Speakers of Fate are Goddess Jaistyr's eyes in the mortal world; the guardian of benevolence and generosity, born nemesis of evildoers.
~~
To the inhabitants of Galandris, at the heart of the Kingdom of Elrtiv, season was almost an illusion. The capital city was perennially radiant and devoid of gloom; the closer to the palace, the more this observation rang true.
It was said that the ancestors of the current royal house, the Auetexes, used to be especially learnt in architectural magic. Not only could their magic dictate the weather, its fortifying incantations were virtually impenetrable.
Somewhere inside that impenetrable palace, in an apartment on the second band from the centre, a fair young girl leaned on her desk by the window. Her aquamarine eyes was fixated on the letter before her, unblinking, emanating the kind of focus found in a craftsman at her masterpiece. From afar she appeared perfectly serene. She had impeccable posture and confident demeanour - a result of the rigorous upbringing in the royal palace. Her clothes were sewn with the finest fabric imported from Iskeryl, richly embroidered, and her hair was meticulously braided, fashioned in the most popular half-updo in Galdandris at the moment; the silver thread woven into her hair gleamed, light running through its length like liquid gold.
The quill in her hand paused on the last letter of her name as she signed off, perhaps a second too long - the ink stained the parchment, bleeding into a perfect circle with a jagged rim.
Roxanne sighed soundlessly.
A gentle breeze lifted the edge of the letter and a wild spark seared its corner. Within a second, the entire parchment lit with brilliant flames, which subdued as quickly as its radiance flared.
Roxanne's finger made a rapid twirling motion above the burnt pages and the air moved at once, gathering the ashes at the heart of the swirl.
The door opened silently, revealing a tip-toeing golden-haired girl lurking about the entrance. Her head poked through, peered inside, then her petite figure slipped in. Cupping her hand about her mouth, the girl whispered an incantation, keeping her voice as quiet as she could. The door eased, and she grinned with satisfaction.
The intruder entered the drawing room. From her study, adjacent to the drawing room, Roxanne reached for the daggers stashed in a hidden compartment of her drawer. Her fingers almost touched the hilt of the dagger when she paused, raising her eyebrows.
She recognised the footsteps.
Princess Tathiette... she rubbed her temple.
Some time in the past few years, King Marklan's only daughter - the sixteen-year-old Princess Tathiette - had developed a penchant for sneaking into her apartment. In all honesty, she was adept at spying for a mostly-untrained princess who would frankly never have a real need to exercise that skill in her life.
Unfortunately, her intrusion never escaped Roxanne's notice.
On one hand, the security about Roxanne's apartment was lax enough relative to members of the royal family, but on the other hand, anyone who earned their right to reside in the palace by birth would never be as insecure as Roxanne Taylor.
They wouldn't, for example, literally cover every inch of their residence with layers of protective incantations: every tile on the floor, every step of the staircase, every inch of the wall and even the roof overhead.
Silently she placed one hand on the door and traced a faded incantation on the wooden surface. The colour faded from the door at once and the light from the drawing room filtered in, granting her a one-way view through the now-transparent doorway.
YOU ARE READING
The Silenced Speaker (rewritten)
Fantasy//Three years after the ending, I have finally decided to start rewriting this story.// "Remember this: speak only when you must." Roxanne Carlisa Taylor was seven when she resolved to never speak another word. For years to come, that day wo...
