Messenger in the Mist (7 page)

At this point, Star reasoned, any more thought spent on her relationship to Valen was wasteful. Prince Valen loved Princess Vespa, and the world would be at peace. The two of them even possessed the same initials. One couldn’t argue predestined perfection.

“Wait here, Windracer, I’ll be right back.” Star dismounted, tying Windracer to a fence post and marched the remaining steps to the main antechamber as if she paced the final steps to her doom. She presented the letter to each guard and an attendant ushered her to the princess’s room without further delay. Even the guards, eager and willing to escort her, seemed to know whom the letter was from.

The highest tower held Princess Vespa’s room, overlooking the sprawling city of Evenspark in a grand balcony carved from granite and marble, flanked by giant stone dragons. The statues eternally launched into flight, their wings spread like they would come to life at any moment and flutter off with a breathless whim.

Star found the princess standing on her balcony, the wind whipping her auburn hair and satin shawl in one single rush of crimson and lace as she gazed upon her subjects, watching their lives from afar.

Vespa was everything Star was not. Star glimmered in ethereal moonlight and Vespa flaunted vibrant, earthy colors and had emerald eyes, rosy cheeks, cherry lips, and hair the deep hue of sunset. Her mother was the queen’s sister, linking her ever so closely to the ruling throne. Princess Vespa’s ancestors dated all the way back to Evenspark’s first rulers and her father was a nobleman from Ravencliff. The two strains of opposite genes blended in perfect union to create the most beautiful woman in all the land.

Vespa turned around and the room brightened, her eyes casting joy like a spell. “Finally, my long-awaited letter has arrived.”

Star bowed, presenting the document silently. Like a slaughtered opponent, she had absolutely nothing to say.

The princess took the parchment in her smooth, silken hands and tore the seal immediately. Star turned to leave, but Vespa said, “Messenger, you must stay. I will have a reply sent immediately.”

Star couldn’t bear to stand there while Valen’s delicate words were read. “I apologize, Your Highness, but I have other duties to attend to.”

Vespa’s arms dropped to her sides, the letter half opened. Her eyes suddenly burned like a forest set on fire. “What duty is greater than serving your beloved princess?”

Star paused, not knowing how to respond to such audacity. She stifled an inappropriate remark. “My apologies, Highness.”

Her words seemed to appease Vespa. The princess sat on her velvet chaise, raising her slippered feet onto an embroidered cushion. The letter drew back her attention. She unfolded the parchment with relish and her lips curved into a luxurious smile.

As the princess read, Star stood awkwardly in the foyer. Although her body ached from the journey and every muscle in her legs threatened to give out, she knew sitting was unacceptable unless invited. It didn’t look like Vespa was going to offer any kind of hospitality.

Instead of watching Vespa’s pretty face interpret the letter, Star looked around the princess’s room, her eyes falling on jeweled necklaces, silver mirrors and feathered hairpieces. She saw chiffon shawls and lace blouses, gold barrettes and strung pearls. The princess had it all, and Valen as well.

Then, all of a sudden, Vespa cried out as if an Elyndra had flown right onto her private balcony. The shrill, harsh utterance was hardly a word at all but more of a guttural reaction. Star looked back at her in shock. “What is the matter, Princess?”

Vespa clutched the letter so hard it wrinkled in her hands. She stared at the writing like the loopy circles spelled out a curse.

Star couldn’t help but ask in a hushed whisper, “What did he say?”

The princess’s squinty eyes simmered. Her voice grew low and threatening. “How dare you ask about my personal letters! Get out!”

Star had overstepped her boundaries as a message carrier. Zetta told her never to get invested in the lives of the recipients and now, because of Valen, she’d gotten involved in the highest sense. She stood before the raging princess like a dumb donkey, trying to make sense of her words or the intent of the letter.

“Get. Out.” The princess pronounced each syllable clearly as if Star was slow of hearing. She pulled on a braided cord and a bell rang, echoing into the hall. “If you don’t remove yourself, I’ll have someone remove you.”

Regaining her composure, Star bowed and left immediately. As she strode across the length of the room, two maidservants ran past her like scurrying mice, shouting, “What is it, Your Highness?” and “How can we help?”

Star exited the room but lingered in the corridor, listening closely as Vespa poured her heart out to her lackeys. “It’s Prince Valen,” she said, her voice twisted in anguish. “He wants to call off the betrothal.”

Star fell back to the stone wall, stunned. Valen’s words came back to her with a newfound meaning.
You make your own destiny.

“Did he say why?” one of the cowering maidservants asked, probably more out of curiosity than concern for Vespa’s wellbeing.

Star held her breath. If Valen mentioned anything concerning a messenger, the princess would have her thrown in the dungeon as a traitor. She would never deliver another letter again. Not that she had a decent job left anyway. Star pushed the thought away like an unpleasant memory. She would deal with that situation later. There was enough strife happening right now. She clenched her sweaty palms and prayed.

“No,” Vespa replied. “He gave no reason whatsoever. He says that it’s for the best.”

The second maidservant’s meager voice came next and Star had to strain her neck and lean back to hear. “But how can something dreadful like this be for the best?”

Vespa sighed. “I have no idea.” Then her voice grew steely and resolute. “One thing is for sure. He’s going to pay.”

Star descended the spiral steps, leaving the princess to be consoled by her maidservants. Although her footsteps were slow and methodical, her mind cranked like a thousand miniature wheels all turning in different directions at the same time.

But one thought kept surfacing amidst the chaos—Valen’s mysterious behavior may not have anything to do with her. He might have canceled the betrothal for a number of reasons, the least of them being some inconsequential letter carrier. The thought disappointed Star, but at the same time freed her from any guilt that somehow she stood in the way of kingdom politics, placing the entire realm in jeopardy.

As she walked back to Windracer, Star reflected on her tumultuous day, trying to piece together the fragments of stinging memories and make sense out of the chaos. Not only did she start the day by leaving Valen in a rash fit of anger, but she was attacked by a mythological flying beast, expelled from the job she’d pursued her entire life, and then was forced to deliver the one letter she would rather have burned. If the engagement hadn’t been broken, then it would probably be the worst day of her entire life.

With a whiff of irony and a pang of indulgent guilt, Star realized that watching the spoiled princess’s face turn sour made it all worth it.

Destiny’s Child

The night Valen wrote Vespa’s letter was the night he remembered where he had seen Star before and why she had kept a piece of his heart all along.

Like many fond memories, it all began with a bright, sunny afternoon. The sky held endless blue and the sun blazed brilliantly, sizzling the morning mist. It was ten years ago, when Valen verged on becoming a dashing young man. Those days would always be held in his heart as the golden times of glory before the Elyndra dominated the countryside and before the tragic accident claimed his mother’s life.

Valen had visited Evenspark with his parents, witnessing the Great Equestrian Tournament in which Evenspark’s riders raced for trophies and acclaim. Perched in the stadium’s royal viewing box as honored guests of the queen, Valen sat in front of his two parents with Princess Vespa on his right side. He looked everywhere for the mutilated face of the infamous Queen of Evenspark, but she hid behind velvet curtains in another royal viewing box. Disappointed, he settled for the race ahead and Vespa’s whining.

“It is so tiresome waiting for the entrants to be assembled.” Vespa pulled a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear.

“They have to check to see if their horses are ready,” Valen explained in an attempt to instigate polite conversation. “If there’s a pebble in a horse’s hoof, it could mean losing the race by a mere few seconds.”

“Hmm.” Vespa didn’t seem interested in the activities below. Instead, she twirled a sapphire bracelet around her slender wrist. He’d tried to win her attention several times that day only to be scorned by her haughty pride. Just sitting next to her made his blood simmer. They were supposed to be getting to know each other and she wasn’t helping a smidgen.

Frustrated, Valen turned his eyes to the arena and spied the light-haired rider. She looked like she’d recently turned seventeen, the legal age for competing. He hadn’t ever seen her before, and although her hair was white as winter’s grasp, she was so small and so young. Her horse was a glorious, majestic beast, massive as a king’s carriage and dark as a raven’s wings with a thick mane of braided ebony and hoofs of polished silver. Together they were converse entities, like midnight and the moon, the horse absorbing light and the girl reflecting it as if a thousand glimmering particles dusted her hair and skin.

Valen watched in fascination as the race began. The small rider sprinted ahead of the crowd of participants. Her horse pounded the earth with an even gait, propelling them ahead with effortlessness and grace. As she rode, her diaphanous hair streamed behind her in a cascade of pure luminescence.

Vespa’s whine interrupted his thoughts. “I have twenty horses just as beautiful as any of those.”

“Yes, but do you know how to ride any of them?” Valen surprised himself with the venom in his voice. Vespa frayed his nerves.

“Prince Valen!” his mother whispered from behind him in his ear. “Behave yourself. We are honored guests.”

Reprimanded, Valen grew silent, watching the white rider as she cleared the curve of the ring, stirring up dust behind her horse’s hooves. She’d reached the final stretch. A wave of admiration for her overtook him and he had an overwhelming surge of hope that she would win.

Suddenly, as she closed the distance to the finish line, another rider, still on her second lap, turned the corner too quickly, tumbling to the ground with her horse in a tangle of limbs. The horse righted and trotted away, leaving the woman to be stampeded by the incoming riders. Valen yelled, along with the crowd, but the woman lay unconscious, oblivious to their warnings.

To everyone’s surprise, the white rider turned around. In a swift change of direction, she rode to the fallen woman, jumped off of her horse and pulled her to the edge of the coliseum where healers stood ready on the sidelines.

Although greatly relieved for the woman who’d fallen, Valen had a sudden pang of disappointment for the white rider’s fate. He thought for certain she’d forfeited the race. She would be a hero, but she’d forsaken her title and any chance for entry to the Interkingdom Carriers. Valen clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. He watched as the other riders rounded the bend.

In a heartbeat, the white rider jumped back on her horse. As the other riders passed, she charged forward, riding through a cloud of dust in their wake. It was impossible, Valen reasoned, that a rider starting from a standstill could overtake a mass of horses in mid-flight, but he found himself rooting for her anyway.

As if his wishes traveled through the air, the rider gained a final burst of momentum, sprinting ahead of the pack to complete the race in a glorious show of inspiration. The crowd roared as she crossed the finish line. It was a magical moment and Valen had witnessed the glory of it firsthand.

Caught up in the rider’s triumph, Valen rose. His father did not notice. He was deeply involved in drinking and eating, mulling over politics with some regent from Evenspark, yet his mother glanced at him with a questioning blink.

“I will go down and congratulate the winner.” He turned to leave, though he knew better. He could not entertain each whimsy that flew his way, but the rider blinded his better judgment.

His mother reached over his seat and took his arm. “Valen, you must remember your place. This is not our country, and the queen will do the honor.” She pulled him aside. “Besides, you are here to spend time with Vespa. You should not leave her side.”

As always, the political game of what was proper and what should be done pinned him down. He bowed to his mother then returned to his seat beside Vespa. When he searched the center of the stadium, he could not spot the rider. She had disappeared.

All throughout the day he thought of her as Vespa’s voice rang incessantly in his ears and throngs of people flooded the stadium below. A slew of events followed. Valen watched the jousting with mild interest and met the princess’s brigade of ladies-in-waiting as they dragged him through a tedious tour of the royal gardens. He thought the day would never end when the queen invited him to join the royal family at the Midnight Ball.

As he entered the ballroom, Valen’s eyes were filled with dazzling wonders. It was impossible, despite his reluctance, not to be impressed. Fiddlers and flutes riffed ballads and jigs, and servants balanced golden trays full of amber wine underneath jeweled chandeliers. Valen marveled at diamond-studded cups, rows of roasted pheasants, and hairpieces so high they seemed to brush the lofty ceiling. Evenspark had more opulence than Ravencliff and flaunted it.

Of course he danced with Vespa all evening, stifled by her chiffon and lace. When she left to adjust her beaded updo of curls, Valen ducked away and hid behind the flowered vases. Spying through the crowd, he saw his mother chatting with other noblewomen and his father involved in a card game at the wine table. For a few moments, he would not be missed.