Despite the sun shining as bravely as it could through the last traces of stormy clouds, the Princess could not resign herself to relief. The disaster reports were sickening and the Trade Delegation had been sending in wave after wave of messengers, all wanting to know a thousand different things. Dawn thought to herself that it wasn’t anything new anyway; when had she ever found rest? When was the last time she had some peace and quiet, and had even taken for granted an hour or two to herself?

When had Alexander last written?

Blinking several times to ward away tears, the Princess resumed her march. The palace was wide awake, and already she could feel the onslaught of another headache. Ignoring the sinking feeling in her heart, she went down the staircase and into the throne room, mentally rearranging her thoughts and priorities in order to accommodate what she knew was in store: a bevy of telegrams to answer, the Ferry to get back in order, more complaints from the Delegation, villagers looking for help with repairs...Dawn was so lost in concentration that she didn’t even acknowledge Jal’s kindly, well-meaning face. She even swept right past the little maid bearing a tea tray, forgetting that she took tea every morning at just about this time.

“My dear...perhaps you ought to have a rest today, don’t you think?”

Dawn shook her head. “There are too many things to take care of, Jal. I might as well get it done now, because otherwise it will only pile up tomorrow. What news this morning?”

“Very well, Your Highness...however, you may want to take a seat...”

The Princess sat. She recognized, dully, that the tone in Jal’s voice was the same bearer of bad news she had dealt with all summer. What could it be now? What else could happen? How much worse could everything get?

“My lady...it is about your parents...”

Dawn froze. She looked up from the throne at the Regent’s face. “....Yes?”

“We received word this morning...that their caravan...was wrecked by the storm...”

“Wrecked? Where are they? They’re alright, aren’t they?” Composure was elusive. She could not get a grip on her fear, and it reared up before her, baring its teeth. Suddenly she felt completely trapped in her body, completely exhausted with the responsibilities allotted to her. The heavy brocade gown felt like cloth woven in lead, and her vision was beginning to blur considerably.

“Yes,” Jal said. “But they are in serious danger until help reaches them. The forests of Harnedd are dense and dark. It could be days, even weeks, before they are found. Despite their efforts to provide the clearest directions possible, the messenger that managed to reach the palace today was far too exhausted for coherence. Perhaps when he wakes we might sort out what information he can give us...but for now, it can be said that we have no idea where your parents truly are.”

The Princess could not help but release a sigh of relief. At least they were alive. At least there was still hope...and then she realized that part of her relief was that she loved them, but the other half was that their being alive meant she need not yet become Queen. Ashamed of herself, she pushed the thought away and forced herself to focus on the matter at hand.

“We can send a search party. I was told just last evening that the Asphel ferry at least is operational. Give the search party priority and send it out to Harnedd immediately.”

“It has been done, my lady. Also, the ships sent to rescue General Farrier and his men have sent word. They have reached the Lyon Isles and have made contact with the General.”

“The only good news I’ve heard for days.”

“Were those ships given orders as to the surviving pirates?”

“Yes, they were to leave them be. The Pirate King is dead, what more could those men be but a struggling group of thieves and would-be murderers? Sever the head and the body cannot function.”

Dawn sat calmly enough through the rest of the morning’s news, until the very last update. “Princess...there is another storm coming.”

“How can that be! It has only been a day, hardly a day, since the last one!”

“Clouds are gathering. It will be upon us before the next sunrise.” And Dawn could see, now, that the light was indeed fast fading; outside, a tinge of gray was slowly creeping across the sky, beating back the feeble warmth of the sun. She felt so hopeless. Storm upon storm...she had never known such a season of devastation. The death toll wasn’t even being calculated anymore, in the city. Every day it was changing, shifting as the count went up or down like a flood tide. It was unnatural, the way the storms kept coming. And their intensity was frightening. So frightening that it seemed otherworldly– as though the storms were monsters given life by an immeasurable anger.

Jal’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“Your Highness...I suggest that we consult the Southern Oracle.”

Dawn’s eyes widened with surprise. The Southern Oracle! She had not been summoned in years upon years, and as far as Dawn knew she was not woken unless the days were dark indeed. For a moment, Dawn was seriously considering telling Jal it was ridiculous; a few storms couldn’t possibly warrant the waking of the Oracle...

“I know it is somewhat of a shock, my lady...but you must listen, and you must decide with care. Hear what I have to say before you make any remark whatsoever. What do you know of the Southern Oracle?”

“That she serves no nation but herself. That she lives in isolation, and that her magic lies dormant until she is consulted, lest it kill her with the intensity of its power. That none but those who are tested and prevail are permitted to set foot on her island, for all others will immediately be thrown from its shores and into the sea. That she is only summoned...in times of great peril, and utmost danger...”

“Yes, all that is true. However, there are many things about the Oracle that you have not been taught in your books and meetings at council. She is, indeed, powerful. However, her power lies not in destruction, chaos, or war. And perhaps, with this power, she can give us answers. Perhaps, with her knowledge of history, of the past, she could tell us something of the present...or our future. She could tell us where this has come from, she might be able to trace it to the source.”

“Surely we could search the palace libraries, the scriptorium in Jalrich...why must we consult the Oracle? There is no darker omen, the people will riot in the streets! There must be another way, another solution! What about the cure being researched? And there is nothing to be done about the storms, even the Oracle cannot control the weather...”

Jal broke in, her voice clear and yet clouded with a hidden fear. “My lady, do you not think it strange? Barinesh eclipsed by the fever, and now our coasts bombarded with unceasing storms? It would not be unreasonable...to blame something outside of nature, for such occurrences...” Jal’s expression was, for the first time, unreadable. Dawn leaned back into the throne, pondering this. She had never considered that the terrible things happening might somehow be interrelated; she had never thought that it might be the work of something other than fate.

“Very well...” the Princess said, rising from the throne. “Ensure that the message is carried out: the rescue ships will change course. If all is well, they may yet have time to take in supplies at Quinn before they sail to the Southern Oracle.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And Jal...please...if there is any word on my parents, or...or Alexander...”

Jal nodded understandingly. “Of course. You will be the first to know.”

The Princess watched Jal leave the room, then crossed the floor to a door at the very back of the throne room. It led to her mother’s old haunt: a tiny room where the ceremonial robes and other symbolic relics were kept. It had been their favorite hiding place, when they had wanted to get away from nasty dignitaries or a boring cotillion. She slipped inside, shutting the door as soundlessly as possible behind her. And then, surrounded by the crowns and scepters of rulers past, the Princess knelt on the floor and wept without a sound. Where had the summer gone? Where had hope flown?