Chapter Text
Keyleth can hear her governess calling her from the garden terrace, and she giggles and ducks lower among the branches. From up here, she can just make out the small speck that must be Miss Gemma, who is insistent that Keyleth begin her Ancient Abyssal studies, even though they are dreadfully boring and require her being cooped up in the castle all afternoon instead of where Keyleth would actually rather be, which is right here, high in the branches of the cherry tree on the edge of the grounds. Honestly, it is silly of Miss Gemma not to look here first for Keyleth, because she is always being caught here, and Miss Gemma is always very cross with her for it.
Keyleth decides to crawl up higher, hoping that maybe being closer to the whistling summer winds will make it more difficult to hear her governess's chastising tone. Up here, the air smells delicious, like cherries and flowers and the sun. Sometimes, when Keyleth closes her eyes, the wind will touch her forehead just so, and she swears she can remember what it felt like when her mother kissed her there before bed.
It has been two years, just about, and Keyleth still cries for her mother at night. She knows she shouldn't—she's seven now, and far too old to be crying in the dark like a baby—but she can't help it. The shadows seem to loom farther, the castle seems to creak louder now that she cannot slip into her parents' chambers and snuggle into her mother's arms.
Keyleth's stomach twists at the thought of it. It isn't as though she doesn't want to go to her father when the terrors of night creep in. She just knows how busy he is, how little sleep he gets as a result of his duties as sovereign. Miss Gemma tells her all the time how she must not be too much of a burden for her father, lest the entire nation feel the consequences. Keyleth knows she is being a burden now, clambering up this tree instead of sitting dutifully in her lessons, but she wants to soak up as much sunshine as she can before nightfall, so that maybe the sunlight will stick with her in the dark.
She plucks a cherry blossom from one of the highest branches and presses it to her nose. The scent reminds of her the time her mother took her on a walk through Zephrah to show her the town they lived so near. They stopped at a sweet shop, and the nice lady behind the counter gave Keyleth a little bag of hard, sticky candy that nearly glued her teeth shut. Her mother's laugh rang out high and clear as she tried to talk and it came out as gibberish. Keyleth squeezes her eyes shut and tries to live in the memory as long as she can. There's a sharp tug in her chest that she can't identify, but she thinks it means missing her.
The governess's calls are getting closer now, and Keyleth sighs. Ancient Abyssal awaits. She carefully begins her descent down the tree, but just as she's about to reach the bottommost branches, her foot slips, and she is careening through the air toward the ground. She lets out a terrified shriek, her hands outstretched, and then, from nowhere, a strong gust of wind ripples from her to the ground and then bounces back up. This gust immediately slows her fall, and when she hits the ground, she does so with the force of someone who had just toppled out of a low bed and not a towering tree.
Keyleth lays face-down in the grass for a few moments, stunned. She rolls over only when the need for air grows too great, and then she lifts her palms up toward her face to examine. They look as they usually do: small and a bit reddened from all the tree-climbing. Yet Keyleth is sure they must be different now, because they just conjured air, air that saved her from a nasty injury.
"Your Highness!" There are rapidly approaching footsteps, and Miss Gemma, her stern but kind governess, is there, carefully sitting her up. "Did you fall? Are you hurt?"
Still staring at her hands, Keyleth makes a snap decision. "I am fine," she says quietly, brushing her hands on her already dirty skirts. "I am sorry for being late. I'm ready for lessons now." She pushes up and begins walking toward the castle, resisting the urge to inspect her hands more closely. She doesn't know what just happened, but she knows it saved her life, and somehow, she knows her mother is to thank.