The Songs of Sorrow by A. H. Anderson

Author:A. H. Anderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: elves, lord of the rings, hobbit, medieval, political fantasy, politics, historical fantasy, ya fantasy, young adult, clean fantasy
Publisher: A. H. Anderson
Published: 2024-07-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Celia

CELIA LONGED TO RETURN to Lahan.

Silvrout’s forest seemed to close in on the queen and her kin, and she longed to breathe air not nearly so wooded.

She walked with Flarense through the courtyard, travelling the stone walkway that formed a spiral shape, leading to a bench in the centre. She held Flarense’s shaky hand, and the woman gnawed on her spare fingernails. In her other hand, the queen held Heath Blackthorne’s ring, kneading it around between her fingers, keeping it hidden from view. Celia spoke to Lady Flarense as she always did, knowing that none of it would be repeated. Flarense said nothing now.

Celia had hoped that seeing her children’s graves would help her move on. It seemed to have the opposite effect. The tombs sent her into an eternal silence, one that never let up. Now, she didn’t even sing. She was quiet as the dead, and all she could do was chew her nails and stare. Celia’s idea of helping the troubled woman find peace had crumbled into failure. She had only made matters worse.

“We should not be out here much longer,” Celia muttered to the black-haired woman. “It’s cold and unpleasant.”

Flarense made no reply.

“Soon, we will leave this forsaken place,” Celia said, scoffing. “We will go back to Lahan and carry on.”

Flarense looked at her for the first time in a while. Celia met her bleary, dark eyes and had a difficult time holding her gaze. Flarense searched Celia’s face as though she knew all there was to know. Celia turned away, clearing her throat.

“My queen.” Silvrout’s steward, Hubert Dreyerg, stood at the entrance to the courtyard. Celia slipped the ring into her dress pocket. “The king is holding court. He has summoned you,” he said.

Celia’s heart leapt in her chest. It was the last thing she wanted to hear. Olyver had not held court in Silvrout yet, and she knew that he would not do so without good reason. She gulped and briefly looked at Flarense, who stared at her. Celia straightened her posture.

“Of course,” she managed weakly.

Hubert nodded and bowed, departing. Celia led Flarense across the spiral they’d been wandering.

The queen left Flarense in her chambers with the maids, deciding she would go to court alone. She arrived to an array of unfamiliar faces—men serving Silvrout as low lords and fief holders. They eyed her questioningly as she gave a careful curtsy before Olyver. There were tables arranged in an incomplete square, a head table along the back wall upon a dais, and two lining the side walls, a great empty space in the centre. A seat sat to the right of Olyver, and Celia assumed it was hers. To her confusion, no one occupied the seat to his left. Typically, he would place Cyril there. But Cyril was nowhere to be seen, and Celia felt a throe of fear.

At one of the lower tables sat Sir Cynefrid Goodwine of Neel, Master of Justice. On his right sat Sir Victor Harrise, Master of Fighting Men.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.