Tonight is another of those nights. The dreams come fast, but the memories stay. I can't force them to leave, but I can tell them apart. The dreams tend to have a better note to them - presents, friendship, tasty food. This one . . . this one is bitter. If dreams had a flavor, it would be vinegar. No, that's too common. Maybe caviar or vegemite or something else just as disgustingly salty, but without the class.
It starts with a pink sky, like always. I've made up a rhyme about it, actually.
Strawberry morning, crimson warning. Every day since, I've waken up before dawn, to check the colors. It's silly, since now I know that it's just the weather and what not, but I still dread the color. I used to love pink. My mother would wrap me up in my pink blankets, tell me she would paint the room pink, that I could have pink cakes and pink meat and pink flowers. Now I'm happy she didn't.
The dream continues with a sound. At the time, I thought it was thunder. My mother, laying next to me on the blanket, jolts up. She looks shaken, but I think it's because we had pasture prey last night. It was one of my very first hunts, and the only one without anybody else. My mother had convinced the king to let us leave for a day, to let us 'bond as mother and daughter'. He was reluctant, but he said it would be fine. We had packed a small bag, foregone the tent. 'Why should dragons sleep inside?' she had said, 'we were born for the wild'.
My mother, Queen of the Jaize, was one of the few people to still believe in returning to our upbringing. She thought it would help us if a war ever broke out.
She was wrong.
It was one of the first moves of the war. Word had yet to reach the country of Cranstro; we live in the snow-topped mountains, where very few dare to pass and fewer can survive. My mother and I had traveled to the northeastern edge of our territory, where the forests start and the snow disappears. She had scouted a valley out days before. It was supposed to be safe. It was supposed to be sheltered from others.
We went in the wee hours of the morning. When we arrived before high noon, she told me to go ahead and find our sleeping place. I chose an open hill. It was a meadow overlooking the river, and it was bare. The forest surrounded it on all sides, but we could see the horizon between them. What we couldn't see were the assassins.
They came in the night. They must have, because we were up at the sunrise. The sky was a strawberry field of pink, with no mist formations, as is common here. It was bright, and pretty, and crisp.
My mother, when she sat up, grabbed at her bag. I couldn't figure out why. My 7-year-old mind thought maybe she had to pee, so I asked.
"Mommy, do you have to go potty?" She looked at me weirdly, an expression I had never seen before. She avoids looking at the trees. I didn't notice.
"Sweetie, Mommy needs to grab something from her bag. Can you help me look for it?" Being an obedient child, I grabbed for the bag. I suppose it was her way of having me avoid seeing what happened next.
All I remember after that is my mom shoving me to the ground. I remember shouting, and loud thunking. Thinking back, I can see the shadows in the trees, the brush moving even without the wind. I remember someone yelling at me to run, but all I could do was hold my backpack. Shifters have a sort of sixth sense, something to tell them when their flight is hurt. I knew.
I knew she didn't make it.
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I wake with a start. Looking around, I see that the curtains are still dark. It must be the in-between, the darkest and stillest part of the night. The curtains are starting to be lighter, though, so dawn must not be too far off. I'll check the sky later, but for now, I pull the blankets off of myself.
I rarely have that dream. It only comes when I fall asleep thinking of my mother, and last night fit that description. She should have been here today, at my Dawning. Traditionally, the mother gives the child away to the Zess, as a sort of good intention. The process starts with the letter prompt, followed by a magical test when the demons come to pick up your letter. When they leave, they head back to the furthest corner of the countries - Dapnier, about a 1 1/2 week ride to the east of our southern border.
I have never been there, as Princesses rarely travel, but I have heard it consists mostly of dark forest, jungle, and tropical beaches the color of the night. As a selected member, I will begin my travels there today. When the Zess arrive to take me, my father will throw them a grand supper; the subjects of a lower class would only prepare a simple meal, if they can afford it.
As I gaze out my window, not remembering having moved, I realize I'm the first Rise to be selected from the royal family in over 120 years. My great, great Aunt, an ocelot shifter, was the last known person to be in a Dawning. Going any further back is pointless, since no one at the school would know of them. She was one of the best, apparently, and very gifted in the school of Alteration magic. One of her favorite tricks was to change her appearance - so much so, that she was mistaken several times as a commoner in the castle and kicked out.
I chuckle at the picture of her as an old hag being thrown from the grounds. Great-Great-Aunt Clarmidia was quite beautiful, and had a husband of similar beauty. Had the couple been able to conceive children, perhaps their children would have been more pretty than either of them. I'm told I take after her, but seeing as my locks are brown, not blonde, I have never believed my maids.
My maids, of course, give a fresh perspective on many matters. I enjoy consulting them before giving my father any important decisions; after all, a ruler must understand their subjects. Seeing as I am first in line, and the only child, that would be me.
Well . . . eventually. For once the Zess take me to the Quarry, I may be stuck there for eight years. They narrow the classes down after the first year, to only the truly talented individuals. In the Dawning every year, the newest class is comprised of 5 students from each race/country. People tend to stick to their own country, so either one works. At the end of the first year, the students have to go through a series of tests. Only the top 18 scorers can continue, with only one person from each race guaranteed a spot. It's quite competitive, really. Being kicked out after the first year is both embarrassing and a burden. I only hope I pass.
A loud crash ensues from the hallway, pulling me from my daydreams and worries. It causes me to jump, and I instinctively grab for my waist. It takes me about four seconds to realize my blade is still on my dresser, but before I can get that far, the door opens.
