A Scary Book

Yavanna soon after dismissed the women and said that she would call on them when she needed them.

She pulled her comfortable robe on and huddled on the couch. She moved the cable on the side table closer and she desperately wished for the veil to be off of her face. It was a fire hazard and difficult to see through. It bore the resemblance of a funeral veil.

She sighed as she recalled her aunt's words, "We wear the veil to symbolize us mourning our youth."

She opened the book to distract herself from her thoughts. The first leaf read; Epics of the Kings.

She raised her brows and flipped the page. She was hoping for a book on the culture and customs. Or the political standings of the kingdom she was to co-rule.

The title of the first chapter read:

King Horst the Blood King and the Blood Curse

Her shoulders sagged. She'd heard enough of the blood king to last her years. But she skimmed through the chapter. It gave a slightly more descriptive narrative than Douglas had provided earlier that day.

King Horst was a monster and his son, the future King Kieran, went to a witch—

She'd found it extremely interesting that it said the witch was from the land of stars. Viland was said to be the land of stars; on a crisp summer evening you could see the valley of stars cut across the purple and blue sky, trailing green and gold dust in its wake. She smiled at a distant memory of stargazing.

After Kieran had been given the spell, he was given a warning; "If you cast this spell, you will only ever be sated by what you kill your father for."

He killed his father with the spell, turning the king to dust, and he took on the curse.

She read through all King Kieran's quests and accomplishments and then stumbled upon another interesting thing.

Kieran met the witch again near the end of his life and she told him a prophecy; "The hundredth king of your lineage will find the key to break your curse. A maiden of magic and of dark hair. Her face is hidden. She is not who she seems."

A loud meow disturbed her before she could reflect too deeply on the text.

"Oh, cat-Wolfgang, I mean." She said quietly. He came and snuggled next to her on the arm of the chair.

It was an interesting prophecy. She wondered if the hundredth king was nearing. It would be interesting to see what transpired.

Minutes ticked by and she read through the dark, tragic history of Nothad's kings. The brightest one had been a young king who had reigned for no more than three months. He'd had plans to open trade with the kingdom to the west, Tralkin. And he had two children and one of his wives was pregnant with another child. But his brother had overthrown him and slaughtered his family, taking one of his wives and marrying her.

The theme of bloodthirst slowly faded from the narrative and she wondered if the idea of it had disappeared through the ages.

What she'd come to assume was that their curse was to always thirst for war and bloodshed. And through the years peace treaties and trust between kingdoms had taken a foothold and war was not as popular.

It must have already been cured.

Flipping the next page she read of the Outborn Pack. A group of people from the north who had settled in the Whistling Mountains. They showed a symbol of their pack. A paw print with an arrow piercing it. They seemed very mysterious, considering the book only had a single paragraph about them. The king of Nothad at the time had allowed them sanctuary in the mountains, but the next king warred with them.

She continued reading and her eyes began to tire. Slowly, she found herself blinking as her lids dropped.

"Are you the one?"

Yavanna's eyes opened wide and she looked to her left. Her jaw fell open.

A creature stood there. She could not discern whether it was male or female; its hair was long and white and wispy, its face was pointed and otherworldly, its eyes were black with yellowish green pupils. Her eyes trailed up its strange clothes of rags tied with rope. Odd bags and packs hung from its shoulders and waist.

"Are you the one?"

She met its eyes and felt a dull throbbing behind hers. What one?

Its hair and eyes glowed and the throbbing increased. She winced and clutched at her head.

"Your highness. Your highness."

She sat up straight and looked at Vivian standing in front of her. Her head swung to look at her left and she blinked away her dream. What was happening?

"Sorry to wake you, but it is an hour until the dinner."

"An hour?" But.. she'd been reading for at least three or four.

"Yes, your highness."

Yavanna sat for a few moments, confusion disturbing her mind.

She shook her head and stood, "What preparations must be done?"

"First you just bathe, then we are to fix your hair and dress you then detail some embellishments."

Yavanna nodded, "Very well."

Walking into the bathing chamber she dismissed Lorraine and Edith and sunk into the bath. Maybe she should see the physician or apothecary about these dreams. She'd never experienced anything of the sort before now.

She could ask her mother. Her mother! Oh, she had completely forgotten to write her family those letters. She nearly jumped out of the tub before she composed herself. She could write them after her bath.

She hurriedly scrubbed her body, being very careful of her healing black eye. She hastily massaged her scalp with the oils and then leapt from the tub. She dried herself and replaced her veil. Tying the robe around her body, she stepped out and walked to the desk.

"I just need one minute to write my family a letter." She said apologetically to her maids and ladies in waiting. She grabbed a quill and dipped it in the ink well, her hand moving quickly as it wrote down her thoughts on Nothad, her strange dreams and of her apologies for not saying a proper goodbye.

She did not mention that it had been the king's fault, she was raised not to slander.

She folded the letter and sighed silently when she saw she had no seal.

"We will ask for some from the castle candle maker."

She nodded and they began to beautify her.