ultima

She was afraid at first, a frown daring to touch the edge of her mouth before she shooed it far away. Come closer? Into this photograph? The girl nearly laughed, although it would’ve been more for nerves than mockery; her plan had been to linger for just a moment, set her flowers down with a smile, and then vanish back into the trees. Down to the shoreline, she’d thought, to stare at the waves. Out to the rotunda, to lie in the thick moss and wait for it to swallow her up. She insisted to herself that she was intruding in some way, although the look in Tilney’s eyes said otherwise. It was a moment to drown in, she thought, taking that hesitant step forward. 

That was when Maude opened her mouth.

“Awlf?”

Ultima stopped dead, her expression frozen aside from her eyes, which flushed to Tilney’s and back so quickly it made the world wobble. And then it softened. And she laughed. “The flowers,” she breathed, moving forward with more purpose, her neck outstretched. Snipping a daisy from the bundle (she’d been careful not to pick anything toxic, mindful as she was during her lessons) she very gently – and slowly, not wanting to startle the babe – tucked the long stem between a knobbly antler and one of Maude’s small red ears. “There – an Alph for an Alph, hm?” 

It was strange how quickly the fondness grew, like a bridge built overnight, one person to another; she looked at the filly, so little and bright-eyed, and thought, ‘I should like to give you the world.’

“Maudie, my love,” The ‘my love’ tacked itself on without asking, but it was so natural that she couldn’t even dredge up a mote of surprise. Had Minerva felt that way? Had any of her ladies felt that way? For a moment the frown resurfaced, a nip of fear and another twinge of jealousy. But there was the fawn with the flower in her hair, tail wagging, and Ultima told herself again, less firmly this time, that Brides don’t cry.

They are generous. “I’ve one more gift for you.” And wonderful. “Just for you.” And a treasure among all the troves of the earth, and it takes one to know one, doesn’t it?

It was a time both near and far ago, the day she was to be married. She remembered waking at the crack of dawn without needing to be roused, her ladies already sorting through the gilt boxes, laying the combs out in order, cooing as her eyes adjusted to the light. They’d smoothed her hair, pulled it back from her face, dusted her with rose water. They’d set the shining bridle in place, the clasps locking shut with a magnetic clack. And then came the veil like a cloak made entirely of lace, secured around her neck and shoulders with a string of pearls. 

Most of them had been lost when she’d been taken, rattling across the mountain and again across the glass of the Flats, but a blessed few had tangled in her hair; she drew that precious thread out now, hardly long enough to be a bracelet, and set it softly on Maude’s crown. Ultima spoke without looking away, her voice subdued in a sense, and thick with unshed tears. But she was happy; so happy that, if not for the sunlight beaming through the canopy, one would have seen the glow starting at the top of her head, flaring glittering and golden across her skin. It’d been such a long time since she’d shone. 

“What do you think?”

dear god, make me a bird so i can fly far away from here