✅ Kryndor's Bride part 1

In a kingdom where maidens are infertile, Ceryn keeps her fertility a guarded secret. But when her father is sentenced to death, a desperate Ceryn offers the impossible to save him: To bear the king's heir. She quickly finds herself in a Palace where she's both envied and desired by royals.

This story is complete with 95,000 words

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PART 1

CERYN, Planet Kryndor

I stand at the edge of the cliff, watching the Unsailable Ocean slam against the cliff with an unquenchable fury that has been brewing for millenniums. 

I inhale deeply and taste the salt on my lips and feel the cool mist on my face.

It’s custom for us to feed sacrificial animals to the ocean, and it’s not uncommon for people to be allured into jumping into the hungry waves.

There’s something about this ancient ocean that keeps me awake at night as I wonder what’s on the other side of it.

"Ceryn! Stop daydreaming! A storm approaches and we must be hasty!" shouts my father.

I peer down, watching him dangle from his ropes and hack away at the coral on the face of the cliff as waves reach for his legs to drag him under.

"All right!" I return.

I grab the rope attached to my waist belt and begin my descent; the wheeled compartment installed atop a stump on the cliff spins as I lower. I built it a few months ago, and it took Father a while to trust it.

My braids fly wildly around me, and my ribbed boots press against the slippery rock. I retrieve my hooked blade from my belt and hack away at the colorful coral blooming from the cliff wall. My bicep burns from the effort, and my grunts are muffled by the defeating booms of the waves below.

My father begins the climb back up. His satchel is heavy with coral.

After fifteen minutes, I hack three more corals before grabbing my ropes and ascending.

"What do you think?" asks my father as I meet him atop the cliff. "I sense a spinner coming. Do you?"

"I don't know. You've always been better than me at predicting these things."

I hand him my satchel. We didn't collect much today, but the corals will regrow in a few days, and we'll be back here, tempting the ocean.

Father and I make our way back home. Underground. Where the Lowdwellers lived for thousands of years to escape the savage storms of The Surface.

I glance at the dark clouds. Father might be right. He usually is. A spinner is forming in the clouds and leering down at us.

We approach the entrance to The Underhold. The giant metal gates are wide open to welcome everyone who seeks the safety of The Underhold. Dozens of other lowdwellers pour in, ready to retire for the day.

I touch my hair. It's dyed black to hide my red roots, which are quickly growing back. I need to stop by the market to buy more dye.

"Your birthday is approaching," says Father as we submerge underground. 

Our path is lit by the glowing crystals growing out of the mountain walls. Footsteps of thousands of others lowdwellers echo throughout this ancient, hidden city. A constant hum, a heartbeat. 

I whistle. "Twenty-three, huh? Soon, I'll be growing greys like you. I'll save a fortune on dye."

"You're growing too quickly, my girl. It was only nineteen years ago when I…"

He quiets immediately. Remembering that he's not supposed to talk about the day he found me in a ghost ship on the Unsailable Ocean as wild waves threatened to swallow me.

I was an omen. My red, curly hair, tanned skin, and hazel eyes warned of mysteries from another world. South to Zepharim, a land that hasn't had contact with this continent in ten thousand years. But Father saved me from that retched ship and took me in as his daughter.

And yet, I have no memories of my origins. All I know is The Underhold.

Father and I walk for an hour down endless tunnels in our underground city. We pass by wards where lowdwellers gamble, trade and mingle. The curtain to their shallow dens tucked aside, allowing any passerby to peek into their intimate home. We pass by mines buzzing with the clanking of tools and worker's chatter. Then, once we make it past Celestine's Veil–a religious ward where only pregnant women are allowed to enter, we reach our ward.

Father takes my satchel and heads for our den. At the market, I buy lantern oil, hair dye, and a basket of vegetables fresh from The Surface. 

Then, I go home and find father boiling water for dinner.

"Did anything interesting happen at the market?"

"I heard that Estus gave birth. I will see her tomorrow to pay my respects and gift her a coral."

"Yes, at sixty-eight. Quite young," he replies. "She just bloomed last summer. Good for her."

One thing that women in The Underhold and Surface have in common is that they become fertile only in their later years. That's why most children don't get to celebrate their tenth birthday with their mother.

It's different for me. Another one of my well-guarded secrets. No one but my father knows that I have gotten The Red every month ever since I was twelve years old.

Father and I cook soup in silence. Steam quickly heats our small den, wafting out through the hanging curtain that we use as a door. I look warily at the dirt crumpled in every corner that returns every morning, no matter how much I sweep. The cracks in the wall and the rotting of our wood furniture that's rotten from the humidity.

There have been so many earthquakes that it's only a matter of time before this ward collapses atop us in our sleep. I spend my few hours of free time sketching. Envisioning engineering projects. I was able to chop down wood and set up a frame inside the den–weak scaffolding as a safety measure. But it won't hold for long. The wood is rotting.

Father and I have been saving every coin to rent another den in a neighboring ward, but we spend most of what we earn on food and medication for his chronic pain.

I sigh. I wish my father could just rest. But we're hundreds of corals away from even the thought of rest.

"Is there work at the mines tomorrow?" I ask him.

He shakes his head. "No. They just just began digging out the blockage to the mine. Sorry, doll. We'll have to make do with the coral."

"Vrell," I curse. Fuck.

This isn't good.

We've been out of work for nearly two weeks now. The last earthquake shut out the mine, where Father and I collected Glintspire crystals. We need that job, or soon, we'll be so hungry that we'll have to eat the vrelling corals.

"Get your hair dyed first thing tomorrow. I'm going to sell the coral and speak with the mine overseer. I heard something about a job opening on The Surface."

"Where? In Glintspire?"

Glintspire is a kingdom built directly on top of The Underhold. It's the only kingdom whose streets I've wandered. The crystals are enormous up there. They grow the size of my body, lighting the streets and homes.

Glintspire is a trading capital used by the other two kingdoms, Arkon and Vak'thra.

"Yes," Father nods. "But don't get too excited, Ceryn. There's a lot of demand for jobs since the mine shut down. Our trip may be uneventful."

I grin. I'm sure that won't be the case. The Surface is always memorable.

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The first thing I do in the morning is dye my roots, carefully using the last bit of water in our barrel. I've used the last of the soap, too, and I'll have to find moss to make more.

We're always running out of things around here, and I always find myself feeling guilty. Being unable to provide for my father after all he has done for me is one of my biggest insecurities. It feels like no matter how hard I work, I will never overcome being an orphaned girl that was destined for tragedy. I might have survived the Unsailable Ocean when I was a toddler, but the waves seem forever attached to me, dragging me down. And I won't ever be strong enough to escape their pull.

I've long sold my valuables. There's nothing in our home except for a bunk bed, a ratty rug by the entrance, a water barrel in the corner, and a sack of linens and clothes, thin and stringy from use.

And then, of course, there's a book hidden in the wood of the bed bunk. The only item that survived when Father rescued me from the ship, carefully wrapped in leather for protection. A book that a seer warned me to burn because the language isn't known in this world, so it must be from another.

I glance at the section of the bed bunk where the book is stored, then focus on dressing in my work clothes. Baggy, loose pants, boots a size too large for me, accessorized by thick socks, and one of Dad's old tunics.

"Ready?" he asks, stepping past the entrance curtain. "Let's go before they give our spot to anyone else."

We step outside but don't get far before the stench of alcohol hits us.

"Hello, uncle," I say as I turn around to face him.

"Ceryn! Where are you two headed?" Uncle Kre'to asks before taking a swing of his bottle. It's never full but never empty. There are always two inches at the bottom of the bottle that never seem to dry.

"We’ve got work awaiting in Glintspire. We're tardy."

"Just hear me out," Uncle says, his words slurred and his eyes hazy. "Ceryn, I found you another match. He is Xorres, a potter."

I squint. "Didn't three of his wives suspiciously die?"

He grunts. "Come to your senses, girl! You didn't like the polygamist because he had too many wives, but you don't like Xorress because he has too many dead ones?" He grunts. "There's no pleasing you."

"My apologies, Uncle."

"What of the bachelor I recommended last week?"

I chuckle. "That bachelor is eighty-seven. You might as well engage me with one of the polygamist's dead wives."

He grumbles and stumbles away with an amusing grace to his steps. 

"Fair winds and calm skies to you, uncle!" I shout as a goodbye.

I don't know why, but I find my stubborn, drunk uncle quite endearing. He's talented. I've never seen the man hold down a job and yet he always has money for alcohol, gambling, and girls.

I turn to my father. "Why do you keep trying to marry me off?"

He swipes his calloused hands down his wrinkled, thin tunic. "Because he's right, Ceryn. You need a husband. I am aging and won't be around forever."

I shake my head. "I'll marry the day uncle divorces his alcohol."

I follow my father across the ward and down the main tunnels. We walk for half an hour and then ride in trolleys for another thirty minutes to rise in Glintspire. The outskirts of the city are finishing reconstruction from the latest hurricane. The humble homes in this part of Glintspire are made of wood, not stone. The buildings have tall, pointed roofs and are interconnected by archways and bridges that cross over a canal that runs down the kingdom's heart. It's picturesque with its glowing moss and crystals that poke out of the ground and its balconies and hanging walkways.

I study a beautiful noblewoman as she walks with her daughter and servants. She wears shards of coral around her neck. Todwellers are tall, tanned, muscular people. They evolved to live on the storm-wrecked surface. To rebuild and protect.

Meanwhile, the lowdwellers became lanky and pale from cowering. But that doesn't make my people weak as most topdwellers think. We found our own ways to survive.

Father and I load crystals from a broken carriage into another. He grunts as he picks up the other end of a heavy five-foot square crystal. My fingers, still tainted grey from the hair dye, slip across the glass surface.

"Do you need help with that?" asks one of the mine workers, Thal'koran. A lowdweller that has kept his eye on me for years.

"She doesn't," replies my father.

I notice him trying not to wince from the pain in his knees. Knees that were hurt when he defended me from a man who tried to force himself on me in the mines. A man who tried to take my dignity, one of the few luxuries I have left. 

It guts me to see Father so exhausted and broken, and I often wonder how much better life would have been if he hadn't ever met me. He would have more food on the table for himself, and he would have fewer broken bones.

He used to be good at masking the pain, but he's getting older now. We don't speak of it. I never remind him that I can take care of myself. I let him bask in the illusion that he could protect me from any storm and any male, although we both know it isn't true anymore.

It takes us half an hour to remove a couple dozen crystals from broken carriages.

"Alright! All aboard!" shouts the mine overseer.

"I beg your pardon? Where are we going?" asks Father.

The mine overseer scowls. "Who do you think will help me unload these crystals, old man? The topdwellers sure as vrell won't." 

"Where are these crystals needed?"

"In Arkon."

Both father and I reel back. Arkon is the kingdom of all kingdoms, nestled behind a metal wall that I can't picture even in my dreams. I've never traveled that far. Only the highest of Houses and eldest lineages are found there. There are no lowdwellers like me.

"Arkon?" Father repeats. "But that is three day's away."

I can sense his panic because we have never strayed so far from home.

"Two days," the mine overseer corrects. "One meal will be provided. Are you coming, or will you wait for the mine to open again?"

I tug at Father's hand. "Stay," I whisper to him. "I will get it done and return in no time."

Going home isn't an option. We're running low on food, and our roof is deteriorating. The weak scaffolding I set in place won't hold for long.  Not to mention that our taxes are due, and the collectors will soon come knocking. Every coin we earn means another day alive.

Father's spine straightens, and he looks at me as if I've insulted him. "And let you journey alone? Nonsense. Get on the cart, and keep your head low. And for the love of Zintha, my daughter, please stay beside me every moment."

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We rode for precisely two days. My hands were clenched the entire time as I waited for a terrible storm to run us off the road. But there were no spinners or rain. Only a dust storm that made us take cover under a leather tent for a few hours.

Father told me to keep my head down. To avoid the glances of the other eight men riding on this cart. But it was nearly impossible because the sparkling lights of the dead Kingdom of Konir were on the horizon. A ruined city beside a desert that was washed over by a tsunami of sand before thunder struck for 5,000 days and turned the sand into a plane made of glass.

The glass' colors sparkle beautifuly, although the ruined kingdom is weeks' ride away. I only read about this in weathered old books. But it's not a legend. It's true. And as tragic as it is, I can't help but be captivated.

During the journey, the men mutter about the turmoil amongst the great Houses. King Varkon is unmarried and refuses the kingdom an heir, although he is thirty summers. It's unheard of.

The other Houses are starting to get cocky, their tongues looser. One day, they will suggest planting their House at the top and declaring their own as king. Then, all hell will break loose.

I wonder what's holding King Varkon back. The man's lineage has ruled this world for thousands of years. Why jeopardize that? What is he waiting for?

I remind myself not to waste many thoughts on untouchable topdwellers I will never meet. I have to worry about my Father and I.

The wonders of The Surface continue when the carriage approaches Arkon, the wheels rolling over colorful cobblestones. The metal walls of the Kingdom of Arkon are endless. I tip my neck back and fail to see the top of the ancient walls that stretch a hundred feet into the air. Crowning this kingdom as impenetrable.

I try to imagine how much blood, sweat, and tears it took to build the wall, but there's no one alive to speak of it. The wall is as ancient as the cobblestones paving our way.

We drive past the gates, past homes made of wood, metal slabs, and stone – dynamic and easy to repair after harsh storms. The closer we ride into the kingdom, the wealth of the noble Houses becomes more apparent.

There are a few fortified manors and keeps perched atop distant hills. They're smaller than the palace but impressive nonetheless. It would take a grandfather of a storm to take those structures down. They're married to the soil of this kingdom. A bond so old and loyal that only a river of blood can divorce them.

The cart reaches the top of a hill, and I spot the palace in the distance. It's majestic with its towers, spires, and battlements. Ivy and greenery cling to parts of the stone walls, and waterfalls cascade from the palace's foundation, falling into an abyss below. The palace is fortified, with bridges and arches connecting it to the rest of the kingdom.

It is home to great nobles and the man with the oldest bloodline to survive every storm and war that has raged in all the kingdoms: King Varkon.

In the background, misty cliffs and lush forests stretch out and feed into the horizon. Sunlight filters through the mist, giving the palace an untouchable, mythical position above the landscape. 

And we're driving right towards it. To the place that seems like the end, yet the beginning of the world.

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WORLD BREAKDOWN

Thalorrin: Continent

Kryndor: The Crown Kingdom made up of the following:

Kingdom of Arkon: The capital

Kingdom of Vak’thra

Kingdom of Glintspire

Kingdom of Konir (Extinct Kingdom)

The Wildlands: Open, untamed land

Zepharim: Unmapped, distant continent across the Unsailable Ocean

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