Dark Illumination

Chapter Thirteen

Summers were brutal in Teare. Unlike Lumeria’s flat lands were the heat was more distributed, Tearean lands was shaped like a bowl. It dipped downward and at its center stool the magnificent Onyx Palace. This also meant the palace grounds became the epicenter of all the heat in the entire world.

At least that was what it seemed like to Dillan as he read beneath the shade of a great wisteria tree. Its truck twisted like a corkscrew upward where it spread into a multitude of wide branches that spilled lilac-colored flowers the shape of teardrops. When a rare breezed floated past the rustle of its leaves was like a whispered song. The sweetness in its scent wasn’t cloying or sickeningly painful to inhale. Just enough to relax training weary muscles.

He found great comfort in sitting beneath its branches, a book not related to any of his studies in his hands. Each day that he woke up in his spacious room with its too soft divan, he counted down the days until he could return to Lumeria. Give him a simple room and a hard cot any day and he would be happy. Living among with opulence, although nice and luxurious, made him itch. He was born to be a warrior, and warrior slept on the ground—or as close to it as possible. Already his lower back was protesting the comforts a proper bed provided.

Alas, he had several more weeks of training and lessons to get through until he was allowed to go home. Another purpose to his summer long stay was the bond with the princess. That was the word his tutors used. Bond. How could he accomplish that when the girl insulted his manhood? He huffed. To be called girly. He silently thanked The Light his cousin and brother weren’t at attendance during the horridly tedious Ceremony of Introduction or he would never here the end of it. A Knight of Lumeria was the best warrior in the two kingdoms, to be feared and respected. Her rudeness towards him in front of all those courtiers was unforgivable.

Although her brashness did intrigue him. His eyebrows shot up at the thought of her learning how to fight with a sword for the purpose of making him cry. How laughable was that?

He rolled his eyes and chuckled, no longer interested in reading about the adventures of a pirate king. Sighing as another breeze ruffled his hair out of the circlet he could no longer remove, he leaned the back of his head against the wisteria’s trunk and closed his eyes. He had about another hour before his afternoon lessons began. A part of him wanted to run into the woods, find a clear spring, strip off his clothes, and jump in. No matter how thin the material of the tunic he had chosen to wear that day, the fabric still clung to his skin.

“Damn this heat,” he murmured.

A rustling above made him open his eyes.

As soon as his vision cleared, he jerked back with a yelp, slamming the back of his head against the tree. An upside down head with long straw-like hair and eyes that reminded him of the cubes of butterscotch he would steal from his mother’s kitchen was mere inches from his. A comical grin stretched across her face as she titled her head to study him.

“What are you doing sitting beneath my tree?” she asked.

Looking up, Dillan notice that she hung from a branch by the tops of her feet. Not unlike the furry apes in Lumeria. She wore trousers and a thin tunic similar to his, but hers was tied at the neck and wrists. Good thing it was tucked into her waistband or he would have been blinded by the view of her naked skin. His own crawled at the thought. He shivered.

She reached out and touched his forehead, frowning. “You’re not getting a summer cold, are you? That would just be pathetic.”

At the utterance of the word he hated the most, he snarled, “Lumerian Knights don’t get sick.”

She tilted her head to the other side and crossed her arms. “Doesn’t look like that to me. You’re all flushed.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s the heat,” he covered. Never in this life or the next would he admit that her presence bothered him. Knights don’t admit defeat. And since he was their prince, he would rather die than have her know the truth. “And why, pretell, are you hanging upside down from my tree?”

“Your tree?” she asked incredulously. “I have lived in this castle far longer than you have. If this was anyone’s tree, it would be mine.”

He titled his chin up in challenge. “I’ll fight you for it.”

“What?”

“You heard me. If I win then this tree is mine. And since you can never call a Lumerian Knight a cheat, I’ll even let you pick the challenge.” He grinned when he saw that she was considering his offer.

Then her eyebrow went up. Or was it down, considering the way she was hanging. Oh, this was completely ridiculous.

“Will you get down from there?” he whined. “Speaking to you this way is giving me a headache.”

Like her Lumerian simian counterpart, Serena unhooked her feet from the branch and executed a flawless backflip. The girl was athletic, he would give her that. Maybe her threat of beating him in a sword fight was justified. Give this girl a blade and who knew what she could do with it?

Now that she was right-side up, gravity did its job and brought that unruly mass of hair down. It was worse than his, sticking out in several places and severely untamed. She looked more like a gutter snap than a princess. What must her lady’s maids think?

“Surely you have a comb,” he said, unable to stop himself from making the comment.

She flipped the heavy strands over her shoulder and puffed a breath that stirred her too long bangs. “Broke it.”

His eyebrows traveled north. “You broke it?”

Her earlier playfulness and bravado deflated with the slumping of her shoulders. “Several combs. My maids have given up.”

It was his turn to cross his arms and study her. Then the thought occurred to him. “Let’s do this. If I can tame your hair, you give me this tree.”

“What?” Genuine wonder colored her face.

“All that hair must be interfering with your hearing.”

“But you’re a boy. What do you know about hair?”

He snorted. “From the looks of things, a lot more than you.” From her look of disbelief, he was forced to add, “Part of Lumerian Knight training is braiding hair. It’s tradition.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “You don’t have any braids on.”

An unexpected blush crept up his face. Unwilling to elaborate further, he barked “Will you accept the challenge or not?”

“You will braid my hair.” She paused, clearly thinking about it from the way her lips pursed. “And if you’re successful I grant you ownership of this tree?”

“That’s the bargain.”

“I don’t think you can do it. My hair has a life of its own.”

In a show of confidence, he set aside his book and rolled up his sleeves. “As a Knight, it is my job to slay dragons.”

A half grin tugged on a corner of her lips as if she was trying hard to suppress a smile. “Don’t say that in front of the dragons or it will mean war.”

He rolled his eyes once again. He had a feeling he will be doing it a lot in front of this one. “Why don’t you run to the kitchen and grab some olive oil then go seek out another brush? I’ll wait here.”

“What are—”

“Just go,” he commanded, using the authority his station afforded him.

It worked since Serena jumped in place before she whirled around, all that straw hair moving with her, and ran back to the palace.

Within minutes she returned with a jug of olive oil and a brush. He spread his legs and asked her to sit between them so he had easier access to all those untamed strands. Like snakes curling out of a pit, he thought. Obviously skeptical, yet willing to try, Serena took her position between his bend legs.

Before he laid a finger on her hair, he examined the jug of olive oil. He popped the cork and sniffed. “Spiced oil?”

She shrugged, looking over her shoulder at him with an impish grin. “It was the only one I could grab right as the head chef chased me out of there with a meat cleaver.”

His eyebrow arched. There was definitely a story there, but he had a metaphorical dragon to slay at the moment so getting sidetracked was out of the question. “It will have to do. But your hair will smell like spices for the rest of the day.”

“I like spices.” She sighed as if sniffing each one she mentioned. “Thyme. Rosemary. Coriander. Mint is my favorite.”

He opened his mouth to say it was his too, but agreeing with her was out of the question. He still smarted over her grievous insult. Winning this challenge would, not only give him ownership of her precious tree, but will also show her his considerable talents. Only then will all be forgiven between them.

Then he picked up the brush and frowned. It was oval and elongated with no handle and coarse bristles. “You are aware that this is for horses, right?”

Another shrug, but she didn’t look back at him this time. “I figured that won’t break.”

He laughed. How could he not?

“Ha, ha,” she said. “Laugh all you want. At least you’re not the one with monstrous hair.”

“How did they even manage to get it ready for the Ceremony of Introduction?” he asked as he examined the snarls he would have to detangle.

“They made me sleep sitting down.” The whine in her voice was evident. “It was horrible.”

That he understood. Most of the tangles probably came from her shifting at night when she slept. His mother had the same problem, which was why his father spent the last of the candle light braiding her hair. Warmth spread over Dillan’s chest at the memory. When his father died, his mother copped off all her hair and buried the braided strands with him. She never grew her hair out again. It was both heartwarming and heartbreaking.

What he was about to do might be constituted as cheating since she hadn’t been the one to set the parameters of the challenge, but clearly the girl needed help. How she managed not to ensnare herself with the wisteria’s branches baffled him. In actuality, he was saving her from grievous injury, maybe even death, by braiding her hair. It didn’t surprise him that her handmaids had no knowledge of how to fix her hair for daily use. Only in Lumeria were techniques of hair grooming learned with battle and labor in mind.

The plan was to use an intricate pattern akin to basket weaving reserved for the most active of individuals. It involved a mixture of mini and mid-sized braids. Any bigger and the strands would come loose. He needed to keep it tight and neat. And considering just how thick her hair was, the finer the weave the stronger the braid so it didn’t matter how much she moved. She could swing from vines for all her cared and his plaits would stay on.

Conscience cleared of any wrong doing, he rubbed three drops of the olive oil between his fingers, making sure the tips were fully coated, and set to work on detangling the biggest snarls first. An appreciative purr left Serena’s throat as she leaned into his touch.

“Oh, that feels nice,” she said, her voice becoming breathy. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins, resting her chin on the peaks she created with her bent legs.

“My father used to do the same for my mother at night,” he said absentmindedly as he rubbed more oil into her scalp. “Not as bad as yours, but she would get tangles too.”

“Are your parents still in Lumeria?” she asked. It sounded more like a contented sigh.

“My mother is.”

“And your dad?”

“He died.”

Her shoulders stiffened slightly. “My parents are gone too.”

His fingers paused on a particularly knotted mass. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It happens.”

Despite the lightness in her tone, he still heard the hint of longing in her words. Losing a parent was bad enough at such a young age. He couldn’t imagine what losing both would mean. He continued his work. Maybe in some way he could bring her comfort through his efforts.

“I heard your uncle took you in.”

“Yes,” she breathed out, the tension on her shoulders easing. “Uncle Lucius is training too. He’s a really powerful sorcerer. I plan on having him on my council when the time comes.”

“Isn’t it too early to be thinking about that?” He picked up the horse brush and ran the bristles through a section of her hair he wanted to start braiding first.

She shook her head slightly, as if taking care not to disturb his process. “Not at all. You should start thinking about it too. Anything can happen. For all we know we might be asked to go into the union next week.”

The flinch came and went. Good thing she was facing away from him. “I don’t think that will happen any time soon.”

“Yes. But you can never be too prepared. How are your studies going?”

“Boring.”

“Ditto.”

“But necessary,” he added.

“But necessary,” she admitted grudgingly. “There’s so much to learn. The prayers I need to memorize are enough to scramble my brain.”

Pleating the strands that have finally been freed from their ensnarement, he asked, “Shouldn’t you know these prayers already?”

An unladylike snort left her. “I spent most of my time running in the woods instead of paying attention to my lessons with my uncle. Sometimes I think I’m not cut out to be the Princess of The Dark. I don’t even understand why I was chosen.”

“Yet you don’t regret it.” It had to be said as he secured the first braid by tying one of the wisteria tendrils on it for lack of proper elastics. He had forgotten to ask her to fetch some. He figured this way the sweetness of the blooms would undercut the spice of the olive oil. They were already beginning to smell like a roast.

“Do you?”

The question surprised him since the answer should have been obvious. But he answers anyway as he began the next braid. “Not at all.”

“I feel the same way.” She yawned then murmured, “You’re really good at that.”

“Are you conceding defeat?” he asked as his fingers danced down her hair, expertly weaving the strands together.

“Not until I see the finished…” Soft snores replaced the rest of her words.