Homecoming Obligations

The ride to the palace was quiet. T’Vall was never one to make smalltalk on their many travels together, and Ziyell wished it had been one of the others sent to bring her to Keston. She was pleased, however, to have her own horse in the stables, it made the trip so much easier. She shared a unique bond with the mare, something few people understood, even among the Chosen. Her grandmother had been Tjimira, animal communicator, and Ziyell had always assumed that she had inherited at least part of that. At least they would have a fire when they camped for the night, and extra warm blankets to keep the chill at bay. T’Vall even offered his to Ziyell, although she declined with a tired smile.

She was keen to see her family, although she was a little nervous about the fact that her father had sent for her, and she was now several days late. When the King summoned, you dropped everything and moved. She was fairly certain she knew what he wanted, and really didn’t want to think about it – he’d been hinting about it at her last visit. It was another of those “obligations” she was expected to fulfil, and not one that she was all that happy about. She knew it would happen, but hadn’t really thought about it too much.

As she arrived at the fortress - and fortress it was, for no other word could describe it’s imposing façade – the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across their path, with patchy snowdrifts clinging to the walls. Snow also littered the outer areas of the city where fewer people roamed. The busy inner streets, however, were awash with slushy mud, and even the paved areas were wet and slippery. Ziyell pulled her cloak tightly around her to avoid both prying eyes and the chill wind that whistled through the streets, but even so, she was keenly aware of eyes upon her. It happened every time, but she still detested the feeling. Her face was so well known inside the palace, everyone knew her, and it was extremely unpleasant. Her unorthodox life always had them talking, many wondering if she really was who she claimed to be, with all her vanishing and brief reappearances. Some thought her a witch, likening her to her pagan Aunt, claiming it was all in the breeding. Outside of the walled parts of the city, the general public thought she was dead, for the most part, since they rarely saw her anymore. The courtiers usually whispered to each other as she went by, and this time was no different. She was tremendously aware of her appearance, painfully thin and a little disheveled, add to that the general fear and disapproval tendered towards the Chosen, and Ziyell made an excellent target for idle tongues. She hurried into the Keep, away from their prying eyes, and headed for the royal apartments once a groom had taken her horse.

Amehra, her mother, took one look at Ziyell and frowned, but said nothing. She knew better than to pick a fight with her daughter over her appearance, as Ziyell invariably won the fight by calling her mother vain – which was completely true. Amehra was vain, every inch the noblewoman she had been raised to be. Ziyell knew her father detested his wife, but for the sake of stability he never let it show in public. She had been another of those “obligations,” one which Ziyell was destined to observe as well. None of her sons liked her much either, so Amehra was a very lonely Queen, trapped by her own upbringing and the expectations placed upon her. She was not unhappy though, far from it, as she was also ambitious, and what higher station than Queen could she possibly fulfil? She enjoyed the attention from her ladies in waiting, revelled in it even, her vanity happily satisfied, and her shallow personality requiring little else. She avoided the responsibilities of motherhood for the most part, leaving the child raising to Devello and their supply of nannies and tutors. As far as Amehra was concerned, her job was only to provide an heir, and she had done that. She felt somewhat punished by her drawn out birth, and had never felt particularly close to her children. To her, they were a burden that interfered with the adoration of the Royal Court. Ziyell and her brothers tended to avoid their mother, as did Devello.

As her father was not in the apartments, Ziyell left as quickly as she had arrived. She headed to the stables, where Devello was most likely to be. If not, the grooms would know where he’d gone. And if they didn’t know, which was highly unlikely, she could Seek him out, although she tended to avoid using her Talents in the Royal City. There were enough rumours spreading without attracting more attention.

She loved the stables, and their equine scent. The thick stone walls held a millennium of secrets, the worn wooden stalls and hard-packed earthen floor speaking volumes about their age and hard use. Gentle metallic clinking, quiet nickers and of course muffled hoofbeats greeted her ears as she approached, sounds that always comforted her when things were amiss. The unmistakable smell of horse filled her nostrils as she breathed deeply in the wide open entrance. She had spent many hours in quiet contemplation within those drab stone walls.

And sure enough, there was her father, examining Ziyell’s golden horse, whom a dutiful groom had brought into the barn after she had arrived. The mare nickered in greeting. Devello was cleaning out a front hoof as his only daughter approached. He  didn’t look much like a king at that moment, crouched in the mud with his shaggy riding cloak and sodden boots, but he held himself with the confidence and self-assurance that only a born leader could. Ziyell quietly walked over, noting how grey her father was becoming, his face appearing more lined and worn than she remembered. His eyes, however, still held their impish sparkle, and lit up as his only daughter entered the dimly lit building. They had always been close, and it had hurt them both deeply when she left to join the Chosen. They had both fought it at first, desperately, but Ziyell could not deny it any more than Devello could deny his monarchial birthright. She was only eight years old when Z’telle took her away from everything familiar, and plunged her into a world she knew nothing about. The kingdom too, was in turmoil when their young Princess apparently vanished without a trace. And now…now the tables were turned and Keston had become unfamiliar to her, despite her frequent visits.

“Ziyell!” the King called as he saw her tiny figure approaching, “So you have decided to come visit your old man after all – I thought you’d forgotten about me!” Devello straightened up, releasing the mare’s hoof and dropping his hoof pick to the muddy floor. He enveloped Ziyell in a huge bear hug, lifting her clear off her feet, until she protested that she couldn’t breathe. “We’ve missed you here.” he continued as he set her back down, a little surprised at her slight frame, “I hope you’ve gone to see your brothers.”

“No, not yet.” she replied sheepishly. “I’ve only just got here. Although I did see Mother. She’s her usual self.”

Devello rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Everyone knew what he thought of his wife, there was no need for discussion. He peered closer at his daughter, a frown creeping across his face, creating more lines on his weathered face.

“You don’t look well, Ziyell. I hope that Guardian of yours is looking after you.”

“Yes, father she is. I’ve been away in Renna, you know that. I’m fine, really.”

“Well if you say so,” replied Devello, although his voice lacked conviction. “You know we all worry about you. I wish you’d come home more often. A year is a long time.”

Ziyell looked steadily into her father’s dark eyes, so much like her own. “We’ve discussed this before.” she warned, “Let’s not go there again.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right.” he replied quietly. “I wanted to discuss something else anyway. It’s rather important. And probably best discussed away from your mother. She’ll want to shut you down and have you just submit like a good little woman.”

“Okay.” Ziyell shrugged. “Best get it over with then. It’s not like I don’t know what you want anyway.”

Devello was a man of few words, so if he wanted to talk seriously, you listened.

“Well,” he began, clearing his throat as he did so, “you are 18 years old now, 19 in a few weeks, and I’m sure you know what that means.”

Ziyell looked at her hands. She did indeed know what it meant, but had been ignoring it in the hope that it would go away. She squirmed uncomfortably as her father continued.

“You’ve known since you were tiny that you were betrothed, and who it would be. I’ve signed an agreement that I cannot ignore.” He looked at his daughter’s disheartened expression, and his heart sank. His own arranged marriage was disastrous to say the least, and he couldn’t bear the thought of doing the same to any of his children – but the obligations of the crown compelled him, though it broke his heart. “I’m sorry Ziyell. I know you don’t want to do this, as much as I don’t want to make you, but that’s part of royal duty we all have to go through. I can’t delay it any longer.”

Ziyell said nothing, biting her lip to avoid the tears. She knew it must be done. She’d known most of her life who she was supposed to marry. He was a nice enough fellow on the odd occasion Ziyell had actually met him, although rather arrogant at times. Certainly not what she would call marriage material though.

“How am I supposed to be someone’s wife when I’m so different to everyone else? I don’t see how it will ever work. You know marriage is just another way to oppress women. You lose your own identity and just become someone’s wife. I’ll be expected to play princess in their palace, and basically be an ornament. I will have to do whatever they tell me to do and nothing else. I’ll be expected to produce male babies and they’ll shun me if I don’t. And what happens when they realise that I’m not ageing like everyone else? They’ll probably burn me as a witch!” Her voice escalated from quiet frustration to shrill anxiety as she spoke. Emotional tears welled and threatened to overflow.

“I don’t know, Ziyell. I didn’t know who you were when I made the agreement.”

She took a deep breath before speaking again.

“Father, there’s something else you need to know.” She fidgeted uncomfortably, frightened of how Devello might react to her news. “Um, well, actually, I’m……not a virgin anymore.” She blurted the words out in a rush, hoping in some strange way that he might not realise what she’d just said. The tears began to flow, Ziyell couldn’t hold them back any longer.

“What?” he replied. “How did that happen?”

“You know perfectly well how it happens.”

“Oh. Well.” Devello sat down abruptly, trying to process what he’d just been told. “This changes everything.” His brow creased as he considered the idea.

Ziyell was sobbing now, her emotions finally getting the better of her. “I’m sorry Father, I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

“No, no, no.” he replied, comforting Ziyell as she wept. “I’ll figure it out. Perhaps I can pay off their examiner.”

Ziyell simply nodded, unable to speak. She was feeling completely lost at that moment, torn between the two worlds she occupied – the so-called “real” world where she was a Princess (although she hated the term) with obligation and duty to crown and country, and the “other” world where she was one of the Chosen, with obligation and duty to her Guardian and the Five Gods. The two were incompatible most of the time, yet both demanded her attention, something Ziyell still had difficulty balancing. And this marriage would only make things more difficult. Not to mention that marrying a total stranger, and a foreigner at that, rarely made anyone very happy.

She had always loved the way her father just absorbed things without exploding, he was a quiet man with a reserved nature, outbursts were not his thing. Even when his young children had caused trouble, or got into scrapes, which were quite frequent, he rarely lost his cool with them. Although, when he did lose his temper, you bolted for the nearest shelter to avoid the spectacular backlash. Ziyell crawled into his lap, her small stature still allowing her the comfort she had enjoyed as a child, where she allowed the storm of weeping to resolve. Devello lifted her chin so he could see her face.

“Don’t worry yourself, Ziyell. That’s my job. I’m the king remember?”

Ziyell smiled weakly, his reassuring tone making her feel better. Nothing would relieve her trepidation, but the weight was somewhat lifted from her shoulders.