Posts Tagged ‘fantasy’

The Emperor’s New Clothes

Posted in Fairy Tales, Fiction on February 19th, 2014 by Annabelle – 5 Comments

The fire popped, showering sparks unheeded against the stone.  Cloth of gold burned surprisingly quickly, it turned out.  Burned – melted?  Mira stared at the remains at the edge of the hearth.  A little of both?  There did seem to be some gold left.

“This is not happening.”

That did not, strictly speaking, seem to be true.  She tried to come up with something to say.  “Why did you leave it so close to the fire?”

Var’s head whipped up, stung.  They’d had other things on their minds when he’d taken them off.  “You said you were cold!”

“I meant for you to keep me warm, idiot!”

“It wasn’t in the fire until you kicked it.”

“I can’t help being ticklish.”  He probably hadn’t meant to tickle her, but…  So they were a little awkward still.  They were figuring it out.

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Blowing Smoke

Posted in Fiction on November 11th, 2013 by Annabelle – 11 Comments

“The tea tray for Herself.”  The tray slid onto the table.  Marthe picked it up and sailed down the hallway to the Headmaster’s office.

“Lise.”  The Dean was struggling not to laugh.  “Thank you, Marthe.”  The Head, in full dragon mode, gave her an irritated flap of the hand.

“You want to take the students out to try their skills at an actual stone circle?”  The Head picked up a cup.  “Have you seen what Celia produced with a simple conjuration just yesterday?”

Marthe shook her head and set out a plate of cakes.  That had been ugly.

The Head, catching the movement, gestured with her cup.  “See?  A disaster in the making.”  She narrowed her eyes at the Dean in an expression meant to be terrifying.

Marthe hid a smile.  The Head might bluster, but the staff knew what sort of woman she was.  She never failed to remember their service.  Not with money or words.  It was the Dean whose easy smile accompanied their Christmas envelopes, while the Head glowered conspicuously at the students’ holly boughs and stopped just short of saying “Bah, humbug.”  But the servants’ quarters were always warm, even when ten-foot snowdrifts buried the castle doors.  A nice piece of magic, that.  And food in the servants’ kitchen stayed fresh far longer than it should have, so that no matter how late a worker dragged in, there was always a hot meal waiting.  There was never anything she’d have to stop and be thanked for, but the staff knew.

Marthe cleared away a collection of old cups onto the tray.  Was it the same in the privacy of their bedroom?  Did the Head ever say those words to him?  Or did he just know it all the same?

“I can reverse anything they do wrong, you know that.”  His voice was full of patient affection.

“Fine, then.”  Marthe heard the softened voice behind her as she closed the door.  “If you like.”

 

This week I’m combining prompts; Trifecta Writing Challenge asked for 33 to 333 words on the third definition of the word REMEMBER (verb):

And this week’s Write at the Merge gave us two pictures and quotes; the one that caught my imagination was “This tornado loves you.”  This is a follow-on to The School if you’re interested.  Thanks for reading!

Allure

Posted in Fiction, Tacar on March 21st, 2013 by Annabelle – 3 Comments

Camilia gave a gurgling laugh at the sally and laid a hand on the Lord Magistrate’s shoulder.  She saw him appreciatively following the line of her neck and long bare arm and smiled.  He had known her father too well to be genuinely swayed by her femininity, but she found that very few men actually minded being charmed by the Empress.  She crinkled her eyes at him in parting, and turned away to find the Minister of Foreign Affairs.

He was standing on the balcony, the last echoes of sunset on his face.  He was, as ever, slim, tall, and elegantly dressed, the note-perfect performance of a man who had been at court since long before she’d been born.  He had been appointed to his position by her grandfather and had not been young then, but of course that was nothing for the Tevalle.

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Rebirth

Posted in Calere, Fiction on March 19th, 2013 by Annabelle – 10 Comments

He sat on a stump in the village square, leaning on his knees and turning his face up to the sun.  It was finally warm, and he felt a smile blooming.  The interminable northern winter felt like a crushing blow every year, but he could never remember being more grateful for spring.

A delighted shriek pierced the air.  A dark-haired toddler was staggering after a fluttering scrap of yellow just out of her reach, waving her chubby arms and babbling as she went.  She had managed to take off her shoes, he noticed ruefully, and her feet and legs were coated with mud.  He levered himself up and went to the rescue.

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The School

Posted in Fiction on March 13th, 2013 by Annabelle – 7 Comments

They sailed down the main corridor talking about the class schedule.  As always, James let Lise set the pace, trailing just slightly behind despite the difference in height.  Lise stopped dead as a teenager wearing glittery lip gloss reeled past, juggling a bubble full of barely-contained flame between her hands.

“Hey!” Lise bellowed.  “Get that out of the hallway.”  She stabbed a finger at the door of a workroom.  The student giggled, God help her, and stumbled through the door, the flame surging dangerously as she went.  Lise pulled the door shut behind her emphatically.

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Trifecta: At Last

Posted in Fiction, Tacar on March 12th, 2013 by Annabelle – 19 Comments

“After all, Vahl is almost five, and planning a naming ceremony takes time.” Dahla gestured elegantly with a piece of candied fruit before popping it into her mouth.

Cahlila, expression unchanged, took a sip of wine.  A sitting room full of her husband’s other wives might be hell, but it was a form of hell she was accustomed to.  She was mildly surprised by Dahla’s latest move, although she shouldn’t have been.  A naming ceremony, to designate Dahla’s son as the Emperor’s heir.  Of course she was pushing for one, indecently early.  Dahla was that sure she’d won.  He should have married Dahla first.

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The Forest

Posted in Fiction on March 6th, 2013 by Annabelle – 16 Comments

She was waiting when he wandered in, stupidly lost.  The trees here all seemed taller than they should have been; he was hot, tired, and he couldn’t imagine how it could be taking him so long to find his way out.  And then, in the clearing, an incongruous sight: a dark-haired woman sitting on a great rock with her knees drawn up, the green light of the leaves on her face.  He drew up, startled.  It was his kingdom, it was all his, but she looked at him with a detached curiosity, like a piece of interesting mold on a rock she had just turned over.

“So you finally came.”  Her voice, light and clear, took him off guard after the hour of wandering and shouting for his men.  He opened his mouth, but then she gave a smile that struck him dumb.  “Do you know where you are?”  He scowled.  Lost.  He was idiotically lost on his own lands, a ridiculous indignity for a man like him.

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Trifecta: Skipping Lessons

Posted in Fiction, Tacar on March 4th, 2013 by Annabelle – 27 Comments

It was an understood fact that no matter how many lessons and social commitments Raicha had to juggle, she was mysteriously available for anything Camilia invited her to do.  They had no illusions; it had nothing to do with Raicha’s personal preferences and everything to do with encouraging the Emperor’s heir to remember that she was an Ameru on her mother’s side.

It worked for everyone, especially the girls, but they tried not to be too obvious about their exploitation of it.  There were only so many painful teas with Aunt Chenna that could be coincidentally preempted by shopping emergencies before Looks started being passed around and someone got sat down and stared at by Raicha’s grandfather or Lady Cahlila.  Nobody wanted that.

“What are you missing this time?”  Camilia was curled on a silk sofa with her feet under her.

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The Woods and the Wolf

Posted in Fairy Tales, Fiction on February 25th, 2013 by Annabelle – 13 Comments

Her feet carried her slowly, unwillingly, down the forest path.  A hush had fallen, and the gentle clatter of branches and the quiet squeak of the fresh snow under her boots were the only sounds she could hear.  The wolf was pacing her out at the edges of sight, no more than a grey whisper among the grey trees.  It wouldn’t come any closer, not yet, but she could feel it waiting.

She pulled the crimson cloak closer around her against a cold she barely felt.  It had been a gift from her grandmother, a token of an affection that now made her skin crawl.  Under the sun, the cloak flamed, impossible to miss.  Here, under the trees at the last tail of dusk, it faded to the color of old blood, melting into the dark as if it belonged there.  The obscurity was strangely comforting.

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The Twelve Dancers

Posted in Fairy Tales, Fiction on February 18th, 2013 by Annabelle – 35 Comments

Worn-out shoes.  That’s what it came down to.  He was risking his life for worn-out shoes.  He shifted back on his heels in the mud, and raised his fingers to the place where a thorn had torn a sticky gash in his neck.  He’d had far worse, but it was all of a piece with this whole night.

The thing had stank from the beginning.  Find the secret in three nights or be put to death?  What sort of offer was that?  But the king was a father and fathers got desperate.  He hadn’t been far from desperate himself — out of a job, out of money, about to exhaust his options.  No one seemed to want his nicked and battered sword or equally battered self.

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