Kingdom of Zuland, City of Belfire Outskirts, Present day.
The snow made its unwanted appearance yet again, making is slow journey to the ground and covering the remaining patches of green that had dotted the brow. Every few seconds the nearby trees would give into the weight of the snow as large accumulations of it would topple from the branches.
Sara eyed the snow at her feet as she felt a minor pain at her lower back. The stone bench she sat upon could be better used as a form of torture. Though minor aches were the least of her current troubles.
The cabin in front of her would creak on occasion as if trying to get her attention.
Sara tightened her crimson cloak as the bite of the cold grew sharper. Her lips quivered as she pushed her golden hair behind her ear. It had been almost a year without a visit to her mother's lodge. As she recalled, for the last two years her mother had a routine of creamrose picking on occasion. That explained why the cabin was vacant on her arrival. Every fifth day of the week she would come to visit her. At least…she used to. It was before she made a habit of putting her duties to the throne before her mother. Will she be angry with me for not coming to see her in so long? I wonder if she would prepare a cup of hot cream like she used to. Sara could almost smell the lingering aroma of the sweet heated beverage. The rough smell of water mixed with melted creamrose and crushed beadnuts for the ever so famous Drink of the North. A thick and sweet cream that could warm anyone's bones in this harsh winter's morning. She stuck out her tongue only to have a bitter cold snowflake fall on it seconds later.
"Keep eating snowflakes and you'll catch an illness," said a familiar soft voice.
Sara's chest felt warm. "But they taste so good," she said, reminiscent of her childhood when she would answer in the same fashion to her stern-faced mother.
Her mother smiled. "Just like then, you haven't changed, my darling." Her leather coat and furs fluttered with the wind as she neared her.
Sara stood, and for a second took in the sight of her mother, it felt like years since she had last seen her.
Long wheat-colored hair, short in stature, and light wrinkles under her eyes.
Seconds later her mother was in her arms. She felt at ease as her embrace warmed her. "I missed you, mother."
"As did I. But it's only been a few seasons since your last visit. No need to feel upset."
"How did—"
Her mother caressed her cheek. "You don't wear a frown well, daughter. Chin up, come now." She looked her in the eye and gave her a light pat on the back. "Let's get out of this snow, a horn of hot cream will melt those worries away. They walked through the ankle-high snow and made a slow trek to the cabin.
Sara nodded. "You're right." All her recent duties at the palace did her no favors. Being the upcoming heir to the throne came with a fair amount of work. "Father says I should never overconcern myself with trivial matters. The problem is I can't discern what could be considered trivial." She smiled. "Father says to always wear the pride of the Eshlon name." It was something she heard more than she liked. Constant reminders that felt more like lectures at times.
Her mother reached for the cabin's knob and looked back her with a frown. "Oh dear, nothing of the like. Don't mask your humanity, that is what makes a good leader. Showing that you are human and have flaws like any other. But remember that you're Sara, my daughter, before Sara, Heir of Zuland.
Upon opening the cabin, a wave of warm air brought horripilation and comfort. The cabin's interior was just as she remembered.
A well-carved table at its center and a separate counter for culinary purposes. The home also had an overabundance of shelves covered with glass ornaments of all shapes and sizes. Glass wolves, steeds, flowers, kings and queens. They made companions of one another, reflecting the surrounding candlelight with a beautiful shine. There was certainly much more in her mother's collection than her last visit.
Sara admired the craft of such subtle trinkets and figures as she remembered how she had spent hours of her childhood learning the craft from her mother. Glass crafting was one of the oldest traditions from her mother's family. One that demanded extreme concertation and a mind for creativity, something Sara heavily lacked. Give her a blade and she could make it sing, but never could she sit still hours on end. The thought alone was daunting.
Her mother closed the door behind them, trapping the warmth and dry scent of burning wood. "Find a seat."
Sara pointed to the familiar brick fireplace at the opposite end of the home, it hid behind a well-carved table and chairs. "You shouldn't leave a fire untended." She crossed her arms.
Her mother brushed off the snow from her cloak. "Do you think me a youngling?" She raised an eyebrow with a light chuckle. "I have lived in the cold embrace of these hills long enough to know how to feed a flame. How to keep it satisfied but not give too much as to overwhelm it." She walked to the flame, picked up her steel prod and adjusted the logs. Embers broke free from the charred wood; the flame grew larger, as if agitated.
The orange glow bounced off her mother's face. "See here, it's just like you. You have to find the balance of emotion so that you can keep going. Overburden yourself and you could be quick to anger or even lose yourself."
Sara found herself smiling as a sense of pride grew in her. She knew the woman all too well. She hadn't mentioned any word of her trials at the palace and yet the woman had read her emotions clearly. It must have been a gift exclusive to mothers; to sense their children's distress. It was a gift she hoped to have one day. "How do you know?"
"Not to sound belligerent, but you visit me most when you are restless. Though it's no trouble, I'm glad to be here to guide you when you most need it." She picked up a flagon from the center table and poured water into a pot above the flame. She pulled a bundle of creamroses from her cloak. With a swift sniff and ah she dropped them into the pot. "Take a seat, daughter." She stirred the pot.
Sara undid her cloak and hung it behind her chair before taking her seat at the table. "Mother, the coronation for me to be reaccepted into the council is in a few days. I'm glad to be welcomed into the king's— Uh…I mean father's graces once more. But I can't help but doubt myself." She leaned into her balled fist. "I still think about what happened, the event that got me displaced from the council."
The room was quiet, cold wind howled behind the windows and the flames crackled louder with every second.
Simply voicing her thoughts made the dark memories rush back to her. The horrid scene of bloodied corpses stacked on one another on the back of a wagon. Among them was Ramses, her fiancé. A pit formed in her stomach. She tried to shake the thoughts away, but the image of Ramses was one she couldn't ever forget. She bit her lower lip. "I want to be a strong leader one day, one that people can rely on when they're scared or in doubt. But I can't do that if I cannot control my emotions. I…I just miss him dearly."
Her mother placed two horns of the hot beverage on the table. "You mustn't be so afraid of expressing yourself. You have grief, hiding it will only tear you apart from the inside." She took a seat opposite of her and blew on her drink.
Sara picked up her horn and did the same with a wave of shame. "How do you and father do it? You have undergone so much and yet never falter."
"Such events in our lives do indeed have effect on us. We are better at cloaking these emotions because of experience. Nothing more. The pain of loss is hard, Sara. But you'll get past this and you will be a great leader one day. But you have to accept that that day may be far in the future."
Sara felt a spark ignite in her. "Perhaps I don't have to suffer alone. Come home with me, come and live in the palace again." She clutched her mother's wrist, it was still cold.
Her mother sighed before pulling her hand away. "I can't. I could never live there again. I've never liked the palace, the furnished furs and overly scented candles. The thought alone makes me ill. And your father—"
"What about father?" She narrowed her gaze. "You've always avoiding telling me why you left."
Her mother broke her stare, her attention faced toward the dancing flame in the fireplace. "Your father isn't who he once was. The enthusiastic prince I married is long forgotten. A sweet, caring man. Years of late, he'd kept his focus on finding the nearest nest of power."
Sara rolled her eyes. "Power? A kingdom needs power to help the people of its nation. He's doing his duty as ruler. Should you not have been more supportive of his choices?"
"Oh, daughter how you still have much to learn. Life isn't as simple as you may think." She reached out.
Sara grasped her mother's wrist once more. Tongue in cheek. No, she wasn't going to be looked down on. "I don't understand." She nodded in disapproval. "You said yourself you would help and support me, what better way than by my side at the palace. Your home."
"Not my home, not anymore. Just a reminder of my failures as a mother…and as queen."
Sara's nostrils flared. "Father said you had no honor for your nation. I had my doubts. He said you were a coward for turning your back on Zuland." The small home felt like a furnace all of a sudden as sweat formed on her forehead. "I would never—I could never accept that. I even defended you at times. But now…perhaps father was right."
"I'm sorry." Her voice was flat as she looked into her eyes.
The chaired beneath Sara crashed to the ground as she jumped to her feet. She slammed her fist on the table. "Liar!" The hot cream spilled and dripped off the table. "Father never left my side. Perhaps he banished me from his inner council but he never abandoned me." She felt her admiration turn to shame as her ears grew warm. A part of her knew that her mother would reject her offer, though it did little to lessen the blow of dejection. Warm tears ached to escape but she stifled her breath to keep them at bay. She wouldn't shed tears here. She would prove that she could endure and press forward.
Her mother bowed her head with a light sigh.
Sara clenched her teeth to slow the quiver of her lip. "Father urged me not to come here but I didn't listen…I'm ashamed to have doubted him." She pushed the table aside and stomped for the exit. She opened the door wide and invited in winter's chill. The bite of the cold winds only served to heighten her anger. With a heavy pull she slammed the door behind her.
The sound of shattered glass echoed within the home.
A dagger of guilt pierced her consciousness but for a second. She shrugged it off. It was her fault. This time it was her mother's turn to experience what it was to be abandoned. She trudged away from the cabin without looking back as all that accompanied her was the sound of snow crunching under her heavy steps.