Chapter 5: The Glass Ceiling of Paradise
1152 Words
Elara
I woke up to the sound of singing. Not the harsh, rhythmic chanting of the village priests or Martha’s gravelly humming, but something melodic and crystalline, like water flowing over silver bells.
My eyes snapped open, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
The ceiling above me wasn’t made of rotted thatch or soot-stained timber. It was a dome of translucent white stone, pulsing with a soft, rhythmic violet light that mimicked the beat of a heart. Beyond it, through massive arched windows that had no glass, I saw a sky so blue it hurt to look at. A double rainbow spanned the horizon, vibrating with colors I didn't have names for.
"Oh, good. You aren't dead," a cheerful voice chirped.
I bolted upright, clutching a blanket that felt softer than a cloud. A woman with bronze skin and a mountain of golden curls was standing by the foot of the bed. She wore a dress of shimmering green silk and enough gold jewelry to buy my entire village three times over.
"Where am I?" My voice sounded thin, cracked. "Who are you? Where's Thomas? Where's John?"
"Thomas and the grumpy old man are back in your dusty little village," the woman said, stepping closer with a tray of fruit that glowed like internal lanterns. "And you, lucky girl, are in the High Castle of Lilydale. I'm Marth. I run this wing of the palace, which basically means I keep the King from biting people when he’s grumpy."
"Lilydale," I whispered, the memory of the violet rift hitting me like a physical blow. The giant in the armor. The golden eyes. Caius. "He kidn*pped me. He broke into the apothecary and—"
"He rescued you," another voice piped up.
A small boy with messy silver hair scrambled onto the edge of the bed. He had large, curious purple eyes and a smudge of jam on his cheek. He leaned in close, sniffing my hair. "You smell like the Grey World. It's grainy. Like sand."
"Tiko, get off the lady," Marth scolded, though she didn't sound very angry. "This is Tiko. He’s a dragon, mostly. Don't let his human face fool you; he’ll eat your shoes if you leave them out."
"A dragon?" I stared at the boy. He gave me a toothy grin, and for a second, his pupils slit into vertical lines.
I scrambled backward, hitting the headboard. "This is a dream. I’ve finally lost my mind. Martha hit me too hard, and I’m dying in the kitchen."
"If this is death, the catering is excellent," Marth said, sliding the tray onto my lap. "Eat. You’re thin enough to snap in a high wind, and Caius will have my head if you faint again. He’s already pacing the war room like a caged beast."
I looked at the fruit. One looked like a translucent pear filled with stars; another was a deep crimson berry that hummed softly. My stomach growled, betraying my terror. I picked up the star-pear and took a bite. It tasted like honey, peppermint, and a summer afternoon.
"Why am I here?" I asked through a mouthful of impossible fruit. "He said something about a Key. About the Lunar Court."
Marth’s playful expression flickered, a shadow of seriousness crossing her face. "You have the Mark, Elara. In this world, that makes you the most important person alive—and the most hunted. Caius brought you here because the North is rising, and he’s spent fifteen years waiting for the chance to make things right."
"I don't care about his wars," I snapped, my fear curdling into the familiar armor of rage. "I have a life. I have patients who need my medicine. I have..." I paused, thinking of Martha’s sneer and the Magistrate’s cold eyes.
"You have a life of scrubbing floors and being sold to the Silver Order," Marth finished gently. She sat on the edge of the bed, her gold bangles clinking. "Look, I know he’s a lot. He’s all growls and sharp edges, but he’s doing what he thinks is necessary. Give it a chance. Look at the water, Elara. It sparkles for a reason."
I looked out the window. Below the cliff, a river wound through the valley, the water literally glittering as if someone had dumped a bucket of diamonds into the current. Dragons—real, massive ones—soared between the peaks, their scales catching the light. It was the most beautiful place I had ever seen.
And I felt like a prisoner in a gilded cage.
"I want to see him," I said, swinging my legs off the bed. My dress had been cleaned, the soot gone, but the fabric was still rough and brown against the elegance of the room. "I want to see the King."
"He’s busy," a new, cold voice interrupted.
A tall woman stood in the doorway. She was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous, like a jagged piece of ice. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, and they raked over me with pure disdain.
"Ciara," Marth sighed, her voice losing its warmth.
"The King is in council," Ciara said, ignoring Marth. She looked at me, and I felt a chill run down my spine that had nothing to do with the mountain air. "You are to stay in these chambers. The magic of Lilydale is not meant for human lungs. If you wander, you might find yourself... extinguished."
"I'm not a lamp, Ciara," I retorted, standing up. I was shorter than her, but I spent my life standing up to Martha. A sorceress wasn't going to break me. "And if your King wanted me to stay in a box, he should have left me in the Grey World."
Tiko clapped his small hands, laughing. "She’s feisty! Caius likes feisty things!"
Ciara’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of dark mist curling around her fingers. "We shall see how 'feisty' you are when the Northern wolves are at the gates, human."
She turned and swept out of the room.
I looked at Marth. "She hates me."
"She hates anything she can't control," Marth said, standing up. "But don't mind her. Come on. If you’re going to meet a King, you should at least see the gardens first. Tiko, shift and show her the way. No fire-breathing indoors!"
Tiko let out a joyful shriek, and with a burst of violet smoke, he transformed into the chubby, iridescent dragon I’d seen before. He nipped at my hem, urging me toward the balcony.
I took a breath, the air of Lilydale filling my lungs. It tasted like magic.
I'm coming for you, Caius, I thought. And you better have a very good explanation.
- Writer
