Fantasy
The Kytharian Crown
Shadowsinger — A Chapter
“I am from the Royal Line of Lux. How is it possible that this is my daughter’s gift?” Queen Niamh looked across the table at her oldest and dearest friend. She sighed as she glanced at the gnarled fingers curled around Deidre’s steaming cup of tea. Niamh knew she did not have many winters left — such was the curse of her gift. Being tied to the earth gave her knowledge when life entered the world as a new light began, but it also gave her glimpses of when the lighted began to dim.
“I know a lot of things, Niamh. But even I do not know the answer to that,” Deidre answered.
“Then what good is your gift then?” Niamh snapped. She regretted her words as soon as they left her lips. Deidre would not be happy.
“Do not come into my home and speak to me as if I were one of your simpering ladies-in-waiting,” Deidre snapped. Her age had not mellowed her in the least. But Niamh knew Deidre wanted nothing but the best for her. Their long history proved that — Deidre was always the one she had run to when things were difficult. Although Deidre did not have a habit of curbing her tongue, which sometimes led to a bit of hurt, Niamh knew she would never lie to her. That was Deidre’s gift — truth. “If I knew the answer, I would tell you. But I do not. There are things the Mother does not explain — even to those like me who only know of the truth.”
Deidre looked at the girl who had grown up to be queen. She had been Niamh’s nursemaid when she younger and chose to stay by her side as she grew older. Deidre never got married, but she knew she had a daughter in Niamh. They had their ups and downs — Niamh had a stubborn streak to her that she hid behind an icy exterior. She could ignore you for days at a time, never relenting, never apologizing. Niamh had woman many arguments this way.
Growing up, people said Niamh had a heart of stone, but Deidre knew better. Contrary to what people thought, Niamh felt too much. It became stronger when her gifts came to her at sixteen, rooting her to the earth. It allowed her to reach far and wide — as long as a person was grounded, Niamh would eventually find him. It was an unusual side to her gift — one that her parents did not fail to use. And so, at eighteen, Niamh became more than a princess. She became a weapon.
A minor war had broken out, and Niamh went with the Kytharian army as their scout. She bought them numerous advantages, and the army, surprisingly, gave her a home. Being away from the palace, being genuinely appreciated for her valuable contribution thawed her demeanor. Two years later, when the war ended, Niamh returned a different woman. She also returned married.
Deidre could not forget the scream that pierced the air when Niamh had marched into the throne room, stood before her formidable parents, and announced that she had married Aidan, one of the druids who had fought in the war. A long, drawn-out discussion was done behind closed doors —Deidre knew Niamh’s parents wanted the marriage annulled, deeming Aidan unfit to bear their daughter’s consort, but Niamh would have none of it. She put up her walls and refused to give her parents anything that remotely resembled a response until they acknowledged and accepted her marriage.
It took her two dusks and two dawns, but in the end, Niamh got her way.
A year later, Ilia was born. She was a beautiful child, with her Aidan’s golden locks and Niamh’s bright azure eyes. Looking at her, with her bright hair and easy smile, she was entirely her father’s child on the outside. But it was Niamh that Ilia took after on the inside. The steel in her bones rivaled that of her mother’s — but where Niamh was all ice, Ilia was all fire. By the time she was ten, both her parents were convinced her gift would be tired to fire. But a week before her thirteenth birthday, Deidre had appeared in the palace gates and asked for an audience with the queen.
The second Aidan had seen his wife’s nursemaid, he knew it was a conversation they needed to have by themselves. Ever the doting husband, he offered Niamh a comforting smile. “Call for me when you are done,” he said, kissing her softly on the cheek. “I will bring Ilia. I am sure she would be ecstatic to see Deidre.”
“Your daughter is not tied to fire,” Deidre said by way of greeting as she entered Niamh’s private chambers.
Niamh was used to Deidre’s lack of niceties. She sat down and looked up at the woman she considered her mother. “Are you sure?” She asked, knowing how Deidre detested the question.
Deidre looked at Niamh in disdain. “You dare ask me that?”
“You know I ask it in jest, Deidre.”
The older woman looked into Niamh’s eyes. “I know,” she answered. “But what I said was not. Your daughter’s gift — it is not tied to fire.”
Niamh frowned. Deidre seldom visited for the sake of visiting, but the news she carried never called for such seriousness before. Especially when it concerned the royal family. “Then to what is it tied? Ilia is such a rebellious child, always with the outbursts and the dramatics. Everyone agrees that her gift will most likely be tied to the flame.”
“Everyone is wrong,” Niamh said flatly. “You and your daughter are each other’s mirror, are you not? She is as stubborn and unyielding as you, but she screams out her defiance while you freeze yours inside. Your gifts will be the same way.”
“You know I am gifted with the earth. What mirrors that?”
Deidre shook her head. “I wish I knew, girl. The Mother has not deemed me worthy of the answer yet.”
Deidre’s words filled Niamh with anxiety. She told Aidan about their conversation, as well as her worry about this piece of news.
Aidan tried his best to comfort his wife. He knew she would likely obsess over this if not calmed quickly enough. “Perhaps her gift will be tied to water — water that is soft and bending, unlike your earth that is solid and strong.”
Niamh slowly nodded her head. “Or perhaps it is air, completely untethered to the ground.” That made sense. Niamh felt her worry beginning to ebb away. Air or water would not be so bad, Niamh thought. Reassured by the answers that had seemingly come to her and her husband, Niamh relaxed into his arms.
Seven nights later, the King and Queen of Kythar found themselves racing through the palace halls, running as fast as they could to the source of the scream that had woken them up in the middle of the night. “Ilia?” Niamh shouted as they rounded the corner of the hallway that led to their daughter’s bedroom.
“Father!” Came Ilia’s scream. “Mother!”
They noticed something different as they came closer to the door. Despite being lined by scones of light, the hallway remained dark. Niamh and Aidan had to reach out with their hands to find the door and push it open. The sight that greeted them shook them to their core.
Or rather, the lack of sight.
Inside Ilia’s room was complete darkness — a darkness so heavy and dense that they could not even make our their hands in front of their faces. If not for Ilia’s crying, neither of her parents would have known she was in the room with them.
“What is this?” Aidan asked aloud.
In an instant, Niamh knew. “Her gift,” she said. “It is her gift.” She recalled Niamh’s words. You and your daughter are each other’s mirror. Your gifts will be the same way.
Her gift was tied her to life, to light. Ilia’s gift was a mirror. Her daughter’s gift was tied to darkness.
Read other chapters in The Kytharian Crown:
- The Two Queens — https://link.medium.com/U9fDBEmk7eb
- The Market — https://link.medium.com/kaxsYNlk7eb
- Firewielder — https://link.medium.com/U9fDBEmk7eb
