Phoenix - Daccari Buchelli (classic literature list .TXT) 📗

harsh voice cut through the silence. The elderly nursemaid sprinted past, her cold stare fixed on the limp form of their Realm's heir. She bent down to examine the prince's wounds, shooting an angry scowl Violetta's way.

'Just what did you think you were doing?' she snarled.

The veins in her forehead began to rise, as though attempting to escape from their fleshy prison.

Violetta's face was devoid of emotion. She could do little more than stare when a startled scream sounded nearby.

'My boy!'

'Mother?' Violetta got back to her feet. 'Mother, ice is coming down from the sky. We must go. Darius said-'

Violetta locked eyes with her parent. Tears ran afresh down Queen Isobel's face as she raced through the rain to reach her child. Her golden curls, which were usually pinned atop her head, now hung loose and trailed limply down her back.

No-one noticed the shards of ice soaring past. Violetta wanted to run. She wanted to warn her mother before it was too late, but her body felt like it had frozen in place. She strained against her fear with all her might.

'Mother, we must go! Now!'

The queen darted across to the great oak tree. She scooped up the body of her only son, wailing against his dark mop of hair.

'Darius!'
The despair in her voice matched the feelings that stirred within Violetta.

Queen Isobel refused to part from her son. He lay there, still as stone, his flesh growing colder by the moment. Violetta would remember this day for the rest of her life. She clung tight to Jork's gift and prepared to race, to grasp hold of her mother, when another shard shot out of the darkness. A struggling scream filled the air. It was a scream that would haunt her forever.

 

 

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Violetta swallowed her fear. Her heart thundered within her chest as she thought of what her father would say. She and Clarisse stepped over the sopping thresh-hold, lowering their burden for the briefest of moments. They knelt down, panting with the effort of the bodies they'd carried. Both were exhausted and in no fit state to venture on.

Violetta's skirts were bundled and soaked, her body trembling as she raised her head. When the colossal doors permitted them entry, the sodden entourage were gazed upon with fear.

'Goodness!'

Waiting guards clapped eyes on the unconscious forms of the queen and her son and rushed forward to unburden the women of their still forms.

Violetta's lips trembled as her mother and Darius were laid, quite unceremoniously, upon the grand hall's floor. She heard maids being called to fetch warm towels as tears slipped down her pale cheeks. She stared at the bodies that lay on the floor. It was my fault. If Darius and I hadn't gone down to the Moat Islands...

King Eagan appeared from around a bend, having been summoned by the senior staff. As soon as he saw the bodies, he froze. Violetta stood there, bedraggled and carrying Lord Jork's ball. She tried to blink. Her head felt too heavy for her shoulders to carry. She could feel that same weird energy from before, as though it were calling to her, mocking the unfortunate situation.

Violetta looked to her father, who hadn't yet spoken a single word. He was gazing down at his wife and son. Both looked so frail, their bodies frozen in an eternal embrace as Queen Isobel cradled her first born child. Her mother's energy, her very essence, seemed to have fled from her stiffening form. Even her familiar fragrance; the jasmine and lilies Violetta had adored, was no more. She could do nothing but stand there, powerless. Even her father; a mighty king, could neither move nor speak with the pain that held him. He bent over his precious wife, knowing that it was too late to do anything but arrange a burial.

It was late into the night when her father sent for her. The ice storm lingered, rain joining to lick at the palace windows. The servants had done all they could until the royal bodies could be taken away. There was, after all, a limit to one's duties as far as death was concerned.

Violetta stood at her chamber window, her figure pale in the moonlight as she digested her father's news. Dead? Part of her didn't want to believe it, yet how could she not? She had seen it with her own eyes. She felt her world growing distant; her surroundings like some grand illusion given to her by a merciless god. Sounds grew fainter, moments dragging out as though stretched by some elaborate machinery. Even the rare sight of the twin moons in her realm could not save her.

The undertaker had arrived not long ago. Violetta watched, helpless as the funeral carriage drove away from the palace; away with her beloved mother and brother in tow. Her nails gripped the edge of the window frame. She was convinced that they could have been saved.

'Why?' She whispered into the night.

She felt so helpless, staring out of her bedroom window. She could still feel her father's pain when he'd arrived to find his wife and son lying cold on the sodden floor. And here she was, in the room that had only last night housed the sleeping form of her brother.

Violetta leant forward, watching the rain spatter against the window. Its furious pounding imitated her heart as tears began to pour down her face. Her broken sobs restored the sound to her world, her body quivering with each uneasy breath. If only the storm would envelop her. She wanted to be with her mother once more, to hear her soothing voice as she drifted off to sleep.

Violetta sucked in a breath and stared down at the ball she held in her hands. She shuddered to think of what it represented. She longed to be rid of the wretched thing, to simply send it out of existence so she could go and reclaim the family she'd lost. Her eyes zipped between the rain strewn window and the tiny sphere. What use was it now when the very object she held was the source of her family's demise.

Violetta struggled against the free flow of emotion. She could feel her body heating, but paid her growing rage no heed. Her body tensed, veins bulging with the effort of her slight form containing such raw power. She screamed into the darkness and her anger gave birth to flame.

Fire sprung from Violetta's tear-streaked palms, gorging itself on her delicate flesh. The beauty of the flames danced in her eyes.

'Violetta!'

The princess whipped round, her face contorted in the throes of rage. King Eagan appeared, his face stern.

'What in the name of Peradon do you think you are you doing?'

The ends of his hair shimmered, igniting at the tips. Violetta could see him searching for restraint, his eyes focused on the flames she wielded.

'Well? Do you think magic is a game? It was rogue magic that killed your mother, and Darius!'

Violetta didn't trust herself to speak. Instead she aimed one hand in the air and allowed her power to consume her. Crimson flames ignited about her, enveloping her from head to toe. She turned back to the window, peering through the heavy downpour that was no match her tears, for her worst nightmares had been realized.

'Enough child.'

A sigh escaped her father's lips as he drew close, resting a large hand upon her shoulder. Her roiling flames immediately extinguished.

'Father, I—'

'You must not be so careless, child.'

Violetta could see the pain in his eyes. She reached out to take her father's arm, but he drew back, keeping her at bay.

'Magic is dangerous and such power requires extreme caution. Do you understand?'

With a stifled sob, Violetta nodded.

'Here.'
Violetta felt herself being embraced, allowed to nuzzle into her father's side. He stroked her golden fall of hair; the same coppery shade as her mother's had been.

Violetta withdrew from her father's arms and pulled him to sit by the rain-flecked window. Together they strained to see the under-taker's carriage as it disappeared into the pouring rain. There they sat, Violetta with her knees pulled up to her heaving chest, in the company of her only family.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

Month 2/10

 

 

Arlas

 

 

 

'Arlas, my boy. How goes the plan?'

The forlorn prince stepped into the throne room, his body weary from his strenuous task. A month had passed since he'd been charged with Jugan's favour and the emperor looked just as happy to see him. How could Arlas tell him that he'd failed in his task? He peered through the harsh light of the throne room, his stomach roiling the closer he got to his master. The emperor wore a sly smile and stood up to welcome the Mage.

Arlas stopped short of the glistening throne, his eyes fixed on the stone floor.

'Arlas?'

The prince refused to speak even a word. He heard Emperor Jugan sink into his throne, his bulbous fingers drumming on the arm, restless.

'Come now, Arlas, why so silent?'

The emperor's words only made him more nervous. Arlas couldn't bring himself to gaze up at him, for fear that he would be struck to the ground.

'The thing is, Sire, we may have run into some complications.'

'We?'

Arlas faltered.

'Forgive me, Sire. I meant I have run into complications, of course.'

He bowed low, ignoring the trails of sweat that coursed down his back.

Silence stretched on between the pair. The emperor appeared to digest his news slowly.

'I...see.'

Arlas was glad of the broken silence. His eyes raised up, to find Jugan's face pursed in a look that spoke of tart lemons. That one glimpse was enough to make him stare back at the floor, when a foreign sound commanded his attention.

Jugan's eyes snapped down to him.

A harsh sneer bent his lips as he began to draw magic from his core. Violent waves of frost rippled into life before Arlas. They surrounded Jugan's clenched fists, threatening to storm the Mage's space. Arlas bit his lip. His eyes scanned the room for some means of escape. He felt his lip tear open, oozing the familiar tang of blood.

The Frost surrounding the emperor's fists grew thick. Tall waves of it appeared before him, promising to deliver Arlas into a world of pain.

'Are you sure there's nothing you'd like to add, Arlas, before I accidentally lose control of my powers?'

Arlas stared into the voids that were Jugan's eyes.

'I will