Their procession wove on through the teaming, sun-drenched streets. It was a far more elaborate parade than the flower girl would have ever wanted.
They asked to shroud her in cloth to protect her from the sun and sand.
She refused.
They asked her to fly and protect herself from the dirt of travel.
Florentine refused that too.
So it is that the Terrastellan queen arrives in disarray. Her skin is as sweat-slicked as her crimson hued emissary. Her hair is a tangle of sand dusted flowers and golden thread. It clings to her neck and the slender slope of her shoulders. Each slender limb throbs with every step, her body aching in the heat of this unrelenting kingdom.
But still the fae-girl walked on. Even tired, even aching, Florentine is, in every part of her, elven. She is grace and light, slender elegance than not even the sun can bring low.
Their procession stops beside a fountain, its waters cool from the spring deep, deep below. Within those crystal waters, glittering beneath a sun so proud, Flora bathes the dust and dirt of travel from her gilded skin.
She descended to the waters a travel urchin and rises a queen gilded and forged from azure waters. Liquid sloughs from her skin and falls like diamonds to shatter the mirror water about her knees.
Cyrene’s voice reaches Flora, persistent and demanding. Her lips tip into a smile, oh her voracious emissary! Their spirits were kin, of that the fae queen was sure. They were both wild and untameable, but fierce and keen.
Slowly their parade begins again and the sun is a drum upon their backs. It pulls the cool water from her caramel skin the flower girl is dry by the time she passes beneath an archway of glittering white marble. It is torch bright, even here in this land of plenty and nothingness. Solterra’s bounty, Florentine knows, is not in its land, but its people.
The guards, as silver and fierce as their queen, lead them into the waiting citadel and as they walk, Florentine things of how she could be just another statue of gold here, so lavish as it is. In silence Cyrene appears at her side. The girl is a ruby for the gold of Florentine’s skin. The queen’s lips tip into a smile, and reach out to smooth across the girl’s shoulder. Her skin, hot from the sun, makes Florentine’s lips burn. “I am sorry the trip is so ghastly and boring. Maybe we can ply the guards with wine to make them merry as we leave. They might then let us partake of another bath?” Flora whispers, her eyes drifting to the guard Cyrene has tried to woo. “If he does not succumb to your charm, then he is not worth it.” It is effort not to look for a gleam of silver and gold. Florentine knows what Davke soldier has captured her emissary’s attention, yet the boy’s scathing remarks at her first visit were not easy to forget. A word in his ear might ease her worries for Cyrene, so the Dusk girl does not cease her watch for him.
But soon lavish doors are being swept open and the girls ushered in to where Seraphina paces, a silver queen upon her dais. Florentine knows that quicksilver skin, knows those eyes of liquid metal. They were similar, she and Seraphina. There were both young, both once emissaries soon to be crowned queens. They had plans for a festival that never came to be.
Now, here they are, gold and silver brought together in such different circumstances.
“Queen Seraphina.” Flora begins softly, dipping into an elegant curtsey that sends petals drifting to the floor. They had not wilted on the walk over and for a moment Florentine wonders if they might ever wilt at all.
Like the sun, Flora rises, her amethyst eyes glittering like gems as they find the Solterran queen. “Congratulations on succeeding to the throne. I am sorry I had not come sooner to pay my respects and offer my well wishes.”
Golden eyelashes lower to fan her cheek, her thoughts filled with a boy broken and dying, her own heart ruined and her soul fretful for the secrets it keeps. Florentine takes a breath, “I come on important business, but first I must ask, Seraphina, are you well?” It is the soft question of a girl made to ascend a throne so unexpectedly. It is full of knowing and experience. It has her wondering - had Seraphina taken to ruling more easily than she? To rule is to bite from a bitter apple and bear a crown so heavy. To be a queen was both a blessing and a curse, so the fae-girl’s smile, after her question, is warm and welcoming. “I hope my healers were able to offer some assistance to your compatriots after the Teryr attack. You have my condolences for all who were involved.”
Slowly her gaze shifts to Cyrene, a smile curling across her lips. “May I introduce Cyrene, my new emissary.” With a wing the Dusk girl beckons her Dusk-sister closer and before her. “This is her first official visit, I hope we shall not make it too traumatic for her.” Oh what it would be if this girl’s playful smile could be more bright and not so haunted with betrayal and sorrow.
@
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
