Summary

Vivienne, a young woman with a mysterious past and royal lineage, lives a simple life with her grandmother, Niamh, who conceals their magical heritage as they approach the day Vivienne turns eighteen, which may unlock her dormant powers.

Abstract

Vivienne, on the cusp of turning eighteen, lives a life filled with routine and unanswered questions about her past and heritage. Raised by her grandmother, Niamh, in a modest cottage, she is unaware of her royal lineage from the kingdom of Lux. Each day begins with the comforting scent of freshly baked bread, a scent that contrasts with the uncertainty of her future. Vivienne's golden eyes, a stark difference from her grandmother's gray ones, are a constant reminder of the mother she can barely remember. As spring arrives, they prepare to harvest their crops, including the coveted blue onions that Niamh mysteriously produces, to sell at the market. Vivienne longs to visit the market, a place of bustling activity and potential answers about her identity, but her grandmother deems her too young, promising to consider it when Vivienne comes of age. Niamh, once a woman of magic and regality, has hidden her true nature and the magical abilities that run in their family, to protect Vivienne from the dangers of their past. The upcoming birthday holds the key to Vivienne's lat powers, which Niamh hopes will remain dormant for her granddaughter's safety.

Opinions

Vivienne is curious about her heritage and eager to explore the world beyond her cottage, as evidenced by her desire to accompany her grandmother to the market.
Niamh is protective of Vivienne and fears the implications of her granddaughter's impending maturity and potential awakening of magical powers.
The narrative suggests a sense of loss and longing in Vivienne for a connection to her mother and a clearer understanding of her own identity.
Niamh's past life and the true nature of their family's magical abilities are shrouded in mystery, indicating a deeper, possibly darker, history that has been deliberately obscured from Vivienne.
The story hints at a contrast between the simplicity of their current life and the grandeur of their hidden royal lineage, emphasizing the sacrifices Niamh has made to keep Vivienne safe.

Fantasy

The Kytharian Crown

The Two Queens — A Chapter

Stock images from Canva; design by author

Each day began with the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from the kitchen — a scent that gently tickled her nose and slowly drew her out of her slumber. Vivienne stretched, working the kinks out of her shoulders, then padded to the dresser. She poured some water into a bowl to wash the sleep from her eyes. She glanced up at the mirror then, as it happens every morning, Vivienne wondered where her eyes had gotten their color. So different from her grandmother’s gray ones. Did her mother’s eyes have the same golden hue? For years she tried to recall, but each time it eluded her, remaining unreachable just beyond the edges of her memory.

“Vivienne?” Her grandmother’s voice shaking her out of her reverie. “Are you up, child?”

She gathered her thick hair and quickly turned it into a crimson braid that hung to her waist. Donning her day dress, she replied, “Yes, Gammy! I’ll be there in a minute!” Taking one last look at her reflection, she hurried out of her room to join her grandmother for breakfast. Since that fateful day, 13 years ago, this was how all days began.

“Eat well, dear. We have a long day ahead of us,” her grandmother said, setting a bowl of steaming soup in front of her.

Vivienne reached past it and got a piece of bread. “Yes, Gammy.” She breathed in the scent that always reminded her of warm spring mornings and comfortable autumn afternoons. “Do we harvest all crops today?”

Her grandmother sat across her and reached for her piece. “The onions and carrots should be ready — spring is already upon us. Good time, too, so I can bring them to the market today.”

The market! Vivienne had heard so many stories about it — how it was filled with people, looking for vegetables and fruits, herbs and spices, cloth and jewelry. “Do I join you today, Gammy?” She tried asking as nonchalantly as she could. “I can help carry the harvest so we can sell more.”

Her grandmother didn’t even look up from her soup. “No, Vivienne. You know we cannot leave the cottage empty. Besides, you are too young. When you are eighteen, I will think about it.”

“I am eighteen the week after next,” she reminded her. Vivienne had been counting the days since the turn of the season. Her grandmother had promised to take her to the market when she came of age. Vivienne could not wait to see what the stalls had to offer. Perhaps she could find something that would not let her eyes stand out so much. Perhaps she would meet others who had eyes like hers.

“I shall think about it the week after next then,” came the reply.

Vivienne looked at her grandmother, trying to see if there was a trace of humor — the slight lift at the corner of the mouth that usually meant the older woman was teasing her, but she could see none. Her grandmother continued to sip her soup in silence, each spoonful brought gracefully to her lips. Vivienne often wondered about her. Though she had never known any other home asides from their cottage, her grandmother never seemed to have completely fit in. She was too regal, with her measured movements and sophisticated words. Even the plain dresses the woman wore were not enough to dim the elegance that emanates from her. She wore her hair coiled around her head, like a crown of ebony streaked with silver. The two females couldn’t look more different from each other, save for the identical marks on their left wrists — a strange indigo impression that, according to her grandmother, all females in their family bear.

Vivienne took her bowl to the tiny kitchen after using the last of her bread to soak up the last of her soup. She was all too familiar with how her grandmother ended conversations. One part of her wanted insists her grandmother keep her promise; another part not wanting to begin an argument she knew would happen if she pushed more. Leaning against the counter, she looked out the window, taking in the wide green meadow past the farmland they used to grow their vegetables. She wondered when she would ever get to walk across it.

For a modest-sized piece of land, Niamh did well for her and her granddaughter. Farming may not have been the most glamorous of all livelihoods, but it had given them a comfortable, albeit a simple, life. It did not hurt that Niamh had the strange ability to produce blue onions regularly — one of the most coveted crops in the market. The amount she and Vivienne harvested was usually bought out minutes after her arrival, mostly by the palace servants.

They knew the days that she put up her stall, so she knew they would be waiting for her today — a basket of blue onions in exchange for enough gold to last her and Vivienne for another month. The other weeks she set up shop — those were done to keep up appearances. Much like needing Vivienne’s help in harvesting crops. In truth, she never needed her granddaughter’s assistance. All it would take was a flick of her wrist to gather all the crops and place them in their respective sacks. But Vivienne had never seen that side of her. Niamh had made sure that Vivienne never saw an ounce of magic while she was growing up.

And so she learned how to bake bread each morning, sending its fresh scent towards her granddaughter’s bed. She learned how to toil the fields and plant the seeds. She learned to let go of the life she used to live — the one that cost her only daughter, Vivienne’s mother. The only reminder of their heritage was the purple flame that marked every female in their family. She had told Vivienne as much. Niamh did not mention how the flames were only borne by those who belonged to the royal line of Lux. Vivienne, having been a naturally introverted child, accepted it without much question.

Niamh often thought about the day when the purple flame would mark the maturing of Vivienne’s powers. No one knew how it would manifest — every female’s gift is different. Hers was tied to the earth, while Ilia’s was to the night. Vivienne’s had been dormant until now. Her mother’s disappearance seemed to have extinguished it. Niamh hoped it was the case.

Vivienne had never known a life different from what she had grown up with. She had been brought up believing her mother died when she was five. That her grandmother was a simple farmer’s wife who had taken over the land when her husband passed. But in two weeks, she would turn eighteen. If there were an ounce of magic running in her veins, it would show itself then.

Had things been different, Vivienne would have been prepared for the majority of her life to receive her gift. But it was not how things were meant to unfold. Vivienne was the last of her line, and she needed to survive, even if it meant erasing their history and writing a new one.