ultima

Ultima wasn’t a liar. The girl was straightforward and preferred to be on the simple side (she learned early on that fools got away with a scolding while clever things had to write reflections and repent), and so it was rather to her disadvantage when she saw Tilney flash by and knew irrefutably what had set fire to his heels. It was the same thing that twisted the vice around her heart, nice and tight, and it would not be denied.

Arah’s baby, she thought. The wildflower stems were sharp and sweet as she snapped them, tucking the long blooms under a wing as she picked her way through the shadiest part of the woods. That it was Tilney’s baby, too, wasn’t beyond her; she’d seen them a hundred times if she saw them once, strolling along the cliffs, decorating their little home and furnishing the nursery. Arah was beautiful as summer clouds and Ultima didn’t grudge her that. Arah had Tilney’s love and Ultima didn’t grudge her that, either; it was not the kind of love Ultima wanted from him, and so she was nothing but encouraging.

But Arah’s baby. Arah’s baby. The word made something in her ache like roaring. 

(If it was the tiny kernel of sadness that had sprouted in the desert, she didn’t admit it. She didn’t see it shove its first tender leaves through the dark earth, was too high up to see them unfurling like butterfly’s wings. Brides, after all, were the happiest girls in the world.)

No one ever spoke of it, but Ultima knew because she was a child, and children have a sense for the truth of things: she had no parents. She had Minerva and a hundred clucking ladies-in-waiting, but those weren’t parents. Tilney, warm as sunlight and quick to chide, was the closest thing she’d ever had to a father, and the idea of having to share galled her in a frightened firstborn way. If she asked herself and swore on the Altar, though, it wasn’t so much that she was here first, or any rationale so poorly cobbled together— 

It was only that she thought she needed it more. So much more that she thought her heart would crumble upon sight.

So when she did come upon the little family, scooped up into each other like nesting dolls, the sun blooming all about their heads, fine enough to be the subject of an oil painting – and the girl! that beautiful little girl! – she was stunned. She was so stunned she nearly forgot what she’d come for. 

‘Oh, thank God (may He Dream forever),’ she thought, half-stumbling with relief, ‘I didn’t crush it.’

Quiet. So soft it hurt, her every footfall painstakingly measured. Gangly as she was, she didn’t have to come too close and risk such a photo-perfect moment. Reaching under her left wing, she mouthed at and carefully procured a bundle of late summer flowers – aster, mums, clusters of sage and verbena. She set the bouquet a little ways from Arah and the babe, and stepped slowly back, “Oh, pardon,” nearly walking into Glasgow. 

‘Brides don’t cry,’ she reminded herself, the muscles of her face slipping into a perfectly crafted smile. Catching Tilney’s dewy glance, the smile broadened.

“She’s gorgeous,” the girl echoed, and was at peace.

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

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

The scent of birth was one the Elephant would always know. No matter the slightly different nuances between mares or circumstances; some had blood, others had infection, most were normal—though they all had slightly different aromas. Still, the King would know the smell, for he so often found himself longing to be present for the birth of his own children.

Yet, he found he was more often present for the birth of others’ progeny. Though, truth be told, it was still a beautiful and wondrous thing. It just was not his wondrous thing. Regardless, his thick columns of legs still carried the great Elephant towards the smell of birth. But he is slower this time, with no scent of blood on the misted breezes. Slower from sadness that cannot help but usher on the heels of new life’s jubilant arrival.

So, when he broaches the scene, there already are others gathered. After the closeness of the generously antlered couple at the last meeting, the King is only marginally surprised to see the two embraced on the earth. Afterbirth drenched Arah’s haunches, marking her as the proud mother of the elegant bundle that stood before Ultima, the two-winged Rifitan that had joined the Edge on Tilney’s prodigal return.

A smile, warm and genuine, spread across his pale muzzle and black lips as he listened to the woman speak to the foal (’Maudie, my love’) and watched her gently place a strand of pearls amid the small peaks of antlers. His smile broadened as the luminescent orbs swamps her small head. “A beautiful gift, Ultima, befitting a beautiful foal. Congratulations, Arah, Tilney,” his low voice rumbled deeply, but quietly, in the intimate clearing. And, for a few moments, true happiness radiated from his dark navy eyes; the lines around the smoothing as he watched the new life totter on downy, tawny legs.

His eyes flicked towards Glasgow, giving a brief nod of greeting to his ever faithful Glazier, glad to find her surrounded my happiness and new life, now. In fact, he was just generally glad to see the scarred woman happy. He felt a swell of satisfaction at his choice to promote her to Glazier. Well done, Elephant. Take life’s victories, however they come.