Ten days after Corvis and Tessia Eralith's tenth birthday
Corvis Eralith
Asyphin, Elder Camus's city, was in jubilation for the race that happened at the end of every summer: the Chefure of Asyphin, meaning Fury Horse in ancient elven.
The name itself carried the weight of centuries, a tradition that had endured through wars and peace, through the rise and fall of kings.
The streets were packed with elves from every corner of the kingdom, their faces bright with excitement, their voices rising in a chorus of anticipation.
Banners of every color hung from the Watchful Spruces that towered over the city, their branches swaying gently in the summer breeze. It was the most prestigious horse race in all of Elenoir, where only the best Elenoi Highcolts—and even Darvish and Sapinese Highcolts—were allowed to compete.
The air was thick with the scent of spruce and the distant salt of the sea, a reminder of Asyphin's coastal nature.
"Come on, Hoofy! We will show them all just how great you are!" Tessia exclaimed as we strolled the streets of the city, directed toward the main plaza of Asyphin where the race would begin.
Her voice was bright, full of the unshakeable confidence that had always defined her. Hoofy pranced beside her, his head held high.
"Contain your excitement, Princess," Lance Aya Grephin, obviously acting as Tessia's equitation instructor, said. Her voice was calm, measured, the voice of someone who had seen too much to be swept up in the frenzy of the moment. "Your steed needs you to be calm if you want him to give his best."
"Fine..." Tessia conceded, though I could see the impatience dancing in her eyes. She was like a coiled spring, ready to unleash her energy at the slightest provocation.
Aya too came with her own steed: an Elenoi Highcolt that had the peculiarity of having its skin as black as the night, just like the Lance's hair. It was a striking creature, its coat so dark it seemed to absorb the light around it, its eyes gleaming with a quiet intelligence.
"Aya," I called, turning back to look at the Grephin woman. "You haven't told us what your Highcolt's name is."
"Name?" Aya asked, her voice sounding oddly innocent and honestly confused.
"Aya hasn't given a name to her steed," Tessia said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Unbelievable."
"What? Really?" I asked in confirmation.
"He is an Elenoi Highcolt," Aya said, as if that explained everything. "I don't think he needs a name."
I looked at her horse, this Elenoi Highcolt must have been the fruit of careful breeding; in all my life I had never seen this race of Dicathian horses being completely black. He was a living shadow, a creature of darkness and grace, and he deserved a name as unique as his existence.
"Frisian," I said, the name coming spontaneously from my mouth.
"Frisian? How can you even invent such names?" Tessia teased, her voice light. "We are lucky Berna has a good name, who knows what kind of awful moniker you could have otherwise invented."
"Frisian?" Aya echoed, the word rolling off her tongue like a discovery. "That's a good name."
"You really like it, Aya?" Tessia asked, turning her attention to the Lance. "Or are you just agreeing with Corvis?"
"No," Aya replied, her tone absolute. "I truly appreciate the name suggestion."
We arrived in Asyphin's main plaza: Spruce Glade, the name deriving from the many Watchful Spruces that circled the clearing where the plaza was located. The trees were ancient, their trunks thick as houses, their branches reaching toward the sky like grasping fingers.
The plaza itself was a sea of color and noise, with dozens of jockeys already preparing themselves and their steeds for the Chefure.
Hundreds of other elves were positioned around the racing path, their faces turned toward the starting line, their voices a constant hum of excitement.
"I better hurry," Tessia said, her voice suddenly serious. "Let's go, Hoofy! Aya!"
My sister and her Lance instructor went to the starting positions, their figures disappearing into the crowd. I decided to walk around Spruce Glade, taking in the scene. The plaza had been transformed for the race.
The flags of Asyphin's nine Boughs were raised high, each one representing one of the teams competing in the Chefure. The colors were vivid—reds and golds, blues and greens—each one a declaration of loyalty and pride.
I walked between my people, directed toward Asyphin's city hall, a small palace nestled between the Watchful Spruces, where the start of the race would be announced. It was tradition that a youngster of the nobility was the one to start the race, and this year the Prince himself was present, while the Princess raced as independent—something very, very rare.
The weight of that responsibility settled on my
As I walked, those who recognized me bowed while others shouted at me.
"Your Highness, which Bough will you root for?!"
"The Noirell counts on you, Prince Corvis!"
I walked through the crowd, offering polite greetings, my smile fixed in place, until I reached the stage where the announcement would be held.
Many important figures of the city, like Elder Camus Selaridon himself, were present for this important event. The old blind elf stood among them, his sightless eyes turned toward the crowd, his presence a quiet anchor in the sea of excitement.
"Prince Corvis," the city mayor walked to me, bowing in respect to the Crown. "What honour to have a member of the royal family to start this summer's Chefure."
"The pleasure is all mine," I replied, looking up at the mayor. I walked onto a small pedestal brought for me so that everyone could see me declare the start of the race. The crowd hushed, their eyes fixed on me, and I felt the weight of their attention like a physical force.
I saw the jockeys—three for each team—dive into deep concentration, their faces masks of focus. I knew that between them there were also Cavaliers from Sister House Vernisser, their skills honed by years of training and battle.
Actually... I narrowed my eyes as I saw my sister speaking with an elf that looked like he was in his mid-twenties—Merlon Vernisser.
He was one of the most talented Cavaliers of all Elenoir, and I had seen him a few times in the Royal Palace during my life. But what I knew about him mainly came from Alwyn and his passion for everything regarding Elenoir's defence forces.
Merlon Vernisser was actually a war veteran, having fought in the Second War, clashing against the forces of the Fiery House Bladeheart. His presence here was a reminder of the history that shaped our present.
I cleared my throat as I channeled mana into my vocal cords, ready to weave sound magic to make me heard perfectly at the same time by every jockey. The power surged through me, warm and familiar, and I felt a sense of calm settle over my nerves.
"May the Chefure begin at three!" I exclaimed, my voice reverberating across the plaza.
I saw the look of stupor on so many faces by seeing me use magic so well, so young. Everyone in Elenoir knew I and Tessia—my sister in particular—were prodigies, but outside of Zestier, it was mostly a legend.
To see it in first person was to have a legend proven before your eyes.
"One!"
The Elenoi Highcolts proudly raised their heads, ready to sprint at the signal of their riders. Hoofy was a bit distracted, but I saw Tessia taking his head and positioning him to the front. Her confidence was infectious, and I felt a surge of pride as I watched her.
"Two!"
The sturdy Darvish Highcolts that were present, used to relying on a strategy of stamina rather than the sheer speed of their Elenoi cousins, puffed.
The Sapinese Highcolts, horses that looked the most like the common horse one could find on Earth, were ready too.
"Three!"
At my words, the Chefure started with the Highcolts beginning their gallop, their powerful legs hitting the cobblestones of Spruce Glade with restless energy.
The noise of people cheering for their Bough and of hooves beating the ground became the backbeat of Asyphin.
I smiled, watching Tessia and Hoofy trying their best to keep up with these seasoned jockeys. The race was a blur of motion and color, a dance of speed and strategy that held the crowd spellbound.