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I apologize for the manner in which I am forced to send this letter, Queen Namora-please understand that this is not how I seek to conduct business on a regular basis. I wish to express first and foremost that my concerns and interests are solely for my country; as it is, I find that in order to remain faithful to my people, I must go behind the back of my father.
Upon discovering the strength and brutality capable to those warriors of Sceadu, he saw an opportunity that would benefit him and I am afraid to say that he is making the moves necessary in order to put him into a position of great power. He and Queen Sheyenne have been meeting almost nightly on the border of our two lands; I am privy to their discussions as one of his personal guards is a dear friend of mine and is also concerned at where their talks are headed. He and the Queen have made the decision to elect her as the ruler of Alumenia, as there is no blood heir to the throne. Since the only other vote belongs to you, their majority will bring this plan into fruition. In exchange for his move on this matter, the Queen has agreed to marry my father to become his second wife, thereby creating an alliance between the three nations; this leaves Derven in a dangerous position and I am speculating that they mean to take your country by force.
I have gotten the impression that Queen Sheyenne has little regard for her son, Prince Varicken. It has also been said that she has a second son, Prince Treven, who lives in the land beyond the sea known as Barine. Her and my father have conspired to send word for him to return; in a panic, I intercepted that letter and had it destroyed, unbeknown to them.
I have placed myself in a dubious position by committing treason upon the crown of Geofen; if my father discovers my actions I fear that it will conclude in my death. As a result, I am sending this letter to you for reasons twofold: firstly, in hopes that you have a plan in mind to avoid the assimilation of Alumenia and therefore the alliance between the three nations that would leave your country at a disadvantage; secondly, to request asylum in your country should all else fail. I realize that this puts you in a terrible situation but I have exhausted all other avenues on my end to keep my country safe from the destruction of the current ruling entities.
Please reply in haste and my messenger will return the letter to me at once.
Yours,
Prince Philip
Mora clenches her hands into fists on the desk. She wants to scream out in rage, she wants to destroy something but instead she forces herself to remain deadly still. Part of her heart feels that this is a trap-she has felt betrayed by almost everyone she grew to love and trust and knows that it has caused her to be wary and paranoid in believing the words of others. But if his letter weren’t based in truth, if everything he wrote of hadn’t been completely plausible she would have known it to be false yet she cannot ignore the facts.
Rising to her feet, she walks to her chamber doors, opening it so quickly that she startles the guard outside of it, “Please summon Prince Varicken and Irving to my chambers at once.”
The man bows before he trots off down the hall. Mora paces up and down the length in front of the fireplace, her mind reeling. She knows this is how a brush tiger must feel like when it is backed into a corner with no way out, only one option remaining. When there is a soft knock on the door, she barks out a reply, “Enter.”
Irving and Rick both slip in, shutting the door behind them. Rick’s face is wrought with concern, as if he is worried that Mora is injured. Irving, on the other hand, keeps his expression remarkably blank though his eyes follow her movements with precision. She points to the letter on the desk, still pacing, “Read it.”
Rick picks up the parchment and reads it out loud. Towards the end, his voice is quiet and threatening, almost growling out his displeasure at the words. Once he is finished, he carefully places the letter back onto the desk; silence permeates the room.
Irving is the first who dares to speak, “It will be a surprise once they find out that I exist.”
“That doesn’t mean they will stop,” Rick spits out, “if I know my mother, she will keep pushing until she gets what she wants.” He shakes his head, “All these years I truly believed that Treven was dead… I know nothing of Barine.”
“My knowledge on them is very limited as well,” Irving adds, “I know that they are the country who Geofen primarily deals with while exporting goods. They have wealth, that much is obvious by the sight of their ships alone and their sailors always pay tribute to the Keeper of the Sea.”
Mora shoots him a glance, “Keeper of the Sea?” The irritation grates on her voice though she doesn’t intend it to be directed at him.
Irving catches her eye before lowering his gaze though it is Rick who responds, “It is the deity they worship. The temple is a large cavern on the coast where the sea rolls in; the fish and saltwater provide nourishment to the Keeper.”
“And what, exactly, is a Keeper?” she snaps.
Irving shrugs, “It is a large tree, a very odd looking one at that, the trunk is sort of white and the leaves are teal in color. I believe that is where Geofen’s royal colors come from.”
Mora freezes in her tracks, so still she isn’t even breathing. When the men glance at her, she turns around so that they only see her back instead of viewing the shock on her face. Another tree, in another cave; she swallows hard, her mind drawn back to the white metallic nuts that were in the box with the immortal metal and she comes to term with the horrible realization that each country must have its own tree. Her mind spins as she recalls her dream which suddenly she wonders if it was in fact something else entirely, if somehow she was viewing memory of a past life or slipping into the body of another creature.
She tenses, lost I her thoughts; Mora had hoped she would be able to deal with the fallout of the battle, to get everything settled before she delved into this convoluted bottomless pit of secrets but she now realizes that it is intertwined, that each country is tangled together into a twisted thicket of brush protecting a dark mystery. She feels it tickling the edge of her mind-the answer to a question she hasn’t asked, the answer she doesn’t want to know.NôvelDrama.Org copyrighted © content.
“What will you do, Mora?” Rick’s voice comes from directly behind her.
She jumps as it startles her from her thoughts; spinning on her heels she discovers both men standing there, waiting for her to decide, “I don’t know what to do, that is why I asked you two to join me. It seems that Prince Philip is being genuine, that he truly wants to help Geofen.”
“I would agree with that assessment,” Irving replies; when he sits down on the couch, he pats the cushion next to him and looks at her expectantly. Once she settles beside him, Rick takes the spot on her other side.
“I think it would be wise if I went to Geofen a day early,” Rick speaks, drawing their attention, “I would be able to meet with Philip in private and discern his honesty in the matter. And,” he hesitates, recalling her reaction earlier, “I could get a feeling of how he would take the proposal of a Sovereign Queen.” He tenses, waiting for Mora to snap at him.
Slowing sucking in a deep breath, she stares off into the fire, frowning, “I don’t want to be a Sovereign Queen. No one should possess that much power.”
Irving slips his hand into hers, repeating the words she used against him during their first meeting, “And because of that reason, you are the only one worthy of it. It is a selfless sacrifice to promote peace, something only a true Derven wouldn’t hesitate at.”
Mora looks at him, a frown slowly growing on her face, “I suppose I deserved that.”
*******
Mora hasn’t spoken for most of the journey. If she had her mind about her, she would have used the opportunity to get to know Irving on a more personal level as it is the first time since they met that they have been truly alone without the threat of an interruption. Instead, she sits quietly in the royal carriage, her gaze fixed on the rolling countryside beyond the window and while it appears that she is thinking deeply she is, in fact, truly lost in her own thoughts. Her focus is absent and each time she attempts to grasp ahold of an idea it slips away, like water or sand through her hands.
When Irving shifts, his movement draws her attention to him. He holds out a small folded length of fabric, “It would behoove me to offer you some education about the practices of Geofen.”
Her eyes wander over the offering before she takes it into her hands; it is bright red, light and incredibly soft, unlike the thick Derven wool she is used to. As she unfolds the fabric she is surprised to discover that it is of a substantial length, woven so that the last third of it is sheer and see through. Puzzled, her eyes meet Irving’s.
“I realize that when compared with Alumenia or Sceadu, Derven women seem incredibly modest. You dress to cover your bodies, you rarely show any skin beyond your hands and faces, there is minimal contact between the sexes and while Derven women are respectful of all they never hesitate to speak their minds.” He shifts somewhat uncomfortably before continuing, “In a way, the women of Geofen are similar but perhaps more to an extreme. The way your dress hugs your curves would be considered scandalous; in fact, beyond their hands and on occasion their eyes, the women of the Geofen are fully covered at all times when outside of their homes. While no one would expect a woman from another country to abide by their customs you will receive a negative reception from the locals by exposing your face to them. I imagine that Sheyenne made that blunder.”