The iron ring burned against Amriel's chest now, almost painfully hot. She clutched it through her tunic, feeling its pulse match the crackling waves of energy emanating from the princess.
The Power was not hers to control, but for reasons she never fully understood, Amriel could sense its presence when others could not. And what she sensed now terrified her.
Around Princess Irina, the air began to truly distort while tiny currents of what now looked like silver lightning danced between her fingertips. A banner hanging near the royal box began to ripple, though there was no wind.
Her Power is overwhelming her. She hasn't learned to contain it yet, Amriel thought, her mouth going dry. And considering the potential of the princess's raw Power, that could be a very bad thing for all of us.
Thankfully, Amriel was not the only one to notice the princess's struggles.
The Coven Leader had straightened in her seat, her dark eyes fixed on the princess with the intensity of a hawk watching prey. A glass pitcher near the princess shattered, sending servants scrambling. Queen Elara leaned closer to her daughter, her hand discretely gripping Irina's arm.
The herald's voice faltered momentarily before continuing, but few seemed to notice the growing disturbance in the royal box. The crowd's attention had shifted to the knights parading across the field, their armor gleaming in the sunlight.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" the herald continued, oblivious to the subtle drama unfolding in the royal box. "I present to you our champions, who will compete for glory and the honor of being named Defender of the Betrothal!"
The crowd's attention shifted to the far end of the field, where a procession of knights began to enter, each mounted on magnificent warhorses draped in their house colors. Banners fluttered, armor gleamed, and the roar of approval nearly drowned out the herald's introductions.
Each introduction brought a fresh wave of cheers, but Amriel found it increasingly difficult to focus on the spectacle. The words of the Tome kept intruding on her thoughts, and now Princess Irina's magical aura was adding to her sense of foreboding.
But Amriel couldn't look away from Princess Irina. The shimmer had become completely visible to her. Silver sparks danced across the princess's skin, her eyes wide with panic as she tried to control what was clearly beyond her current abilities.
The air crackled with building power, and Amriel's ring seemed to resonate with it, singing against her skin.
She'd never heard of a Witch raining silver fire down before, but with the Power there was only one thing certain—that nothing was certain.
"Riel, you're doing it again," Niamh whispered, elbowing her. "You look like you're a thousand miles away."
"Sorry," Amriel murmured, forcing herself to pay attention as the knights took their positions for the first joust.
Sir Ranulf and Sir Thoren faced each other from opposite ends of the field, lances at the ready. Another trumpet blast, and they charged, horses thundering down the track, dust rising in their wake. The crowd held its collective breath as the knights closed the distance, and then—
A crash, splintering wood, and Sir Thoren tumbled from his saddle, hitting the ground with a heavy thud that made the audience wince in collective sympathy. Sir Ranulf circled back, raising his broken lance in victory as his supporters cheered wildly.
"Magnificent!" Niamh exclaimed, clapping enthusiastically. "Did you see how cleanly he struck? Perfect form!"
"His timing was slightly late," Mara observed. "He was fortunate his opponent didn't adjust his shield."
Amriel nodded distractedly, her attention drawn back to the royal box where something was definitely amiss. Princess Irina's shimmer had intensified, Amriel could see it clear across the field.
The Queen now had a firm grip on her daughter's arm, her expression tense behind her regal smile. Kortana had shifted forward in her seat, one hand subtly extended, fingers moving in what Amriel recognized as a containment gesture.
"Something's wrong," Amriel said, rising slightly from her seat.
"What is it?" Niamh asked, her excitement fading as she noticed Amriel's concern. Instinctually, she wrapped her arms protectively around her belly
Before Amriel could answer, Princess Irina stood abruptly, the shimmer around her now unmistakable—a silvery aura that pulsed with increasing brightness.
Queen Elara was on her feet as well, attempting to guide her daughter to the back of the box, away from public eyes, but the princess seemed frozen in place, her eyes wide with what appeared to be terror.
Amriel could see the instant the princess lost control.
She's going to kill us all. The thought flashed through Amriel's mind with terrifying clarity as the silver energy expanded outward from Princess Irina.
Without hesitation, Amriel flung herself in front of Niamh, arms spread wide as if her flesh could somehow shield her pregnant friend from the magical onslaught.
In that instant, everything was bathed in unnatural light, and Amriel felt a surge of power roll across the tournament grounds like a physical wave. Without any Power of her own, she could only watch in horror as the blast hurtled towards them.
Several spectators cried out in alarm, and many shielded their eyes from the glare. The jousting knights mounts squealed in terror and shied away, almost dumping their riders.
Mercifully, in those final seconds, the blast was diverted skyward so that it exploded above the crowd rather than in it. If it weren't so terrifying, it would have been beautiful. Like a star exploding in the night sky.
As quickly as it had appeared, the light collapsed back into Irina, who crumpled into the Coven Leader's arms. Who, looking on the verge of collapse herself, led the princess away.
A silence fell over the tournament grounds, the jousting forgotten as all eyes turned to the royal box.
The Queen glided to the front of the royal box, her every movement a study in practiced grace even amid chaos. She raised her hands in an elegant gesture, initiating applause with such commanding presence that the stunned crowd instinctively began to join, their hands moving before their minds had processed why.
"My dear people of Khymar," Queen Elara called out, her voice silvery and strong, carrying to every corner of the grounds without betraying a hint of the tension evident in her shoulders. "What a magnificent demonstration from Princess Irina! Her gift has awakened with extraordinary potency, and she wished to honor you and this engagement with a wonderful display!" She smiled, transforming the near-disaster into a point of pride with nothing but the conviction in her voice. "Such raw power requires tremendous discipline to master—what you've seen today is merely the first blossom of what will become a formidable talent serving our kingdom."
The Queen's face remained serene, "The princess requires rest after such an impressive display. Please, honor her gift by enjoying these celebrations—today we not only join two kingdoms but also welcome a new Witch into our royal line!"
The crowd responded with applause that gradually gained authenticity, yet beneath the cheers, undercurrents of whispered concerns flowed like hidden streams. Amriel caught fragments of speculation rippling through the stands, the words "uncontrolled" and "dangerous" repeating with unsettling frequency.
"Did you see that?Just like the incident last month at the spring equinox—" "Different witch, same problem." "The princess is too powerful for her own good—"
The Queen had performed masterfully, but even she couldn't completely erase what everyone had seen with their own eyes.
Thai time it was the King's voice that rose over the crowd, "Let us continue with the tournament!"
Below, the tournament resumed, knights charging and lances shattering in a spectacle of skill and bravery. But Amriel could no longer appreciate the pageantry.
The tone of the crowd remained sour, and her mind was filled with ancient words and silver fire, and the terrifying possibility that a five-thousand-year-old prophecy was beginning to unfold before her eyes.
Disquieted by the crowd's darkening mood, the three women slipped away as the tournament continued without them. The sounds of combat faded behind them, replaced by the urgent whispers they exchanged.
"Alright, I shall be the first then." Mara said, finally breaking the silence as they approached the Tower of Illumination. "What happened back at the tournament grounds, that was no purposeful display of Power, was it?"
Niamh's hands drifted over her belly where it swelled gently beneath her robe, "I suspect you're right, but Riel, you would know best." Said the red-headed northern as she looked over towards Amriel.
Both of the other women were well aware of Amriel's unique ability to sense Power, even though she couldn't use it.
Amriel's hand found its way to the iron ring as she slowly shook her head, "No, unfortunately that was exactly what we thought it was. The Queen made a fair show of if, but…"
"But the people don't trust her. She's Heladoran," Mara finished for her. "And a Witch."
"The Queen being from Heladore doesn't help," Niamh sighed in agreement. "Not since they broke the trade treaty. Half the kingdom still blames them for the winter shortages."
"Do you think the princess will be alright?" Niamh quietly asked.
Amriel gazed toward the grand white spire of the Coven where Princess Irina would now be sequestered.
"I don't know," she said honestly.
When they paused to see Mara off at the Illumination Tower, Amriel resisted the urge to check on the tome once more as they said their goodbyes. Even as she stood at the tower's threshold, she could feel its pull. Could feel the prophecy calling to her.
Amriel turned away from it all with a shake of her head and a sinking feeling in her gut.
By late afternoon, Amriel and Niamh passed through Nylos' eastern gates, leaving the city's clamor behind. The setting sun painted the path home in amber light as they walked in companionable silence.
Their homesteads stood in near contrast: Amriel's modest cottage perched at the edge of the vast Vhengal Forest, while Niamh's larger home sat among blossoming fruit trees in the valley's heart, surrounded by fertile fields where Simon's family had lived for generations.
As they approached the fork in the path that would seem them part ways, a figure hurried toward them.
"Amriel!" the woman called, slightly out of breath as she approached. "Thank the gods I've found you."
Amriel recognized Mirna Teller, one of the healers from Eastbrook, a small settlement not far from here. "Mirna!" she greeted with a smile that quickly faded when she saw the worry etched across the older healer's face, tendrils of gray hair escaping her practical bun.
"Is everything okay?" Amriel asked, her brows knitting together.
"I've a patient—Tomas Reed, the miller's boy. Crushed his arm in a wagon wheel two days ago." Mirna said, her voice tight with urgency. "There was no saving it, not without Power, and the family is too poor for that. I knew it then, but I let them convince me to try to save it."
Amriel knew all too well the pressure of the tears and pleas of the patient, and often their loved ones, could have. How it could make you try things you knew were against your better judgement. She knew exactly the guilt and frustration Mirna was feeling right now
"Well, the wounds gone bad, as I feared it would, and gangrene is setting in. I tried, but," She gestured helplessly.
"You need to take the arm," Amriel finished quietly.
Mirna nodded, her expression grim. "I've prepared everything, but last night I had to stitch up an axe wound, and needed to use more of my Gentle sleep than I would have liked. Now, I don't have enough to put the boy under."
Amriel nodded grimly, understanding immediately. "And the city apothecaries?"
"Five silver marks a dose," Mirna replied with a helpless gesture. "The family can't afford it, not after last harvest."
"Five marks?" Niamh exclaimed. "That's robbery!"
"I'll go into Vhengal now," Amriel decided. "There might be early growth springs."
The timing in the year was just a touch early for this particular plant, but there were often some early risers to be found if she looked hard enough, and was a little lucky. She had to at least try. The thought of what that little boy would have to go through if she didn't was troubling. Losing an arm, especially at such a young age, would be bad enough…to be awake while it happened.
Amriel shuddered.
"Oh thank you, Amriel!" Mirna's brown eyes went large as she clasped both of Amriel's smaller hands inside her weathered hands. "I spent all day asking everyone I know if they had any. But that winter seems to have wiped us all clean out."
There was no denying the previous winter had been a harsh one, and not just in terms of the weather.
Bidding Mirna goodbye, Amriel spun on her heels and began to march home, leaving Niamh trotting to catch up.
"Riel, it's getting dark" Niamh protested, "I don't think it's wise to go into the forest alone right now. Especially now with the influx of visitors for the royal celebrations."
Amriel slowed immediately when she realised she'd caused Niamh to exert herself, and cast her friend a wry smile, "Thank you for caring so much, Nia. But that little boy…he can't go through that procedure awake. I have to at least try."
She could see the emotions fighting across Niamh's face, torn between keeping her friend safe, and knowing as a mom what she would want for her own babies if they were ever in such a horrible position.
"Let me go with you at least." Niamh finally decided.
Amriel shook her head firmly. "No. Not a chance, Nia. Someone in your condition shouldn't be traipsing through the forest at dusk." She added with a pointed glance at Niamh's rounding midsection. "Besides, I won't be alone entirely. I'm sure Meeko will want to join."
The forest cat, roughly the size of a medium sized dog, and a wall of solid muscle, was usually a good deterrent for most other predictors. Both the two and four foot kind.
Her fingers curled around the bone hilt of the dagger that rode at her hip. Combined with her own proficiency at close hand combat, she and Meeko had managed to handle themselves this far.
Niamh looked torn, but finally nodded. "Fine. I know better than to argue when you've got that look on your face."
"I've been gathering herbs in Vhengal since before I could walk," Amriel reminded her, but clearly did little to reassure her friend.
"Just promise me you'll be safe," Niamh said, her tone serious as her pale green eyes stared into the deep cobalt of Amriels.
The corners of Amriels full lips curved in a gentle smile, "Of course. Always am."
To that Niamh rolled her eyes but smiled ruefully all the same, "If that were the case, then I wouldn't always be so worried about you, Riel."