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“And you think this carving is connected to this?”
“I’m sure of it,” I replied. “The leaves, the way they’re arranged. It’s a mangrove tree, and that means it could only be part of a ritual.”
Prince Maedras was silent for a moment, considering my words. “If you’re right, then this carving is more than just a tribute to the king. It’s a way to preserve the spirit of the king.”
He would know more about this than I did. It might have been a hearth caster ritual, but it was an Elvish hearth caster ritual.
I looked back at the carving, my hand tracing the lines of the leaves. I read that the mangrove trees were sacred trees to the elves. It was a symbol of life and death. Those who were buried under its branches would find peace in the afterlife.
“Do you think the artist knew what he was doing?” Prince Maedras asked, breaking into my thoughts.
I smiled at the naivety of this question. They did this on purpose. Symbolism and rites were everything. “This carving is more than just a tribute to your grandfather. I think it’s a way to ensure that his spirit will be at peace.”
Placing my hand on the carving, I forced my magic into the carving and flowers bloomed from the tree. Gold flowers with black centers that were in full bloom. They covered the entire tree and flowed down to the ground. The fragrance was intoxicating, as if you could get drunk off of it.
I smiled as the petals fell like rain around us. A haunting voice sang an old Elvish song. It was a song of mourning, but it also held a note of hope. The song wasn’t in Caelish, but the intention was clear. Hearth caster funeral rites essentially boiled down to the same symbolisms. Hope and peace for the deceased.
As the last petal fell, I turned to Prince Maedras. “Your grandfather’s spirit watches you from the great beyond. He is at peace, and he will always be with you.”
Prince Maedras stoically nodded his head, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”
We left the tomb and entered the busy streets of the old district. I placed a silk headscarf over my hair, not wanting to draw attention to my round ears. The people already noticed Prince Maedras but didn’t approach us.
Merchant stalls lined the cobbled streets, selling everything from fresh produce to weapons. The smell of baking bread and frying meats made my stomach growl. Maedras led the way, his shoulders tense. Prince Maedras led me to a small cafe, and a Dryad escorted us to a private room in the back.
The room was decorated with colorful plants and flowers. In the middle of the room, they set a table for two. Gold and white tablecloth with a beautiful floral design. Fine china and sparkling wine glasses.
I glanced at Prince Maedras as we sat down. Did he plan this? How long had he been planning it? His gold eyes met mine, and he smiled.
A servant brought us tea and pastries, and Prince Maedras poured me a cup of tea. The steam rose from the cup, and a flowery scent drifted up to my nose.
He placed his hands on the table and looked at me. His expression was unreadable again. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
I wondered why he invited me. Surely it wasn’t only to see his grandfather’s tomb and to apologize for his behavior.
I nodded my head. “Thank you for inviting me to pay my respect to the former king. May he rest in peace forever.”
The words of the Queen Mother echoed in my mind. I needed to let him take the first step.
He lowered his head in respect. “My grandmother never showed me this side of my family,” Prince Maedras said, as if reading my thoughts. “She always said that it was best to forget about them.”
If only she hadn’t. Hearth casters were always needed, and now that the king was gone, there was an even greater need for them. Our customs and traditions weren’t as respected anymore.
I raised my chin. “Why did you invite me to your grandfather’s tomb?”
It was an odd way to apologize to someone. I expected growling and outlandish gestures, not solemnity.
Prince Maedras’ gold eyes met mine, awareness in his eyes. “I wanted you to see it because I wanted you to understand who I am,” he replied. “And where I come from.”
A broken family, a grandfather he lost when he was young. This was the truth of House Finardsil. A House that still tried to assemble the golden shards of their past. A broken House, but a ruined one.
“Thank you for showing me,” I whispered.
Prince Maedras nodded, his eyes still on mine. In the soft light of the room, they looked almost amber. “House Finardsil honors the past. Our traditions are sacred to us.”
I glanced away. “We hearth casters believe that life and death are two sides of the same coin. And that’s what the mangrove tree symbolizes. It’s a reminder that even though someone is gone, they’re still with us.”
The spirit of Manzimor was crushed, but it could still be rejuvenated.
