Under a violet moon, p.1
Under a Violet Moon, page 1
Under A Violet Moon
Wild and Free
Tara N Gabrys
Under A Violet Moon
Copyright © 2024 by Tara N Gabrys
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law or in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. For permission requests, contact tarangabrysbooks@gmail.com.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious or are used fictitiously. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by Hampton Lamoureux
Illustrations by Hampton Lamoureux
Edited by Becky Wallace
First edition 2024
ISBN 979-8-218-30203-0 (eBook)
ISBN 979-8-218-30204-7 (paperback)
LCCN 2023922872
To Elliott and Aria
You give me courage
Contents
1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six
7. Seven
8. Eight
9. Nine
10. Ten
11. Eleven
12. Twelve
13. Thirteen
14. Fourteen
15. Fifteen
16. Sixteen
17. Seventeen
18. Eighteen
19. Nineteen
20. Twenty
21. Twenty-One
22. Twenty-Two
23. Twenty-Three
24. Twenty-Four
25. Twenty-Five
26. Twenty-Six
27. Twenty-Seven
28. Twenty-Eight
29. Twenty-Nine
30. Thirty
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
one
The sea is my soulmate. It has been since the day I first set eyes on its vast and ever-changing body. My mother gave birth to me in a storm, caught in an unforgiving riptide. She pulled me out with her own two hands and laid me right onto her heaving chest, slick with sweat and seawater. Since that day, I've had a connection to the sea, a magnetic pull. My body feeds off it in the same way a flower needs the sun to grow and flourish. If I didn't have it, I fear I might wither and die.
How fortunate that I live in Pearle Castle, named for its pearlescent walls, perched on the southern coast of Aqualasia Islands. Its steep stone tower walls jut straight from the sea, allowing the waves to lap at its sandstone base. Every night, I sleep with my balcony doors wide so the crash of the waves and the salty sea air can find their way to me, even in slumber.
I watch the sun move closer to the horizon through the canopy of the massive weeping willow I'm under and know my time is almost up. The vines of the willow sway in the wind, rustling the earth and the natural pool below. Its tendrils move, brushing the ground like delicate fingers. Without even glancing at my abalone pocket watch, a gift from my father, I know I need to get back to the palace. I look down at the crumpled portraits of the young women staring back at me and my stomach turns. I gather them together, leaving the mystery for another day, and shove them into my bag, preparing to head back home.
Tonight is another full moon, which means another party hosted by the king and queen of the islands, or, as I like to call them, Mother and Father. Every month, they throw another soiree to celebrate the Full Celestia. You would think a monthly lavish party with sparkling flutes and decadent pastries sounds dreamy, but it's anything but. It's all too much—faking pleasantries to strangers, honoring the moon simply because it’s there. It gets old. The elaborate, seven-course dinners and dancing with acquaintances are overkill. The guests trying to worm their way into the royal family's good graces, feigning interest to see what they can leech from you is exhausting.
It drives me mad wondering why my parents are more concerned about the Full Celestia celebrations than the handful of portraits in my bag. Does it not bother them as it does me? Does it not keep them up at night wondering where these women have gone? I can’t be the only one who sees this is more than just the age-old story of someone being lost at sea.
I can hear my mother’s voice in my head. “We must honor the moon’s cycles and energies beginning anew.” But the full moon has never moved me like it does my mother. The only connection I’ve ever felt so strongly to is the sea. Maybe that’s how my mother feels about the moon.
As a child, I loved the monthly gatherings. The delicate dresses with all their sparkling adornments were something I looked forward to. I loved staying up late to watch the fireworks show and running through the halls with my cousins, sliding in our tights. Yet, as I grew older, I saw the soirees for what they really were: another way to keep the people of Aqualasia happy without doing much of anything but hosting a party.
Years from now, when I take the throne, these parties will be the first thing to go. No more spending time and resources planning and inviting strangers into our home to celebrate the moon and ignoring the fact that women are going missing.
I huff a breath as I sit up from the willow's limb, my violet-tinted brown curls dragging across the bark. If only I could spend the evening here, hidden under the canopy of the willow, stargazing with the sound of rustling leaves to comfort me.
This willow, surrounded by a lush, green forest, is easily my favorite place on the island. It's close enough to hear the roaring waves of the ocean break against the rocky cliff edges and near enough to the palace grounds that I won’t be scolded for not using an escort. It’s something about the wildlife here, and the babbling of the stream flowing into the teal pond below that draws me in. Lilies, lizards, smooth stones that peek out from below the surface, and the lime-colored vines of the willow welcome me with open arms every visit. This beautiful tree is my sanctuary, the place I come to when the palace is too much, when I need stillness and calm.
I slide down the trunk sloping right into the stream and welcome the cool water as my feet hit the pebbled sand. I pull up my skirts too late and curse myself as water drips from the soaked lace. I will never hear the end of it from Rose.
The pool is a small piece of the ocean that's somehow found its way into the island's forest. I sigh, taking one last moment before heading back, preparing myself for the evening ahead. I tilt my head towards the periwinkle sky, eyes shut as I fill my lungs with the earthy scent that can only be found here. When I exhale the last of the air in my lungs, I slip on my shoes, pull my dress up higher, and run home.
The trees and brush become a blur of greens and browns as I dash through the forest toward the Aqualasian flags flying high above the battlements of the castle. My mother will be waiting for me at the gates. If I'm lucky, she won't be too mad that I'm a little late, and slightly wet. She takes the Full Celestia celebrations a little too seriously, in my opinion, pushing her beliefs onto everyone. The moon being fully visible to us roughly once a month is hardly a call for celebration, but to my mother, it's more than that. The death and rebirth of it all and the cycle beginning anew brings meaning to her in some way. I suspect my father leans toward my opinion on the subject, but mother is his queen, so the soirees continue, per tradition.
When the forest opens up to cobblestone roads and small shops teeming with people, I veer right toward the harbor, where I pass fishermen hauling in their catch of the day. A parchment flutters on the dock’s wooden post; another flier for a missing person who probably won’t be found. People are lost at sea more often than one might think—pirates, sunken ships, a quarrel on deck resulting in a man overboard. But this flier is of a woman, just like the others in my bag, which is why it catches my eye. It's rare to see a flier for a missing woman, as they don't often find themselves sailing the seas as men do. I grab the flier from the post and add it with the others. Maybe this one will offer some insight as to what is happening to these young women on our island.
The fishermen hauling in their catch look beat from the sun, their figures silhouetted against the glittering sea. Thick ropes wind around the dock posts; the boats line up in their rightful spots for the evening. Everybody is busy with one task or another, tending to their boats or loading supplies for the following day. Taking this way home allows me to enter through the kitchens and hopefully avoid the queen's wrath . . . at least until I'm in my room as I should have been hours ago.
In my hurry, I nearly run into the young fisherman with the sun-bleached hair hauling a crate of salmon from the docks. His blond locks are so striking, they almost appear white in the sun. He has been helping his father on the docks for as long as I can remember. But he’s not just any fisherman. No, he was the first real friend I’d ever had. Ezera.
"Sorry!" I shout as I whirl past him. His muscled arms glimmer in the sunlight as he moves the heavy crate with ease. His wrinkled white shirt clings to his body with sweat or sea mist. Likely both.
When I was young, my father would sometimes take me down to the docks when he oversaw certain shipments. While he was busy being diplomatic, he would let me play with the boy on the docks, stringing nets along the pier. Ezera and I would see who could skip rocks the farthest, and he'd teach me how to tie sailors' knots. It's been years since we've had any sort of
"My apologies, princess." His husky reply is a mere echo as I round the corner of the castle wall leading to the kitchens' back door. Part of me wonders if he remembers those days on the docks when we were young. Or if maybe it meant more to me than it did to him.
I slip through the kitchen door, panting, and slow my strides so I don’t knock into the trays of food prepared for tonight.
"Good day, Cealene." The head chef drops a hefty lobster into a bubbling pot on the stove and chuckles as he watches me zigzag through the chaos of cooks preparing for the evening ahead. This isn't the first time I've attempted this strategy, entering through the kitchens, and it won't be the last.
"Don't tell the queen," I holler as I snag a powdered pastry from the stack before taking the stairs two at a time. When I hit the living quarters, I slow my pace to a leisurely stroll so as to not attract any more attention, licking the sugared powder from my fingers as I go.
The sole upside of the evening's festivities is definitely the almond crescents. These delicate sweets aren't made often because my father doesn't fancy them. But tonight, I will be eating my weight in them.
When my bag slips from my shoulder, I clutch it in my hand crushing the papers within. The rustle bring my attention back to the newest flier amongst the rest. And I can’t help but wonder who this woman is, or where she is.
But most importantly, why don’t my parents care about her disappearance as much as I do?
two
As I turn down the long hallway to my sleeping quarters, I nearly slam into my mother's slim, towering figure.
"Cealene," she scolds, arms crossed over her crimson gown.
"Hi, Mama." I smile as I kiss her cheek and continue to my room, hopeful she doesn't notice my haphazard state.
"Cealene, do not think for one second that I don’t know what time it is,” she calls to me as she follows me down the softly lit hallway and into my room. Rose is already at my vanity, waiting patiently for me to sit.
"Don't worry, Mama. I'm here now, and I am certain my tardiness won't interfere with tonight's events." As I drop into the velvet chair, I catch Rose’s gaze in the mirror, amusement shining in her light brown eyes.
"And do not think for one second that I don't know where you've been. I told you, I detest the idea of you out in the forest by yourself. You are a princess, an easy target with a big reward if captured." At this point, she's crossed the room to where I sit, placing her delicate hands on my shoulders, looking at my reflection in the vanity mirror. "If anything ever happened to you, Cealene, I would never recover from it."
This is a dance we've danced before. She plays the guilt card, hoping I won't venture out again to keep her from worrying and I try not to let it work. What she doesn't understand is that I need the solitude. I am more than capable of taking care of myself in the forest lining the western part of the palace grounds. I train in self-defense every spring with the royal guards, as required of any and all heirs to the throne. My beloved willow in the forest . . . is something just for me. Just me and nature, no palace nonsense complicating life any more than it already is.
"Mama, you do remember how old I am, right? I'm not a helpless child anymore."
She has her usual retort prepared. "You will always be my baby." She gently kisses the top of my head before her departure and I wonder if her worry comes from a fear that my face will one day be posted on a flier. Or maybe mothers are just in a constant state of worry for their children, no matter the age.
As my mother's flowing train follows her out the door, my cousin Angelina—already in an evening gown of glittering teal—replaces her.
"You look like hell. Really felt like making poor Rose work extra hard this evening, huh?" She plops down on my bed, as if she isn't wearing finery of any kind. I try my hardest to throw a hairbrush at her without disrupting Rose's work.
"Shut up!" I joke. "I look superb."
On cue, Rose untangles a piece of bark from my hair, silently placing it in her skirt pocket with the extra hair pins. The laughs bubble out of all three of us unapologetically as I surrender the battle.
“Well now that you cleared the debris, I’ll take over from here, Rose. Thank you.” Angelina grabs the brush and replaces Rose at the back of my chair.
“Yes, Lady Angelina.” Rose does a quick bow before leaving us to it. I mutter a thank you as she leaves, happy to have Angelina finish up my hair. She always knows just how to place the pins without scratching my scalp. When we were younger, we would braid our hair together weaving her golden strands through my dark ones. We would walk around side by side acting as twins. I smile at the silly imagination of my younger self.
Angelina pins my hair in a way that makes it cascade down my back, leaving tendrils to frame my face. She uses the pins with the pearls at the end, a stark contrast to my dark strands.
“Did you see the newest missing posters up around town?” I look at her in the mirror, waiting for her reaction. She lives at a manor nearby the palace but might have seen it on her way in.
“Not this again.” She sets down the brush, twisting a lock of my hair. “Cea, we’ve talked about this. Let the authorities handle it.” I resist the urge to huff in frustration, letting her finish. “I’m sure your father is on it.”
“But that’s just it, Ang. He’s not on it. No one seems to care about these women who keep turning up missing!” I know that people are lost at sea more often than we’d like to think. It’s the way of the world when you live on an island with pirates sailing the ocean. With shipwrecks and storms. But something is different with these. Something doesn’t add up.
“Cea, you’ve got to relax. They have people out patrolling the waters all the time for that sort of thing. And if they’re in Aqualasia, they’ll be found.” She pins a pearl into my curls. “Or they won’t.” She shrugs, as if we aren’t talking about people’s lives.
“All I’m saying is that they could be doing more. They should be doing more. You should have seen everyone at the council meeting yesterday. The subject was visited and dismissed before my father could even take a sip of his morning tea.” I don’t know why exactly I feel so strongly about these women in particular, but something about them just doesn’t sit well with me. It doesn’t seem right. None of it does. “There is something bigger here that no one seems to care about or recognize but me.”
“Well, you’re fated to rule these islands one day. Propose a solution. Tell the council and your father what you think. Show your backbone.” As she brushes the hair smooth just behind my ear, she smirks at me in the mirror. We’ve talked at length about me stepping up when it comes to ruling someday. About what changes I want to make. Angelina has always had my back, no matter the issue. Even one as fraught as this.
“Maybe I will,” I say with vigor, puffing my chest out a bit.
“That’s my girl!”
As Angelina pulls more locks back from my face, I wonder if she ever thinks of things as I do. Why she doesn’t worry about the missing women like me. Is it just that I’m becoming too invested in something that isn’t really there? Am I seeing a connection where none actually exists? I can’t be sure of anything because I have no actual proof that this is any different than the other missing citizens of Aqualasia. But I do intend to find out.
"So, I hear there are some regal guests visiting the castle tonight. Something exciting to break up the monotony." I roll my eyes remembering that we are hosting the royal family of Tudeland this week, starting off with tonight’s celebration.
"If I have to feign pleasantries to another bland potential suitor hand-picked by my parents, I’ll combust." I huff a sigh when she finishes, knowing it's almost time to play pretend once again.
My look is complete with an aquamarine-encrusted tiara. The faint blue stones that shine atop my head were said to have been created from mermaid tears, a fairytale told to children still young enough to believe in such things. Still, it’s one I revel in every time I wear it.
Tonight will be like any other Full Celestia celebration: dining with stuffy nobility who want only to see what we can offer them. Attending a celebration only to help themselves. I’ll have to dance with gentlemen who are only interested in what a match with me can buy. It is no secret that as I get older, the king and queen have been inviting families with sons around my age, trying desperately to pair me up with someone of their choosing.
