LYMERIA
by Kristina Coia

Sail on. Sail on, maiden, sail on.
Sail on, for after each night comes a dawn.

Prologue

"How many are there?" he asked heatedly.

"Too many, my lord," his advisor answered, as beads of sweat formed upon his brow.

The Great King stopped pacing the throne room to run his hands across his face.

"Friemus," he said, his voice betraying his fear, "there is no other choice but to take action. We will defend ourselves to the death."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Friemus bowed his head and left the room with shaking hands and a heavy heart.

The Great King let out a long sigh and placed his hand upon his sword, which had only ever been used to decorate the mantle. There had never before been conflict in The Great King's land while he was upon the throne. No one could ever have predicted the Monideks's ride from the west. The Great King had not been informed of King Maldren, a rebel tyrant from the west, who sought to rule his neighboring lands to the east. He whose armies were riding fast toward The Great King's domain.

With forced apathy, The Great King pulled the sword from its plaque, which was hot from the blazing fire beneath the mantle. But the cold sadness in The Great King's heart was stronger than the heat in his hands.

He had always been afraid that the day of hatred would come, for he could not bear to suffer the pain of war again. It had once claimed his parents and thrust him upon the throne while he was still a child. To be plunged back into a whirlwind of revulsion was almost more than he could bear.

The Great King twirled the metal handle of his sword in his hands, acquainting himself with its smooth texture and winding gold handle.

The time of destruction was upon him, and he was ready.

Chapter One

The light of the candle wavered as an early spring breeze trickled in through the old, oak door of the cottage. A small, golden-haired, dimple-faced girl trickled in also, carrying a wicker basket.

"Good evening, Grandmother!" she chimed as she set the basket on the table beside my chair. Her curls bounced as she searched inside it feverishly. After a bit of frustration, she found what she was looking for: a loaf of freshly baked bread.

"Mother made it special for us, Grandmother. It's your favorite!" she said as she ripped off a small piece and handed it to me. The sweet smell of emyht and lisab herbs wafted toward me as I reached out to take it from her tiny, soft fingers, as fair as a dove.

She turned and ventured toward a dusty, scratched, old, wooden cabinet and from it produced two clay dishes, too heavy for her small arms. She gasped as the plates slipped to the floor and shattered.

"Grandmother, I am so sorry! I-" Her lip trembled.

"There's no need to apologize, dear. Just clean it up." I offered a reassuring smile.

Her fingers went to work picking up the shards of clay spattered across the woolen, braided rug. Something caught her eye, and she reached under the cabinet. Forgetting the broken pottery, her fingers strayed across a silver, oval bauble attached to a chain as thin as string. As she walked toward me, she tried to brush the dust out of its crevices and intricate designs.

"Grandmother, what is this?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"Come, sit beside me," I said, as whispers of memories grew from shadows in the back of my mind into images, clear as day, right before my eyes. I settled back in my chair and began.

"Once upon a time, there lived a young maiden by the name of Wynne …"

***

"Come, Raine. It's just a brush!" Wynne argued with her horse in a desperate attempt to steady her. "I've been doing this since you were a foal, and you haven't ceased to struggle with me! I will never understand you!"

Raine gave a snort of offense. Wynne giggled. "Well, if you would let me brush you, I would give you a treat! But I guess you don't want any, so-" She turned to leave. Raine's golden ears flickered up in alarm, and she nudged Wynne's arm with her nose.

Wynne's smile grew broader. "Ah, so you do want your treat, then! Well, I guess you will just have to hold still!" She brought the brush to the mare's milky, gold mane once again. Reluctantly, Raine stood still until the task was complete.

"There," said Wynne with a sigh of accomplishment. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Raine gave another snort of discontent, and Wynne laughed, a sound as sweet as water trickling in a brook.

After producing a sweet elppa fruit, which Raine gobbled up in seconds, she wrapped her arms around the mare's shimmering neck, rested her head on her soft mane, and whispered in her ear, "You're my favorite, you know. Just be sure that the others don't hear it!"

Wynne released Raine from her grasp and closed the heavy, wood stall gate. With a quick good-bye, she set out from the stable, singing a merry tune. Her voice was as beautiful as the sunrise peeking over the hills behind her. Every morning, stable hands and servants would awaken from their slumber to Wynne's happy melodies.

This day was no different. Wynne made her way past sleepy cottages to the market, where she met with heavy-eyed bakers and butchers who placed mounds of goods to bring to the castle in her basket.

When she arrived at the palace kitchen, Wynne began preparations for the royal breakfast feast, as usual. The first to arrive that morning was old Ramona, the kitchen's chief overseer. Her age-whitened hair was gathered tightly at the nape of her neck, and her bright blue eyes glowed with wisdom.

"Wynne," Ramona said with a tender smile, "you never fail. What ever would we do without you?"

"Plenty, I'm sure. Ramona, the market gave me the first Egnaro fruits of the season. Isn't that wonderful? You know they are His Highness's favorite. Would you like me to start the pastries? Then we'll have time to make jam."

Ramona sighed and placed her hand upon Wynne's shoulder. "I would like for you to slow down a bit. You're making me tired. Now, if you would like, you can start on the pastries, but don't even begin to think about anything else until they're finished, Wynne. I mean it. The other kitchen workers can take care of it. You're only one person. You can't do it all."

"Oh, hush now, Ramona. Could you pass me that bowl, please?" Wynne continued, gesturing to a wooden table in the corner. Ramona stepped over Tussle, the kitchen mutt, as he slept beside the fireplace, and retrieved the bowl, cold from the chilly, morning breezes.

As she tottered back, she muttered to Tussle, "No use in trying to talk sense into her, is there? She will never listen. But you listen, don't you, dog?" Tussle, though, seemed to not hear, continuing to sleep soundly and pawing the stone floor as if having a happy dream.

Wynne worked restlessly as other dreary kitchen workers inched in, rubbing their eyes and yawning good mornings to each other. After the sun was high enough in the sky for the candles to be put out, Wynne left the kitchen with a tray of tea and clean water and headed up winding corridors to the royal chambers.

She knocked gently on the grand, cedar door with her free hand, then pushed the door open and shut it behind her very quietly. She set the tray down on the nightstand and began to hum a pretty tune of her own invention as she urged the little flame in the grate of the fireplace. Once there was a blazing fire, she went to the washstand and poured the water into the washbowl as she heard a light murmur behind her. Then the rustle of sheets and the thud of feet hitting the floor indicated the awakening of Princess Avariella.

"Good morning, Your Highness," Wynne said with a nod of the head. Avariella's golden curls cascaded down her back as she leaned forward to wash her flawless face in the washbowl. Wynne helped her dress, brushed her hair, and straightened her bed, then retreated to the kitchen with the tray.

After the king, the queen, Princess Avariella, and Prince Calvin were seated in the dining hall, Wynne helped set out the food for the breakfast feast. As she set the sweet-smelling Egnaro pastries upon the delicately embroidered tablecloth, King Maldren's voice boomed across the table.

"We all know that Avariella has reached the age of marriage and has been plagued with suitors. Last night, King Apath of Doniden informed me that his son was looking for a bride. His kingdom is one of riches far greater than ours, and I believe that he would make a fine husband. So I offered him her hand in marriage."

Avariella's eyes widened to the size of egnaro fruits. Wynne pretended to wipe the windowpane clean to continue listening.

King Maldren continued, "The prince is traveling here to meet you, Avariella. He should be here in a day or two."

Avariella's eyes grew even wider. "A… prince… only… a day… I…"