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Previous Chapter: ENDLESS Chapter 52: Answers

Next Chapter: ENDLESS Chapter 54: Answer

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CHAPTER 53: HINDSIGHT

Malia was still enjoying the after-taste of her copious breakfast as she headed to the Eirian library; southern cuisine was fresher and sweeter than northern recipes, rich in fruits and honey but also in strong flavors like goat cheese, nuts and olives. Her love for food was no novelty, but she had relished the meal a little too much. Maybe I am more Eirian than Daimonlance.

Unlike the previous evening, that morning Malia didn’t have the books to herself. Queen Frida was perusing a worn out tome by the fireplace, her easy posture a sign of habit whilst she took notes and referenced pieces of parchment overflowing with numbers and names.

“Aunt Frida,” Malia was reluctant to disturb the queen’s duties, but her exploration the night before hadn’t shown her the way, “Where can I find my mother’s coming of age answer?”

“Over there. The burgundy volume with golden embossing. Yes, that’s the one. You can find the answers from our branch of the clan in it, sorted by date.”

“Thank you.” Malia brought the heavy book to the table. It surprised her to recognize Clarissa’s handwriting. The princess had no reason to know her mother’s penmanship… and then she remembered why she did. For a time, when she was younger, Clarissa had left little messages under her pillow, since Amos wouldn’t allow them to spend time together unsupervised. The practice hadn’t lasted, probably because her uncle had eventually been informed of it, but Malia recalled the childish joy of finding her mother’s secret encouraging words. How could I forget about that?

The princess read her mother’s answer then:

‘Beauty is love. All that is forged by love is beautiful, and only love can shape aberration and corruption into beauty. For love is the ultimate senselessness, irresistible solely because of its unique power: to bring beauty into our world. I answer thusly: To Clarissa Eirian, beauty is love.’

Malia read it again and again, until the words rang in her mother’s voice. How blind had she been? For how long? No, being blind isn’t the same as deliberately shutting your eyes. In her mad search for atonement after Gorken’s death, little Malia had told herself a story; the story of a small princess heroically seeking strength, whose only allies in an evil kingdom were Lyra and Gabrielle. In the story nothing else mattered, and the small princess would become powerful enough to solve all of her problems naturally. There was no room for complex emotion in that story. No room for the resilient fortitude of a woman stripped of all she cherished, and who time after time chose love over hatred. No room for a silent protector, no room for the queen who married the man she hated the most to keep the realm, and her daughter, safe.

In the story Malia told herself, there had been no room for her mother.

Maybe if she shed tears for Clarissa the disturbing emptiness in her chest would fade away. But then and there she didn’t cry. For some reason she couldn’t, and the emptiness endured.

Malia kept her eyes on the pages, studying answer after answer. Some she liked, some she didn’t get, some she found frivolous, and some sounded too complex for her to grasp. It would have been a shameful mockery not to choose her own answer carefully. If I’m to live by it, as my mother did… then my decision must be meaningful. It ought to be.

When her guilt had been successfully buried by knowledge, she raised her head. “Aunt Frida.”

“Yes?” The southern queen was still on the armchair near the fire, signing what looked like permits, sentences and pardons.

“What was your coming of age answer?”

Frida met Malia’s gaze then, her gray eyes shimmering with the crackling flames, “Justice.”

“…So, ‘beauty is justice’.” Malia imagined a young Frida boldly declaring that in front of the council of witnesses, “An answer worthy of a queen.”

“Obviously, I agree.” Frida gifted her niece an open smile, “But I appreciate the acknowledgement.”

“…I’m ready to give my answer.” Malia said.

“I figured you were the rushing type. It’s a good thing we have enough nobles gathered to serve as your witnesses. Are you certain?”

“Not really. But as certain as I’ll ever be, yes.”

“Ah, to be honestly youthful… When is it that we become afraid of candor, I wonder? Very well. Would tonight work for you?”

“Tonight?” Malia asked, “That’s fine by me but… can the ceremony be prepared that quickly?”

“Don’t compare us Eirians to the lumbering bureaucracy of the Daimonlance.” Frida set her quill on the table, “If I say we’ll be ready tonight, we will be.”

“Then, tonight it is.” Malia returned the book of answers to its shelf.

She had barely had the time to go back to her friends and relate the events when a group of handmaidens arrived at their chambers, armed with chests and trunks bursting with opulent garments. For as long as Malia could remember Lyra had been in charge of curating her wardrobe, so the sudden need to pick the attire she would wear to her coming of age ceremony was daunting for the princess. Her human friends on the other hand, were excited at the prospect.

“What about this one?” Aldous held up a shiny red gown.

“It’s very fitting for you to completely forgo harmony in favor of garish chaos.” Bayard was merciless, “But that color clearly clashes with her hair and eyes.”

“Oh, yeah, the boring gray tunic you picked is much better.” Aldous shot back, but he did give up on the red costume, “Haven’t you looked around? They love frilly stuff around these parts.”

“This is the best option.” Gorken held up a sparkling silver dress after giving it some thought, “The long sleeves will keep you warm, but it’s showy enough to look special. And if there will be a feast after the ceremony, the loose waistline will allow you to eat as much as you want without a worry. The lilac accents match your hair, too.”

“You guys do listen when Rose talks, huh?” Malia was too joyful to pretend otherwise.

“Great job, boss!” Aldous fetched a heavy jewelry box, “Now let’s pick one of these.”

Gorken grabbed a silvery hair ornament with a turquoise gemstone at its center, and both Bayard and Aldous nodded in rare agreement. In a matter of scarce minutes the handmaidens set up the folding screen, and with impressive deftness they turned Malia’s human rebel appearance into the impeccable image of an Eirian princess.

“You look great.” Aldous sounded proud, “You have to admit we’re pretty good at this.”

“You are.” Malia smiled, “Thank you. You did a better job than I ever could.”

“Princess.” The handmaiden’s gentle cadence reminded Malia of Lyra, “Please follow us. Your companions will get ready while we rehearse the ceremony.”

Malia complied, sparing one last glance at Aldous and Bayard excitedly picking clothing for Gorken out of the selection presented by the chambermaids. She was more than a little curious to see how they would look at the feast, but the fluttering butterflies in her belly overshadowed that eagerness soon enough.

“Why didn’t you say anything, boss?” the redhead asked once Malia had left the room, as he tried on a coat in front of the mirror, “Don’t you think she looked pretty?”

“What do you mean?” Gorken had to turn his head to look at Aldous; he had been peeking at Hedera and Licorice harshly refusing each and every attempt by the servants to dress them. “She looked as beautiful as always.”

“That’s the type of thing you should say to her, not to me.”

“I did tell her. Yesterday.”

Aldous rolled his eyes, “You may be even more aloof than Bayard. It’s all about the timing, you know?”

Description
You can also follow ENDLESS on TWITTER !

Previous Chapter: ENDLESS Chapter 52: Answers

Next Chapter: ENDLESS Chapter 54: Answer

All Chapters HERE .

Watch the Trailer: ENDLESS Trailer

CHAPTER 53: HINDSIGHT

Malia was still enjoying the after-taste of her copious breakfast as she headed to the Eirian library; southern cuisine was fresher and sweeter than northern recipes, rich in fruits and honey but also in strong flavors like goat cheese, nuts and olives. Her love for food was no novelty, but she had relished the meal a little too much. Maybe I am more Eirian than Daimonlance.

Unlike the previous evening, that morning Malia didn’t have the books to herself. Queen Frida was perusing a worn out tome by the fireplace, her easy posture a sign of habit whilst she took notes and referenced pieces of parchment overflowing with numbers and names.

“Aunt Frida,” Malia was reluctant to disturb the queen’s duties, but her exploration the night before hadn’t shown her the way, “Where can I find my mother’s coming of age answer?”

“Over there. The burgundy volume with golden embossing. Yes, that’s the one. You can find the answers from our branch of the clan in it, sorted by date.”

“Thank you.” Malia brought the heavy book to the table. It surprised her to recognize Clarissa’s handwriting. The princess had no reason to know her mother’s penmanship… and then she remembered why she did. For a time, when she was younger, Clarissa had left little messages under her pillow, since Amos wouldn’t allow them to spend time together unsupervised. The practice hadn’t lasted, probably because her uncle had eventually been informed of it, but Malia recalled the childish joy of finding her mother’s secret encouraging words. How could I forget about that?

The princess read her mother’s answer then:

‘Beauty is love. All that is forged by love is beautiful, and only love can shape aberration and corruption into beauty. For love is the ultimate senselessness, irresistible solely because of its unique power: to bring beauty into our world. I answer thusly: To Clarissa Eirian, beauty is love.’

Malia read it again and again, until the words rang in her mother’s voice. How blind had she been? For how long? No, being blind isn’t the same as deliberately shutting your eyes. In her mad search for atonement after Gorken’s death, little Malia had told herself a story; the story of a small princess heroically seeking strength, whose only allies in an evil kingdom were Lyra and Gabrielle. In the story nothing else mattered, and the small princess would become powerful enough to solve all of her problems naturally. There was no room for complex emotion in that story. No room for the resilient fortitude of a woman stripped of all she cherished, and who time after time chose love over hatred. No room for a silent protector, no room for the queen who married the man she hated the most to keep the realm, and her daughter, safe.

In the story Malia told herself, there had been no room for her mother.

Maybe if she shed tears for Clarissa the disturbing emptiness in her chest would fade away. But then and there she didn’t cry. For some reason she couldn’t, and the emptiness endured.

Malia kept her eyes on the pages, studying answer after answer. Some she liked, some she didn’t get, some she found frivolous, and some sounded too complex for her to grasp. It would have been a shameful mockery not to choose her own answer carefully. If I’m to live by it, as my mother did… then my decision must be meaningful. It ought to be.

When her guilt had been successfully buried by knowledge, she raised her head. “Aunt Frida.”

“Yes?” The southern queen was still on the armchair near the fire, signing what looked like permits, sentences and pardons.

“What was your coming of age answer?”

Frida met Malia’s gaze then, her gray eyes shimmering with the crackling flames, “Justice.”

“…So, ‘beauty is justice’.” Malia imagined a young Frida boldly declaring that in front of the council of witnesses, “An answer worthy of a queen.”

“Obviously, I agree.” Frida gifted her niece an open smile, “But I appreciate the acknowledgement.”

“…I’m ready to give my answer.” Malia said.

“I figured you were the rushing type. It’s a good thing we have enough nobles gathered to serve as your witnesses. Are you certain?”

“Not really. But as certain as I’ll ever be, yes.”

“Ah, to be honestly youthful… When is it that we become afraid of candor, I wonder? Very well. Would tonight work for you?”

“Tonight?” Malia asked, “That’s fine by me but… can the ceremony be prepared that quickly?”

“Don’t compare us Eirians to the lumbering bureaucracy of the Daimonlance.” Frida set her quill on the table, “If I say we’ll be ready tonight, we will be.”

“Then, tonight it is.” Malia returned the book of answers to its shelf.

She had barely had the time to go back to her friends and relate the events when a group of handmaidens arrived at their chambers, armed with chests and trunks bursting with opulent garments. For as long as Malia could remember Lyra had been in charge of curating her wardrobe, so the sudden need to pick the attire she would wear to her coming of age ceremony was daunting for the princess. Her human friends on the other hand, were excited at the prospect.

“What about this one?” Aldous held up a shiny red gown.

“It’s very fitting for you to completely forgo harmony in favor of garish chaos.” Bayard was merciless, “But that color clearly clashes with her hair and eyes.”

“Oh, yeah, the boring gray tunic you picked is much better.” Aldous shot back, but he did give up on the red costume, “Haven’t you looked around? They love frilly stuff around these parts.”

“This is the best option.” Gorken held up a sparkling silver dress after giving it some thought, “The long sleeves will keep you warm, but it’s showy enough to look special. And if there will be a feast after the ceremony, the loose waistline will allow you to eat as much as you want without a worry. The lilac accents match your hair, too.”

“You guys do listen when Rose talks, huh?” Malia was too joyful to pretend otherwise.

“Great job, boss!” Aldous fetched a heavy jewelry box, “Now let’s pick one of these.”

Gorken grabbed a silvery hair ornament with a turquoise gemstone at its center, and both Bayard and Aldous nodded in rare agreement. In a matter of scarce minutes the handmaidens set up the folding screen, and with impressive deftness they turned Malia’s human rebel appearance into the impeccable image of an Eirian princess.

“You look great.” Aldous sounded proud, “You have to admit we’re pretty good at this.”

“You are.” Malia smiled, “Thank you. You did a better job than I ever could.”

“Princess.” The handmaiden’s gentle cadence reminded Malia of Lyra, “Please follow us. Your companions will get ready while we rehearse the ceremony.”

Malia complied, sparing one last glance at Aldous and Bayard excitedly picking clothing for Gorken out of the selection presented by the chambermaids. She was more than a little curious to see how they would look at the feast, but the fluttering butterflies in her belly overshadowed that eagerness soon enough.

“Why didn’t you say anything, boss?” the redhead asked once Malia had left the room, as he tried on a coat in front of the mirror, “Don’t you think she looked pretty?”

“What do you mean?” Gorken had to turn his head to look at Aldous; he had been peeking at Hedera and Licorice harshly refusing each and every attempt by the servants to dress them. “She looked as beautiful as always.”

“That’s the type of thing you should say to her, not to me.”

“I did tell her. Yesterday.”

Aldous rolled his eyes, “You may be even more aloof than Bayard. It’s all about the timing, you know?”