Priestess of moonlight, p.1
Priestess of Moonlight, page 1
COPYRIGHT
K.E.Andrews has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the copyright.
Editors:
Copyeditor: Tamara Luckett https://thecoloredpen.com/
Proofreader: Sara Omer https://saraeliseomer.weebly.com/
Cover Art: Midjourney
Cover designed by K.E.Andrews
Copyright © 2023 by K. E. Andrews
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review .
Created with Vellum
Created with Vellum
The last slivers of sunlight dripped between the cracks of the boards sealing the window. Aysel waited as she did every night for the shadows to fill her chamber. In the darkness, the moon would unfurl like a silver flower in the sky. Although she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes in many years, she could feel its pale eye opening and hear the night creatures offering up their songs to it. She sang her own solemn dirge in her heart, longing to join them.
A few fragments of light crawled through the gaps in the boards and pooled in the shadows on the ground. Aysel dipped her fingers in the moonlight dripping on the rug, a tingling sensation racing through her. The silver hairs along her arms rose and thickened into fur, and her fingernails sharpened into points. Her muscles trembled, wanting to shift out of their delicate human shape held together with soft brown skin and thin bones. She cupped the shimmering droplets in her palm and savored their glowing coolness on her tongue.
The drops were never enough and left her thirsting for the nights long ago when she didn’t have to scrape for a taste. She felt the waning and waxing even through the thick castle walls. The full moon was approaching. She remembered the feeling of fullness when it rose over her temple, the white light pouring in through the high, open roof of the mountain walls lined with white moonflowers. Her sisters would dance beneath the moon and leave their caves to join the night. That was a lifetime ago, and her prison wasn’t an easy one to escape.
A knock at the door startled her, causing her to dart away from the window. The last dribble of moonlight clung to Aysel’s lips, and she licked it away. Her ears perked up at the sounds coming beyond the door—the familiar swish of her handmaiden’s skirts, the quickened heartbeat, and her nervous breathing. Aysel pulled her velvet robes closer. Her nails returned to their polished, half-moon shapes, the fur disappearing and leaving behind only fine silver hairs.
“My Queen, His Majesty would like you to join him for dinner,” Berna said.
“Tell him I wish to eat in my chambers tonight,” Aysel replied.
“I-it isn’t a request,” the girl squeaked.
The fear in her voice warned of the king’s anger should Aysel not comply. His moods shifted like summer storms, and it was hard to tell what might set loose his thundering wrath or keep the skies of his mind clear. Aysel chewed on the dried skin on her lips, tearing until she tasted blood. She rose from the bed and donned her crimson evening gown and dark veil. The heavy fabric was the closest thing to armor she had. Year after year, she had layered herself in silks and lace to survive a role she found herself trapped in.
Aysel affixed her veil to her hair with pins in the mirror above the armoire. Looking at her, one would see a veiled woman who kept to the shadows. They would speculate that she hid her face at the king’s request so that others wouldn’t be too captivated by her beauty. They were only allowed glimpses of her delicate fingers, the curve of her throat, and her dark hair that spilled down her back as if it had been dyed with the darkest night. Sometimes her silver eyes were visible through the fabric of her veil. She was one of the Chiroluna priestesses, renowned for their beauty—or so the stories went before the order disappeared from the kingdom. Only the royal painter had been graced with a glimpse of her face for a portrait. But the story that passed through the castle was that even he couldn’t fully capture her beauty and went mad trying to get every detail right, eventually clawing his eyes out because he kept seeing her face but couldn’t get it onto the canvas. No other portraits of her were ever made.
What they wouldn’t see was that behind the veil, her dark eyes narrowed against bright light. They wouldn’t see the sharpened points of her teeth hidden behind thin lips or the elongated ears beneath her hair—ears that picked up on the slightest sound. Nor would anyone see the silvery hairs running along her swarthy arms and legs, enfolded in the long skirts and sleeves of her dresses.
The sound of her voice, lilting and melodic, was the only thing that people didn’t have to speculate about. When she spoke, people held on to every word and felt a sense of emptiness when she fell quiet. Some felt that the reason the council always requested her presence at meetings and asked her questions was just to listen to her speak. She sang at every ball and party, but they couldn’t hear the sadness she carried in the notes. Their Veiled Queen, an enigmatic mystery who was rarely far from the king’s side.
For all people rumored her to be, they never knew the truth—that she was trapped in a skin that no longer felt like her own. The people in the castle worshiped her quietly and left small gifts and offerings in the hopes that she would bless them—offer some small protection against what covered the land. But she had nothing to offer, except a kind word and a prayer she hoped would reach the Sun and Moon.
“M-my Queen?” Berna said, her quavering voice seeping through the wood grain. “May I enter?”
“I’m done getting dressed, Berna,” Aysel replied and tore her gaze from the mirror.
She lowered her veil, looking through the mesh fabric covering her face. As she opened the door, Berna straightened, keeping her eyes lowered while her fingers twisted the fabric of her apron. The golden sun on the front of her blue dress was faded. The guards in the hallway looked away from Aysel, bronze armor catching the flickering light of lanterns. As the queen passed by, only one risked a glance up, meeting her eyes behind the veil. No one but her noticed. A winged moon was inked on the side of his neck beneath the edge of his conical helmet.
“I see you,” the man, Emin, whispered, a sound as soft as a moth’s wing, but she heard it like a clear bell.
Aysel kept her gaze ahead as the guards followed her to the king’s chambers, Emin’s words causing a flutter to rise in her stomach. The groan of the ancient doors always grated in her ears, making her fingernails curl. The smell of fruit, spiced lamb, wine, and crackling wood permeated the hallways. The sounds of glass cups hitting against wood, the familiar tapping of her husband’s finger against the tabletop, and the bustling of servants scurrying around the room reached her ears. Guards stood by the locked windows covered in thick tapestries of lush landscapes, the sun, and horses.
Kudret looked up as she entered, and his tapping stopped. The irritation etched across his brow was more prominent than usual. Thick curtains were drawn over the locked, painted windows. The inside of the castle hadn’t known outside light in years. Even though the sun was too harsh for her eyes, Aysel longed to feel anything on her skin, to smell fresh air instead of musty stones and burning wax. The bats she spoke to by her window told her of the outside world, unable to rescue her from the castle. She had tried to pry the boards away, but it only left her nails broken and bloody.
“Why did you take so long to come to dinner?” Kudret asked in a low voice. His maroon and gold robes flowed off of him like spilled wine. “The food is starting to get cold.”
While the queen’s beauty was painted by mad artists and sung about by bards, the king’s statue in the main atrium held a close likeness, but it never reflected the weariness he bore behind his beard and ruddy cheeks. Time hadn’t touched Aysel and instead fed off her husband. Snow crept into his brown hair, wrinkles running like the dry riverbeds and fallow fields of the Solerium Kingdom across the corners of his mouth—lines earned by more years of frowning than smiling. The handsomeness of youth had hardened into a stony mask on his face.
“I was preparing for bed,” she replied and sat at the opposite end of the long table.
“Without dinner?”
“I wasn’t feeling hungry.” She often dreamed about the fresh fruits and nectars she had in the past, none comparable to the taste of liquid moonlight. The memory of the silvery ambrosia made her teeth ache; no amount of wine or drink could quench her longing for it.
“You should eat. We’re blessed to have this food and wouldn’t want it to go to waste,” the king said and cut into a piece of beef.
The servants in blue and white robes standing around the room kept their eyes lowered as She heard their nervous heartbeats fluttering like birds in their chests. Aysel lifted the edge of her veil to sip the dark red wine, the tannins coating her tongue. It was an older wine from the cellars, since the land hadn’t been suitable for vineyards in many years. The spread before her made her insides twist. Plates for two heaped with food while citizens starved and died of the plague beyond the castle walls. What foods the kingdom had were supplemented by imports, carrying the taste of distant lands.
Kudret’s stare burned into her, the silence between them palpable. “Remove the veil. Let me see your face, darling.”
“I thought you wanted me to keep my face covered in the presence of company,” she replied, setting the goblet down. A servant came to fill her plate, but she shook her head.
&n
Lips pursed, Aysel lifted the dark fabric, meeting his gaze. At first, the king’s order had been for Aysel’s benefit so she wouldn’t feel self-conscious by all the stares, but it soon turned into a punishable burden that bent the people lower. Kudret required her face hidden in public spaces—ever since the unfortunate incident with the former royal painter. It had been the start of his growing paranoia that someone would take her from him. She couldn’t remember the last time she stared into the eyes of another person who wasn’t the king. The distance continued to tear the yawning expanse of loneliness that had grown within her over the past thirty years.
The king leaned back in his chair with a held breath. Decades together hadn’t dampened the awe-struck expression Kudret gave her whenever he looked at her. The hard lines softened, and a smile appeared. It could easily swing to a frown at the slightest thing. She had learned not to trust his smiles long ago.
“You look beautiful as ever, Aysel,” he breathed.
The word had lost all meaning to her over the years. Kudret always said it earnestly, like a prayer, but she never understood the concept of human beauty nor cared for the wingless form she lived in. How many times did he say it? She had lost count. Her appearance soothed Kudret’s worries and made him forget about the famine and growing unrest in the kingdom.
The chair screeched across the stone floor as the king rose and came to her, his robes swishing. He took her hand, kissing her knuckles. His touch was soft and gentle, erasing all traces of his earlier anger. The smell of dry wine warmed his breath as he stared down at her and took in her bitten lips. Kudret leaned closer, mouth trailing along her throat.
“You’ve been biting your lips again,” he murmured. “What has you so worried, darling?”
In the beginning, he hadn’t been a cruel man. He had the capacity for kindness; she had seen it. The people had adored him and valued his rule. He came to the aid of the remaining priestesses after their order had fallen under attack from men who saw them only as monsters rather than understanding the truth of their existence. But once he laid eyes on Aysel and her sisters in their human forms, he fell under a spell his better judgment couldn’t break. He did what centuries had warned against—married and tried to possess a Chiroluna. They belonged to the order and to the night, but he took her as his wife, away from her few remaining sisters and the moonlight that cooled her skin, from the night sky she longed for and the chorus of the stars. It had been for her safety, he had said, until her remaining sisters returned to their caves and the order could be restored.
Even with the harsh words and anger when she spurned him, the longing never left Kudret’s eyes. He looked at her like a man dying of thirst. That always wounded her, seeing that he was blind to the pain he was causing himself, her, and his kingdom by keeping her locked away. She couldn’t give him what he wanted; she was not his to have.
Kudret’s softness and kindness, in the beginning, persuaded her to stay. What she’d felt toward him at first hadn’t been the same love she had for her sisters. It didn’t even come from a longing to be at his side. His warmth, his closeness, had been a thin balm to ease the loss of the sisters she grieved. She tried to provide what his heart longed for at the cost of her own self. She endured every kiss and touch, offering her companionship to satiate their shared loneliness, holding out for the small hope that he would realize his mistake and set her free—that he would honor his promise and return her home. But it was never enough; his desire for her consumed him, turning him into a cage. He asked for more than she could give.
Demanded that she become something she could never be.
Soon bitterness and anger moved in where kindness had been. The castle turned into a prison as passiveness and paranoia took hold. Gifts became harsh words and shouts that rattled her eardrums, banishing her from his sight only to force her back into his presence when his longing grew too strong. His tears and pleas mingled with curses. She feared that the double-edged blade of love and hate he wielded would someday become cold steel through her heart. To watch someone who had been good and kind once grow twisted and cold had been an entirely new pain she couldn’t put into words, even after so many decades.
Aysel pushed him away, eyes narrowing. “Enough, Kudret,” she told him.
The awe on his face hardened, his shoulders tightening. “Why do you treat me so coldly? I have missed you,” he said, face hovering close to hers.
“How can you miss me when you’ve hardly left my side in the thirty years since we’ve been married? I have not gone anywhere because you keep me here.”
“These are dangerous times. The kingdom isn’t safe.” He reached out to brush his fingers across her cheek, and she swatted his hand away.
“It’s dangerous because your people starve and grow sick while the land is dying,” she snapped. “It’s dangerous because you ignored the suggestions of your sorceri and took one of the Chiroluna to marry when you shouldn’t have. It’s dangerous because you let it become so.”
Kudret’s amber eyes narrowed, his anger brewing in their depths. “Why do you always bring this up? Don’t you remember the state I found you in? Your temple had been ransacked and burned, your sisters killed or wounded. Your order was crumbling until I arrived and offered my aid,” he said. “Here you have been safe, not fearing raiders or losing those you love.”
She had known safety with the priestesses. To fly through the night without fearing anyone or anything had been true freedom. Now, bound to the ground in a place darker than any cave she had lived in, despair pinned her down with the realization that she would never feel the wind wrap around her or lap up the night dew filled with moonlight. Not while Kudret lived and madness roamed in his eyes.
“Your aid was born of selfishness for something you were warned you couldn’t have but took anyway. If you truly loved me, you would not keep me in this form. You would not trap me inside,” Aysel told him. “You would let me be myself and not recoil.”
“Why choose to be the beast rather than how you are now?” Kudret asked, leaning against the table. “The poets don’t sing of monsters.”
“You think I care about what poets sing about?” She shook her head and clenched her hands in her lap. “You only choose to love this version of me, the one you find beautiful and controllable, because you fear what I really am and find it hideous. You forced me to be a creature of the day when I’m made for the night just to have me by your side.”
He picked up her wine glass and hurled it at the fireplace. Aysel flinched at the sound. Glass shattered on the stones, red dripping down onto the hearth as the flames sputtered.
“You call my love selfish, but you would have just died there if I had left you. You would choose that over what I had offered you? A home and safety, my undying affection, and to have anything you want?” His voice rose, and she tried to shut out the noise.
“Nothing is better than you,” she said through a thin-lipped smile. The dark depths of her eyes sparkled with the distant echo of starlight. Gifts and trinkets meant nothing to her. He feared her draw to the night and kept her closed off from it, denying her the one thing she truly wanted.
Kudret stalked back to his seat, stewing in his own roiling emotions. Aysel reached for a date from the bowl, biding her time and waiting.
Aysel stared up at the tapestry with three women dancing beneath the moonlight. The Chiroluna wore gowns of starlight, and bats fluttered above their heads while night flowers bloomed around them. A pretty story for pretty women, but she knew the truth. At nighttime, they shed their human forms to fly through the skies, barely resembling the women they appeared to be. These were the depictions people preferred because few could see anything they considered grotesque as good.
Kudret had been right about one thing; no one liked songs about monsters. There had been a time when people didn’t look at their night forms with fear but with reverence because they knew that their lands depended on the priestesses. They could sing to the night creatures and keep their crops and lands healthy, and remove pestilence from the air. The beauty of the Chiroluna hadn’t been for the benefit of humans but a celebration of the moon that gave them life. Now, few practiced and remembered the old ways, with the Chiroluna becoming myths in a dying land. How quickly mortal minds forgot, but Aysel remembered.
