Nectar of War: The Song of Verity and Serenity (The Nectar of War Series Book 1)

LAVEN HEPHAESTUS ARVENALDI, II

White petals are splayed across the stone ground where Dyena is being sworn in as High Queen of Provas. Those same petals take you to the stairs that lead up to the balcony of the Throne Room. Along the sides of the path of petals stand the people of Provas.

Those around us are singing for the prosperity of Dyena, through their words they are sending prayers over her reign to fill for eternity. Some are whispering small thanks of her return.

Along the curve of the walls below the balcony sit orchestras encasing both sides of the stairs. Violinists in the front play slowly before those in the back encompass the symphony to make it grow and echo through the land surrounding us. A pianist that resembles Stravan joins, giving the symphony depth and life to welcome the Right Hand to the Queen.

“Laven,” Morano speaks in a low whisper as he stares in awe of Ivella. “Did you know of this?”

“Yes,” I respond lowly. “We spoke of it prior to the Coronation.”

Ivella’s eyes stare strongly forward, her shoulders hold that firm square I recognize.

A little girl gazes wide eyed at Ivella. “Mama,” she whispers. “Can I wear a dress like hers when I am older?”

Her mother smiles and gives a slight nod before refocusing on Ivella.

There are two men holding the train of her gown as she recedes down the stairs toward Dyena.

Her hair is pulled back and lowly gathered, revealing every bit of the dress that covers her. Diamonds trail down the dress in expanding lines to enhance the curves of her natural body, then, at the flat of her chest her skin is revealed up to her shoulders that are donned in diamonds covering her like armor.

Having her hair worn up shows the small, sharp point of her ears to the people. Signifying, in some form, that she is of the Fae.

Her brother, Ira, is standing not far off in the crowd of people watching Ivella approach Dyena.

An Orb and Scepter is placed in Ivella’s hands. As she bows before Dyena, the tiara is placed upon her head—it is crafted in the form of branches twined within leaves and embossed in white gold.

It is stupefying how well a crown suits Ivella. Well, the crown does not suit her, she suits the crown. I imagined for years what she would look like decked in royalty, but I also imagined what we would look like if I left the royal line and ascension. We would be commoners outlying in the lands, working, and raising children—if that is what we chose.

“We must ascend to the balcony and wait for their arrival.” I say to my brothers. “All those of royalty are expected at the balcony to sing their Continents Chorale.”

“Even visiting royals?”

Amias and Roaner both nudge Morano forward. “Yes, even visiting royals.”

“Just go,” Levora says with a tone laced in annoyance.

Phyv chuckles as he follows us.

I shake my head. “Cannot bring him anywhere.” And Phyv continues to laugh.

Stravan is waiting at the top of the stairs for both Dyena and Ivella’s arrival after being crowned. He looks back at me before his eyes return to the women.

I step forward. “What is your Continents Chorale?”

His sharp blue eyes meet mine again before gazing at Dyena. A simper appears on his face as he watches her. “She is the Continents Chorale.”

As they both glide up the stairs I return to where Morano, Amias, and Roaner are standing.

A High Priest leisurely walks forward before stopping at the top of the balcony and his large voice bellows above the orchestra. “Dyena Provanseva and Ivella Fondali, High Queen and Right Hand of Provas.”

Ivella and Dyena both place a hand on Stravan’s arm as they stand on either side of him. They walk directly to the Throne where a seat on either side of Stravan awaits Ivella and Dyena.

*  *  *

“Laven, this is my sister, Savarina, her mate Daevien, and my brother Sloan.” Stravan introduces my brothers, Levora, Phyv, and I to his family one by one.

All three of them take after each other vigorously; the bright eyes, dark brown skin, and hair that is as white as snow. The same features of my family.

“King Laven, correct?” Daevien asks me.

“Yes,” I nod, still not fully comprehending that I am now a King, nor am I used to the title, but I do not correct him, nor do I tell him to only call me Laven as I prefer.

“It is lovely to meet you,” Savarina smiles, “if you will excuse me.” She says before taking off to where Dyena has entered from, alongside her is Ivella.

Daevien and Sloan give one another a smile.

“Sava is not much of a talker with those she is unfamiliar with.” Stravan quietly forces a laugh.

And it seems she is not too fond of Ivella either.

She does not greet her at all, she just barely skims by her and goes straight to Dyena. Ivella barely pays attention to this at all, but I surely notice it.

“Jealousy,”  Morano says. “She wanted the title of Right Hand.”

When I look at him, his focus is directed away from Savarina, but it is easy to tell he has seeped into her thoughts. It has been a bit of time since he has last done this.

“Let us go sit and eat.” Stravan leads us to the table filled with fresh fruits, vegetables, meats, side dishes, assortments of bread loaves.

“What happened to no longer entering thoughts of others unless needed?” Amias chuckles as we follow Stravan to one of the dining tables.

“This was needed . . . I do not trust the way she looked at Ivella, and neither did Laven.”

No, I did not. There are one too many eyes over Savarina for me to watch her too intently. We all would become suspect for prolonged staring.

“Why in the world would she be jealous? She is High Princess of Provas.” Amias questions in disbelief.

“Because,” Roaner begins as we sit at the table. “Right Hands have word over Princesses and Princes. She most likely feels obligated to have the title of Right Hand by blood or other reasonings.”

“No matter what,” I speak to end this conversation before we eat. “I will keep watch tonight. There are one too many things a person would do to another to secure a position closer to the Throne.”

As I sit, Ivella continues to eat in silence with her brother next to her. He too seems to glance at Savarina every now and then. Next to Ira sits Levora who sends me a questioning look. I nod at her, signaling I will speak with her later, she nods back before turning to Phyv who is already devouring the food along the table.

I can relate with him on the need to have your home food again after a prolonged period of time.

When I look at Ivella, she is already looking at me.

I drift my eyes to the chair next to me and back at her.

She smiles and nods.

There is a small exchange between her and Ira. Next, he is introduced to Levora and Phyv before she ascends to the chair next to me.

“You put one of the most talkative women with one of the quietest men.” I laugh as I turn to her. Her leg presses flat against mine as I scoot closer.

Ivella cackles as she looks across the long table at Ira who sits in discomfort as Levora talks his ear off. “Maybe she will break him out of his shell, and he will converse with someone other than me.”

I rest my arm along the back of her chair as I settle further in. “Are you saying you are growing tired of your brother?” I look down at her as she plays with the bow and arrow brooch on my topcoat.

“No,” her smiles fades. “He needs companions who can understand him. Ira has been quiet all his life, and some people do not understand it or find him to be disrespectful. He has just always been in his own little world, and he does not want it disturbed. Someone like Levora would be a good friend to him, she seems patient and that is what Ira needs—a patient person who does not give up. He cannot continue his life with just me, our mother, our father, and Iysha.”

“Who is Iysha?”

“Our little brother, he was born while me and my father were in Vaigon.”

She traces her finger over the arrow, and I grab her hand. “And if Ira does not want to have a companion outside of his family?”

Ivella looks up with a worried expression. “And stay sheltered all his life?”

“What if he enjoys being sheltered? What if he wants to keep a life small and intimate?”

She slouches into my side as she stares at Ira and Levora.

“It just does not seem right.”

I smile and pull her closer. “It does not seem right to you, but it seems right to him.”

She looks up at me. “And that is all that matters.”

“Yes.”

“Ivella!” Dyena calls. She turns her head, and her smile returns. “Come meet, Hecta!” Dyena waves a hand for her to come and before I can speak to her she ascends.

“Brovita,” Stravan appears next to me as he sips sparkling liquid. “Here,” he fills my glass with Brovita before handing it to me. “Provas has better Brovita than any nation you will go to.”

“Is that so?”

“So it is,” he nods. “But now that I have something in your system, I wanted to speak with you, add more hell into your daily life.”

“Because that is exactly what I want.”

He smirks. “You can handle it.” He finishes what is in his glass before leaning closer in. “The other Realms have sent their inquiries. They want to know where the people of their nations are now that Levora, Phyv, and Greyce have been found.”

This time, I am the one to drink. “I was hoping we would have a bit more time than this.”

“So did I.”

“I already have people in place for it. Levora, Greyce, and Phyv will go back in search. And if you have others who can fabricate themselves like Phyv did while in the human world feel free to send them along.”

“I do, but for starters we send only them. If needed then we will send others. We can talk in further depth tomorrow during the conference. It will be worth it to bring this up, and I will have someone send for Greyce so she is caught up on this information and it is not sudden that we are sending them back.”

“For now,” I stop this conversation from proceeding further. “Let me enjoy this Brovita.”

“Quite delicious is it not?”

I do not let him have verbal satisfaction, I only continue to drink.

*  *  *

After the celebration ended Ivella was taken in all sorts of directions. But, I have an undying need to see her again. When I find her, she is sitting on the balcony in her chamber. One foot dangles off the edge, and one knee is pulled to her chest.

I slowly near the edge of the balcony next to her and sit.

The beautiful dress from earlier today is hanging in her chamber over the bathing room door. Now, the dark blue robe I last saw her in, she is wearing again.

One end of the robe slips over her shoulder as she holds a bottle of wine up to me. By the label that reads FONDALI VINEYARD, I know it is wine that her father has made.

“So,” I start after taking a sip of the wine. “What was it that persuaded your agreement to becoming the Right Hand of a High Queen? A High Queen of the largest Realm in our entire universe.” I laugh with my final words and Ivella does as well.

Her eyes form that glint of happiness, yet even smiling I can see something is missing to make her whole. Although, I never knew her when she was truly happy and elated with life. I question if she has ever been happy. This small bit of desolation seems to guise naturally on her.

“Dyena and I have become close with one another over the past couple weeks since the night of Solstice. She does not have many companions and she felt we would understand each other the best—and we do. I did not understand how strong the bond is between people after being tied by a Blood Bond Ritual. I have my close companions, but there will not be someone so close to me as Dyena is.”

A mate would be . . .

“Was that the only reason she chose you? Because of the bond through the ritual.” I cautiously sit next to her, and her eyes advert to the stars clouded in the sky. I choose not to look too long at the drop off the edge of this balcony.

“No,” Ivella smiles. “The more we got to know each other the more we realized our strategies to build reformation are the same.”

I hand the wine to her, giving her a reason to have to look at me again. Just as before, I can see those tiny specks of deep orange appearing within the boskiness of her eyes.

“Reformation?” I ask in a form of disbelief. “We need reformation?”

Ivella shoves me as she quietly laughs. “Yes, reformation.”

“And what are these plans of reformation?”

After taking a long drink of the wine, she answers. “Unwavering allyship. I did not become Right Hand for the sole purpose of she and I agreeing on multiple different aspects of life. But for the security of our people. We need consistent backing by a resilient army, and Provas can provide us that. Along with Provas, comes the coalitions they have as well.

“The other Realms will not be sturdy enough on their own to deny us allyship; repudiating us means tearing their allyship apart with Provas, and that is what no Realm wants. The worst enemy of enemies does not want the greatest Realm in the world against them. The Provasian people will always have the armies and Mandems you want on your side.

“Now, we all are legitimately secured together again. By the Coronation of Dyena and myself; it is as if we are one nation again—so to say. And you now have New Quamfasi, New Quamfasi has Provas, and Provas has every Realm. We are tied in more ways than one. Even if your tie to New Quamfasi were to be broken, it would not matter, you have me binding us forever.”

Roaner missed one thing about Ivella being fit to be High Queen. Her intelligence and ability to strategize a crucial plan with ease.

“I wish I was gifted enough to devise a plan as this.”

Ivella hands the wine to me again, sarcastically rolling her eyes.

“You are intelligent enough to think of something as this. But I did not think of this alone—Dyena was the deviser of this plan, and my family, and then I decided it would be the most tenable decision to tie our lands together in the form of me being Right Hand. Our Blood Bond was just an extra piece to the puzzle.”

“Speaking of bonds,” I say as she takes another sip of the wine. “Have you spoken much with your family?”

“Yes, I have been going home more often than before, but I still stay at my father’s home in Nadrexi. That is where I officially reside.”

“What is with that brooding sister of Stravan’s?” I finally ask about Savarina and Ivella’s eyebrows raise as she laughs.

“She is not too fond of me.”

“I gathered that,” I begin to laugh with her. “It looked as if she was ready to lunge across the table any given moment to stab you with her bread knife.”

Her head falls back and the harmonic laugh pours from her chest, I cannot help but to grin as I watch.

“Savarina does not understand the companionship between Dyena and I. There are things Dyena tells me that she cannot tell them, she believes Savarina is jealous, but does not understand why. Dyena has told me of the times where Savarina makes them seem closer than they are.”

“Untrue friends.” I take the wine bottle as she places it in my hand.

Ivella begins to stare out in that same way I have seen before when her mind takes her somewhere that is not welcoming to her.

I near closer and her head lifts—our skin just a mere inch from touching.

I need to be just as close as we were earlier, if not closer.

“What is it?” I probe.

She begins to soften as she watches my lips move with the words I speak, and the more she cracks that hard exterior, I see Maivena.

“What if I cannot do it?” Her eyes meet my own and as if it is so natural to her, she slightly leans, falling in closer. “What if I am not capable of being a Right Hand to a Queen? What if my mother was right all along?”

“Do not listen to her.” I plea.

That voice of her mother is roaming through her head. I can nearly hear every repugnant abuse being said to Ivella as if it were me.

Ivella’s hand falls, toying with the label on the wine bottle. “I try not to,” she stops speaking and bites hard into her lip repeatedly.

“It will not be easy to forget, but you must remember that everything she said to you was out of jealousy and hatred for herself.” Just as my uncle was with me.

Her hand moves from playing with the label on the wine bottle, to playing with the sleeve of my undershirt. I can hear each beat of her heart the closer she gets to our skin touching. Can she hear mine? With a quiet hum from her throat, a smile appears over her lips.

“I do not want to sleep alone tonight.”

Just as my words leave, she looks up at me again. “But we have to.”

And like a poisoned arrow moving right through my back, knowing of it, seeing it, then feeling it—I remember.

A Right Hand must always be on the verge of marriage or . . . already wedded.

That soar of anger I am acquainted with pushes forward.

Snatching my arm away from her, I move so swiftly to my feet I see her hair fling at the rush of speed.

Her chin quivers as she looks up at me and I shake my head. “You are not allowed to do that to me.” Tears flood down her cheeks—staining the robe covering her skin. “Ivella, I am telling you this once and never again. Stop giving me fallacious hope.”

“Laven–” she calls out, but I leave before I can hear a word about why she will always pick him over me.