The Crownless Throne and Ashen Chain88.10%

chapter 37

Chapter 37

The night was thick with the scent of burning herbs, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words. The forest, once a living thing with whispers of wind and rustling leaves, lay deathly still. Even the beasts of the night dared not stir, as if they, too, knew that something great was coming to an end.

A circle of figures stood around the dying woman, their faces veiled in shadow, their cloaks stirring with an unseen force. The Sage Mother lay at the heart of the gathering, her body frail, her breaths uneven. Time had bent her like an old tree that had weathered too many storms, but her spirit remained unbroken.

Her hair, white as the first snow of winter, fanned around her like a halo. Her once-sharp eyes, now clouded with the veil of death, flickered open, searching.

Mia knelt beside her, her red hair a stark contrast against the darkness. Though her face betrayed no fear, her hands clenched tightly into the fabric of her cloak. The Sage Mother had guided them for many years, her wisdom spanning generations. Without her, the coven would be left without its strongest pillar.

The oldest among them-women who had once stood beside the Sage Mother in her prime-stepped forward, their aged hands raised as they began the ritual. Their voices wove together in an ancient tongue, a song not meant for mortal ears but for the gods who watched from beyond. The air trembled at the sound, and a faint glow flickered from their fingertips, bathing the clearing in soft, golden light.

The Sage Mother's lips parted, her voice barely above a whisper. "The serpent... in the den..." She gasped, her fingers twitching against the earth. "The fire... will rise... the storm... shall come..."

Mia leaned in, her breath caught in her throat. "What do you see, Mother?"

A shudder passed through the old woman's frail form. "The one... in shadow... watches." Her dimming eyes sought Mia's face. "The girl... must not fall..."

Her breath hitched once-twice-then stilled. The light faded from her gaze, and her body fell limp.

Silence followed. Heavy. Unrelenting.

Then the witches raised their heads, their voices lifting in a sorrowful wail that sent chills through the trees. It was the mourning cry of their kind, a farewell to one who had walked the path before them.

Mia clenched her fists. The world had shifted.

And there was no turning back.

-----

Alissa arrives at the Citadel accompanied by a small escort, though her presence does not draw much attention at first. The Citadel, a place of knowledge and power beyond the reach of any kingdom, looms before her-its towering spires and ancient halls both intimidating and exhilarating. Unlike Valla, where her status as a princess commands deference, here, she is just another hopeful seeking admission.

As she steps through the gates, she is met with the sight of scholars, warriors, and mystics from various lands, each absorbed in their own pursuits. The air hums with an energy different from court politics-here, knowledge and skill reign supreme.

Alissa's arrival at the Citadel is anything but quiet. Though she tries to keep her composure, the moment she steps through the great iron gates, all eyes turn to her. Whispers ripple through the crowd, some filled with curiosity, others with disbelief. A young girl-no, a princess-seeking to become a maester? It is unheard of.

She walks with her head high, her traveling cloak draped over her shoulders, though the weight of the stares presses down on her. Some of the Citadel's initiates, mostly young men from noble and scholarly families, watch her with open skepticism. Others murmur among themselves, trading rumors about the first woman ever to be accepted into the maester's path.

A group of new arrivals enters the courtyard alongside her-hopeful scholars and apprentices from across the lands, all gathered to take their first steps into the Citadel's world of knowledge. Yet, none draw as much attention as Alissa. She catches snippets of their conversations as she passes.

"A girl? Studying here as a measter?"

"They say she's the princess of Valla-King Mathias's daughter."

"A princess or not, what place does she have among maesters?"

She ignores them, keeping her gaze forward as she approaches the designated halls where new initiates must present themselves. The Citadel looms above her, vast and ancient, filled with secrets and challenges she will have to overcome.

Meanwhile, in another part of the Citadel, the midwifery section remains undisturbed by the commotion outside. Rhiannon and Mara, busy with their own studies, have yet to hear of Alissa's arrival. Here, the focus is on healing and care, far removed from the political and academic intrigue stirring in the main halls. But soon, even they will hear of the girl who dared to break tradition.

Alissa exhales, glancing over her shoulder at the lingering stares and hushed whispers. Surviving it-Rhiannon's words ring true. Just being here is enough to stir resentment, and it will only get worse from now on. But she refuses to let that deter her.

She looks back at them, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Surviving has never been my problem."

Mara grins, clearly entertained. "Good. Because I doubt they'll make it easy for you."

"Let them try," Alissa replies. "I didn't come here expecting kindness."

Rhiannon studies her for a moment before giving a small nod, a rare show of approval. "Then you might just last here after all."

The conversation shifts as the three of them move away from the gawking initiates, finding a quieter spot under the shade of a stone archway. Mara, always the one to press for details, leans in slightly.

"So, tell me, Princess-should we be expecting royal visits? Will the King of Valla be storming through the gates if someone insults his precious daughter?" she teases.

Alissa snorts. "No. And if you call me 'princess' again, I'll make you regret it."

Mara grins wider. "Oh, I like you even more now."

Rhiannon, less amused by Mara's antics, cuts in. "You know they'll be watching everything you do. The moment you slip, they'll use it against you."

Alissa meets her gaze evenly. "Then I won't slip."

Mara whistles. "Confident. I respect that."

The three of them stand there for a moment, the weight of the day settling in. Despite the overwhelming attention, despite the odds stacked against her, Alissa feels a small spark of relief. She may be the first woman to walk this path, but she isn't entirely alone.

"Come on," Rhiannon finally says, tilting her head toward the inner halls. "You have a long road ahead. No point standing around waiting for them to decide whether to hate or admire you."

Alissa smirks, falling into step with them. "Let them do both."

And with that, the three disappear into the Citadel, leaving the whispers behind.

------

Inside the dimly lit council chamber of the Citadel, the air was thick with debate. Seated around a long, aged table, the senior maesters-some with chains so heavy they seemed to weigh down their very posture-argued in low but heated voices.

"It is unprecedented!" an older maester with a thin, pinched face declared, slamming his hand against the table. "The girl has already been granted more than any woman before her. Shall we now give her a private chamber as well? What message does that send?"

"A practical one," came the calm response from the youngest-looking among them. His chain was lighter than the others, marking him as less seasoned, but his voice carried weight. "She is not merely another initiate. She is the first of her kind, and whether we like it or not, she will draw attention. If we house her with the others, we risk disruption, if not outright hostility."

"So we coddle her?" scoffed another maester, a stout man with ink-stained fingers. "The Citadel does not bend to the sensitivities of its students. She came here to learn as the others do. She should endure as they endure."

"Endure?" The younger maester's brows furrowed. "You mean suffer their resentment? She is already a target. Shall we place her among those who believe she does not belong?"

"If she cannot withstand that, then she has no place here," the older maester snapped.

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.

The younger maester sighed, rubbing his temple. "This is not about favoritism. It is about practicality. A private chamber will not make her weaker. It will allow her to study without unnecessary interference. She will still have to prove herself, as all initiates do."

"And if she fails?" another maester interjected. "If we grant her special accommodations and she falters, it will confirm what many already believe-that a woman has no place among us."

Silence fell for a moment.

The younger maester leaned forward. "And if she succeeds?"

No one responded immediately.

"She should stay with the others," the older maester finally said. "Let her find her place among them. The Citadel does not change for one girl."

A final murmur of agreement passed through the chamber, and the decision was made.

The younger maester leaned back, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing more. He had seen the way the initiates looked at her upon her arrival. They would not make this easy for her. But then again, perhaps that was the point.

Valla

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the stone walls of the king's study. Mathias sat at his desk, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his goblet, though he had no desire to drink. Across from him, General Grendy stood with his usual composed demeanor, though his sharp eyes were fixed on the king's troubled expression.

"Tommen never regarded me," Mathias muttered after a long silence, his voice laced with suspicion. "He has always looked down upon Valla, upon me. Why now does he take such an interest in my daughter?"

Grendy inhaled deeply before speaking. "The news of Alissa's acceptance into the Citadel has spread beyond our borders. The western and southern kingdoms speak of it with awe and disbelief. It is not a small thing, Your Grace. Aethelgar may be the most powerful kingdom, but even power craves admiration."

Mathias frowned, his grip tightening around the goblet. "Tommen enjoys being above all others. He relishes the envy in their eyes." He let out a sharp breath. "You think he sees Alissa as something to boast about?"

Grendy gave a slow nod. "A woman studying to become a maester is unheard of. If she were tied to Aethelgar, it would be another feather in his crown-another reason for men to look upon him with awe. He would have the first female maester in history as his son's wife. That alone would elevate him further."

Mathias sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I would not forgive myself if I allowed my daughter to go to that den."

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Grendy said, his voice careful, "but what if the powers skipped her?"

Mathias lifted his head, his gaze sharp.

Grendy continued, "We have seen no signs. Witches often come into their power young, yet she has passed the age when most awaken. If she is untouched by such gifts, then Aethelgar may see her as naught but a useful pawn, not a threat."

Mathias leaned back in his chair, staring into l flickering candlelight. "That may be true, Grendy, but even if she is without power, I will not give my daughter to a monster like Tommen." His jaw tightened. "Esmeralda hates her stepson. She would see her own child on the throne. Aethelgar's court is filled with serpents, and I will not cast my daughter into their nest."

He shook his head. "And there is no guarantee that Hosea is anything unlike his father. He was a child when last I saw him, but blood shapes men more than they care to admit."

A silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. Mathias exhaled, his voice dropping to a murmur. "I hope I am here long enough to protect my children."

Grendy met his gaze, his expression steady. "You are a good father and a just king. Your children love you, as does your people. The gods will guide us through this, as they always have."

Mathias did not reply at once, his thoughts lost in the uncertain future. The candle flickered again, its flame wavering, but still it burned.

-----

Alissa stepped into her assigned chamber, only to see Ronan was one of her roommate.

Alissa set her things down at the foot of her bed, ignoring the way Ronan still watched her with thinly veiled disdain. Instead, she turned to the other boy, who remained seated at the table, his attention fixed on the book in his hands.

She stepped closer, keeping her voice even. "I am Alissa."

The boy did not look up. He merely turned another page, his expression unreadable.

She waited a moment, expecting at least a glance, some acknowledgment, but none came.

Perhaps he did not hear me.

"And you are?" she tried again.

Nothing.

His fingers moved across the parchment, his posture unchanging, as though she had not spoken at all.

Ronan let out a quiet chuckle from where he stood. "I wouldn't waste my breath if I were you. He doesn't talk much. Or at all, really."

Alissa frowned but said nothing. If the boy wished to keep to himself, so be it. She would not beg for civility.

With a small sigh, she turned away and began unpacking her things. If this was to be her home, even for a time, she would have to grow accustomed to its silence-and to those who preferred it that way.