Antiope had never known peace, even before her creation—her birth. In that dark nothingness time before life was breathed into her and she awoke from the statue that the gods had carved her, she had known nothing. It was not peace, it was fathomless and empty.
Then, she had woke and been thrust into a world of war. She had fought, and killed and defeated and been defeated. She had rejoiced, and died, once, and loved twice. But she had still never felt peace, she had felt hunger like a lion and later anger.
The Regent hadn’t discovered peace until she’d come to Novus, until she’d laid down her weapons and put a blood red sunset behind her. So when she looks at Castalla and speaks, there are years of not-knowing in her sapphire eyes. “I hope you get all the time it takes,” because even though she doesn’t know this mare she knows that everyone deserves that feeling.
She wants nothing more than for her court and her people to know and feel peace, to be seated in it, to revel in it. Antiope hopes they will get that, too. With every lion beating of her warrior’s heart, she continues to hope, even though she knows such things do not last.
They only need last long enough.
“I am glad to hear it,” Antiope responds, though there is a warmer touch to the curl of her lips then. If there ever comes a time for the pale woman’s particular abilities, she is pleased to know she will find her here on these streets. She is glad to know that even after darkness they can continue to grow, that they will continue to grow. It seems there are new faces more often these days.
Castalla’s question doesn’t catch the Regent off guard but her eyes flicker, like a wave at sea crashing in on itself. She’s not used to being asked personal questions—knowing her name and her status is different than so quickly asking something about her, “No, I haven’t.”
But the question is innocent enough, and the tiger-striped woman will eventually need to get used to such attention. Equines will want to know who she is, this woman who is meant to guide and protect them. “It has been almost a year since I came to Novus and Denocte. In fact, I arrived in the midst of a festival being held just like this one,” she glances sidelong at the woman.
She remembers the leaf lanterns that had guided her to the court, and the ice castle where Antiope had first met Isra not know who she was or who she would become. Thinking back, it’s difficult to imagine that it’s scarcely been a year yet. Somehow, it feels like she has been here much longer.
At some point, Denocte had become home, without her truly realizing it. The Regent wonders what moment it was, or whether it was a gradual thing, and one day she just stopped feeling like she was a newcomer.
a war is calling
the tides are turned
the tides are turned