Tales from Niveen

Chapter 5 - Cynea

Verida - Avinas

57th banem, year 146, Era of Ke'larri

It is early morning when the party returns. Crowds begin to gather in the streets. I feel the excitement buzzing long before I hear the commotion. Overwhelming surges engulf me where I sit on the balcony and by the time the party reaches the main road, onlookers have worked themselves up into a frenzy in anticipation. Between delicate sheer curtains, I see them begin down the long stretch leading to the castle steps. I count all six of them and then a seventh. Varydris drags a young Hnegeeran woman through the screaming and spitting crowd.

Merchants and tavern owners, smiths and farmers. They all shout and jeer, their faces twisted up in anger and disgust. The first rock is thrown and then people are pushing, lunging, clawing at her arms and face. Ariele and Sy push back against them with authority, but the others look on lazily as the woman is pummeled and pelted. I try to connect to her thoughts, but hundreds of others drown her out.

My knuckles are white against the balcony's edge and I have to sit to keep from collapsing. The screams below feel at odds with the light breeze as it gently lifts the curtains around me. The wind carries the faintest scent of blooming honeysuckle and I fixate on the smell. I clasp my hands over my ears. Try to come back to myself. I count the rises and falls of the curtains and breathe with them. In and out. The great doors to the castle creak open and then close. I am not sure how long it takes, but eventually, the energy of the crowd quiets to the regular dull buzz of the morning market and I let them fade into the background.

My hands are still trembling, anxiety still aroused, when someone knocks lightly on the door. I do not answer.

The door opens anyway and I hear Aeliana's voice, soft from outside the room.

"Cynea, darling, are you in here?" she asks.

I remain silent, but she enters anyway. Gentle footsteps approach where I sit. She pauses before me and seems to feel genuinely concerned, but I don't have the energy to look up at her.

"Cynea?" she asks again, "If you're worried about Ariele..."

I meet her gaze and shake my head.

"The crowds were just overwhelming," I say. She frowns apologetically and pats my shoulder.

"Ahh," she says, "Yes, the people were a bit..."

She pauses. I feel something like guilt rise in her before she seems to regather her thoughts.

"We've brought back a Hnegeeran and the Court is being assembled right away. My father has requested your skills for the interrogation," she says.

I feel pressure in the pit of my stomach at her words and she must see it on my face because she reaches down and squeezes my hand.

"I am so sorry," she whispers, "I promise it'll be over soon."

She helps me up and I follow aimlessly behind her as she leads me from the chamber and through the winding, open-air corridors of the Dawn Tower. Her hair glistens, almost sparkling as she walks on, and her leathers are surprisingly spotless. She looks confident. Graceful. Inside, however, I can feel the exhaustion with her every step. She sighs as a cool breeze blows down the hall.

Except for the frigid air of Katib, the month of winter, the weather in Verida remains mild and clear year-round. Windows seldom need shut and the tall, old forests prevent the suns from shining too harshly over the cities during the oppressively hot Pyriel summers.

I peer around the inner walls of each corridor as she leads on, distracted by the grand murals of the kingdoms of Valonia. I do not remember anything about home, but a massive painting of the terraces of Loethre stirs something deep within me. As we walk past the vibrant greens of the painted jungles and misty whites and blues of the ocean waves, I hear the distant voice of my mother echoing in my head. She sings the soft, soothing notes of the Hashar, our ancestral song, in words of a language I never learned. I barely recall the memory and can not remember the features of her face. A familiar dull pain aches in my throat as I hold back tears.