The Empty Ones (Fantasy Romance)

1. For I am empty, I am worth less

For I am empty I am worth less, or is it worthless?

My whole life I felt like the first part in the good days and the last in the worst.

I stare at the white stone walls again, for the millionth time. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of the red moon or the violet one out the small window of my room. It gives me a notion of the time that has passed because I lost count of the days some time ago. The window is too small for me to climb out, so maybe that qualifies the room as a cell; a cell for someone that still holds some importance but still a cell.

My wandering gaze stops on the burn scar on the back of my right hand and tears gather in my eyes. I shall never forget. So I try to recall the steps that led me here. All of them, one by one, so I don't forget; so loneliness doesn't drive me insane.

My name is Zaretha. I am the only daughter of Karim Wayatashir, the grand sorcerer of the Empire of Quomared and I was born empty. Many are these days, and it is sad and disappointing for most families, but for mine, my father being who he was, it was close to crushing.

My mother died in childbirth and, by some metrics, her death was very much in vain. She was a mage herself, precious and beloved, a healer, ironically, that had saved many lives but couldn't save herself. She died to give birth to me, me who could take the name useless at any point, only by how many times I have been called that.

My father must have loved her very much, because, in the twelve years, we have spent in the same palace, I can count on my fingers how many times I have seen him, and the times I did were only to be looked upon coldly and with openly displayed disdain. As if I chose to be empty... As if I chose to be a disappointment... As if I chose to kill her...

I had the fines tutors, to teach me languages, numbers, dance, and politics, but I never had a father, even though he wasn't the one that died. Maybe out of boredom or out of the blazing wish to prove my worth, I always tried to excel at everything. Maybe, in the back of my mind, I hoped he would see that and tell me that even if empty I am not useless. Everything was wishful thinking in the end because he couldn't care less.

Not even his new wife Imelda, who turned out to be a fairly decent woman, convinced him to build up a relationship with me, after several attempts.

They had married shortly after I had turned four. Her interest in me was also short-lived, and paled in time in front of the pregnancies she carried every year, none of them coming to term. I think my father was convinced he was cursed because with every miscarriage he became more bitter and resentful of everything around him. But neither the lovers he started taking after I turned ten nor the new wife, gave him the desired magic-bearing child.

I never wished him ill, I just wished for him to see me, to love me, to acknowledge me in some way.

Seaheaven, the palace of the Alsayid, was enormous by any metric, with gardens that you could barely cross in a day's walk, several docs that extended into the sea enclosing a beach, and too many towers to count. Maybe that's why I didn't find it suffocating, or maybe it was because it was the only thing I knew.

I was raised mostly by servants, and they were quite fond of me, especially Hara, my so-called wet nurse, and Hamad, her younger brother. He was a lanky boy of sixteen star-circles that used to play with me hide and seek in his spare time. And Hara was the one that comforted me when I hurt myself or after a night of bad dreams.

Even if empty, I was still born into a noble and rich family, so at some point, I knew I would be married off to a man from the court. I would be a noble of high enough rank because there was still a big enough chance I would bear a... worthy... child. If I would have inherited my father's gift to bend water and fire or craft things from nothing, I would have been the next empress, married to the emperor's only son, Prince Dair, who is only a few years older than me.