Feeling crept back into her like spring after an especially long winter – the numbing, throbbing pain draped lavishly across her shoulders like some great cape receded to little but the familiar lash of desert heat and movement as her tangle of wounds, like a thicket of jagged pink thorns, healed. Consider, however, that was not the only feeling that came creeping up upon Seraphina in the aftermath of the teryr hunt. The heavy weight of responsibility and all of the strange, foreign, sealed-up emotions that came with it, a mess of anxieties and fears, loomed at the floodgates of her carefully-regulated barricades. This did nothing to ease her stiff posture or cold expression, of course; Seraphina appeared blissfully distinct from the world around her, capable of examining the world without consideration for fickle little things like attachment or morality, subject to change quick as the wind. Her interest was in efficiency, or so she contested. As unfortunate as these newfound insecurities were, she was determined to persevere without allowing them to hinder her judgement, to remain impartial and alien.
(And then there was the socializing.)
Dawn’s rosy fingertips were just beginning to brush across the edge of the golden horizon when she made her way out of the library and onto the battlements, an apparition cast in hazy silver glow beneath the dappled starlight which managed to escape the windows. When she moved free of the confinement of Keep walls, she stood practically illuminated in the pale light, the stark white of her mane aflame in the midst of nondescript darkness and sandstone. She hoped that Maxence had received her note – she’d scarcely been able to find heads or tails of him for days, and she needed to speak to him. Most pressingly, there was the issue of Rostislav in the dungeons, and what Maxence hoped to do with him. (She felt a prick of irritation considering it, but swallowed it down. Why hadn’t he consulted with her?) Then there was the matter of the Temple of Solis, which she’d agreed to bring to Maxence’s attention when next she spoke with him…and a small part of her simply wanted to speak with him. He was their leader, their sovereign, their king, and she knew so little of him. She had a feeling that they all knew little of him – or his motivations, however pure he claimed them to be – and it was that ambiguity that fed serpents like Velorca. Best to parse him for herself, then, figure out what sort of man he was, rather than what sort of man he claimed to be.
Seraphina remained at her vigil in silence, eyes cast out to greet the rising sun.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
09-15-2017, 11:59 PM - This post was last modified: 10-13-2017, 01:02 AM by Seraphina
The Commander had stirred after Solis' first breath, and as his routine demanded, began a skybound patrol of the canyons and desert took him over the slumbering kingdom. The uniform of straps and medalions, trophies and rank had been left in his chambers that morning and for once he took to the sky as the gods had made him; not even his hair had been pulled back into those two characteristic buns of a warrior and not one inch of his coat had been preened. All that had accompanied him skyward was his skin and blue eyes, not a thread more.
Seraphinas note was one that he could not ignore, and it was as his flight took him back in the direction of the fort that the author of the message came into view upon the battlements. She appeared still and vigil; strangely calm. Too calm. Whatever was on the Emissary's mind would soon be on his and with a keen interest the sovereign landed upon the terrace stone, one hoof after the other and wings expelling all sand to the walls around him. To the battlements he strode, keen steps taking him upward to the heights of the walls until his eyes could meet with the former Warrior's. "Seraphina" was his bellow, head held aloft and with no attempt to outstretch his nose in greeting.
Turning his rounded nose over the landscape before them, positioning his body to stand parallel to her own, the gaze of the lion was fierce and proud over his pride land, though still, he questioned what was on her mind. What qualm could she have with their progress? In his mind they had made leaps and bounds as a community; an indomitable one at that. "What dwells upon your mind?" the commander asked, eyes not even attempting to look her way.
“Maxence.”
She did not turn to meet his eyes as she heard him approach – there was something to the way his hooves beat against the weathered sandstone, some unmistakable air of command. Seraphina would know him anywhere, though he left her with the distinct impression that she knew nothing of him at all. Her eyes rather stayed on the red-orange rays of sunrise that hung in an ominous haze on the gold-dipped waves of the horizon, lips drawn into a firm line and body stiff as carved marble. Were they at the sea, this would be the sort of sunrise that sailors feared, the sort of sunrise that preluded crashing waves and sunken ships – but Seraphina was not an ocean.
She was ice.
“I have a few matters that I would like to address.” Cool, polite; punctuated with a swish of her ghostly white tail, as though to swipe away the heat that had yet to arrive. “Foremost, I spoke to Inkheart several days ago, and she asked me to relay a matter to you when next we met – she seeks to build a temple to Solis. I believe that it would be in our best interest to prioritize building the temple. We are not yet a unified whole, but religion binds most of us together. It would be good for morale, and, perhaps, it could bind our people closer together.” Inkheart proposed the idea out of her devotion to Solis, she imagined, but, though Seraphina was religious herself, she was quick to see the other benefits that building a temple could provide. Sentiment had no place in matters of policy.
“Further,” A swift continuation, “We seek to align ourselves with the Dusk Court, correct? I would propose that we arrange some sort of activity with the Terrastellans. A celebration perhaps, or something similar – a festival? If we seek their assistance, then we would do well to paint ourselves as a hospitable and stable nation, capable of fending for ourselves and aiding them. We must appear bountiful, regardless of whether or not we actually are. I would be interested in speaking with the Emissary of the Dusk Court, with your permission, about arranging such an event…breaking bread together makes for close fellows.” She had never arranged anything before in her life, but she’d seen – and heard – how abrasively those few Dusk Courtiers that had braved the viciousness of Solterra to visit the Day Court had been treated. Now more than ever, with tensions with Denocte heating up, they needed a steadfast ally.
Which brought her to a matter that stung on her tongue.
It was this notion that finally caused her to turn, eyes meeting her sovereign’s; there was little she could do to hide the hint of accusation, of betrayal, in her steely gaze. “And then…there is the matter of Rostislav.” What could she say? Seraphina was a creature of restraint, and she’d spent her entire life as a well-sharpened knife, meant to be used and used and used and thrown away the second that she blunted. Perhaps she was wrong to have believed that he chose her for her wisdom or her consult – perhaps it was simply a ploy to get another native onto his council, a way of quieting those dissenting voices that hissed at the prospect of a foreign sovereign.
She pushed those disquieting thoughts away, as usual.
“What do you intend to do with him?” The past could not be changed. The future was her concern, and, right now, she smelled blood on the wind.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
09-24-2017, 11:18 AM - This post was last modified: 10-13-2017, 01:02 AM by Seraphina
The evading eyes of the silver doe were the kind Maxence had learned to expect from the radiant, cool woman of steely pelt and lilting stripes. Instea his eyes turned in a similar direction of her own gaze, sights cast across the untamed landscape that provided them with house and home. Day by day Maxence felt like less of a stranger to the lands, less of a foreigner or invader, and more like it's true commander. With powerful allies like Seraphina standing at his side with the same iced gaze cast over the land of fire, there was little they could not achieve.
The commander's ears pricked at the mention of a temple to Solis, and he almost smirked when she mentioned it was Inkheart who broached the idea. Who else would think of such an idea?
Regardless of how time-wasting Maxence believed it to be, Seraphina provided some important points. Worship and a place to do so would likely bring the inhabitants of solterra together in reverence and respect for the same diety and the same version of Solis would be seen by all when preached at a temple. Little would be left to the imagination when scholars of the faith like Inkheart were the ones preaching. The idea of a temple did not sit so well with the jagged sovereign, not with the idea of a religion and new ideals forming from it. Solterra was a free land, one untainted by religion's deception. "I will consult with Inkheart myself. I wish to know what her intentions are regarding this temple" Maxence purred, eyes slinking eastward with the wind.
The topic's change almost brought both a scowl and a smile to the monarch's face, his blue eyes descending at the idea of more interaction with the Dusk court. While he knew it could only benefit them to do so, there was a great deal of time and effort devoted to the kinds of events. He couldn't have Seraphina away for too long. "You have my permission to discuss 'bread-breaking' with Florentine of course. Securing this alliance will do us all well, and it is a subject that has also been on my mind" He would then confirm with a nod, finally casting his gaze in the warrior's direction in time for her next query; Rostislav. "I intend only to question him" Maxence assured her "Then he will go free. He left the court suddenly and without any prompt or warning. I fret he was spying for Denocte..."
She offered a brisk nod to his response to the temple; Seraphina had expected as much. She had expected as much. Inkheart was certainly devoted to Solis, and, she hoped, devoted to his Court by extension, but she was a devious and zealous woman, and, as much faith as she had in her sun god, Seraphina was apt to doubt his prophetess. Nonetheless, she’d given the devil her due and reported to the commander faithfully, as she had commanded. She cared more for efficiency than factionalism or personal opinion – the matter was out of her metaphorical hands, now, and Maxence could deal with his Champion as he saw fit. “I would consult with the rest of your Champions and your Warden regarding their intentions and desires, as well, if you have not,” She added quickly. “When I spoke with her, she struck me as somewhat frustrated because she felt she had no orders to follow – some of the others might feel similarly, or have propositions of their own.” If he hoped to succeed as a Sovereign, he had to use all of his people – his eyes, ears, and arms – to his advantage, and he had to have some degree of faith in their abilities. They were his greatest assets, after all.
As he affirmed her ‘celebration’ with the Dusk Court, Seraphina began to craft a mental list of what supplies and connections she would need to put it on successfully. “I’ll send notice to Emissary Florentine once we’re done here,” She said, almost absently. (Would they have grown anything from the garden by then?) “I’ll see what I can do about discussing matters with Bexley, as well…I imagine that she – and her fellows – will have an opinion on how best to organize this celebration, and it is of the utmost importance that this celebration go smoothly.”That notion brought a sour taste to her mouth. “I will see what I can do to resolve some of the concerns I have heard around the court. We wouldn’t want venomous tongues to compromise our efforts.” That meant involving the entire court, eventually – but she first needed a layout, and she needed to speak to Florentine to assess whether or not a joint celebration was even possible. No need to get ahead of herself. Her focus returned to Maxence.
It was all that she could do not to gape at his next words.
She looked at him in bewilderment for a long moment, before her eyes narrowed. Did he think that they could simply return him? That it would be so simple? Blood had been spilt, and blood was all too often paid for in blood. “I understand your intentions,” Seraphina said, almost without realizing that she was speaking, “but I do not think that anything will be resolved so easily.” She took a step towards him, chin slightly elevated to stare directly into his eyes. “Rostislav is now the Warden of the Night Court. It is entirely possible that Denocte will perceive this as an act of war, particularly given the…let us say emotional nature of their Sovereign.”
Seraphina let her words hang empty in the air between them. She felt like she imagined a bird would when struck from the sky, free-wheeling, falling, confused -
about to hit the ground.
@
@Maxence - <3 also, if you were wondering about the title - this poem!
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
09-28-2017, 05:23 PM - This post was last modified: 10-13-2017, 01:06 AM by Seraphina
He remained vigilant and wary as the woman of dusk-lit eyes and a stare of knives spoke to him with words of well counselled advice and caution. It was refreshing to hear such topics leach from another mouth and not just the broken lips of his rivals and finally he was washed with a feeling of humble belonging. Deep within now he though he had a team - he was not alone any longer and seraphina and Avdotya along with the day court were a truly terrifying team.
Taking her suggestion on board with a nod of his head, Maxence soon narrowed his eyes when the woman told him that some of the champions, namely Inkheart, felt as though they were without direction or order. "These past weeks I have laboured to build a food garden and adequate training grounds for the warriors. I asked for the champions help and their ranks, only very few showed up. If they feel they are without order it is simply because they are ignoring the ones they have been given" Maxence rumbled, the voice of a lion echoing over the stone from behind his downturned lips.
Turning his head in the direction of the emissary, Maxence soon found her speaking of the next matter at hand. Florentine, a dusk and day alliance, a celebration - all things he cared little about but seemingly had to oversee.
"Very well" the commander spoke gruffly, straight forward and to the point. He wished to see the work done and to leave the heinous task of organising such a celebration to the experts - the commoners. Adding one more thing to his mental checklist of jobs; it seemed all the champions would be getting a visit sooner or later.
Then came the final matter, one that simply caused the stag to look away and sigh with a disgruntled urgency for the conversation to end. "If it is war they want they'll have to cross the entire canyon, and with what army?" Maxence almost smirked, though what she spoke was true and it was becoming obvious upon his marred face that he was submitting to defeat and giving in to guilt. Perhaps he knew it was far too brash to just kidnap a warden without consulting Seraphina, and deep down he heartily agreed with her, though he'd never give her that satisfaction in a million years. Lions were far too proud for that. "I will meet with Reichenbach."
Seraphina’s reply came somewhat stiff, but nonetheless respectful – Maxence had put forth more effort than she’d seen from authority in her life to genuinely improve the conditions of the Solterrans, and she wouldn’t even consider taking that from him. “I know the work you have been doing to change Solterra; your efforts are commendable. I’ve never seen so much green in the Court.” She was being honest, but, then, Seraphina rarely saw the need to lie. On the subject of the advisors, she continued coolly, the intonation of her low, throaty voice not changing in the slightest as she skimmed through her next series of comments. “I would hope they’ve been preoccupied, though they may somehow be under the illusion that their position exempts them from the efforts of day-to-day life. In any case, if you believe we’ve dealt with our immediate concerns, perhaps we’ll have the time and resources to pursue whatever suggestions they might have.” It was a strange notion, to consider more than survival, but Seraphina had attempted to throw herself wholeheartedly into her new duties; she had discovered that it took more than efficiency to keep a nation satisfied.
She nodded briskly as he approved her plans to contact Dusk for a celebration. Seraphina would be remiss to admit it, but she felt herself second-guessing her own suggestion as soon as it was out of her mouth, if only because she hadn’t the slightest idea how to plan a celebration. That would primarily be Bexley’s work, she imagined, which meant that she’d likely have to speak to not only Florentine the Champion as well. Though both girls were about Seraphina’s age, by her own approximation, she couldn’t understand them at all. If it depressed her to be so distant from her fellows, to be so horribly alone, she was unwilling to believe it. She told herself that it was simply a working relationship – she didn’t need to.
His remarks on the Night Court might have brought a ghost of a smile to Seraphina’s lips, were she a more emotional creature; as they were, she remained cold, but noted the way his face fell, as if in defeat. “Denocte is crafty – they always have been. They are prone to work in the shadows rather than the light.” For all their talk of honor, Seraphina saw nothing particularly praiseworthy in their use of espionage to achieve their goals, though she cared nothing for the concept to begin with. Solterra had always had the stronger force, but there was a reason why they had remained in deadlock until Zolin’s death; whether that could truly be chalked up to Denocte’s prowess rather than the Sovereign’s despotic nature and ruthlessness was something of a toss-up, but she knew better than to underestimate their enemy just because they had less bodies to throw at Solterra.
The greatest dangers, after all, most often came from within.
Her tone was somewhat reluctant as she continued, as her next point was largely a matter of speculation. “The fact that they are aware of Rostislav’s presence here makes me inclined to believe that either our own have far looser lips than I’d like to believe, particularly given how few have seen him, or that Denocte has eyes in our midst. They are not so militant as we are, but they are a people of a great many talents, and that is precisely why they are dangerous.” She’d heard stories from Denocte, and she’d spent more time in conflict with its people than she’d care to admit – beautiful as their lands might be, they still made her stomach twist from the memories. If Solterra’s warriors were a polished, restrained regiment, Denocte’s were wildlings, volatile and spastic. She hadn’t the time to waste on romanticizing their respective armies, however. “I would suggest we be particularly secretive with our sensitive information, at least until we can discern whether or not Reichenbach has eyes among us.” Seraphina wouldn’t want the Solterrans to think that they were mistrusted, of course, but if her suspicions held any water…
His response to her prodding was something of a surprise to Seraphina – she hadn’t expected him to initiate conversation with the Night Court so quickly, much less to do it himself. Then again, Maxence struck her as a blunt man, not particularly fond of the constant deference and pomp of politics. (She could only hope that Reichenbach, for his lavish celebrations and perhaps more sensitive nature, felt the same.) Seraphina could not discern if Maxence’s intention to speak to Denocte’s Sovereign set her mind at ease or was a cause for further concern; they were both hot-headed and temperamental, and she was not sure that either would think rationally under such tense circumstances. “Careful with that one – he’ll be irrational. Don’t let him provoke you. How do you intend to proceed?” If he was set on speaking to Reichenbach directly, then the least Seraphina could do was attempt to offer what help she could in preparation.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
The words of the silver fox were the kind this soveriegn had hardly expected to hear from his people, especially the pale emissary of sunny stares and spearing half-smiles. At least she had noticed his efforts— it was becoming a thankless task and rather the kind people expected. If there was no food the people turned to him and expected it, if there was no water they looked to him and waited for it to pour into their laps. It were the leaders like Seraphina and Avdotya who sought to remedy this, and one by one the survivors of the desert were becoming survivalists.
A half-smile had wormed its way into the King's cracked lips, perhaps more effected by Seraphina's warm words of encouragement and wisdom than he would ever let on. In return Maxence gave a nod of his own and a simple "Thank you for your service too, Emissary."
Without the braided fox and the lioness Avdotya, there was little Maxence would have achieved.
But the conversation turned toward Denocte as it always did, and with a nod of concern the commander endeavoured to soak in any insight the seasoned Solterran could give on the way of a Denoctian. She was right; they were crafty, and each with their own set of skills. Where Day Court conquered with courage and strength, those of Night would always thrive with what seemed like subterfuge, enthusiasm and cutthroat. "They are certainly dedicated" he turned his nose back in the direction of his sunny-eyed companion, his own gaze of the ocean turning to slits as the evening sun threatened to blind him.
Then came words of warning, but the kind he dreaded. The commander had suspected such a notion for far too long, and to hear the emissary share in his suspicions was just as relieving as it was panic-enducing. There was a snake amongst true solterrans feasting on their rations, thier water, their hard work? Maxence grit his teeth and gave one last nod in the emissary's direction, and while he would never say it out loud he knew exactly how he would respond to such treacherous larceny. "I will find Reichenbach alone and speak as calmly as possible. It will be dangerous, so if after a few days I do not return, send Avdotya and the warriors. Capitol work, Seraphina"
There were his final words to the warrioress, a stomp of his hoof radiating around the barracks as he saluted his comrade before making his departure down the ramparts.
If there truly was a crow in their midst, it had bit the hand that fed it.
Maxence would find it
and he would silence it forevermore.
At his words, she dipped her dead; she offered no response to his half-smile, no ghostly curvature of her charcoal lips, but perhaps her frigid gaze was just a touch warmer than it had been before. “Thank you.” Seraphina was unaccustomed to praise, and she still wasn’t sure how it made her feel. In the past, she had simply existed, floating without purpose or direction. As much as Seraphina liked to think that she had been in control of herself and the course she had been set upon, autonomy had fluttered just out of her grasp – and now she was making choices, she was in the position to shift the course of not only herself but the rest of the Solterrans, as well. She still wasn’t sure what this meant, much less if it was really the freedom that their counterparts in Denocte seemed to be so preoccupied with. It was better that, way, she thought. Ambitions and hopes muddied the water. As she was, her only master was her duty.
She would do what she was tasked to do. Routine, as always, kept her from thinking too deeply about matters that she had no business concerning herself with.
Dedicated. That was one way of describing the citizens of Denocte, she supposed. She supposed that they were dedicated, though to what ends she was unsure – for all the time they spent trying to convince the rest of Novus they were merely misunderstood, they were a court of assassins and spies, of liars and thieves. No, the silver mare did not doubt that they would send a spy to the lands of Day, if not to all the courts…and she didn’t doubt that, with a bit of clever planning, their spy could be smoked out. Solterrans excelled in brute force, naturally, but the desert bred clever, tactical thinkers; it would be the night realm’s mistake to underestimate them. If Denocte were fool enough to send a spy into their midst before the new regime had even provoked them, as, given the night court’s knowledge of Rostislav just after his arrival, she imagined their spy had to have slipped in before he arrived, she had no mercy to offer them. Maxence offered no direct reply to her comment, but it was impossible to miss the grim look that crept across his features; she wondered if she hadn’t been the only one suspicious of Denocte’s eyes in the court.
She didn’t ask. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know if he agreed – and she was even less certain if she wanted to know what he would do with the spy if they caught him.
She nodded reluctantly at his last statement. “As you wish.” He intended to venture into the Night Court alone? Privately, she thought it foolish; she might have applauded his courage, but it had no place in matters of life and death. The last thing that Solterra needed was to be without a Sovereign again, though she supposed that, in his absence, Avdotya would be set to ascend the throne. (That presented another set of problems. She wasn’t sure if the other mare wanted anything to do with court politics, in truth.) She made no attempt to dissuade him from his venture, however. Denocte was far too clever, she imagined, to brazenly attack another court’s Sovereign.
Nevertheless, as she watched Maxence’s receding form, Seraphina couldn’t shake the feeling that she stood in the face of an approaching storm.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
