3. The Cabin

Chapter 3: The Cabin

Kingdom of Zuland, City of Belfire, 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 branches of the nearby trees would give into the weight of the snow, dropping large masses of it into mounds beside the trunks.

Sara eyed the carpet of white at her feet as a minor ache stung her lower back. The stone bench she sat on could have been better used as a form of torture since it was jagged and cracked, making it uneven and uncomfortable. Though minor aches were the least of her current troubles. The cabin in front of her creaked 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 early in the day. That explained why the cabin was vacant on her arrival. Though the thought of her mother being alone irked her, she had heard that her mother was supposed to have a royal guard watching over the cabin. It was part of the agreement made when she left her place in the palace to live in the outcourt. 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 that was the perfect counter against a winter’s day. The rough smell of water mixed with melted creamrose and crushed beadnuts. A thick and sweet cream capable of warming anyone’s bones in a harsh chilling 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, recognizing the owner of the warning. “But they taste 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, more than the two that had already past, 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 with her warm embrace. “I missed you, Mother.”

“As did I. But it’s only been two seasons since your last visit. No need to feel upset, I enjoy the solitude of my cabin. But I know you well enough to know that you came because you’re distraught. Something is gnawing at you?”

“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 openly.” It was something she heard more than she liked. Constant reminders that felt more like lectures.

Her mother reached for the cabin’s knob and looked back at 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 concentration 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 for 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 unattended.”

Her mother brushed off the snow from her cloak. “Do you think me a babe?” 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 she had read her emotions clearly. It must have been a gift exclusive to mothers; an additional sense. It was a gift she hoped to have one day. “How do you know?”

“As I’ve said, 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 sky-colored creamroses from her cloak.

Sara took in the scent of the flower, even from across the table its aroma of sweetness was much stronger than that of any other creamrose. Creamroses were grown throughout all of Elsire, used as the world’s best option when it came to sweetened spice. Once it was washed, dried and ground, it could be used to resolve the bitterness of tea, or even give unmatched sweetness to a pie or tart. But never could any match the pristine delicateness of the ones grown by her mother.

The aged woman gave a swift sniff and ah before dropping the raw flower into the pot. “Take a seat, daughter,” she said, while stirring the contents of the container slowly. “What’s troubling you?” she said without turning.

Sara undid her cloak and hung it behind her chair before taking her seat at the table. “Mother, my coronation to rejoin the council is in a few days. I’m glad to be welcomed into the king’s—I mean father’s graces once more. But I can’t help but doubt myself.” She leaned into her balled fist. “I can’t forget what happened.” Her voice was fragile as her gut ached, her distress leaking through with every word. “I know my lack of control is what saw me displaced from the council four years ago.”

The room remained quiet, cold winds 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 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. 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. I feel childish for not being able to…to let go.”

“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.”

The advice sparked a tinge of annoyance. “It can’t be far in the future. I need to be able to have the strength of a leader now. The coronation is tomorrow, and I can’t let father down…not again.” She remembered the utter shame and anger in her father’s eyes the day he banished her in front of the royal families for speaking out of term, a result born from grief for Ramses. Whatever embarrassment her father had felt, it was nothing compared to her. She couldn’t—no, she wouldn’t let it happen again. Her father was the strongest, wisest man she knew, all she wanted was to have his acceptance. She felt a spark ignite in her, as did a new revelation. “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 to the touch.

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 avoided telling me why you left. Always saying that it was for a reason I wouldn’t understand, I’m much older now, what is it that you won’t tell me?”

Her mother’s stare broke away, 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. Rather than let things be, he became too focused on swaying events out of his control and became paranoid, seeing enemies where there were none.”

Sara rolled her eyes. “A kingdom needs power to help the people of its nation. He’s doing his duty as a ruler. Should you not have been more supportive of his choices?”

“Oh, daughter, you still have much to learn. Life isn’t as simple as you may think.” She reached out.

Sara grasped her mother’s wrist, cutting off the attempt at pity. No, she wasn’t going to be looked down on, not anymore. “I don’t understand.” She shook her head 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 queen. I never had the heart for it. I believed it was for the best that I left.”

Sara’s nostrils flared. “Father said you had no sense of honor for your nation. I had my doubts. He said you were a coward for turning your back on Zuland.” The small cabin 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. So quick to let your family go?”

“I love you, Sara. But I can’t.” Her false claims of affection stung like a poison.

The chair beneath Sara crashed to the ground as she stood furiously. Her frustrations escaped, slamming her fist on the table. “You liar!” The tankard of hot cream spilled and dripped to the floor. “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, keeping 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, inviting in the 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. 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.

[𝗘𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿]
𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗸𝘀. 𝗜 𝗽𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗶𝘁? 𝗜𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗿 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗮 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿 𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗼𝘄!