#erraviquo

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Our Stars

by Lyra

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Days in Erraviquo unfolded like a well rehearsed composition, a piece that had been played so long the music had carved a groove into the world and time had to slip along it. It was a song she didn't know, and a melody no one seemed willing to teach her.

The piece opened with bells. When the sun rose the ringing began, silver and singing with voices soft as hidden garden birds. The palace was half monastery after all, and dawn was treasured in all religious places. They sounded as soon as the first light hits the tallest tower, and since their palace was the highest of all the structures on the mountain, their bells were always the first, but they weren't the last. Within fifteen minutes of their own, the novice monastery down the slope would join as the dawn touched them, and so on, and so on, all down the mountain.

They trilled and rang up and down the slopes for an hour before silencing, but it wasn't their music alone that woke her. This high on the mountains the sun emerged fast and early, rushing eagerly through the tall arched windows and the glass ceilings. Her room filled with light almost the instant dawn was upon them. The Royal quarters were designed to face the sun as fully as possible, letting the light touch them first. Back in Marigemma they'd had no such practice, their palace had been snuggled into gardens, designed for comfort  above all else. There the sunlight in her wide room was dappled, waving, shifting with the willow tree that grew outside her window. Servants would enter with silent steps, drawing her linen blinds just enough so the sun wouldn't disturb her sleep. Erraviquo treasured the light as they did everything that came from the heavens, and no one dared stand in it's path.

After waking, Delphine would washed herself in the bath attached to her room. She'd been worried at first about how much water she would have access to this high up, but the geothermal heat that warmed the palace so well was easily applied to snowmelt and ancient, carefully constructed plumbing ran all through the stone underbelly of the palace. The soaps and smells were different here as well; at home it had been all flora, peonies and lavender, with coarse sea-salt scrub to ease away any impurities. Here it was all charcoal to exfoliate and the scent of pine and bark hung to the oils and perfumes.

She had water, but little else as far as amenities went. There was no electricity in the palace. The wiring could not be brought so far up the mountain, and so they did without here as they had for millennia.

It was strange, there were elements of this new life that were as fine as her old, and some that were altogether more trying. Her bed was soft and silken, her clothing ornate, jewelry equally so. She was tended to by the servants, provided for carefully, but there was an overarching sense of ritual to everything that took place within the walls. Monks moved through the halls at all hours, sliding small metal orbs along shallow tracks in the floor or the walls to represent the positions of the stars. Small bells were rung when they reached key locations, or passed over each other. There were particular alignments that triggered worship at anytime of the day, cued by the ringing of particular chimes, and all other action of the palace was stopped for a moment of reflection and precise prayer in the face of such an event. No one explained any of this ritual to her. It seemed they didn't expect her to participate, even if she might want to.

Meals had become a particular challenge.

She'd lost nearly fifteen pounds since she arrived, and the weight loss wasn't stopping. Her body felt alien and strange under her. Her fingers were bonier than they had been, closing around objects in a manner that seemed harder, sterner then when she had been eating her favorite filet with delicate soft-cheeses melted on top at least once a week. When she lay in her silken bed each night she could feel her ribs rolling underneath her as she never had before, and her hands suddenly seemed too large for her wrists. Monstrous even. Alien as everything else.

There was no meat, no bread. No cow's milk, no eggs. The most dairy she ever saw was from the goats that they raised in the monasteries below the palace. Their milk was more sour than cow's milk, and sharper on the palette. The food was simple, clean, and often times tasteless: a cup of thick green tea, a small serving of soybeans, some roots, vegetables. She supposed 'tasteless' was relative. Perhaps to the monks who had lived on it all their lives, a sprinkle of goat's cheese was the the equivalent of a heavy goose-liver pate. She was not so fortunate. She fell asleep most nights dreaming of the thick creams and rich meats of home, and woke with only a pale warm tea and a pile of leaves to sate herself.

She saw her king in the morning, at midday, and in the evening. As was expected of them.

In the morning and the evening they shared their meals. They were the same courses each day, only served in the reverse order depending on which side of the sky the sun was place on. They sat twenty feet apart at opposite ends of a massive stone table, carved in the patterns and swirls of constellations. He always ate quickly.

She tried to speak to him once or twice, but he only answered her as he ever had: shortly,   bitterly. It grew harder each time she tried to raise her voice loud enough to pass across the length of the table, and the sound of her echoed so harshly in the room. All the spaces of the palace felt as if they had been built for whispers, and her voice had never easily held to that shape. She wasn't sure the dining room had ever been a place for speaking, with it's arched cathedral ceilings, heavy stone bouncing each and every sound around every corner. The meals were made of many steps and stages, so even if she did manage to begin speaking with him it would hardly be five minutes before a lavender and grey robed figure would slip silently forward to arrange the next portion of the meal, full of ritual, care, and a solemnity that felt sinful to break with words.

The only ritual they taught her was the departing of the sun. It took place at midday, with her king by her side. She'd learned how to conduct it on the day after her wedding. It was traditional, for the king and queen of the land to hail the sun on it's highest pass over the mountains, to usher it down once again in order to reveal the stars once more. The ceremony took place on a balcony that stretched out over a precipice, nothing but air and far, far below the abstract patterns of white and grey, snow and stone.

She met her king at the door, as it was opened by two priests who rang small silver bells as the doors opened. The cold struck her hard and fast each time, slipping down her throat greedy to steal her warmth away. She'd hold her coat close against it, follow Linneaus' stern and practiced steps up to the altar that faced the west. It was a stone slab, simple, white, the light of the sun always struck the notches carved atop it just as they stepped forward. They each put a hand on one side of the carvings, and turned the movable circle in the center, rearranging the prayers and patterns depicted to face the opposite way and signal the transition from lightening to darkening. They did not touch, simply mirrored, as incapable of connection as any reflections, and then returned once more to their own activities.

She'd discovered quickly there weren't many activities to be found in Erraviquo. At least not for her.

She'd wished to learn the politics of her new country, to rule as she'd imagined. But there was nothing for her. There were no books, there were no materials to pull knowledge from, and no means of reaching outside of the palace walls to communicate.

When she asked the priests they simply shook their heads and did not speak. When she asked her king he answered as quickly and sharply as he had before: they weren't his questions, he had no answers. All of the lords and ladies that had come for the wedding had left almost immediately on the following day. She was alone now. There was not one person to speak to. And a place in her chest hollowed, yawning wider each and every day. She had to find the means to fill it, or else go mad and begin screaming at the priests for answers.  

She was determined the first week to at least learn her home, if there was nothing else for her to discover. So, without a ready occupation, and without the means to define one, she spent her days wandering the palace. It was vast, intricate and elusive. The tunnels curled deep into the rocks of the mountain, and the towers twisted into the heavens. There were small rooms and spanning halls. Once she had found a small door at the back of a glass-sealed garden and opened it to find a tiny space with every inch of the walls covered in lit candles, the floor a foot deep in ancient wax. Another day she had seen steam emerging from the mountain-side and followed it down to a bustling chamber deep in the rocks where priests filled massive, towering vats with herbs and oils, all silent, only the sound of scrubbing as they cleaned their pale purple robes with vicious dedication.

She wondered sometimes how her king spent his days. There was prayer for him of course, but most of the time it seemed he remained in the rooms that he and his sister had occupied before she left. Those doors were shut. She didn't mind. She wouldn't have wanted to enter even if they had been open. There were some things best left unseen.

It was harder than she had ever suspected, the rhythm of this world. She had prepared for hardship. She had not prepared for loneliness. She had never been alone like this before. She had six brothers and nine sisters. Sometimes when she was young she'd hungered for loneliness, for the relief of silence, with so many voices and so many needy hands pulling at her, wishing for her attention. If only she'd known then...

Silence surrounded her now, heavy and suffocating. It stole her breath and stood vigilant, looming in every single room, and glaring at anyone who dared disturb it's reign.  

She and her king were the only people who existed without the specific and constant direction of ritual. Everyone else spun like an elaborate clock, and she felt sometimes as if she and he alone moved outside of this spinning machine. She wondered if it would be less lonely to spin along with them, just another cog with a purpose, an action.

It was so strange, life on top of the world: the clockwork of devotion humming around her, the well worn song of these lives spinning always and eternal. She wondered if this was how gods felt: separate, cold, the world twirling away beneath you with verve and brilliance. But you remained- colorless, except for the fierce beauty of the heavens. She could see why people thought they went mad here. The sky was so glorious, and there was nothing else. Nothing at all. It was easy to imagine that beauty reaching down gently, and pulling you up with sweet hands to drown in it's breast.

She wondered if her king had done just that. Would she? Living here, like this for so long? He must be lonely too, she knew he must. He'd lost the only other life he'd ever shared this world with.

It did seem to affect him, the loneliness she suspected lay under his skin, his petulant stare. He would glance at her across the table, looking away as soon as she smiled. He would shift uncomfortably, tap his fork against the stone of the table, cross his legs back and forth, knit a hand in his hair. She didn't wish to force him, to push him, no matter how desperate she might be for just a snatch of conversation. She wanted him to speak to her, she knew that would be the best way. But sometimes she would lose her conviction, try to start some conversation. He would look up at her with those wide lavender eyes, and answer quickly, awkwardly as if he didn't quite know how to speak to anyone besides priests.

But one night, he opened his mouth sharply as soon as they sat.

"The lords are arriving tomorrow." He spoke quickly, as if he were trying to outrace his own discomfort.

She looked up from her four leaves of dried and scantily salted kale. "Excuse me?"

He was sitting very straight in his tall-backed seat, the wood so dark it was almost black, carved into ornate mountain scenes. "I thought you should know. The Lords will be here tomorrow. For the Governance."

Her heart fluttered suddenly within her chest. "The Governance?  Isn't that to discuss events of state?" There hadn't been much information about Erraviquo's political machine but that at least she did know.

"They'll be here tomorrow," Linneaus said. "You met them at the wedding but this will be different. This is governing now, not celebrating."

She tried to imagine anyone calling the events of her wedding a celebration and the effort fell flat as an emptied balloon.

"Who are they?" she asked, hoping that if she asked simple enough questions she could continue to learn.

"Lord Belo, from the South, Lady Nuka from the North, Lord Dahl from the East, and Lord Amstyll from the West."

Delphine smiled. "I thought we were the north."

"We are all, and above, and don't count for a territory," Linneaus said shortly.

"What takes place during the Governance?" Delphine asked, trying to keep her voice low, calm, doing her best to mask the burning need thudding through her heart.

"Nothing," Linneaus shrugged. "They talk about the country, about their own kingdoms. They vote on things, sometimes."

"So, they decide how the country should move forward?"

"I don't think so," Linneaus said, he pushed one of the leaves around the stone of his plate with an irritated expression. "Nothing ever changes, so I don't think they do much of anything."

‘Don't think’, Delphine couldn't help repeating in her mind. He doesn't know. He understands as little as I do.

She looked down at her own plate, the neatly arranged leaves staring back at her, crisped and dry. She swallowed once, lifting her chin strongly.

"Might I attend the Governance?"

Linneaus looked at her, dark purple eyes bright even in the room lit only by candles and mirrors reflecting the starlight. "You want to go?"

"I do," she answered simply.

"It's boring."

"I'd like to go," she repeated, "if I may."

He shrugged. "If you want to go, go."

A priest detached himself from the wall at his words. Delphine couldn't help being startled. None of them had ever done that before. They normally stood silent and still as furniture. It felt for a moment as if a sculpture had come to life in order to move towards them.

Linneaus watched the small priest approach with wide eyes. The man leaned over, saying something close and quick to him that Delphine could not hear so far away across the long table.

"Why shouldn't she go?" she heard Linneaus ask.

The man spoke again, hands crossed neatly in front of his chest.

"My mother went. Didn't she?" Linneaus asked. "She and my father attended them all."

The priest didn't have anything to say to that. He glanced at Delphine with a small polite smile. He turned back to Linneaus and bowed his head, retreating like a rewound tape to the wall.

Linneaus frowned, focusing back on his plate. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. "They will be here at midday for the Governance, and stay for the night. We can go to meet them after the departing of the sun."

Delphine nodded, too afraid to say anything else. Her heart beat firmly inside her chest, and she ate every bit of her food. Finally, there was a chance, an open door that she could walk through, even if she didn't know what she might find on the other side.

The next morning passed slowly. She paced back and forth in her quarters, trying to recall anything she had ever learned about Erraviquo and it's politics. She remembered the family names he'd told her, but she knew little else besides titles. She knew the main exports of the country, and what they needed from others. She tried to fit the shape of the knowledge she'd gathered before all of this into the mold her new life had provided- give the facts of before the shape of now.

By the time noon struck and the departure of the sun was upon them she'd dressed as finely as she could manage, a high collar and a flowing gown that was close fitting along the bust and waist, inlaid with swirling silver threads, mimicking the star cycle patterns inscribed all along the palace walls and floors.

Linneaus seemed distracted as they performed their daily ritual, attention elsewhere, misted, heavy, and far from her.

When they concluded, they returned together to the palace. A high-priest (Delphine had learned now that their ranks were told by the color of their robes, the less color the higher the position) led them through the palace halls, around a winding staircase, and opened the door to a wide circular room she had not seen before.

Four figures sat opposite the door at a round stone table. They all stood in unison as they saw their rulers enter.

There were two empty seats facing them. Linneaus moved to one and sat. Delphine followed his lead.

A priest, who looked slightly different from their own in dress and manner, stepped up beside one of the standing figures.  "The South hails the stars, the sky, and all their secrets."

The man beside the priest bowed his head. He smiled at Delphine. The man, Lord Belo, she reminded herself, had a cleanly shaven head that made his face seem round despite being thin as the rest of them. He was shorter, and his dress was inlaid with golds and greens. His look was open, welcoming. One ear had a silver earring curled all the way around it's rim.

Another priest moved forward. "The North hails the stars, the sky, and all their secrets." A woman who reminded Delphine of a lilac tree in winter bowed her head. She was taller than all of them by at least four inches, and although her silver hair spoke to her age, her skin was still smooth, taut, and beautiful. Delphine might have thought her young if it hadn't been for her eyes. They spoke of experience: ancient, and skillful.

"The East hails the stars, the sky, and all their secrets." Lord Dahl bowed his head. He was younger than the others, maybe only ten years senior to Linneaus and herself. His hair was pitch black, eyes lined carefully with a deep lavender color that slashed out to match his sculpted thick eyebrows. His smile pulled to mirror the corners of his makeup, sharp and precise.

The final priest stepped to their lord's side. "The West hails the stars, the sky, and all their secrets." There was something similar to Linneaus in the face of the final lord. He had the same strong jaw and nose, but he was older, maybe fifty-five or so. His hair too had a sheen of lavender in the light, although it was less pronounced than her king's. The lord's shoulders sat wide and proud, expression calm and clear.

"We accept, and we welcome," Linneaus said, his voice quiet, practiced. He leaned forward on the table quickly, fingers knitted together against it. The lords sat, easing into their seats with more comfort than their king.

"I see we have some company today," Lord Dahl smiled, his beautiful feline face turning towards Delphine.

"I am more than happy to attend to the management of my new country," Delphine answered, returning his smile with her own.

"I am glad," Lady Nuka returned, her proud posture giving her even more height than she already possessed. "It has been too long since a queen's face graced our small council."

"It is a chance to learn," Delphine continued, "to understand, and I hope, to serve well."

"Honorable intentions," Lord Belo beamed, "we all are only here to serve as well as we might be able."

"Then please," Delphine gestured, "I don't wish to delay you, continue as you would."

Lord Amstyll bowed his head. "Then, shall we begin with the business of the South?"

"Happy to oblige," Lord Belo said, he placed two sturdy hands down on the table before him. "The South has passed the winter without change of note. The population remains within a five percent fluctuation. The harvest of the lower hills was profitable, a ten percent increase in production from last year's winter crop, with fifteen percent export and the remaining distributed according to provincial practice. The price of commonly distributed agricultural product into the peasant class was increased by three percent as annually--"

"Excuse me?"

Lord Belo caught his next words awkwardly. They all turned to look at Delphine. Their surprise was apparent.

"What's that your Majesty?" Lord Belo asked.

She felt the discomfort harden in the room. But she was here. She would not miss this opportunity now that she had finally found it.

"You said that the winter crop had an increase of ten percent?"

"That's right, your majesty. The snowfall on the higher hills swept down well into the fields and our terraces reaped the benefits."

"That's wonderful," she said pleasantly. "But I don't understand why the peasant price was raised by three percent if the harvest was so strong."

The faces around the table considered her. Lord Belo's expression remained kind, but there was an irritation behind his eyes. "There are expenses that the Lords must manage, and those increase per-annum. The world moves forward, and so goods increase in price. We must allow for additional expense and the means to manage growth."

Delphine kept her smile firm as armor. "Economies and prices evolve, yes, but the standard increase to goods and services is .5% per annum. Why is the peasant class made to bear an increase of six times that value?"

Lord Belo's smile began to fade. "I ensure you, your Majesty, our budgets are carefully coordinated."

"I would enjoy looking over them, if that is possible," Delphine said.

Lord Dahl let out a small elegant laugh. "I ensure you your Majesty, it makes for exceptionally dull reading."

"I ensure you Lord Dahl," Delphine returned smiling with all her charm, "I would be quite diverted."

"There are expenses here that do not apply to Marigemma's trading practices," Lord Amstyll began cleanly. "Shipping five tons of soybeans three hundred miles takes far more effort when you are traveling mountains then simply transporting by sea."

"Yes I imagine it might," Delphine continued, "but that does not explain an increase, surely the traveling conditions have been the same for centuries?"

A small bell rang suddenly behind them. Delphine stopped short, turning in surprise.

"The business of the South is concluded," a priest said, voice harmonious and calm. "The business of The North will commence."

Delphine stared, mouth still half open.

"I do hope you'll excuse us," Lady Nuka said, her voice like snowmelt slipping over smooth river stones. "There is a format that we observe here. This is your first attendance, but we cannot slow our functions for the sake of education. I'm sure you understand."

Delphine leaned back, trying to maintain her composure. "Of course, I don't wish to distract. I hope you can see that I am merely eager to learn the functions of my new home."

"Of course you are," Lady Nuka said. "Knowledge takes time, and that we have in abundance. There will be time for all. But the world turns without our say so and we must keep pace."

Delphine watched the woman. Lady Nuka held her gaze as firm and unflinching.

"The North remains much the same as before the winter season," Lady Nuka reports. "Storms were not sever, and we lost fewer than fifty citizens to the cold. Our investments continue to be profitable, the gains allowing for most infrastructure to thrive. Goods have been prepared all winter for transport once the way is cleared of winter's snows."

"I'm sorry," Delphine interrupted again. Lord Dahl leaned back in his seat with a short laugh. Delphine felt his disrespect prickle along her back. She thought of her brother, and what might happen if any lord dared to laugh at him so. She swallowed her pride firmly, wrapping her charm around her. "What investments has The North made to make enough profit to run an entire kingdom? They must be exceptionally intelligent selections."

Lady Nuka smiled back at her. "Firstly, your majesty, the North cannot boast the population of other provinces. We are a populace of lords and ancient families, with almost no peasant class to make provisions for. These families invest under the direction and suggestion of my own, and you are right, these intelligent selections have returned exceptionally."

"Yes, but what are the investments?" Delphine asked.

"The North represents Erraviquo's position in the GRA," Lord Amstyll answered. "And the taxation on their investment has proven a key economic success for all of our kingdoms."

Delphine watched Lady Nuka carefully. "The Galit Reconstruction? These investment gains come in the form of interest payments from Galit?"

"That's correct," Lady Nuka answered.

"Most of which are covered by the Spuma contracts exported to other nations?" Delphine qualified. "Isn't that correct?"

"The Worker's Contracts have provided exceptional employment and a return of economic vitality to Galit," Lady Nuka said. "It was a prudent investment, one that I know your brother has enjoyed as well."

Delphine nodded. "Yes, quite so."

The small bell rang behind them again. Delphine glanced over at Linneaus. He was not looking at her. He was not looking at anyone. He was staring at the table in front of him with a furious concentration. His hands were knitted in front of him firmly.

"The business of the North is concluded," the priest called. "The business of the East will commence."

Delphine tried to focus as Lord Dahl made his report. Questions teased on her tongue but she kept them silent. She could feel her husband's discomfort oozing off of him, feel all of them waiting for her to speak again, daring her to do so. She leaned back, and she listened as hard as she could.

The bell rang again and Lord Amstyll began his report. He made it halfway through before placing a small silver bell on the table.

"The West brings a proposal to the Governance," Lord Amstyll said.

"The South will hear," Lord Belo said.

"The North will hear," Lady Nuka echoed.

"The East will hear," Lord Dahl joined.

Linneaus said nothing. Apparently he didn't need to. Lord Amstyll continued all the same.

"The West proposes the allowance of a small Noxmilias contingent within the south-western borders for an evaluation of land towards the construction of an oil pipeline. If the evaluation is favorable a contract will be discussed for construction and presented to this council. The right to survey will come with an admittance fee and a tax on all initial activity." Lord Amstyll spoke very quickly. Not one of the members flinched. It seemed they had heard it all before. Lord Amstyll picked up his bell and rang it once. "The West agrees."

Lord Dahl rang his own. "The East agrees."

Lady Nuka's fingers moved to her own. "The North agrees."

"The South--"

"--Excuse me," Delphine couldn't help breaking in.

"Excuse me, your Majesty," Lord Dahl said in his bored, elegant voice, "you'll forgive me, but we must be allowed to continue these affairs of state uninterrupted."

"This seems an important matter," Delphine insisted. "I only wish--"

"--To understand," Lord Dahl finished for her, "but the King has seen this proposal, it was presented before you arrived."

She didn't know what to say. She leaned back, trying to swallow the questions surging between her lips.

"The West agrees," Lord Belo said, ringing his bell.

They all turned to Linneaus. Delphine followed them. She looked at him as firmly as she could, desperate to meet his eye. He seemed to feel her attention but he did not look back.

"Affirmed," he said quietly. And the Lords returned to their business.

It was two hours before it was all over. She remained silent for the rest of the affair. It passed in much the same way as it had. She cataloged it all, taking careful notes within her mind while her hands remained folded calmly in front of her.

As they left the room after the completion, Linneaus hurried down the stairs away from them all. She watched him go, her brows furrowing slightly with concern. The lords eased past her with pleasantries and smiles, following their king.

Lord Amstyll stopped at her side. "Your Majesty?"

She turned to face him. "Yes?"

He smiled, and there was a manner of kindness there. "Might I speak to you a moment?"

She inclined her head. "Of course, if you wish."

"Please," he gestured down the hall. They walked together, steps echoing around the wide walls, the sun shining violently off the brilliance outside. They moved away from the others, one step at a time.

When he spoke again his voice was low. "I can see this is strange to you."

She didn't know how to answer. "Novelty is often strange."

"I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but Linneaus is actually family. His father was my mother's sister's child."

"You were cousins?" she asked.

"His father was my cousin, yes," Lord Amstyll answered. "I knew Linneaus' father since I was young. I watched him and his wife as their marriage began, I saw it blossom into love, and I was waiting in the halls of this palace for word as Linneaus and Linnea came into the world."

They stepped down the vast hallway together, at the end of the space a young priest was slowly moving a star-bead down it's track in the floor.

"When the King and Queen were lost to us, it was a terrible blow, for all. They served this land magnificently, and we have tried to raise Linneaus to do the same."

Delphine focused on the spanning tiles and patterns under the silk of her flat shoes. "He does not seem to do much."

Lord Amstyll stopped, turning to face her. She looked up at him, his indigo eyes were tired but firm. "Perhaps royalty means something else in your land. In ours it means a connection to the heavens, to something beyond the rest of us. You are the divine. We are not. That is the difference. We have run this nation for thousands of years. We understand what to feed it and what it will return to us for that favor. My cousin and his wife did not seek to alter that. That stood at the wavering edge of the sky, and kissed it's power. They were our stars."

He smiled, and it was kind, but there was a brittle edge beneath the gentility.

"I suggest, your Majesty, that you learn from their example."

He bowed his head once, and turned back the way he had come, steps echoing one by one until finally he was gone. Delphine stood where she had been left. She looked across the floor.

The priest had hardly moved. His attention was still firm on the tiny silver representation of a star against the floor. It was silent, still, but all the same, she felt she could hear him listening.

[divine--right]

The Edge of the World

by Lyra

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It took them two weeks to scale the mountain. They could have managed  it in just a few days, but the altitude made extended travel necessary. Every day they climbed they had to rest, wait, let their systems adjust to the height and the lightness of the air. Even Brogan was grateful for the chance to acclimate and he was infinitely more prepare for the conditions than she and her sister. Vugge’s height, though impressive, was just half of what they had to scale in order to reach the palace of Erraviquo.

It sounded like a fantastical place, or at least she imagined it did. A palace sitting on the highest mountaintop with nothing but the thinnest air between it and the stars. Of course the romance of it wasn’t something everyone saw. There were legends, stories, stereotypes, the idea that the Star Eaters were so close to the sky and carried it with them so constantly they went mad and could no longer perceive the earth around them. But Delphine liked to think she wasn’t naive enough to believe those kind of stories. It was merely what they told children back home and in other flatlands to frighten them with xenophobic undertones. Far from reality, in all likelihood.

Her soon to be husband’s culture and Brogan’s had emerged from the same roots, so they couldn’t be all that different. Both cultures had grown in the mountains, looking to the sky for gentle guidance and comfort. Tristan was some manner of priest in his own right and he hadn’t carried any of the fabled madness with him, just a family he loved and a quiet depth to his eyes that spoke of things unseen by others. Brogan warned her it would be different here, but the truth was she was eager to meet the land and the people she would spend the rest of her life caring for. Delphine had always wanted to be a queen.

Her sisters had been more fearful of their approaching authority than she. She was older than them, and Armand had been the brother she looked up to. He’d confided in her, playing at court before they were older enough, and letting her help him make state choices when they weren’t children any longer. She’d even ruled in his stead when extraordinary circumstances had called him away. It had been what she’d prepared for her entire life: privately educated in consort relations and politics until she was old enough to enter schooling at the Economics Institute for a more in depth perspective. She’d excelled there as she always had anywhere, but it had just been games until now, a pantomime of the real thing, and here, on this road, she was finally heading towards the life she’d waited for.

She would rule, over a land and a people, with a king beside her. She would sit with her brother at global conferences, share political discussions and principals with all the weight of a true monarch. And so, while she understood more than well enough the necessity of their slow assent, she was eager to reach the pinnacle of their journey.

She wasn’t sure if the company she’d brought along made the trip harder or easier. She was glad of the company her sister and her new brother provided, but it made her wary of what her own approaching marriage would deliver. It shocked her still how quickly she’d come to love Brogan and his family, and how easily Catarina seemed to have slipped into happiness. Rosaline, she knew, had not been so lucky, and they’d been wary as they made the trip to Vugge of the brashness of the culture. But they’d been welcomed, with open arms and open hearts. They were good people, despite being a bit dirty and more than a bit bloody. The look in Catarina’s eyes whenever she looked at her new husband made all the effort worth it.

Delphine watched them now. Catarina was tired from the short walk they’d taken to the lift, and she rested her head against her husband’s chest, the knitted wool that Ronan had given her poking out of her furs, soft cheeks blushed prettily from the cold. Brogan looked out the windows opposite them, expression distant. He seemed worried, but he often seemed so, heavy brows and mouth looking sterner than she knew he was thanks to his beard. One of his hands idly ran back and forth against the warmth of his new wife’s arm.

They were enamored with each other, that much was apparent to anyone around them. Delphine wondered what that meant for their future. The passion that had sprung between them wasn’t surprising. Catarina was a beautiful girl, ripe and lush, radiant as all their family. And Brogan, well, she’d caught Catarina eyeing the immense bulk of his limbs at least a dozen times within the first two hours of their meeting. But infatuation wasn’t love. And a functional partnership wasn’t necessarily either. Delphine leaned back into the wooden seat under her, and wondered how they would look five years from this day, ten, fifty. Would they still look at each other so sweetly? Would their immediate connection expand and deepen into something truly rewarding?

She’d doubted Talya and Armand’s marriage so severely in the early days. She’d grown to love Talya over time, but the new queen had seemed to hate the palace so much when she first arrived. She’d eased into it, like water crashing against a rock and steadily etching out it’s passage. She’d found her place in time. Catarina seemed just the opposite: within a week she was at home. Perhaps that meant that within five years she would hate it as fiercely as Talya had hated Marigemma in those first days.

She supposed there was no telling. There was just time. And her’s was soon approaching.

The lift shifted around them, a strong breeze knocking it and causing it the sway in the empty air, the soft noise of metal echoing back and forth, back and forth, as it did. Brogan smiled at her supportively. But he needn’t. She wasn’t afraid. Though she could see why he might think she was. They were a hundred feet off the ground however, with nothing but a wire between them and the long fall.

The mountains were too steep for roads in many places here, especially as they got closer to the palace.This lift was the final step of their journey. Roads were rare in Erraviquo. She’d hardly seen any, and those she had seen were ruled more by goats, mules, and motorbikes than any manner of car. They were thin, dirt things, and that made them hard to manage for any larger vehicle. Often times there were no roads leading up the higher slopes, just a lift suspended on a wire that carried supplies and people such as they were now.

The lords who had housed them on their way up the slopes and been kind and hospitable. Quite wealthy. It was different from Brogan’s land in that way she’d noticed quite early on. They seemed more like her people in that sense. The lord had his manor, perched on the side of the mountains, a beautiful maintained place, more like a museum than an actual home, filled with beauty and quiet tradition. Everything careful, everything quiet, serene, and almost sacred. They manor was surrounded by a series of small villages that did what simple farming they could and made craftwork. She’d learned the palace functioned much the same only on the higher tier of the scale. Where the lord’s presided over the villages which gave them means, the king and the palace presided over the lords in a similar relationship. She was eager to learn more about the details of the economics.

The lift jolted against under them, but it didn’t feel like wind this time.

“We are approaching the summit, Majesties,” their conductor said, quiet voice muffled against the quilted weave of his coats.

Brogan jostled Catarina lightly and she opened her eyes, glancing about in confusion as she righted herself. Delphine straightened her posture, looking eagerly out of the front window towards the approaching summit. They all stood together as the lift slid into it’s platform and the conductor jostled the door open.

“Ready?” Catarina asked her, voice soft by her side.

Delphine smiled at her sister. “Always.”

They stepped out onto the platform.

The sight was shocking. She hadn’t expected so many people. The land was less populated than Brogan’s despite it’s size and especially this high up there weren’t many citizens. She’d been told the palace normal housed about one hundred, mostly monks and servants, and that on stately occasions such as her wedding she could expect to see as many as thirty additional lords in the halls. There were at least two hundred people standing in front of them, looking to be everything from monks, to servants, to lords, even including several cameramen and reporters off to one side. And strangely, the people seemed as surprised as they were to see them.

She looked over the crowd, her heart suddenly beating harder in her chest. There was no celebration, no signs of welcome. Hardly any smiles. Something was wrong.

“What’s going on?” Catarina asked quietly.

“I have no idea,” Brogan tried, smiling and giving a feeble wave to the crowd.

Towards the front of the group Delphine saw motion. There were two individuals about their age, and she instantly recognized her soon to be king and his sister. Twins with porcelain skin, hair violet and delicate, and large peering eyes that seemed cut with confusion. A man in fine clothing was whispering something quickly in her King’s ear. The twins were staring back at them as they listened. Delphine smiled, bowing her head slightly.

The advisor stepped back quickly and the boy frowned before stepping forward. It was only then she noticed he’d been holding his sister’s hand and was forced to drop it as he approached. He moved towards them with a few others in tow, reaching them in just a moment.

She smiled at him as she’d been waiting to. He didn’t seem able to look directly in her face, and she suddenly was given the impression of a small child who’s been forced into a room with people he’s never met and isn’t sure what to do. He was a beautiful boy, almost tall with good structure, high cheekbones, thick eyebrows, and a sharp nose that gave him an unmistakable masculinity despite the fineness of his features. She felt silly for a moment thinking of him as a boy after all he was only a year younger than herself, but there was really nothing for it. He felt so powerfully like a shy child she couldn’t banish the thought.

“You must be King Linneaus,” Brogan smiled next to her. He extended his hand in greeting.

The boy stared at it. After a moment Brogan lowered it back to his side and swallowed.

“You were supposed to get here tomorrow,” Linneaus said suddenly. His voice was quiet, as if he had grown up in large silent rooms and didn’t want the sound of himself to fill them.

“We thought it would be pleasant to spend the night here before the wedding,” Delphine picked up easily. “I’m so eager to see my new home. And you. I’m sure you understand.”

Linneaus frowned, eyebrows furrowing in an irritated confusion. He didn’t seem to know what to do. She realized suddenly that his eyes were red, as if he’d been crying, and she was embarrassed for taking notice.

“I’m sorry if we misunderstood,” she tried.

“My sister is leaving,” he said, eyes still fixed on her shoulder rather than her face. “We are sending her away to Metraterra.”

“Oh,” Delphine said suddenly. “We’re so sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“But you have you see,” Linneaus said, voice quiet but brittle.

“Yes,” Delphine managed. “Yes, I see that. We’re sorry. But I am glad I will have to chance to meet her.”

Linneaus looked up at her suddenly. “Oh. I don’t think…”

One of the men who had come up to the platform with him gave him a look. His expression darkened again, petulant and bitter. “Of course.”

He turned, seemingly drawing his sister to him with a simple glance. The girl walked towards them. They moved the same way, slow but smooth, like clouds across the sky or dust in the air. It was strange, but they seemed to walk as if their feet didn’t even touch the ground. She fancied that if she reached out to touch this girl, her hand might go right through her, as if she were merely a trick of the light.

Finally, she reached them and Delphine didn’t think she had ever seen a girl look so sad in all her life. The shock the girl’s expression quieted her, and for maybe the first time in her life, she didn’t know what to say. She was beautiful, just like her brother. She shared his thick eyebrows and wide eyes, but where his stare glinted angry hers shone with fear.

She bowed, ever so slightly, dipping her sweet face. “Princess Delphine.”

Delphine returned the gesture. “Princess Linnea.”

“Please,” the servant who had whispered to Linneaus said, stepping up to them. He was dressed in long robes. She wondered if he was a monk. “If you come with me we shall make sure you are comfortable for the evening.”

Delphine nodded, trying to gather herself once more. “Of course, thank you.”

He ushered them to one side, leading their little party around the crowd and towards the shape of the palace. Brogan and Catarina followed him, eager to be away from the strangeness of the moment, but Delphine found herself stopping at the back of the crowd, looking over her shoulder again at the siblings.

It was a beautiful and haunting picture they made, standing there together at the edge of the mountain. Behind them there was nothing but air, and far off, sharp peaks, pale against a sky white and ready for snow.

She remembered leaving her home. She’d spend the morning in Armand’s office, talking about lambs and lost boys, and then it had been time to leave. She’d thrown her arms around him, held him close and tight as she could, kissing him firmly on the cheek and promising to see him as soon as she could.

There was none of that with the two standing on the edge of the world. They didn’t embrace, they didn’t kiss, they didn’t promise or even speak. They simply stood, close, hands knitted together between them, and they looked at each other.

It was simply, almost childish, but there was such an intimacy there, such a closeness, that she couldn’t help but feel instantly like an intruder. They seemed to pass so much between them, in silence, with nothing but their eyes and the touch of their hands, much more than she suspected she’d ever known, maybe more than she ever would know. And the people watched, silent, still, and somber.

She knew something of them. She knew that they had spent all their lives together, hidden away from the world. She knew they had been left with no family with only the care of monks and the stars. She had been told they loved each other a great deal. But that wasn’t quite right, she realized. It was more than that. It wasn’t love, it was necessity. They looked at each other like the darkness must look at the stars that fill it, loving, needing, bound, not just eternally but by their very definition. And suddenly, it seemed as impossible to pull them apart as it would be to pull the stars from that darkness without sending the whole of the sky crashing into ruins.

Delphine didn’t know them. She had hardly even met them. But she could see that well enough. She was sure anyone could. It was so clear. So simple.

The lift was waiting. The girl had to go. But Delphine turned away. She didn’t want to see his heart break.The following day would be difficult enough.

They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the palace. A few servants had gone with them, showing them quietly from room to room. It was powerfully beautiful, and more still than any place she had been. It seemed half asleep, all quiet with an almost heavy peace that she’d only ever known in religious places. It felt more like a temple in many ways than a palace, there weren’t many servants and far more monks moving through the halls.

Brogan seemed uncomfortable inside the walls. It was all tall ceilings and vast open spaces compared to his close warm castle. Every single ceiling was covered in glass so there was never any barrier to the sky. It should have been freezing. They were up so high and there weren’t any fires she could see, but heat seeped in through the floors, geothermal warmth spreading through everything around them, enough that quilted silks and well spun linens were all that kept the monks warm. There were small bells hung in most rooms and they rang light and hollow in various parts of the palace throughout the day. Brogan told her it had something to do with the placement of the stars as they circled unseen overhead.

Everything inside felt preserved and fragile, as if it should only be touched with great care and when exactly necessary. Brogan walked closer to the center of every room, as if he was terrified if he might catch a vase or the ornamented edge of a wall with an elbow and cause an international crisis.

Delphine tried to imagine herself walking these halls for years to come, learning them each day until they didn’t feel so alien. But it was a hard image to summon. Even the people around them didn’t seem to feel at home here. It felt like a sacred place, a seat for a god not for a king. Maybe children would help it feel like a home. She wondered when the last time was that these halls saw children. Linneaus and Linnea’s parents had died when they were hardly one, and they hadn’t been raised here but in a monastery a short distance away. She wondered if it had felt this empty since that day.

Eventually they’d been shown where to gather for dinner. Linneaus hadn’t joined them. His advisor, a high monk named Birre had told them he was unwell and could not leave his chambers.  She smiled and tried to joke enough that Brogan and Catarina would not worry for her. But through it all, she couldn’t forget the way they had looked at each other, seeming to stand on the edge of the world with only the the other to hold onto.

The memory lingered, even into the night. She tried to shut her eyes, roll under the silk sheets topped with fine spun woolen blankets and drift away into thoughtlessness. But she couldn’t seem to manage it. Each time she shut them there was a new smell invading her breath, unfamiliar and strange. There was a tightness in her stomach she couldn’t think away. She felt cold, and alone, and it was suddenly harder than it had ever been not to be afraid.

She let it continue for a few more hours and then finally stood, and quietly padded over the smooth stone floors to the door of Brogan and Catarina’s room. She listened, and finding it all quiet but for steady sleeping breath, she pushed it open lightly. They were in a large bed against the far wall. She could see Brogan’s massive arm draped over his side, a light snoring escaping from under his beard.

She crossed the room quickly, quietly, standing by her sister’s side. For a moment she considered going back to her room, but then Catarina’s hand found hers in the darkness. Delphine felt her throat tighten, but ignored it, sliding under the covers as Catarina pushed back to make room, squishing herself closer to her husband. She eased into the warmth of her sister’s body, breathing in all the familiar smells of her.

Delphine shut her eyes and Catarina held her close.

“We will always be here. You know that,” her sister whispered softly.

Delphine squeezed her hand in the dark. “I know.”

It did not take her long to fall asleep.

“Do you know where the ceremony will be?” Delphine asked Brogan over her shoulder as Catarina helped her ease an arm through her dress.

“Pretty sure they have a chapel in the palace,” Brogan said. He was picking at the breakfast they’d brought up for them. It was mostly beans and root vegetables like it had been the night before. “I don’t see why there isn’t any meat.” Brogan frowned.

“There’s no fields for meat,” Catarina said.

“There’s yaks. And I saw sheep,” Brogan insisted. “They could at least manage cheese.”

“They don’t believe in it,” Delphine answered. “It’s part of their piety.”

Brogan muttered something about stars not caring what ate what, but she ignored him, looking out the window at the sharp mountains surrounding them. It was so strange, a land without color. There was the black of the stones, and the white of the snow. Nothing else. In the night she supposed it made the colors of the sky all that more vivid.

“There,” Catarina smiled, letting go of the dress and leaning back.

Delphine looked at the mirror by the window. It was a long dress, pale blue and white, and gathering up in volume at the bottom like the foam of the sea. It was cut deeply down the neck to almost her navel, letting the burnt rose-gold of her skin show. Her arms were free, long and toned, a few stray sun-kissed freckles scattered across them. Her hair was as large as it always was, full of volume and light, pushed back from her face freely. She wore a flower behind her ear. It was the only one they’re been able to bring this far with them, a simple spring of lavender.

“Gorgeous,” Brogan smiled across the room.

She looked back at her own eyes. “Do you think he’ll notice?”

She hadn’t meant to say it. They’d all been avoiding discussing him all morning. As well they might. What was there to say?

“He will,” Catarina said, squeezing her hand and forcing a smile. “How can he not?”

She didn’t know. It had seemed so simple just a day ago. She’d been confident, prepared. And now she looked back at herself and couldn’t find anything in her eyes that she recognized as that girl from a few miles down the mountain.

But that was foolish. He was sad. His sister was leaving him. She’d been sad as well the day she left, but she had miles and weeks behind her from that day. He had none. She understood. It was only to be expected.

She smiled back at herself, letting the life into her face again. Her eyes gleamed like sunshine on the sea and she felt her body swell with pride and assurance. Her back straightened, lengthening her limbs, pronouncing her chest. She looked beautiful. Just as she should.

“I’m ready.”

The chapel was similar in many ways to the one that had held her sister’s wedding, but there was the same sense of care and quiet hung around it’s walls as everywhere else in the palace. The sun poured down, white and sharp, filling the room completely. The ceiling was taller, but it was still open, and there were fires lit for warmth because of it, tall thin braziers around the perimeter of the circular room. The floor was black, with an intricate silver inlaid pattern of dots and lines all looping together and over each other like some strange nest. It was the night sky she realized, it must be, every shape it could possibly hold over that room reflected on the floor under her.

Monks lined the walls, their hollow voices light and high, soft enough to be whispers, but all together forming a haunting sound that circled through the space until it left through the roof above. They were dressed in simple but very elegant apparel, long black robes trimmed with indigo, lilac, and silver, their heads shaved clean, patterns of the sky tattooed against their bare skulls. The room was more crowded than she’d expected. There was a line of lords, all finely arrayed and stoney faced, waiting for her to approach. Brogan and Catarina were not standing on one side waiting to meet Linneaus as she had waited for Brogan. Here it was just the lords and her, waiting to approve her before she approached the front. And she stood alone, with no one to lead her. But that was just as well. She didn’t mind.

Linneaus was at the center of the floor, standing with the head monk. He looked very handsome, finely tailored robes fitting him exactly, shades of luminous raw silk that shone different colors when he shifted under the light, all bound together with soft cotton accents. His purple hair was swept back from his face and just long enough to stay where it was put. He wasn’t looking at her as she made her way into the vastness of the space, rather staring at the space on the floor she would soon be standing on with a furious concentration.

She smiled all the same, taking in the beauty of the space. She held her chin high, moving to the first of the lords. The man had a wizened face, and was shorter than her by five inches or so. After half a moment he nodded, and she moved to the next. There were over twenty before she was done, but finally the last woman with hair as white as the snow and legs so thin Delphine didn’t know how she could stand gave her approval and Delphine moved to the front.

She stepped up to Linneaus, feet entering his vision. Apparently surprised he glanced up to her face, and then instantly down again, but down was more her chest than anything else now. His cheeks flushed up instantly, mouth frowning and he settled on glaring over her shoulder.

“You have come here to be bound, in the eyes of the stars?” The monk asked. His voice was soft, but it somehow filled the space.

“I have,” Delphine said.

Linneaus’ stare remained fixed over her shoulder. “I have.”

“Then bare your hands,” the monk commanded.

Delphine held hers out to the monk. He held it and slipped a thin silver band around her finger. Linneaus held his hand up impatiently, waiting while an identical band was slid onto his own.

“Join hands,” the monk commanded.

Delphine reach out to him. He flinched when she touched him, but took her hand all the same, holding it awkwardly between his fingers. It was strange. He’d held his sister’s hand so easily, but her’s seemed something completely alien to him. His fingers were cold and stiff, but impossibly smooth and she wondered if holding a statue’s hand in her own would feel the same.

The monks began to sing with more volume, the one in front of them leading the rest. This was the binding, she knew, they were asking the stars to see them, to recognize them, without words, merely voices.

It lasted longer than she would have thought. It was almost half an hour before they finally began to fall silent once more. Her feet were stiff under her but she kept her back straight, attention firm on the monk, hand warm and soft in Linneaus’.

“In the eyes of the stars,” the monk said, voice falling out of song. “With a kiss you are bound.”

Delphine turned to him, smiling soft and kind. He glanced at her once, cheeks flushing again. He dropped her hand, leaning forward to peck her cheek before righting again, and with that they were wed. The lords sent out a polite applause as they turned to face the room once more. She was still smiling, but she could feel her cheeks growing sore.

After the ceremony they gathered in the long hall for their meal. It was an extended event and she had a hard time imagining anything could be more different from the feast she’d shared with Brogan’s family just a few weeks ago. She and Linneaus sat at the front of the long room, side by side. Catarina and Brogan sat at the top of the long left table, and there was an empty seat at the top of the right. Delphine could help staring at it. She imagined the girl she’d met on the platform sitting there, her thin hands rested in her lap, her wide blue eyes staring back at her from her white skin, silent, afraid.

Every half an hour they brought another plate. Each one represented another region of the land and came from another lord seated at the table who stood and told a spanning impossibly dull tale of their family’s history as it was served. The plates were beautifully arranged, and intricately detailed for something so small. There was hardly a bite to any single one, and two hours into the event her stomach still felt hollow inside of her. It didn’t help that their glasses were always full of a pale misty liquor she’d never tasted before. Her head was swimming after just an hour, but she continued to drink it all the same.

There was soft conversation throughout the hall between dishes, a gentle murmur against the silence. She watched Brogan and Catarina next to her, Catarina covering her laughter as Brogan tried to get two bites out of a tiny arrangement of roots and sprouts. She wanted to laugh with them, speak to them while she could, but she felt guilty. This was her wedding feast. It wasn’t what she imagined, but few things are. She should make it what she wished it to be.

She leaned over to Linneaus. She’d left him a wreath on his door that morning, but he hadn’t worn it. He hadn’t even mentioned it. But that was fine, she wouldn’t let it trouble her.

He was swallowing his fifth glass of the liquor and hadn’t stopped frowning once the entire night. His posture was slumped in the chair like an angry child. But she ignored it. If he would act like a child she would humor him like one.

“It’s good,” she smiled. “How’s it made?”

He glanced at her, apparently surprised she’d spoken to him before looking back at his glass.

“It’s seeds,” he said. “I believe.”

“I see,” Delphine smiled. She looked at his plate. There was still a small elegant dish in the center. “What’s your favorite so far?”

“I haven’t had any,” he responded shortly.

“You should,” she pressed on. “It’s so different from the food back home. I’m excited to learn more about how it’s grown, what the farming is like here. Your people must be so clever to raise food under such conditions.”

“I don’t know about farming,” he said quickly, taking another drink.

“Oh, I’m sure you know some,” she said, leaning closer with a coy smile, voice low enough to be intimate. “You’re the king after all. I’m sure you must know quite a bit.”

“No,” he looked at her firmly, a darkened anger flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know anything about those things. It’s not my concern. And it’s not yours.”

She stared back at him in surprise. He didn’t seem to care, in fact it only seemed to make him more angry. There was a tightness in her chest that she couldn’t banish and she had a sudden urge to throw something at him, to stand up and yell at them all. But it was only a flash, just a moment, and when it passed she was left feeling more hollow than before.

“I like the flowers,” Catarina said beside them.

Delphine turned to her. She suddenly looked so far away.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it. I’ve never eaten flowers before,” her sister tried to smile.

Delphine looked down in front of her. There was a orange and red flower in the center of her serving. It looked so bright against the white of the plates. She looked around the hall, watching as the lords spoke in muted voices, the flowers pressed between their lips as they swallowed them into darkness.

She didn’t eat any more, but she did not stop drinking.

Hours passed. She couldn’t say how many. Catarina kissed her cheek somewhere within them. The room had grown dark. She’d felt Brogan’s warm hand on her shoulder as they passed, leaving. The hall became more empty. Bit by bit. She looked to the seat next to her. It was empty too.

She managed to stand, and make herself walk. It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be. Perhaps she wasn’t all that drunk after all. A small girl with a shaved head and monks robes led her down the long halls. They twisted and turned around her, all merging, all seeming exactly the same. She followed the floating shape of the candle in the girl’s hand, letting it shine out everything else around her.

The girl was humming a song that Delphine felt she knew, but couldn’t remember from where. It sounded like a lullaby, something distant and familiar, but the words weren’t the same.

She wondered if she’d heard it growing up. She tried to imagine him young, running down the twisting halls, chasing his sister, laughter on his lips and color in his cheeks. They must have played, all children do. They’d only had eachother after all. She wondered if she could ever make him laugh the way he must have with her before the world reminded them of it’s presence.

The girl came to a stop. There was a door in front of them. So Delphine opened it.

The room behind it was large, vast. The ceiling was all stars, brilliant and cold. There was a bed against one wall. It was still made. She stepped into the room, leaving the girl behind, and closed the door behind her. Something shifted in the darkness. He was there already. Waiting for her? Hiding from her? She wasn’t sure which. He was sitting in a chair across the room, staring at the bed without seeming to see it. His expression was dark, but more hazy than it had been. She wasn’t surprised. He’d drank even more than her and eaten far less.

Quietly she stepped closer. He didn’t move. He didn’t look at her. She didn’t sit, or kneel, she simply stood beside him. There was no sound. Nothing. She wondered if she’d ever really heard silence before. Back home there had always been the waves, but the air was so thin here, and stars made no sound. At least none that she could hear.

She saw his hand resting on the arm of the wooden chair under him. She reached down, drifting her fingers over the back of it. He flinched. But he did not pull away.

Soft. His hand was so soft. Armand had not worked a day in his life but his hands had never felt that soft. She was suddenly afraid he might break like a chick or something else too small and fragile to exist on it’s own, but that was foolish. She let her fingers slip under his palm and lifted his hand in her own.

He was shaking.

She held his hand gently between both of hers, cradling it like she’d held the kitten they’d left behind in Vugge. She raised it higher and ran her cheek softly against the back of his knuckles. He hadn’t stopped shaking. It was even worse than when she’d first touched him.

Something swelled in her throat. She wanted to still him, calm him, she wanted it so desperately suddenly she thought she might break under the pressure of it, but she didn’t. She held his hand and kissed it once, lips parted, warm and soft, and full of as much gentle love and promise of more as she could manage.

He ripped his hand away from her all at once. She fell back a step, an apology trying to escape her lips but it couldn’t find it’s way free. He clutched his hand tight to his chest as if she burned it. He was looking at her now, really truly looking at her for what seemed to be the first time, and she had never seen anything so angry or afraid. He looked like a child who’d been struck across the face and had no idea why.

He shoved himself from his seat and stumbled out the door, slamming it behind him.

Delphine stood there alone for some time. Finally, she crossed the room, letting her dress slip to the floor at her feet. She slid her naked body under the sheets, head dizzy, chest tight. She tried to breathe evenly, and when she found she couldn’t, she cried, and when she had no more tears, she slept.

[divine--right]

oldseafarer replied to your post: Hey everyone! Erraviquo now has a comp...

Are there any coming of age rituals?

There are not, mostly because such a ritual would acknowledge a full departure from childhood into adulthood, which no Erravi ever wants to do.

Childhood is a state of being and consciousness that the Erravi are constantly seeking ways to bring into their lives and keep close at hand. Because of their idol/god, the child Star Whisper, they seek to maintain the energy of children in their lives, and many Erravi see their adulthood as an attempt to regain the freeness of mind and innocence of their childhood, which leads to awkward and frequently non-existent sexual lives (see more in the Culture section), some questionable treatment of women (see more in the Religion section), and skepticism by outside nations.