Chapter Text
Being the youngest Daughter of Urrupa of the Asiitya royal family, Pearlescent Moon realized quickly that the options for her future were scant.
Raised with her brothers from babes, she watched each of them slowly take on responsibilities in the court, yet despite her hoping and wishing, it became clear to her that she had two outcomes in her life— Grow old as a spinster, taking up space in the palace; or, get married off to the next kingdom her parents found themselves on the brink of war with.
One was much more likely than the other, and she had long since had no other choice but to make peace with it.
Of course, she was still educated similarly to her brothers, following strict lesson schedules that her brothers were steadfast in enforcing on their parents' behalf, and given very little free time at that. The only thing worse than a princess in a patriarchal line was an ignorant one, after all. She learned every aspect of the courts and diplomacy, the lands and their histories, the arts of combat and magic, the ability to rationalize through math and reading, just the same as her brothers before her.
Regardless, she finds herself trying to fight against her inherent uselessness in any way she can.
"… the farmers aren't happy with this year's harvest," a lord discusses with another, who voices a similar concern. "If we ration correctly, we may be able to make it through the winter, but…"
A potential famine, if not gotten under control.
"… the mobs just kept coming, but luckily the guard showed up and took them down like it was nothing…" a travelling merchant recounts animatedly to a fellow— rather bored looking— merchant. "Their swords must have been enchanted, what with the way they sliced through them like butter…"
The guard is still favorable to the people, though the ways between towns remain dangerous.
"… I heard the King is to meet with the Queen of Èmerglais tomorrow to discuss the situation with the border towns," a courtier whispers to her husband as Pearl passes, pretending not to listen. "I wonder how long until it's a full-on war…"
Tensions between the kingdoms are rising, to where even the nobles are noticing.
"… and the Lord of my city has been rather poorly, daughter," an Elder woman confides in Pearl, something like reserved excitement in her voice. "His eldest son is the only one who can take over, and is much kinder. He's also more handsome, and available at that…"
A distinctive noise cuts through the air of the ballroom, guttural and croaking like the call of a Great blue ibis. Pearl nearly drops the wine flute pinched in her fingers at the sound, suppressing a sigh as she mourns the loss of information she was trying to schmooze out of the noble lady she was talking to last. Her eyes scan the crowd, finding her oldest brother, Phil, standing by the doors, army straight spine and arms crossed with an unreadable expression. His navy blue suit is perfectly pressed, as usual, and decorated to reflect his rank, and his equally perfectly preened glossy black wings are folded against his back.
He's not usually one to be found in this scene, and with the call, he obviously came here for a reason. When they make eye contact, he nods, and she swallows thickly. That reason is definitely her, then. She wonders if she'll be lectured for being "nosy" again— She prefers to be called "informed," but that's neither here nor there.
She discreetly pulls a small whistle out of the stays under her dress and calls a reluctant confirmation back as she places the glass back on the serving table, excusing herself from her previous conversation and starts the arduous process of making her way through the crowd to him. He waits only a moment for her to reach him before he exits out of the doors and into the entrance hall, while she desperately tries to follow behind. There are no words exchanged between them as they walk down the west wing of the castle— House Moon, as it's colloquially called— just the soft click of her silver heels, though that's not exactly out of the ordinary.
His study sits facing south, large windows providing a clear view of the city of Hoodjari down the hill, given that the curtains are drawn as they are tonight. The prime location is partially tactical, given his station in the guard, and partially an apology for not being eligible for the throne despite being the oldest. He takes his place behind his desk, gesturing for her to sit in one of the chairs opposite him. Her dress is a bit of a nightmare to deal with outside of standing, between managing the pure fluffy mass of the silk ribbonwork skirt and not wanting to disturb the delicate glass beading on the indigo outer gown. The large, black-tipped white wings tucked against her back certainly make the whole endeavor no easier. She pulls her Aururru-skin cloak a little tighter around her shoulders when she finally settles, willing away the anxious knotting of her stomach as she waits for her brother to speak.
He seems to think on his words for a moment before he says them.
"I want you to know this so that you're not caught off guard," he starts. Her chest tightens a little. "Father and the Elders expect for the Queen of Èmerglais to ask for something of us to ease tensions tomorrow morning during their meeting, and he is considering offering your hand in marriage if they ask for it."
She blinks, trying hard to keep her face neutral.
The prospect itself, of course, isn't the surprising part to her. It's the fact that she turned eighteen merely weeks before. He seems to have caught onto her train of thought, or perhaps just anticipated it.
"We're running out of peaceful options, and no one wants this to devolve to war. You understand, sister," he explains, looking appropriately sympathetic.
This seems to be a lot more of certainty than her brother is letting on, and she finds the wind knocked out of her at the realization.
"Of course," she manages after a moment, though it comes out slightly more choked than she would have liked. She takes a deep breath to steady her voice. "If Father expects it, I will be prepared."
Silently, she appreciates that he gave her the space to have her initial reaction away from others' eyes, regardless of his intentions. He dismisses her, and she tries not to make her steps too hasty as she heads back for the ballroom.
She slips back into the crowd of white-yellow-blue seamlessly, though it's much harder to care to listen to what others are saying when she has such a heavy burden on her mind. She could never admit it, but the idea of being married had always frightened her, especially given how young she is. What if her husband finds fault in her and rejects her? What if he's cruel, and she's bound by duty to stay at his side? What if he expects too much of her and is disappointed? What if she doesn't even grow to love him, stuck unhappy for the rest of her days?
She tries to think of the Èmerglais court, what she knows of it.
Snobbish is the first word that comes to her, is she's being honest. They believe their land is holier than others, that their patron Goddess Eponnag is best because she favors them most. She knows of the royal family, though she's never had the chance to meet any of them; Their Queen, her husband and Prince Consort, and their two children, a Prince and an illegitimate Duke. There are many rumors around the Duke that have floated around the courts through the years since their birth, about the identity of their father and how they were Kaawaaki— neither man nor woman. Mostly, she's heard from her brother Grian about how arrogant and bratty they are, as he would complain about it— at length— every time he was to meet with them.
Arrogance is a trait that she's never been particularly good at coping with… Ironic, she knows, given that Grian's whining is closer to the pot calling the kettle black. She loves him, without a doubt, but he's much more practiced in the art of bragging and upturning noses than she is.
And much more grating about it.
Her brother Jimmy seems to think differently of the royals, she assumes, as he would get a funny look on his face and go quiet when she asked in the past. She's always gotten along better with Jimmy, as much as she can say with as elusive as he is.
The country itself, she will admit, is breathtaking. She hasn't been much, but she can clearly remember the way the stone of the mountains that cradle the capital layered itself in bright colors like a rainbow, and how the vegetation seemed to reflect that vibrancy. The rare times she gets to practice her painting, she finds the memory a muse, saturating her colors to an almost dreamlike quality. Their architecture is also cause for admiration, with their grand, arching stone buildings and intricate stained glass windows reflecting the colorful world around them.
That, of course, does nothing to temper her anxiety at how she'll receive and be received by the people. At least she's had years of practice in smiling and being agreeable.
She's taken out of her train of thought by a tap on her shoulder, realizing she's found herself staring wistfully into the night sky on one of the balconies off of the ballroom. The cool of early winter means she's the only one outside, besides whoever is trying to get her attention, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders and wings for warmth. She turns to find Grian fiddling awkwardly with the hem of his pale yellow jacket, a mischievous look in his eyes despite the slight crease of worry to his brow. His brightly colored wings stand out starkly against his suit, bold red-yellow-blues that match his personality quite well.
“Pearl,” he says in greeting, tipping his head slightly.
The gold of his circlet catches the light from the lanterns inside at the motion, in the way her own silver circlet no doubt reflects the Moon’s soft glow as she approaches her full plumage in the sky.
“Grian,” she greets back, though there’s a bit of an implied question behind it.
He grins slightly, moving beside her and leaning casually against the railing of the balcony.
“You’ll never guess what I heard tonight,” he begins, making her tilt her head in interest and amusement. “You know how Phil has had a stick up his rear for the past few weeks?”
“I suppose?” she answers, prompting him to continue.
He leans in conspiratorially, glancing around to make sure they’re not overheard.
“One of Kristin’s maids told me that she suspects she is with child once more,” he whispers, unmistakable giddiness to his tone.
“This wasn’t the maid known for telling… porkies, was it?” she questions, and watches the calculations run through his head as he puts a loose fist to his mouth in thought.
“No, it was… No, that’s… Oh, Sunfather, it was,” he mutters to himself.
“You haven’t told anyone else this, have you?” she asks, watching the horror dawn on his face before being quickly masked.
“No,” he says decisively. She eyes him with suspicion and increasing amusement. “Well, maybe Jimmy… and her other maids… and some of the apprentice Wheepiip.”
“You told Scar and Joel?” she guesses, unable to hide the smile creeping onto her lips.
He squawks indignantly at the teasing lilt to her question, several excuses and justifications tumbling from his tongue.
“I cannot wait to see Phil’s reaction when this gets back to him,” she says, finally letting a laugh loose.
“I’ll just— I’ll tell him it was a prank— harmless, really— a fib to keep the courts interesting— that I never believed it for a second,” he stutters, a silent, desperate plea for her to go along with his story.
“I’m sure that will go swimmingly,” she giggles, refusing to become complicit.
“Pearl,” he deflates, dragging out the sounds of her name in a whine. “Please, I can’t take another tongue-lashing.”
“Maybe this will teach you not to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong,” she recites, mimicking their older brother’s accent.
Grian groans, throwing his head back dramatically as he runs his hands down his face, before finding his composure once again.
“Fine, then I’ll tell him I heard it from you,” he promises, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.
“You will not!” she cries, reaching for him as he pushes off of the balcony railing to head back inside.
He dodges her attempts to grab him, and she soon loses him to the crowd, still thick despite the nearing of midnight. Despite herself, her grin stays on her lips a moment more, before her reality returns to sober her good spirits. She suppresses a frown, wondering for a moment if she should try and attempt to socialize again, but ultimately sees no point in it. Maybe she's just moping, but she would never admit it.
Retiring to her chambers, her maids graciously help her with the arduous process of removing the many layers of her dress— the outer gown and stomacher; the petticoats, grand pannier, and pockets; the stays; and enough silk pins to equip a small army, in the literal and figurative sense— leaving her in her chemise, and she dismisses them for the night with an emphatic thanks.
She knows she should try to sleep, not stand out on her balcony facing the western gardens, but with no distractions, she's left to think.
There's so much she's going to miss here, the castle she's called home her entire life— The Moonflowers that grow just beneath her balcony, glowing with silvery light at night and dancing in the breeze; the routine she's slotted herself comfortably into, as much as any other day she would have told you how it numbed her mind from the monotony; the familiar halls and people, her brothers and friends in the court, especially Gem…
Gem is, without a doubt, her closest friend. They've known each other since they were no older than ten, her having moved with her family to Hoodjari in order to continue her studies in magic under Urrupa and Ngasii's blessings as an apprentice Wheepiip— essentially a magician or healer of the court. She can be a bit… intense, at times, with a mischievous streak twin to Grian's— and Pearl's own, though she would never admit it. But, in the quiet moments between them, she's kind, caring, humble. She lacks the ego that many magicians carry, her self-aggrandizing only to match wits with her fellows. Though, she could certainly put many of them to shame with her magical prowess alone.
Pearl is brought back, suddenly, to a day in the gardens, two years ago— Sun-dappled grass flattened under bodies as the spring breeze carried the scent of lilies through the air, a lesson in focusing the Sun's light to speed up the process of plant growth long forgotten. They were play-fighting— pushing, evading, eventually rolling together on the ground, a flurry of giggles erupting from both of them— alone under a low hanging Golden Wattle. Pearl had ended up on her back, her hair and wings sprawled under her, wild and free, while Gem hovered over her, her fox-like ears turned slightly outward on her scalp and her own curly locks pooling around their heads, now free from her usual braid. A veil, almost, hidden away from the world, almost. The smell of lilies grew stronger with their proximity, the fragrant soaps from her homeland Gem uses to clean herself the source. They were both red in the face from the exertion, from their laughter, and there was something in Gem's eyes, a glimmer of something Pearl couldn't place.
Suddenly, Gem got a funny look on her face, rolling off of Pearl, and they spent the rest of the afternoon not doing their work. The Wheepiip had given her an earful for distracting their best student, but she had thought it was worth it.
She shakes her head to clear it of the memory, ignoring the strange fluttering of her heart that always comes with thinking of it. It's the bittersweetness of it, maybe, the knowledge lurking underneath the surface that they were always going to grow apart. Now that day seems to be approaching, much sooner than she would have liked. Selfishly, she wished the day would never come, and they could exist in that memory forever.
A deep breath to steady herself, ground her once again. Her heartbeat is clear in her ears, and tears sting at the back of her eyes. That was a different time, she tells herself, she needs to stay in this one.
The Moon is almost approaching her crest in the sky, looking down on Pearl with a gentle glow. She basks in it for a moment, closing her eyes and letting a few tears slip free in the silence, and when she opens them again, she's looking out on the city. Urrupa's temple is practically a beacon in the light, its indigo stained glass domes catching just so, like it's calling out to her. She supposes if there were any situation to call on her Goddess for guidance, it would be one like this.
If nothing else, the walk down will calm her enough to sleep.
Quickly, quietly, she dresses herself, not wanting to bother her maids at this hour. Sure, the more pious of the court would deem her simple outfit of linen shirt, silk waistcoat, breeches, and riding boots inappropriate for attending worship, but it's a lot easier for her to do up herself and a lot better than her chemise. Besides, it felt nice sometimes to pretend to be someone else for a little bit. She tucks the pendant of her necklace, a small, amethyst carving of a Purple-capped wattlebird into her waistcoat— an emblem of Khahaa she picked up during one of her first outings— and tries not to cringe at the feeling of a second skin spreading over her. It keeps her inconspicious in the crowds, a little illusion magic to make the common folks' eyes slide right over her. As she sweeps her hair up and into a cap, she wonders if she should disturb any of the guards to accompany her or just wait for an opening in their patrols.
Option one is sensible, definitely the safest choice, but incredibly inconvient, and a little boring. Option two is the one she was always going to choose, no matter how hard it could be.
It's hard.
Very hard.
She had their schedule down to the minute last time she had a little escapade just like this, but as she watches the first pair of guards at the front entrance walk away, the second replaces them with not even a minute gap. Not wanting to impose on their meager freedoms, she's never asked the servants about any secret entrances or exits they may know of, so this leaves her with the front being her only choice. She quietly curses herself for trying to be considerate.
As she waits for the next change, she remembers suddenly the meeting, and realizes that the foreign royals are probably already in the castle. She finds it a bit strange for them to meet here, but pays it no real mind.
The grandfather clock in the grand entrance chimes loudly as it hits midnight, and she decides that she'll put her faith on her pendant working. As long as she doesn't run into any of the guard she's friendly with, she may be able to just play it cool. She approaches the doors with as much of a casual demeanor as she can manage after the first pair of guards walks away, her heart pounding in her ears. Her hand is nearly on the handle when one of the approaching guards calls out.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
It's so comically cliché that it takes her entirely off guard and she freezes, brain stalling on coming up with excuses. She turns slowly, a sheepish smile on her face, and finds the pair staring at her with hands on the hilts of their swords. One, a knight with dog-like ears she's never seen before, seems to be the one who called out. In contrast, the other relaxes almost instantly, bright yellow and black feathers flattening on his wings, a blessing and a curse at the same time.
"Dude, Ren, I've told you, you don't need to talk like that," Impulse says, elbowing the other guard with a smile screaming of his wearing-thin patience.
"I know not what you mean," the other guard— Ren— sniffs, lifting his chin slightly. She can't tell if his affect is genuine or not. "It matters not. You, stranger, what is your business here?"
She's so thrown off by the conversation that for a long moment she forgets about her disguise, and so must Impulse, as neither of them say anything. He looks between them with a confused expression, Ren looking just as confused, having yet to take his hand off of his sword. That realization forces her to regain her bearings, and she pretends to scratch at her arm, secretly signalling to Impulse about the illusion in sign. He makes a face of realization before quickly masking it, and she hides a laugh in a cough. Ren squints at the two of them, and she distantly wonders how this must look.
"Yes, you, speak," Impulse says lamely, his mouth ticking up at the corners.
"I'm an apprentice for the Wheepiip," she lies, slipping easily out of her royal persona and dropping her voice slightly to hopefully come across as a prepubescent boy. "They asked me to run some errands for them."
Ren looks with unabashed exaggeration at the clock to their left.
"This late at night?" he questions, his rising suspicion clear in his eyes.
She tugs emphatically at her waistcoat, the dark silk embroidered with silver thread in a pattern of Moons and Stars. When he doesn't seem to get the implication, she looks over to notice that Impulse is one second away from cracking.
"Well, you know how us House Moons are," she says with a wave of her hand, quickly turning around. "Please excuse me—"
"Wait," Impulse interjects, clearing the laughter out of his throat. She stops in her tracks, looking back over her shoulder. "Let me go with you. Wouldn't want any precious cargo being damaged or stolen."
His tone is unambiguous, leaving no room for argument. She swallows a groan with a smile and a nod, and the two guards negotiate finding another partner for rounds. They're out of the door a moment later, quiet as they walk down the path past the western barracks. It wouldn't be the first time Impulse has crashed one of her nighttime outings, but she still finds herself slightly annoyed.
Though, honestly, she could never really stay mad at him.
The river that bisects the city glimmers in the dark next to them, and she hears him snort beside her, and she finds a smile on her lips despite herself. One snort becomes a bark of a laugh, which quickly dissolves into bent over gasping for air. They lean on each other as they laugh, tears in their eyes.
That was probably the stupidest way that situation could have gone down.
"That was so stupid," she tells him as such through laughter.
"Why did you freeze? Why did I freeze?" he questions.
"I don't know," she giggles.
They compose themselves after a moment, beginning to move through the streets, though a few stray giggles still bubble up.
"Does he always—?"
"Yes," he answers with a deep sigh. "I can't for the life of me get him to stop talking like that."
He recounts it like a war story and not the petty barracks drama it is.
A man stumbles out of a tavern up the street, a shout following him to "get home and get right," but he doesn't seem to be a threat. It's the time of night where the drunkards will soon by the only ones walking the streets, though the pickpockets and con artists creep in shadows and alleyways. Despite the supposed danger, she's always found the night most serene— even besides the connection to her Goddess— walking amonst the "riff-raff," as her family would call them. She doesn't miss the way Impulse's eyes stay on the man, though, or the setting of his jaw.
"He's… a weird one," he continues. "Only been in the bunks for a few months and he's already made enemies. I'm the one stuck with him most of the time."
"Very valiant of you," she snorts.
Impulse groans again.
"Trust me, if I had my way, he wouldn't even remotely be my problem."
They lapse into a comfortable silence, following the familiar path along the Wakalingk to the temple.
The west side of the city, much like the castle and in contrast to the bright day east, is the night sky in all her glory. The streets are paved with dark brick in black-blue-green, smatterings of white like the Stars above them, silver lanterns illuminating the way and scaring off creatures of the night. Dark woods in blue and stained brick walls with silver adornments and off-white decorations make up most of the homes and businesses lining the streets, with dramatic points and curves defining the silhouettes. Perfectly kept gardens of Moonflowers and koala bells and blue-lace flowers are sequestered by silver fences in front of the ones squished closer together, soft candlelight shining through windows with curtains drawn to let in the Moonlight for the people inside, still active late into the night.
The temple is bustling with activity as they arrive without incident to the entrance, as is typical for this time of night. She doesn't think she'll ever get over the beauty of the open air space, a structure claiming to be one of the first things built in the area. Its stained glass domes, the large silver and obsidian timepiece suspended over a fountain overgrown with Moonflowers, the intricate stonework of the marble floors and pillars, all bring to mind her years growing up and falling in love with the Goddess who calls Pearl her own.
Carved phases of the Moon lead up to a candle-lit altar covered in blue-lace blooms and effigies of the Great blue ibis carved into bedrock and pearl, situated beneath the main dome depicting the Goddess with wings outstretched over the room. The real Moon reflects on the river just outside of the entrance, a silent presence.
"So, can I ask?"
She turns to look at Impulse, one of his eyebrows cocked. The walk had almost made her forget why she was out here in the first place.
"I… I'm learning something… important… tomorrow. I need guidance," she answers as vaguely as possible, and though he seems intrigued, he knows better than to push.
He hangs back by the threshold as she enters, as it's not technically improper to enter the temple of a deity that you don't serve, but most people avoid it anyway, not wanting to invite any scorn. Even if Impulse isn't particularly devout.
Her heart swells as she steps into the unofficial foyer, a familiar sensation that sets her at ease in an instant. A priestess and an acolyte are at her side almost instantly, smiling warmly with their greetings. The priestess is one she recognizes from ceremonies she's attended in the past, a blonde with eagle-like wings that looks far more fit to be a priestess of Ngasii— False, if she's remembering her name correctly.
"Welcome, are you here for a prayer?" False asks, something knowing in her eyes. Pearl nods, and False grins a little. "I'll clear the room."
As False moves about shooing the other visitors and acolytes from the main worship area, it occurs to Pearl that between False's anticipation of her arrival and the insistence on her being alone at the altar, she's likely going to see something important. Anxiety twists knots in her stomach, but she knows that she can't run from it, anyway.
She takes her place, legs crossed and wings stretched around her like a shield, on the carving of the full Moon in the center of the room, the phase she was born under. She thinks of the lines of family before her, the cycle of her own spirit and her past selves, of the Goddess who chooses her. The prayer leaves her lips in long practiced whispers as visions begin to crowd her mind, a hazy, surreal quality to them despite their inherent truth.
"O, Mother Urrupa of The Eight,
Herself, in a bright turquoise dress, a man beside her with matching hair. A flurry of quick hand movements and intense words, distorted into obscurity of subject and participant. An easel sitting in front of a beautiful statue, practically glowing in the Moonlight.
Goddess of serenity, Moonmother,
A knight, kneeling in front of her and kissing the back of her hand, subservient and trusting. Herself, cutting her hair short with an intricate dagger, sadness heavy in the air. A crown of wolfsbane and forget-me-nots on her head, then a real crown of cold metal and glinting crystal.
Grant me the eyes to see the path forward,"
Something is wrong. Suddenly her head begins to ache faintly, then hurt, pain lancing through her rigid body. She only processes glimpses of it, just trying to push through— Heat, like her body is being lit on fire from the inside out; a wired and floaty feeling rushing through her veins, leaving her feeling twitchy; the smell of burnt hair and flesh stinging at her nose, a gag interrupting her words. But, she can't stop, not now, she knows she needs to see this through.
"And the wisdom for my feet to follow,
War. Horrible war, with more casualties than any that have ever come before it. Bodies strewn about a field, bloddied, charred, rotting, reanimated. The stench of decay and death so strong it burns her nostrils, stings her eyes. The Moon, plucked bare and crimson in the sky, and beneath it, a gnarly tower.
Let my heart seek your desire—"
Suddenly, the image flips, as if suspended from the air, lightning crashing against the wine-dark sky. There's a jagged cliff's edge, so tall that only darkness is visible at the bottom, and suddenly she's over the edge. The darkness swallows her greedily, yet she's still somehow falling, wind rushing around her body in a desperate attempt to catch her. A scream, a cacophony of human and animal, and the feeling that nothing will ever be the way it was before.
She doesn't realize the scream was her own until she wakes suddenly with throat raw and hoarse.
She's in her bed, back at the castle, Sunbeams leaning through the window to announce midday. A cool, wet rag falls from her forehead as she sits up suddenly, her chemise clinging to her skin, also damp but with sweat. She feels like she's run from one end of the city to the other, muscles aching and fatigue weighing her down. Returning to sleep is a tempting idea for a moment, until she processes the soft snores filling the room. The half-remembered scenes floating through her head don't help, either.
Looking to the side of the bed, she notices Gem, lightly dozing in a chair with her head hanging and arms crossed in front of her. Pearl suppresses a laugh, if only because the position seems incredibly uncomfortable. Nothing seems to be out of place in the room, exactly as she left it, and she tries desperately to put together the pieces of what she remembers of what happened the night before. Did she actually leave the castle? Was it just a dream?
"Gem," she whispers, voice cracking as she inches to the edge of the bed. "Gem, wake up."
The apprentice in question does so— with quite a fright, at that, nearly falling out of her chair. Or, perhaps, she was trying to stand before she even fully woke. Pearl suppresses another laugh, watching Gem furiously rub the sleep from her eyes.
"I'm up, I'm up," she insists, even as she seems poised to slip back into sleep. Then, she seems to process who was calling her name, and she instantly perks up. The grin that stretches over her face is a little manic, showing a mix of worry and relief. Pearl can't get away from a little chastising as she says, "Oh, thank The Eight, you're awake. You scared the life out of me!"
"What—" Pearl clears her throat as it catches, "what happened?"
Gem blinks, seemingly taken off guard by the question.
"What do you remember?" she asks in turn.
"I think I left the castle? Went with Impulse to the temple," Pearl answers, and Gem nods.
"The way Impulse told it," she starts. That part must have been real, then. "He was outside waiting for you when he heard you scream, like, really loud. When he ran in, you were… curled around yourself and clutching at your head. No one could break you from it, you were completely unresponsive, and then you passed out. He brought you back and you were feverish, so I've been working all night to—"
She springs up like the chair burned her, sticking a hand to Pearl's forehead and cheeks. She makes a face as she pulls away, sighing as she sits back down.
"Well, you're still a little warm, but it's a lot better," she explains
That would certainly explain the malaise Pearl was feeling. Gem seems like she wants to say something, but hesitates. Pearl looks at her expectantly, and she sort of grimaces.
"Well… you were also… muttering, in your sleep. None of it made sense, and I— We were afraid…" she says, her pinched expression making guilt curl up in the pit of Pearl's stomach.
"What was I…?" Pearl starts to ask, but stops when Gem frowns.
A silence stretches between them, both waiting for the other to say something, but neither dares. Pearl wants an answer to her question, definitely, but isn't willing to push, and Gem obviously wants to ask, but Pearl's not sure she can answer, either. Something about the idea of telling Gem about her impending marriage, if she's remembering what she saw correctly, makes her throat go dry. It's silly, of course— It's a big deal, even if Pearl never tells her, she'll find out anyway.
Maybe that's what scares her most.
Gem, finally, seems to muster the courage first.
"Can I ask…?" she starts, looking unsure of herself. Pearl nods for her to continue when the quiet starts to go on again. "Did you receive anything from her? Visions? Guidance?"
Pearl swallows thickly, chewing on her words for a long moment. What she saw was… huge. Incredibly dire, way more than would usually be revealed to even the highest priestesses in the temple, maybe even the Elders. It was certainly something to take seriously, but she finds herself doubting her memory.
"I saw—"
A knock at the door startles the both of them, their heads whipping over to the source of the noise in synchronization. Pearl calls the distruptor in, a young servant of Phil's who informs her that she is to be in his study at her earliest convenience. She tries hard to keep her face neutral, to not show the dread that has a vice grip around her chest, but Gem has always known how to read her.
"Pearl, what's going on?" Gem asks, and for some reason, Pearl just… can't.
Her mouth opens and closes a few times, bobbing like a fish out of water.
"I don't… I need to— I need to go… do that," she says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and trying to stand on wobbly legs.
Gem catches Pearl as she loses her balance, standing quickly with a deep frown on her face.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asks, attempting to put a shoulder under Pearl's.
Pearl, as politely as she can, shrinks away from the gesture. Gem's brow furrows, and she goes to try again. Pearl once again moves away, trying to appear more confident in her gait. It's not like she doesn't want to stay here with Gem, or that she wants to avoid telling her the truth, but she also knows that a summons from her brother is not simply an invitation.
"I don't think I have a choice," she answers, finally. "I'll be fine, I promise."
This seems to mollify Gem, at least, even if her face screams her disapproval. She sighs, beginning to move slowly toward the door like Pearl will change her mind. When she turns to put her hand on the doorknob, she pauses, but doesn't look back again.
"I'll be in the gardens when you get done," she tells Pearl, an implied request.
Pearl nods, though Gem can't see it, but doesn't speak. Gem is out of the door a moment later, anyway. Pearl's maids flood in not long after, and she wonders if they were waiting at the door, listening in hopes of fodder for the gossip mill. She can't say she's much better, but she likes to pretend.
They quickly dress her, though not their usual pace, given her condition. Her wear for the day is a plain chemise gown with an indigo sash of silk tied around her waist and her hair braided around a low bun, her circlet gently placed on the top of her head. The weight of it reminds her of the crown from her vision, though that one felt much heavier. She's not sure she wants to know how it gets there, even if she knows just as well that it has already happened.
Her Goddess is the overseer of the void of time, after all.
The walk down to the study feels both impossibly long and far too quick. Phil is standing at the window as she enters, looking down at the city below them contemplatively. She takes the initiative to sit herself, admittedly still feeling a bit faint. She wonders if the whole castle knows of her illness at this point, or if it's just the service staff. Her head dips respectfully as he turns around, a phlegmatic expression on his face as he returns the gesture. He sits in his own chair, quietly and with ease, before thinking on his words.
"As we discussed, Father and the Elders met with the Queen of Èmerglais this morning," he starts, and she nods to indicate her remembrance. "Options were presented, but she seemed only interested in your hand for her eldest son to prove that we present no threat to her rule."
She still finds herself surprised, despite what she saw in her visions. A frown threatens her lips, but she fights to keep her expression neutral.
"You will have a week to prepare to leave, then the travel to the capital for the ceremony will take nine days. We'll be given a day to rest before the ceremony," he continues, and the world goes a bit fuzzy around the edges.
One week is a frighteningly short amount of time to do anything of this magnitude. She wonders if the date was negotiable, if their father would really be so eager to be rid of her. She knows she would be, but the thought still stings. That, or, this conflict is much closer to boiling over than she thought.
She feels rather… small, suddenly. Like the weight of this responsibility has shrunk her, the world around her too large. Terrifying in its enormity, even. Though, the emotions are distant, as well, like her thoughts have been replaced with cotton. Blurry, dream-like. A creeping cold reaches her hands, her feet, locking up her limbs and leaving her slowly going numb.
Phil is going on about something, something about Urrupa and blessings and Eponnag. It seems rather important, obviously, but she can't quite get the words to make sense. She doesn't really realize she's frozen until he clears his throat, reality coming back to her like a sharp slap to the face.
"Sister?"
"Yes, I— I understand," she says, quickly recovering her composure.
"Very well," he concludes with a nod, and she tries very hard not to knock the chair over in her haste to stand when he dismisses her.
She finds herself adrift after the conversation, simply walking through the castle with no clear direction, desperate to get her thoughts in order. Something about it makes her stomach turn in a way it hadn't when she'd been warned of the possibility, maybe the certainty of it. Maybe because she had figured she would have at least half the year, if not a full one, before she had to actually worry about it. One week is… Well, one week is one week.
One week to take in the home she's known for the past eighteen years for the last time, one week to say goodbye to everyone she knows and cares deeply about. And then? She'll be in a strange land, with strange people, participating in a culture she'll probably never really feel apart of. For the rest of her life. She won't meet the man she's going to marry until practically the day of the wedding, and they'll have to figure out life together from there.
It all sounds so dreadfully dull— and a tad bit terrifying— but what else is she to do?
She feels her boots hit grass before she processes that she's even gone outside, the western gardens stretching out in front of her with familiar pink-yellow-blue winter blooms that bring tears to her eyes. It's still early in Ithiimurru— Lilly Pilly Season— and the Sun is quite warm, so she sees no need in going back in for her cloak, despite the slight chill of the wind.
Gem is in their usual spot, under a Golden Wattle close to flowering, her back supported by the trunk and a book open but unread in her lap. Pearl approaches, delicately sitting on the ground with her legs tucked beside her, uncaring of the potential staining of her gown. There's something far more important to her in that moment.
It's quiet between them again, not one that she can read. Gem is looking at her, something in her eyes, but Pearl finds herself looking away. Almost like she's ashamed, or afraid of what she'll see if she looks too deeply. She's about to say… something, when Gem suddenly speaks.
"Void sickness," she says simply.
"What?"
The air shifts with Pearl's confusion, as she wonders if she somehow missed a conversation they were having. She doesn't think she did, but given how the day has gone, she supposes she wouldn't be too surprised. Gem blushes slightly, and Pearl wonders if she was having one in her own head.
"Scar brought it up, I'm pretty sure that's what you had," she elaborates, and Pearl resists the urge to slap her own forehead. Right, of course, whatever happened to her at the temple. "Elemental sickness can happen when interacting with any of The Eight."
"Oh," Pearl says lamely. "Right."
Another silence passes between them.
"So, what did you see?" Gem tries after a moment.
Pearl lets out a breath through her nose to stop herself from sighing, dropping her voice to a superstitious whisper.
"I saw my husband, and I saw us… fighting? I think? I saw some sort of statue, and a knight that I didn't recognize. I saw a funeral rite, one of ours, but I didn't know whom it was for. I saw…" she pauses, trying to piece the memory back together. A horrible, freezing feeling comes over her stomach suddenly as she remembers the rest of the vision, her breath catching in her throat and capturing Gem's attention. She persists, "I saw myself getting crowned, and I saw… a war. And so much death. I think I saw a tower in a storm, and a cliff's edge, but I might have dreamed that part."
She can practically still smell the battlefield, feel the blood sticking to her hands. She thinks she could be sick from it, and has to swallow the gathering saliva and tears.
Gem frowns, but the first question out of her mouth surprises Pearl.
"Husband?" she asks, and a foolish part of Pearl's brain thinks she almost sounds as disappointed as she feels. "Were the maids telling the truth? You're getting married already?"
Tears prick at Pearl's eyes again, but she wills them not to fall.
"In a week," she confirms, and they both pretend like her voice doesn't break when she says it.
Gem doesn't hesitate in throwing her arms around Pearl, pulling her into a tight hug with Pearl's cheek pressed to Gem's shoulder. The book in her lap falls unceremoniously to the ground, forgotten as it was the moment it was laid there. Gem had always had a strong build, not at all typical of a healer such as herself, and it feels like her arms are the only thing keeping Pearl in one piece in that moment.
Pearl snakes her arms around Gem in return, knuckles going white with the grip that she holds on the back of her waistcoat. The embrace lasts for a long moment, where Pearl tries to commit every detail about Gem to memory— Her hair, the way it frames her face; the way her features scrunch up when she's concentrating, the way they widen with her laughter; the traditional markings on her chin, the curves of her waist and the small of her back; the perfectly pressed outfits she wears, from her apprentice robes to her usual white blouse, dark green embroidered waistcoat, tan trousers, and leather riding boots.
Neither of them shed tears, at least not outwardly, though Pearl can hear them in Gem's voice when she speaks.
"Oh, Pearl," she mutters, moving a hand up to run her fingers over Pearl's scalp.
Pearl has to grit her teeth to stop a sob from escaping her, taking a shaky breath.
"I'm going to miss you so much," she admits in a murmur.
Gem's grip gets tighter for a brief moment before she whispers back.
"I'm gonna miss you, too."
They finally pull away from each other, something in the air between them that Pearl can't place. It weighs heavy— a funeral shawl for their friendship, maybe, or a boot on a sprouting bud, snuffed out before it can bloom. Yet, a charged energy, dynamite about to explode into reckless action. It feels like an ending, either way.
It makes her skin crawl.
Suddenly, Gem groans, dramatically dragging her hands down her face and successfully snapping the tension like a bowstring.
"It was the Èmerglais family that you're marrying into, right?" she asks, and Pearl nods tentatively. Her face screws up like she's tasted something very sour. "Those guys are the worst."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gem," Pearl scoffs playfully, rolling her eyes but unable to hide a smile.
She can do lighthearted, that's easy. Way easier than whatever that was between them just then.
Gem grins a little at the admonishment, something between impish and sheepish. She elaborates, "I've met the Prince and the Duke a few times, they mix about as well as fire and ice. You can never get anything done when the two of them are in the same room."
"You've met them?" Pearl asks, genuinely surprised.
Pearl had known Gem had ties to the kingdom, that she had lived there briefly before starting her apprenticeship here and after moving from her birthland of Aniktaki, but she had no clue they ran that deep.
"I started studying magic with their Court Magicians while I was living there, and I would sometimes run into them throughout my studies," Gem explains with a shrug. "Admittedly, it's been a few years and only a handful of interactions, but they… don't really seem like the types to change much."
Before Pearl can respond, the latter half of what she said seems to catch up to Gem, who frowns deeply.
"You said you saw a war and a tower?" she asks suddenly.
"Wha— Oh, uhm, yeah. I'm pretty sure, at least. The tower might have been a dream, and maybe symbolic? But the war felt really real, lots of dead soldiers in a field, that sort of thing," Pearl confirms, pretending not to feel the gravity of her own words or that horrible feeling at the memory.
"Have you told anyone yet? Your brother? Your father?" Gem asks.
Pearl shakes her head. She politely doesn't mention that she tells her father about as much as he tells her— To that point, she can't even think of the last time they spoke about anything beyond passing greetings. She really should tell her brother, but the haze of her lingering fever makes the memories distant, makes her unsure of herself. Gem goes quiet once again, a pensive look on her face.
The silence brings Pearl's thoughts back to her life, what she's leaving behind. She thinks of the woman in front of her, their long nights together studying and their days spent lounging in the warm Sun. Her eyes glance over the gardens to keep them from watering, her attention caught on a small gap in the hedges that she knows intimately. She and Gem used to use it to sneak away from the guards and out to the plains to hunt small game or practice their swordsmanship, though it's been a few years since they stopped.
It was always so easy to get out, then. She can't help but wonder if it would be easy now, too.
If she ran, it wouldn't be anything like the life she knows now, no familiar comforts or whatever she pleases on demand. She would need to do honest, hard work, to earn her keep and place among the commonfolk. Dirty work, probably, definitely something involving her hands. As much as that shouldn't appeal to her, it sort of does anyway. She could take her pendant of Khahaa and meld seamlessly into the crowd, and no one would ever know that she was the missing princess all along.
But, she's not sure what Gem would do, what Gem would even want. And even so, she knows it's just not possible. She was doomed to this life the moment she was born into it, and her visions from Urrupa confirmed this is happening one way or another. Why bother asking.
She can't help but wonder if it would be worth until then, anyway.
The rest of her afternoon is spent with her head in Gem's lap, deft fingers working to braid and unbraid random strands of her hair as they loosen from her earlier hairstyle. Neither of them speak, what they've said being all they need for the moment, she thinks. Thankfully, no one disrupts them, and the only thing that pulls them apart is the rumble of their stomachs and the setting of the Sun. There's a brief moment where the hues cast beautifully over Gem, all orange-golden-pink, and Pearl finds herself up late into the night after dinner trying to capture it on a canvas.
She wonders distantly what her daily schedule will look like after her marriage. Will she continue her studies, just with Caninàbh professors? Will she be expected to attend court duties of some sort, like her brothers here? Will she be let free to do as she pleases?
She thinks she would like to paint more, no matter what she does.
The horizon bleeds with the onset of the rising Sun by the time she's finally satisfied with her small portrait— she's become an incredibly fast painter over the years out of necessity— taking a palette knife and smearing a streak of green among the red-pink-orange. She stands back for a moment to admire her work, swallowing the tears she doesn't understand that gather at the back of her throat. The canvas is lovingly tucked in the back of her closet, facing against the wall and away from prying eyes. She doesn't know what she's going to do with it when she leaves, but for now, it will remain her secret.
Despite herself, she find that she's still not tired, so she simply returns to her balcony. The sky shifts gradually before her eyes, the noises of night beginning to quiet, leaving the world in a hush. It's contemplative, leaving the day before running through her mind over and over again.
It's broken just as the Sun finally breaks the trees, a knock at the door before her maids find her still in her chemise gown from the day before. Her lady-in-waiting gives her first an earful for the grass and dirt staining as the others flit about the dressing room getting her ready in a nearly identical gown before describing her schedule to her. Nothing too out of the ordinary except for an extra lesson she must attend at the end of her lessons. Èmerglais has a particular tea culture, she's told, and they expect that they will receive her with a traditional ceremony that she will be taught the etiquette of.
Her lessons are entirely too normal for how she's found her life suddenly changing, so she has a hard time focusing on them, but at least her professors seem to understand.
That is to say, perhaps not her student teachers.
"For Flora's sake, Pearl," Joel sighs, bringing his hands back from their casting position to rub the bridge of his nose. "We've been over this how many times today?"
"I'm sorry," she mutters, dropping her hands as well.
She's been sitting in the apothecary, trying for hours to turn this forsaken hunk of diorite into a statue with no luck, no matter how intentional her movements are or how bad she wants to just be over with it. It seems like her ancestors are only ever on her side when it's to ruin her life— she shouldn't say that, her brother would scrub her tongue if it came out of her mouth.
"Don't be sorry, just—" he huffs, returning his hands out in front of him and casting the spell on his own rock, which shifts from a dog to a cart. "Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and imagine something. Forget what I said about copying me, I don't care, just do whatever you want as long as you do it."
She follows his instruction, closing her eyes and allowing her breath in slowly, then out slowly. Whatever she wants… Whatever she wants… Whatever… Her mind is filled with nothing but static, black-white like the stone in front of her, and she struggles for a moment to think of anything at all.
Suddenly, her memory returns to her again, the vision of the field of bodies, and her hands move of their own accord. She feels the magical energy leave her body like a sneeze, and when she opens her eyes, she's met with…
A looming figure, tall and imposing, and so ghastly to look at she nearly becomes sick right there. The stone has twisted and contorted to a man, long hair blowing in an intangible breeze, strong muscles barely contained by the clothing around them, half a boar's skull tied around his face like a mask. His hand rests on a sword in a scabbard— a silent threat— a crimson splatter spreading from his side as if the statue itself is wounded. She doesn't know how that got on the stone, as it's definitely not rust.
It frightens her, sets something horrible and heavy in her stomach. She shivers, an electric hum over her skin, the smell of burnt hair.
"Well, that's certainly… creative," Joel remarks, obviously also uncomfortable by the effigy from the way he shifts from foot to foot and his dog-like tail tucks between his legs. "Who is that?"
"I don't— I don't know," she answers honestly, sharing a long look with him.
He clears his throat, "right, right," clears it again. She's a bit confused until one of the Wheepiip wanders over, seemingly has a conversation with him through eye contact alone, and then walks away. Her curiosity just barely edges out her irritation at the prospect of information being withheld from her, but she's far too respectful to question her betters. And perhaps a tad bit afraid to know the truth, not that she would admit that.
Joel dismisses her early after a painfully awkward pause, reverting the stone back to normal, and she finds herself with free time she wasn't expecting. Part of her conversation with Gem returns to her, and she thinks the already disturbing parts of her visions have just become far more dire, if the statue meant anything. She finds herself at the door to Phil's study, wringing her hands anxiously as she waits for him to respond to her knock.
As the day has dragged on, she's been left with a lot of time to think, and the statue only reminded her that she's fairly certain she was remembering the visions correctly. Perhaps telling her brother about them is a moot point, but it still feels important.
One of his servants answers the door— she decidedly does not jump when it opens suddenly— and ushers her in before blending back in with the bookcases.
"Brother," she greets him with a dip of her head.
He returns the gesture without looking up from the stack of important-looking papers on his desk, asking, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
She hesitates, she's not sure why, and he turns his gaze up to her inquistively.
"I recieved visions from Urrupa the night before last," she starts, gaining his attention somewhat more. The scene flashes in her mind violently, as it seems wont to do, the persistent feeling it brings like pressing on a fresh wound. "I was shown horrible visions of war, of death and decay. I— I felt like it was more than there's been in a long time, maybe since the fall of Wabiurru."
He— much more superstitious than she— finally looks up and around, as if waiting for lightning to strike her down or a spirit to appear and scold her. As it stands, when nothing happens, he simply shoots her a warning look. She ignores it, feeling that it's no time to mince words, as she explains the strange statue and how it formed after she remembered the vision. He can do as he pleases about the disrespect later, she thinks, as long as he does something to make that horrible feeling go away.
"Is the statue still in the apothecary?" he asks with the slightest bit of a frown.
"Joel reverted it back to its regular shape and sent me off," she explains, shaking her head.
He hums, looking contemplative for a moment. A promise is made to speak to the apprentice later, and as she's about to excuse herself, he speaks up again. Something in the air shifts when he does, though she can't place exactly what. It feels… heavier.
"In your vision, did you recognize any of the soldiers? Who they belonged to?" he questions.
"Some of ours, and I'm not sure who else's," she answers, though she hadn't thought much of it.
She tries not to let the intrusive image overwhelm her, now that her brain has been prompted to think of it in more detail. The other crest beyond her family's isn't one she recognizes, but she has a guess that she'd rather not speak. She just prays she doesn't end up a part of it.
He dismisses her with another promise of looking into it for her from there, and she breathes a sigh of relief as his study door closes behind her, though some of her anxiety still lingers. Her other lessons prove a worthy distraction, at least, and she soon finds herself bustled into one of the sitting rooms.
The room is occupied by a handful of maids, her lady-in-waiting, Grian, Jimmy, and a woman with long, pink hair and calico cat-like ears and tail. Her lady-in-waiting introduces the stranger as Lady Elizabeth of Animalia, a priestess of Hoohoope that lived for some time in Èmerglais, who seems a bit sheepish as she curtsies at each of them. Her gown is rather elaborate— leaving Pearl feeling quite underdressed— silk dyed in a deep blue, with a V-shape to the waistline, pleating on the top of the skirt, and a petticoat of matching fabric and pattern, elbow-length sleeves with white frills and a matching neckline with a striped bow on the chest.
"Please, just call me Lizzie," she insists. "And congratulations on your engagement, your highness."
"Please, just Pearl," Pearl says in kind, tactfully ignoring the rest of the sentence. Genuinely, she adds, "thank you for taking the time to do this."
Lizzie smiles, a timid yet dazzling thing. She shifts from one foot to the other, her tail swishing and jittering behind her.
"Oh, it's really no problem," she says, trying to seem nonchalant despite her body language screaming her nervousness. "How familiar are you with afternoon tea?"
Pearl has heard of the ritual in her culture lessons before in passing, a tradition that developed in Animalia after they started trading with Lulong where the plant is natively cultivated, though never learned the specifics of it, she informs Lizzie. Meanwhile, her brothers give the poor woman two blank stares, and Pearl resists the urge to elbow the both of them as hard as she can. Lizzie directs them to a small, round table set with a simple clay tea set, a small clay figure of some sort of reptile, and some foreign finger foods.
Lizzie explains the history and that, as opposed to a regular afternoon tea, Pearl will be the one preparing and pouring the tea instead of the waitstaff, to prove her civility and worthiness to the Queen… or something like that. Grian and Jimmy are obviously bored, and slightly impatient waiting to try the food, as Pearl has to nudge both of them quite a few times to get them to stop reaching for it as Lizzie is still talking, so she admittedly does miss some of it. Luckily, Lizzie is simply demonstrating for this lesson, so Pearl tries her hardest to simply focus on what she's doing.
It's all a little overwhelming, between the delicate process of brewing the tea and all of the little rules, but she puts on her most determined attitude about it. She can at least appreciate the "tea pet," the little clay figure that receives the first serving that she's told will probably be a horse to represent Eponnag.
They manage to get through the lesson relatively well, perhaps her moreso than her brothers, and Lizzie excuses herself with a promise to practice with Pearl until she's tired of seeing her face, pressing the tea pet into Pearl's hands with another genuine congratulations. She's staying as a guest in the castle for the week, then accompanying them back to Èmerglais so that she can pass through back to Animalia, she explains, and Pearl finds herself slightly intrigued to get to know her more.
Pearl is about dead on her feet by the time she returns to her room, her adrenaline no longer carrying her, and she elects to sleep before the Sun fully sets. Guilt begins to bubble up in her mind for a moment for not trying to stay awake for dinner, or seek out Gem for that matter— Impulse stopped her between her lessons while he was on patrol to ask after her well-being, and wouldn't let her leave until he was satisfied she had successfully recovered— but sleep claims her before she can really feel it.
Her day doesn't vary much from the one before, though she does have a meeting with a seamstress to take her measurements for a gown, and she blissfully goes without any more surprise magical omens. She passes Joel once, as he's in House Sun for the day, and he gives her an uneasy look that makes her stomach knot, but they don't have time to say anything at all. Distantly, she wonders if Phil has had the chance to discuss it with him yet, and if they'll even say anything to her if he does. She feels it's definitely important enough to this time, but that's never made it happen before.
Scar seems unaware— or, at least, unperturbed— simply continuing on with their lesson like nothing is wrong. Though, she does notice that he's a bit gentler with his words, a little more comforting than he usually is, something like concern in his vibrant green eyes. It's probably her morose demeanor for the day, but she can't quite help it, unable to clear the metaphorical cloud from over her head no matter how hard she tries to push the feelings down.
Her lesson with Lizzie involves hands-on learning this time, and she has to spend a good amount of the hour pressing ice to her hand where she accidentally scalded it with the water. Lizzie worries over her incessantly until she promises to visit the apothecary to have the Wheepiip look it over, even finding her later in the gardens to apologize, though it wasn't her fault.
"You're a very talented artist," Lizzie compliments, appearing out of seemingly nowhere. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."
Pearl decidedly does not jump and drop her paintbrush on her easel.
"Thank you," she says, smiling shyly as she picks it back up.
She had been out using the remaining dregs of daylight to paint the scene around her, to cement them in her mind. Lizzie returns the smile, tilting her head slightly to get a better view of the canvas… Pearl thinks, even as Lizzie's eyes stay on her.
"I may have to commission something of you when we see each other again. After the wedding, of course," she comments, and Pearl ignores the pit that opens up in her stomach at the reminder of the fastly approaching event.
"I would be honored," she tells her instead, sincerely, and Lizzie's expression softens somewhat. "That is, if I have the time… I know you're probably not the right person to ask this of, but… Do you know what they're like?"
Lizzie seems a bit confused, and she realizes the sudden change in topic she made, so she clarifies, "the royal family?"
"Ah," Lizzie says, drawing out the vowel. She nods, her smile going a bit sheepish. "They're… stubborn. A bit stuck in their ways, honestly. But, they're good people, you should no problems with them."
She sounds pretty sure of herself, even if it slightly conflicts with what she's heard from Grian and Gem, so Pearl nods gratefully. Her shoulders relax somewhat, unconsciously, a bit of the weight that's been on her since the night of the party lightening. If Lizzie thinks she'll be fine, perhaps she will be. She can work with stubborn, she thinks.
They continue to chat idly as Pearl turns her attention back on her painting, and Lizzie, after apologizing profusely for earlier, throws her a bit of a bone on something she had been wondering. Lizzie was already in Hoodjari when the summons had reached her to come be Pearl's instructor, visiting her husband— Pearl unsuccessfully tries to convince her to tell her who he is, if she knows him, but Lizzie's lips are sealed on the matter. She was born in Animalia and mostly grew up there, though she visited Èmerglais often as a child, and moved there shortly after she got married for reasons she won't disclose before moving back to Animalia while her husband moved here.
Pearl wonders distantly what it's like for them to live so far apart, if Lizzie has a giant pit in her stomach every time she has to leave him. If her heart aches fiercely for him when she imagines him, if she fears he'll move on without her.
By the time Lizzie excuses herself, the sun has set, and the painting on the easel has been neglected in favor of the conversation. Pearl packs her things up quietly, contemplating what Lizzie had said, when a voice draws her out of her head.
"She seems nice," Gem comments, making Pearl nearly drop everything in her hands.
"Gem!" she yelps, whirling around to find the woman standing with her arms crossed in front of her, her tail swishing lazily behind her. "Gosh, you scared me!"
The corner of Gem's mouth ticks up, like she's proud of herself and trying to hide it.
"You should've heard me coming," she says with a shrug, and Pearl glares at her halfheartedly. "What were you two talking about?"
A blush begins to creep up Pearl's face— or, maybe it was already there— despite the entirely innocuous conversation. Her smile goes a bit crooked, and Gem raises a brow.
"She likes my art?" she says lamely, mirroring Gem's shrug with far less insouciance.
Gem seems unsatisfied with that answer, understandly, her brow dropping to furrow slightly.
"She likes your art," she repeats, and Pearl nods. She remains unconvinced, seemingly, as she finally just straight up asks, "that was… all you talked about?"
"I also asked her about the royal court?" Pearl isn't sure why she sounds so unsure of herself, even if she's only telling the truth.
"Right," Gem says, her mouth flattening slightly. This must look so much worse than it was, why can't she just act normal? "What did she say about them?"
"They're stubborn, but we'll get along," Pearl finally gets out as a solid answer, having to stop herself from smiling in celebration. "She also said she was here visiting her husband."
She's not sure why that felt important to mention, nor why it makes Gem relax slightly.
"… Cool," Gem says with a nod. Something else seems to be on her mind, though. She fiddles with her hands for a long moment where they're frozen in a sort of deadlock, before finally sighing and breaking it with a question. "Have you been… Were you avoiding me?"
Pearl can see why she hesitated to ask, and her heart drops straight to her stomach.
"No, no— gosh— no," she assures with an emphatic shake of her head. Gem relaxes even further, and Pearl feels bad briefly that she didn't seem to notice how tense she was before. Pearl rambles, "I was just so tired because I stayed up late, and you were in House Sun today, and I promise I wanted to see you, it just didn't work out—"
"Hey, hey, it's alright, I was just ribbing you," Gem says, raising her hands and smiling, though her levity seems forced.
"Would you run with me?" Pearl wants to ask, suddenly.
Instead, she forces herself to laugh slightly, and hold her tongue until they part for the night.
The days begin to pass in a blur, as her lessons wrap up as well as they can and her things for travel begin to be packed away in chests. She's allegedly getting an entirely new wardrobe courtesy of the Èmerglais royals, so is leaving behind almost everything besides her cloak, her riding clothes, and jewelry.
She hears nothing more of her incident in the apothecary. Phil doesn't summon her to his study, nor does Joel even entertain her questions during their lessons. She supposes she shouldn't be surprised, but the thought does nothing to temper her agitation. Naively, she hopes that her station as princess in the Èmerglais court will mean less information being kept from her.
Her lessons with Lizzie continue, and she slowly stops burning herself with the tea, becoming confident enough in her abilities from the repeated practice. Her brothers remain utterly inattentive the times they are required to attend, always perking up when it's finally time to eat. Lizzie seems to find it endearing, Pearl finds her deranged for thinking so.
She visits with as many of her friends around the castle as she can— no matter the admittedly small number— but finds herself doing exactly what she told Gem she wasn't. Avoiding her. She just can't trust herself not to say the foolish request that forces itself to the front of her mind every time she sees the woman. So, every time they would normally cross paths, she hides, comes up with a convenient excuse to walk away. When they do speak briefly, there's an indescribable tension between them, both waiting for the other to ask a question that will never come.
The morning she's set to leave, though, she knows she can't keep running. She stands in her room in her riding clothes, taking in the space for the last time. Even if she's leaving it essentially the way it's always been, she knows by the time she sees it again, she herself will have evolved past it. If it stays as is, it will forever be a shrine to a woman who no longer exists.
Her quiet mourning is broken by a knock at the door. She can tell that it's Gem by heft and pattern alone, and her breath catches in her throat. Briefly, she thinks on how to get out of it, how to not let Gem see the heartbreak in her eyes. Instead, she swallows her feelings and her tears, calling her in. She will not cry, she can't.
Gem definitely has been, though Pearl is smart enough not to mention it. Her eyes are puffy, her cheeks tear-stained, and her smile barely concealing her own heartbreak. A strange guilt curls around Pearl's chest that she's choosing not to show hers. Gem doesn't say anything, just stares at Pearl, before quickly moving to snake her arms through Pearl's and around her middle.
Pearl is quick to hug her back, of course, she would never dream of denying her— or herself— that comfort. She can't help but think of that question again, but she swallows that, too.
They stand holding each other for a long moment, neither speaking. She doesn't think there's anything she could say, even if she wanted to. They both already know how much they care for each other, they both already know this is goodbye, they both already know their relationship will never be the same.
Sure, Pearl likes to think their souls are intertwined, that they're destined to cross paths again and again. Sure, they may write letters. Sure, maybe they'll seek each other out on the slim chance Gem comes to Èmerglais. But they both know that she's leaving behind the quiet intimacies of their lives together, that the absence will be like a gaping wound in both of their hearts, that there's no real guarantee they will see each other again. Sure, something will take their place… Hopefully… Maybe.
But does that matter?
She dreams for a moment of a distant future where Gem is a fully fledged magician and chooses to settle in Èmerglais, and they can return to a shadow of their normalcy. Though, she can't quite picture what her life would look like outside of it, and she would never wish that fate on Gem anyway. Gem deserves to explore the world, to find a place she really falls in love with. Èmerglais doesn't seem to be that place.
She'll make peace with it eventually, and it will no longer feel like her heart has been ripped out of her chest. She hopes Gem will, too.
They finally pull away, Gem's hand moving up to cradle Pearl's cheek, which she lets her head loll into as the air around them pulls taut, their eye contact intense. Something she doesn't understand pulls Pearl forward and forward, until their foreheads rest together, warm breaths mingling in the limited space between them. She feels claustrophobic in… a good way, almost. It just feels right, and she wishes she could stay in that moment forever.
Then, just like that day two years ago, Gem gets a strange look on her face. She doesn't immediately pull away this time, first placing a parting kiss to Pearl's cheek before stepping back. Pearl ignores the strange disappointment that overtakes her, a nameless yearning that sticks to her ribs. She so desperately wants to change her mind, to ask—
"Will you—" she breaks the silence with, then corrects herself when she catches Gem's gaze. She clears her throat, "will you write me?"
Gem smiles, a beautiful and weary thing, and nods.
"Of course," she says.
The moment is broken again by another knock at the door— Her lady-in-waiting, who gently lets her know it's time to go. Gem walks with her hand-in-hand to the entrance hall, filled with her family and a gaggle of guards. She spots Impulse amongst them, and feels a deep relief at knowing they'll have some time still to say a proper goodbye. Gem squeezes her hand, and they share a glance before she lets go, beginning to walk toward House Sun as Pearl is swarmed by the travelling party.
When she boards her carriage, watches the castle get farther and farther, she thinks not of the home she's leaving behind, but of that moment, of what could have been, what will never be.