“Don’t you remember the promise you made? That we made to each other?”
Helana steeled herself to look into her sister’s eyes, seeing her own betrayal mirrored there. “I remember.”
Arista reminded her anyway. “We swore it would always be us. The Glynt sisters against the world.”
“I said I remember.”
“Then why?”
Helana drew a shuddering breath, then another, seeing again the hail of arrows that had flown toward her, seemingly from nowhere. The arrow that had found her, poisoned at its tip. “You know I’d stay if I could.”
It was Arista who broke her gaze. Helana couldn’t blame her. She’d seen herself in the mirror yesterday, though the nurse had balked at bringing it to her. Her cheeks, hollowed by the slow poison about to claim her, the dark circles under her eyes, though it seemed all she did was sleep. The pustules covering most of her body, though she hadn’t needed the mirror to see those.
Arista raised her brown eyes, glinting in the light reflected off unshed tears. “I know. Forgive me. Grief loosed those hateful words.”
“Make me a new promise, sister. Hold my kingdom for me,” Helana ordered. “Do not yield. You must live. You must rule in my stead. Wear the crown well.”
Arista whispered, “I will hold, my queen,” though her sister did not hear, her eyes already closed in final rest. The crown Arista had yet to don weighed heavy on head even as vengeance settled into her heart. She knew who had done this. Knew who coveted the throne—her throne now. Already her own assassins made their way to his keep. Her sister lay dead before her. Helana’s murderer would not see morning either. “I promise.”
This story grew from a first line prompt from Reedsy, “Don’t you remember.” I had initially imagined that Helana was dying of cancer, but a different story emerged as I wrote. I then thought perhaps her kingdom was at war and she had chosen to lead her people on the battlefront. Instead an assassin reared his ugly head and all the pieces fell into place.
The hail of arrows, seemingly from nowhere, suggests perhaps magic was employed. I imagine them being shot from a distant location through some kind of portal. But I didn’t want magic to become the focus of the story, so I left that reference ambiguous. How do you imagine the archers might have been hidden?
My imagination tells me the arrows came from not only from another place but also from another time. A time to come. A time known but not yet seen. My goodness, your stories take me on magical rides!!
Love it!