Kisselka

Victory written by Tar

You never lose. Either you win the fight, or you win your death.

Selk remembered these words, as she was certain every other heir did. They were the first words Master Leftus had spoken to the ten of them, on that fateful day ten years ago, when they were chosen to be heirs. The exact details of the day itself, she could barely remember. She had been shy, a small five-year-old girl clinging to her mother’s skirts. Her mother had had to extricate herself from Selk’s desperate grip, and push Selk towards the testing zone where hundreds of other boys and girls had been milling around, excited. There had been multiple tests, tests of every single thing under the sun - intelligence, agility, speed, combat, archery, riding. What she’d had to do and how the tests had gone, Selk had no recollection. She could only remember two things with astounding clarity - Master Leftus’ words, and the look of pride on her mother’s face. Her mother’s face, which she’d never seen again.

She wondered if, somewhere, sometimes, her mother would just be going about her day running errands or looking after her sisters, when she would catch sight of the pale blue flowers that Selk so loved, or Selk’s old rag doll. And then, she would cast her thoughts towards the daughter she’d given to the castle, and that same look of pride would slowly steal its way onto her face. It was a great honour, to have your child chosen as an heir. A great source of pride, that your child could one day be on the throne of Valya.

Selk thought about the throne often. It was hard not to, with Master Leftus throwing her meaningful glances whenever she successfully disarmed her opponent during swordplay lessons, or announcing in class that she had once again topped their foreign relations test, or remarking in archery practice that he had never seen another heir hit the bulls-eye with such high accuracy. It was even harder not to nowadays, when they were just one year away from Coronation.

Coronation was the biggest event in the Valyan calendar. Valya needed a ruler who was strong, who could lead her to victory, for Valya was constantly at war with the other nations who wanted her lush lands, her goldmines, her iron ores. The other nations were big, and powerful, and relentless. Valya could never lose; she would either win, or she would die.

Selk knew all of this. She knew that that was why Valya’s crown had to be the best warrior, the best strategist, and the best leader. King Alican was a good ruler and a master swordsman, but he would be turning 35 in the following year. And the best warrior was one still in his prime, the best leader one who knew when to abdicate. It would fall to them then, to take the throne - the heirs, that is. Or rather, just one of them.

Master Leftus expected her to be the one. And, if she was honest with herself, she expected that too. Her sword hilt fit comfortably in her hand, the blade a natural - and deadly - extension of her arm. She could tell when her opponent was feinting and when the attack was true, she could easily detect an opponent’s weakness and just as easily exploit it. She knew that none of the country’s finest warriors, and certainly none of the other heirs, was a match for her. And she knew deep down that, on Coronation day, when the ten of them fought to the death for the crown, she would not lose.

But if she was even more honest with herself, she would admit, too, that maybe she didn’t want to win. She could picture the Coronation clearly in her head - the other heirs falling to her blade in quick succession, the heavy crown of gold and rubies pressed tightly onto her head as she knelt among nine crumpled bodies. But she didn’t want to win the fight on a blood-soaked field. Neither did she want to win her death on a blood-soaked field. And, most of all, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her days living and fighting on a blood-soaked field.

Somehow, she wanted more than that. She wanted more than the pride and honour of being an heir or of being the queen. She wanted more than the fairytale life of living in a castle. She wanted more than the cruelty of war and the brutality of victory. And she wanted so much more than the burden of leadership, the demands of brilliance, the weighty expectations of being the best and the numbing fear of being any less.

She wanted the pale blue flowers that used to grow outside her family’s little cottage. She wanted to see her mother’s face again and hear her sisters’ laughter again. She wanted to walk by the lake, feeling the downy grass beneath her bare feet and breathing in the cool autumn air, overwhelmed merely by the thought of being alive, and of being free.

What she wanted to win, more than anything else in the world, was her life.

Other Stories

Coming soon!