
“And you shall certainly impress, Elyria,” Edwyn declared with confidence.
Before Elyria could discern the source, she felt a wave of displeasure wash over her. Queen Eddra materialized into view, her arms resting at her waist, her vulpine eyes revealing her disdain. A palpable aura of antipathy clouded the elegant planes of her face as she regarded Princess Cleora, who was draped upon Edwyn’s arm.
Queen Eddra wore a gown of sapphire, her snow-white hair bound beneath an opal crown. As formidable as Cleora’s aura was, her mother’s aura was a behemoth in comparison. Edwyn stiffened at Eddra’s arrival, but quickly masked his reaction with indifference as he nodded respectfully to her. Princess Cleora’s irises flickered between the two Fangwright royals, narrowing imperceptibly. Tactfully, she dipped her head to Queen Eddra and offered a bright smile.
“Welcome to the Elune Isles, Queen Eddra. It is an honor for our kingdom to host this season’s Sixth Day. The tales of your power and influence have not gone unnoticed among the fey of the Swyn Sea. Prince Edwyn and I were just expressing our anticipation for yourdaughter’s performance tonight,” Cleora remarked, turning her attention to Elyria, and placing a supportive hand on her arm.
Queen Eddra’s gaze followed the Driftmoor princess’s touch before returning to her face. “Princess Elyria is a formidable sorceress. Perhaps my judgment is influenced by a mother’s pride, but I have no doubt she will emerge as theprimisof this season’s cohort.”
Elyria held in a heavy exhale, feeling the tension thickening between the three royal fey. Anxiety gnawed at her bones as she contemplated theVitus. The Sixth Day held immense significance for a divine candidate. During this ritual, the High Priestess would call upon the Moon Goddess to witness the abilities displayed by the seven selected candidates. Each candidate would perform their skills in their chosen manner, with the success of their performance greatly influencing their chances of being named theprimis.
Becoming theprimisis highly coveted, it meant crossing the Bridge Between Worlds first and returning to Neramyr after completion of the Trial first—meaning theprimiswill also receive the final Mark first.
To be declared the divineprimisis to be differentiated as a god among gods where magic is the governing constant.
In ages past, the Sixth Day, theVitus, had been a formal exhibition of power and prowess, a demonstration of one’s worthiness to the Moon Goddess as a divine candidate. But in recent times, theVitushad transformed into a fierce competition among the seven candidates. Elyria felt reduced to nothing more than a racehorse to be gambled on by the coin lining the pockets of the fey. She despised the feeling of being trapped, her autonomy and agency lost.
“Thank you for your words, mother. I will strive to make you proud,” Elyria replied, her voice steady despite her discomfort. “And thank you for your support, Princess Cleora.”
“The honor is truly mine, Princess Elyria,” Cleora responded, her iridescent eyes shimmering as she turned to Edwyn. “Now, my dear, we must depart andjoin my older sister and brother-in-law. We have preparations to attend to before tonight’s announcement.” With that, she guided Edwyn in a different direction, offering Queen Eddra a parting smile. “Please excuse us, Your Majesty.”
As Cleora and Edwyn left, Queen Eddra’s intense gaze followed them, her displeasure obvious. Elyria knew all too well the simmering animosity between her mother and her uncle, yet rarely did her mother’s composed facade crack in public. It was a testament to the tension that brewed beneath the surface. Elyria remained silent as her mother’s thoughts churned, her silver eyes staring into the hall with a vacant gaze.
Where was her father in all of this? She was relieved to be spared his presence, but she knew he lurked in the shadows somewhere. The Fangwright monarchs rarely attended such gatherings together, preferring to maintain their distance from each other.
Her mother regained her calculated poise, her eyes returning to the present. Her arms remained in their regal position above her waist, elbows gracefully tucked to her torso. Without a word, she placed a hand on Elyria’s arm before silently disappearing into the crowded hall. Elyria stared at the spot where her mother had touched her, feeling conflicted. She had never quite understood her mother. While her father openly displayed wickedness and ruthlessness towards her, her mother seemed to oscillate between contempt and care. Elyria would have preferred her mother to express her disdain outright rather than engaging in this indistinct game of mother and child.
A bright aura appeared behind her, and she spun around to find Elowyn beaming at her, with the Darkmaw prince in tow.
“Elyria!” Elowyn exclaimed cheerfully, pulling the tall, claret-haired prince closer. “This is Draeden Darkmaw, the prince of Orwyn.” She turned to the prince. “Draeden, meet my older sister, Elyria. She’s amazing, she’s everything I’ve told you about and more.”
