Fourteen cycles after the annual summer party, Sondra struggled with her sketch of an Asterix lily, the logical-looking diagram failing to capture the beauty of the gently curling petals, or the unique brindled coloration within the center of the snowy flower. Her lady’s maid, Liliana, and her escort guard suffered other concerns, their eyes drawn to the boiling, charcoal-colored storm front and the curtain of rain that rolled over the mountains in the north, specifically the dreaded Thunder Mountain. While the afternoon sun still shone brightly upon the three of them and their increasingly nervous horses in the wind-whipped meadow, the crack of thunder grew ever closer as the front advanced with deceptive speed. Though they were not far from the castle walls, the closest shelter from the storm lay within the Woods, a place neither the guard nor the maid intended to brave no matter what threatened them. They would rather chance being struck by skyfire than risk encountering the shadowy denizens of that haunted place. A fierce wind snapped Sondra’s page and her pen stuttered across the parchment, leaving ugly blots of ink behind. Frustrated, she stuffed the mess back into her workbox and stood, shaking out her skirts, only then noticing the advancing storm. She stopped for a moment, awed as always by the power and beauty of the deadly storm, a primal excitement uncurling deep within her. Someday she planned to travel to the north and solve the mystery of why the most ferocious storms always rolled down from that direction. For the moment she simply drank in the sight of the clouds creeping forward like a hunting predator waiting to break upon the unsuspecting valley with all the ferocity of a wild beast. The neighing of her horse interrupted her meditation and she turned to find her guard struggling to hold on to all three mounts as they danced skittishly. Liliana stood huddled and miserable, casting frightened looks north, and Sondra sighed. She hated always requiring an escort. Had she been alone, she would far prefer finding a place where she could watch the storm break over her to experience a touch of its rage before seeking shelter, but she couldn’t penalize her keepers who’d committed no sin greater than seeking gainful employment at the castle, and suffered her as punishment. She turned to the horses as Liliana grabbed gratefully for the workbox to follow her, but as usual the girl couldn’t lift the heavy box and the guard still struggled with the rearing horses. Self-consciously Sondra returned, easily hoisted the box with one hand, and strode back to the horses to strap it to her mount. She knew her strength surprised people since it better suited a peasant wife laboring in the field than a delicate princess, so she went to great lengths to avoid revealing it. However, when it came to her workbox, she had little choice. Outside of her study chamber, it was the container for all of her sketches, specimen jars, and tools for logical research. They mounted up and raced back to the castle just before the storm broke over the meadow, ripping the head off the Asterix lily in its rage. Sondra rushed into the castle after handing off her horse to the stable boy and shook the rain off her coatdress and out of her riding hat. Her sister and brother intercepted her the moment she entered the great hall flanked by stairs to both residential wings of the castle. They had been waiting outside the massive throne room doors carved and gilded with rearing unicorns and flying dragons. A gaggle of ladies-in-waiting fluttered around anxiously or perched gracefully on delicate gilded chairs with embroidered silk cushions. Gigantic tapestries stretched from the wooden beams in the ceiling to the marble floors, depicting everything from the annual hunt to the legend of Ulrick the Clever. “Sondra! Thank the gods you’re here. Father is in the throne room with a miners' representative from the obsidia mines in the eastern region near Arivale. Apparently he brings important news and Father and Mother ordered that all of us be present to hear it. You must change quickly and meet us back here. Go! Don’t talk; just go! Or both Mother and Father will be furious at the delay!” Sondra about-faced and, grabbing a fistful of her skirts, raced up the stone steps to her chambers in the east wing. She dashed blindly past wood-paneled stone walls adorned with paintings and tapestries, tiny, fragile occasional tables topped by candelabra and delicate obsidia carvings, and small windows tucked into stone embrasures. Real glass distorted the sunlight pouring onto the carpeted wooden floors. Reaching the iron-clad door to her chamber just as Liliana threw it open, she sighed gratefully upon discovering that her resourceful maid had already heard the news and pulled out her court dress. She nimbly unfastened the row of silver buttons on the front of Sondra’s wool coatdress, and Sondra quickly shrugged out of it and stood in her simples. Liliana held open the back of the heavily brocaded court-dress, the gold embroidery, gemstone beads, and silk ribbons flashing in the early afternoon sunlight. Sondra slipped her linen-clad arms through the flowing spidersilk sleeves of the overdress. It took only seconds for the skilled maid to lace up the dress and quickly unbraid, brush out, and pin up Sondra’s hair with a jeweled tiara. Sondra helped out by unbuttoning her high leather boots and sliding her feet into embroidered slippers. A brush of powder on her flushed face, and Liliana pushed her out the door, where her ladies-in-waiting clustered, impatient to hear the news that had the castle abuzz with speculation. Sondra arrived at the great hall just as the king’s own guard cast open the heavy doors to the throne room and summoned the heir and two princesses into their father’s presence. They approached the king and the sisters curtsied while their brother bowed, then took their places on the dais besides the two heavily carved and gilded thrones encrusted with obsidia. The king and queen barely acknowledged the presence of their children before summoning the nervously sweating man standing off to one side of the cavernous chamber. He’d been attempting without success to blend into one of the many standards of the kingdom’s nobles hanging from the marbled walls. The representatives of those various noble houses had already returned to their tiny and purposefully uncomfortable chairs beneath their standards after rising for the entrance of the younger royals. There followed a brief flurry of confusion as several of the ladies-in-waiting jockeyed for position near their respective princesses in the seats behind the dais, reserved for those who directly served the royal family. Sondra resisted the urge to roll her eyes and carefully studied the small man the king motioned forward. She noticed that his attempts to present himself properly failed miserably amongst the excessive glitter and wealth of the surrounding nobles. It grew painfully clear that the poor man felt something akin to terror at his surroundings and his unfortunate role as mining representative. His short stature, receding chin, thinning hair, and protruding nose, not to mention his obvious myopia, made him appear mole-like. He wore a badly fitted flaxweed coat, breeches, sagging stockings, and simple, square-toed dress shoes generations out of date. Sondra wondered whimsically if he really was a mole, captured and sent to work in the mines and, having done such a great job, he found himself promoted to foreman. She smiled inwardly at her fanciful thoughts as the man bowed deeply to the king. His hands crushed the chipbark wide-brimmed hat favored by the middle class—those who could afford head coverings but could not afford quality materials.