Chapter 1- Samaire

400 years later

Sunrise over Ania was a sight unrivaled by any other in the kingdom. To view the great golden orb of the sun rise up over Corsca bay, its rays dyeing the velvet blue sky a palate of colors from wisteria to fiery red was like viewing a one of a kind piece of art, and no two sunrises were ever alike. The view of the sunrise from anywhere in Ania provided a splendid sight, but watching it from the topmost balcony of the royal palace was sheer magnificence. It was from this bastion that the princess of Cassalie sat, nearly every morning, to view the celestial occurrence. Resting her head on her hand, she stared out across the rooftops of the city to the water, as the wind gently ruffled her dark chocolate hair. It was so quiet, she thought to herself. The silence of the morning was her favorite time of day. It was quiet, but naturally so. The faint sounds of birds and beasts were audible, and the soft rustling of the wind as it churned the cauldron of the sea was never absent. It was nature’s time; the world as it was meant to be, without human interference, a sacred time. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the sky would begin to grow lighter, creating a perfect gradation from orange on the horizon to yellow, reddish pink, pale purple, violet, and finally, blue. Overhead, the last of the stars gave final flickers before dying away as the night bowed down to the day. Below where she sat, the princess watched as the city came to life as the sun climbed higher. Voices began to rise up from the street vendors as they wheeled their carts into the square, whistles could be heard of men going off to work in the fields. With all these sounds came another, this one from the interior of the palace.

“Samaire… Samaire… close the door…” came a moan from inside.

Samaire rolled her eyes. “Fantina, you have to wake up eventually.” She watched as her younger sister sat up in bed groggily, an annoyed expression on her face.

“Yes,” she said, “But I would rather it be later in the day.”

Samaire slid off the stone bench that she’d been sitting on, and walked through the open glass double doors into the bedchamber that the two sisters shared. The room was spacious to say the least, with long walls and a twelve-foot ceiling. Samaire’s four-poster canopy bed was on the left side of the room, and Fantina’s was on the right. The room was done up in varying shades of magenta and purple, and the furniture was made of moji wood, a light wood of a lacquered honey color. In the corners of the room stood tall, hand-painted ceramic vases full of the dark pink popi flower. Each girl had an elaborate vanity, mirror, and settee on their respective sides of the room, creating an almost perfectly symmetrical atmosphere. This, however, was the extent of the symmetry. With one look, it was obvious that the two sisters were very different from one another. Samaire’s side of the room hardly looked as though anyone lived there; everything was neat and deliberately placed. Books were the most abundant object to be found; Samaire’s bookshelf appeared to be full to the breaking point with the thick, heavy volumes. On her walls were large maps and famous works of art by Cassillian painters. Fantina’s side of the room was completely the opposite. Colorful dresses and gowns were strewn over nearly every surface. Instead of books, Fantina’s shelves were filled with perfume bottles, jewelry boxes, and makeup.

Samaire noticed these differences nearly every day. She knew that she and Fantina were as different from each other as night was from day. The differences began physically- both sisters were beautiful, but each in her own way. Fantina was the perfect picture of the ideal Cassillian. She was tall and slender, with dark, tanned skin and hazel eyes. Her crowning beauty was her long hair that hung down her back like tendrils of spun gold. It was said that Princess Fantina was the most beautiful woman in Cassalie. Samaire, on the other hand, shared none of Fantina’s “Cassillian” features. Samaire had long, dark hair and bright blue eyes, and unnaturally pale skin, which she found odd. Cassalie was hot; the sun beat down nearly every day, but despite her many attempts to become darker, Samaire remained pale. An old gypsy woman had once told her that she had Northern blood in her, but Samaire knew that that was impossible. She had rarely ever seen someone from Kremlia; just the occasional trader who sailed down the Nivea River; but those men said little and kept their fur-lined hoods up. Samaire wasn’t the least bit Kremlian, but she certainly looked the part.

Aside from looking different, the princesses had completely different personalities. As next in line to the throne, Samaire was well-educated-- an intellectual diplomat, ready to assume her role as leader of her people. Since her seventh year, she had undergone copious hours of instruction on absolutely everything a queen needed to know, from the history of Cassillian fish markets to how to hold a soupspoon properly. She had even been trained in combat as well, even though the risk of Cassalie becoming involved in a war was about as likely as the sun falling out of the sky. Fantina, being second born, had never been required to have such an extensive education, and had more freedom than Samaire. She was outgoing and social while Samaire was quiet and reserved.

But perhaps the most fundamental difference between the two sisters: Samaire rose early, while Fantina slept in.

“I don’t see why you must be up so early, Sammie,” Fantina continued. “What can be so interesting about a sunrise after all?”

“Perhaps if you’d actually get up early enough to watch one, you’d understand,” Samaire joked.

Fantina groaned and slumped back down against the pillows. “Samaire, you’re so strange,” she said.

Samaire responded with a wan smile, but said nothing. Going to her large wardrobe, she began to dress. Slipping out of her sheer sky-blue night shift, she donned robes of foreboding black. As part of her education, she was required to attend the meeting of the Cassillian parliament every day. The black robes were an ancient tradition, but Samaire disliked them, for they made her pale skin even paler. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she sighed. Too thin, too pale, too dark of hair… too non-Cassillian, she thought. She quickly pinned back her hair neatly in a bun, fastening it with a silver and sapphire clip shaped like a butterfly. Looking back at her sister, Samaire saw that she had drifted off again.

“Fantina,” she said sternly. “Fantina, wake up. Guido will be expecting you.” Guido was Fantina and Samaire’s teacher. Now that Samaire had reached the age of seventeen, she only attended formal lessons once a week, but since Fantina had not yet come of age, she still had to attend every day.

She groaned. “Nooo…”

“Yes,” Samaire responded, shaking her sister gently. “Or mama will be angry if you’re late again. And with father gone…”

“I know, I know. We mustn’t make Mama worried or angry… you drill this into my head every day, Samaire.”

“And yet you never listen,” replied Samaire, defeated. She touched up her cheeks with a pale pink powder, and added rouge to her lips, giving her face a hint of color.

She studied herself in the mirror. Not beautiful, she thought, but good enough to get by.

Turning to Fantina, she said, “Well, try to wake up before Mama sends the royal guard to fetch you.”

Then, with one last look at herself in the tall, gilded mirror next to the door, Samaire left the room. The corridor outside her room was fully lit with sunshine that streamed in the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. The palace was serene and quiet at this time of the morning, especially in the east wing where the royal family slept. As she made her way to the center of the palace, there were more signs of life; the servants were beginning to make their rounds or set off for their daily duties. Samaire was headed toward the Senate building, which was just across from the palace. When she came to the entrance way of the palace, she was met by four tall men, clad in royal blue tunics, pants, and cloaks. They were members of the royal guard, there to escort Samaire to the Senate. Samaire had always thought the excessive amounts of security superfluous, but her father and his many advisors insisted that it was necessary.

Her guards bowed to her in unison. “Your highness,” the leader said.

“Good morning Anatoli,” she greeted him with a smile.

“Good morning, Princess,” the head of her security force returned the greeting.

“Has there been any news of my father?”

“None as yet, Your Highness. The last we heard from them was before the caravan began its travels through the mountain passes. They’re likely to be another week, perhaps longer. I am certain there is no need to worry,” he assured her.

Samaire laughed lightly, her fluid, musical voice ringing out across the air. “It is not I that worries, Anatoli, it is my mother.”

The guard smiled. “Come,” he said. “It would worry your mother more if you were late.”

They set off in formation, one guard on either side of Samaire. Exiting the palace, they walked down the many stairs that led up to the door. A slight breeze ruffled Samaire’s formidable black robes, causing them to billow out behind her. In front of her, she could see the city of Ania spread out before her. The city was positioned between a large lake, Lake Lapis, and the sea. The palace itself sat on the lakeshore, and the grounds encompassed most of the space around it. The city sprawled out from the front of the palace, and reached down to the sea.

As they walked, Samaire could see people stop from their work to watch her pass by. Young and old, they watched the pale, young princess walk, head held high and spine rigid, to the Senate building.

Walking beside her, eyes sweeping warily from side to side as they always did, Anatoli was constantly aware of the princess’s presence. He had been a member of her guard since her childhood days; he knew that Samaire saw him as a sort of father-figure, and knew their friendship helped to fill the hole that her father’s reticence left within her. It was no secret that the King of Cassalie had many important responsibilities. But for too long, Anatoli had seen the royal family drifting farther and farther apart as affairs of state became more and more pressing.

In his heart, Anatoli knew that Samaire would make a fine queen. She was graceful, elegant, wise, eloquent… she had a sense for the world, and more importantly, for the people in it. She learned most things through silent observation, and rarely had he ever heard her lose her temper or raise her voice. And yet, for her quiet ways, she demanded attention. When she spoke in the Senate, Anatoli knew, every ear listened.

The small procession made its way into the Senate chambers. The council of six Elders who presided over the legislature were already standing at their chairs at the front of the semi-circular chamber. Samaire’s throne sat in between them. Hers was the seventh place, with three Elders seated to each side. She took her place austerely, and with the drop of her iron gavel, the session began

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Four hours later, the Senate adjourned.

The senators themselves filed out, most arguing over the day’s proceedings, or suggesting amendments to be brought to the floor the following day. Samaire, however, lingered in the chamber, seated in her throne, allowing herself a few moments of blissful silence. The day was hot, as were most of the days in Cassalie. The fabric of her black robes seemed to be made of the heaviest fur—she felt as though she were drowning in the heat that they produced. She rubbed her temples, willing the dull, hammering pain in her head to subside. The session, as most inevitably were, had been taxing and ultimately counterproductive.

‘Foolish men,’ she thought. She hated diplomats.

Worse, she was one of them.

With a sigh, she stood up, reaching a white hand to the tight bun that held her hair in place. She shook out her long, dark locks, and felt some of the tension leave her.

Her blue eyes swept the chamber, ensuring that it was indeed completely empty, before she reached up and turned the jewel that adorned the top of her throne. As she did so, she heard a small click beneath her. She reached down, lifting up the trapdoor, which was hidden beneath the large, ornate rug that sat in front of her throne. The rug was attached to the trapdoor so that it covered it completely, making it easy for Samaire to make her exits from the Senate chamber. She opened the door, revealing a steep, stone stairwell. She turned the jewel back to its normal place, so that the door would lock itself behind her when she closed it.

Samaire descended the stairs, trailing one hand along the wall for balance. Twenty steps later, the floor leveled off and widened.

The secret corridor was one of many in the old palace. It was cold and dimly lit by torches that had been enchanted by the court sorcerer so that they burned night and day, never going out. The only sounds in the passage came from the sound of Samaire’s footsteps, and from droplets of condensation as they fell from the ceiling. The walk from the Senate back to the royal family’s quarters was a long one and was perpetuated by the fact that there was nothing to look at—just continuous stone walls

When the tunnel did end, it brought Samaire to a door located behind a large tapestry, just before the hall that led to her bedchamber.

As the tapestry swung back into place, she heard footsteps coming toward her. They were too heavy to be Fantina’s, and the only servants who came up during the day were usually finished their tasks by now. Who would be up here this time of day? She wondered. Suddenly, she realized that it could mean only one thing. She turned to make for her bedroom, but the footsteps rounded the corner before she could flee, and her suspicions were confirmed.

She let out a small sigh of frustration as she found herself face to face with her least favorite person in the world.