Kyra and the Swordstress Pt. 07

Scarlet was worried that being so far away from the castle meant they were more vulnerable to attacks, if not by assassins, then bandits, but she discarded that fear upon realizing that despite all their riding, they did not meet a single soul. In this vast expanse, this place was still a secret place. Mirela's secret place.

"This is the only place where I can feel what it must be like to be free, so I come here often," she said.

She caught Scarlet's sideways glance.

"What's that look for?"

"Nothing," Scarlet replied. "Except that it's odd to hear the duchess of the most powerful house in Varna speak with such yearning in her voice about freedom."

"Do you think me naïve?"

"No. Of course not."

Lady Mirela smirked. "Don't lie. I hear it in your voice. I know what you think of me. How naïve the lady Turracher to think she knows what a shackled life is like. But have you ever considered that I may be more like you -- more like a slave than you might appreciate?"

"I cannot see how you can even know the pain of shackles. You've not ever been whipped. Or felt that your life is cheap. Or live in a constant state of fear because you feel your very existence is a crime."

"Do you think I do not live in fear?"

"You live a life of privilege as the heiress to the most powerful house in Varna's most heavily fortified castle. No, I don't think you know what true fear is."

"I have lived a feather-bedded life, but I know fear, Scarlet. Granted, it is not the same fear that slaves have. A slave's fear is a fear of lions. Mine is rather a fear of snakes and shadows. A fear that controls my life all the same. I do not ask for your sympathy. I do not pretend to know what your life is like. I couldn't possibly know that. Neither can you know what my life is like. Just know that I am not free."

Lady Mirela turned her eyes to the distant mountains. The sun hovered just above the snow-capped peaks, its light made diffuse and golden by tall clouds. The amber sunlight gave her gentle face an otherworldly beauty. A beauty Scarlet imagined Caladriel Angels to possess. But on Mirela's face was a sadness that Scarlet was all too familiar with. It was the sort of sadness carried by those affected by utter helplessness. It was the same sadness she carried herself. She recalled the night of the attempted assassination. She remembered the duchess snuck out to Rieto against her father's wishes. Even the lowliest of slaves were allowed to leave the boundaries of the Turracher estate every once in a while. The duchess yearned for freedom so much that she would risk her life for a fleeting taste of what even a slave had the privilege to enjoy. So perhaps Mirela was right. Perhaps it was presumptuous to think she was anything but a bird in a cage.

Scarlet turned her eyes to the same mountains where the duchess fixed her gaze. They were called the Dragon's Spine because of their jagged shape, but the old slaves loved to tell the tales of the dragons that were said to roost there and that were the cause of the clouds that often obscured the tallest peaks. Watch carefully, they would say, and you may spot a dragon soaring high above them. Scarlet had never seen a dragon, so she wasn't sure they existed. But it was fascinating to think they did.

As the sun reached its zenith and the grasshoppers grew impatient in the wild grass, they took their horses to the water's edge for a drink before returning to the castle.

"We should be heading back now. It's been a bit longer than my morning rides usually are, so father might be worried."

The ride back to the castle was shorter than Scarlet expected. The estate must not have been as big as she had imagined.

When they arrived at the stables and unbridled their horses, Lady Mirela showed Scarlet how to brush Alexander's hair, showing her the places on his haunches he loved to be brushed the most, then they fed them apples.

***

Despite their rocky start, Mirela grew on Scarlet. She gained a renewed fondness for the duchess, and whenever a page came by her apartment to deliver the message that the lady of the house desired a ride, Scarlet's heart leaped with joy. The best part of her day gradually became the morning rides with Mirela.

Some mornings, Lady Mirela's other handmaidens would join. But none of them were particularly fond of riding. Not for the amount of time, Lady Mirela spent riding anyways. So, after a while, it became only Scarlet who would dutifully (and more than happily) ride with the lady.

The three handmaidens were of the three Great Houses most loyal to the Turracher House. These ladies, all around Lady Mirela's age, were Lady Yvonne of Estridsen, Lady Isolde of Salmburg, and Lady Zephyrina of Rowenhall. Their houses were the three 'great houses,' a status bestowed by the first King of the Turracher dynasty, Aldarich the Great, for their support in overthrowing the republic.

The three did not take to Scarlet well. They knew her always as a slave, and nobles were conditioned to believe that slavery was a brand that could not fade. It didn't matter to Scarlet whether they liked her or not. She had a job to do, and as long as the three allowed her to do her job, that was all that mattered. Still, it was a great relief to her when they no longer tagged along during the morning rides.

It seemed Mirela also preferred riding alone with Scarlet. When they rode alone, the rides stretched longer, and only when they rode alone did they go to Mirela's willow-bower tucked away on the river.

Over the course of the summer, their relationship blossomed into a close friendship. One where they began to share the most closely held secrets in their lives.

One day, as they cooled off in the shade of the willow-bower, Mirela shared one of her most intimate memories.

"My mother was a witch, you know," Mirela said as she dipped her toes in and out of the lazy river. Nearby ducks bobbed peaceably, their soft croaks punctuating the serene silence as they grazed the banks for river weeds.

"No, I didn't know that," Scarlet replied.

"She was indeed. But I hardly remember her. It was only a matter of time before they discovered her. She fled to Portoa when I was very young, where there is a haven for her kind. Then the plague took her. Father was greatly affected. He was a much warmer man before her death."

"Do you remember her well?"

"It becomes harder every day to know what is memory, fantasy, or what others have told me. I do remember that she was beautiful."

"I imagine she was," Scarlet commented, drawing a curious glance from Mirela. Scarlet winced, realizing she may have spoken too freely.

"So what else do you remember of her?" Scarlet asked quickly, dipping her toes into the river as Mirela did.

"There's one memory that I'm sure is real. I remember my mother letting me brush her hair. She did not have hair like me. Her hair was straight, black, and shiny, and she took great care of it. It always smelled of lavender. Every night before sleep, she would sit at the foot of her bed and give me her hairbrush. I was so careful brushing her hair, afraid that I would ruin it if I went astray with the brush. She was so patient with me when I brushed her hair, and we would count the strokes aloud together."

Mirela told the story in a tone to suggest that it was nothing at all and really just a matter of fact, but the fact that she told it and the melancholy on her face told Scarlet that there was surely something more deep-seated than a family tragedy, but Scarlet did not prod any further. She wasn't exactly sure how to. All she knew was that telling the story was a source of solace for Mirela, and she was more than happy to be the one to whom she would tell it.

But then Mirela turned to Scarlet and asked, "What memory can you tell me about your past?"

"My past?" Scarlet asked, to which Mirela laughed.

"Yes, of course. Even slaves have a past."

"Of course. Every slave has a past," Scarlet replied. Yet she wasn't sure if she was ready to tell hers. She hadn't told anyone about her past. Not even Marcus.

Seeing her hesitation, Mirela egged her on. "Come on, Scarlet, tell me something! I told you mine!"

"Ok, well, I suppose it won't hurt to say..."

Mirela waited, watching her patiently, still dipping her toes in and out of the water while Scarlet thought about what she should say. It was always much too jarring to think about. She would rather forget that she had a past. What use was a past that would give her nothing in the present and no future to go to?

Scarlet struggled to find the sort of anecdote that Mirela shared about her own mother. It had been so long since she dared to revisit any of those memories, so they lay in her mind in a heavy coat of dust. So, she started with the one thing she knew well: her true name.

"I was not always Scarlet," she said. She breathed deeply and said, "Before I was Scarlet, my name was Hyla."

"Oh. I didn't..."

Mirela bit her lip as if ashamed to say she didn't know Scarlet went by anything else but Scarlet.

"The slavers changed my name when they took me," Scarlet explained.

"Why don't you take back your old name now that you are a free woman?"

"I'd rather not. That's not who I am anymore."

"I see, so is it just Hyla? What was your family name?"

"In Myssea, we didn't have family names, but we are given our full names when we come of age. Mine is 'Hyla of the Wind and Stars.'"

"Oh... you're from Myssea?" Mirela responded softly, her shoulders slumping.

"You know of it?"

Mirela nodded. "Yes, but only from my history lessons. As I recalled, it was...," she paused.

"...a small, peaceful nation completely destroyed by pirates," Scarlet completed.

"So what of your family?"

"I am the last of my family."

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

Scarlet shrugged. "I felt sorry for myself for a long time but realized there was no use. Nations conquer and are conquered in turn. There are victors, and there are victims. It's a tale as old as time."

"Still. It is a tragic story. I'm sorry you had to live it. What was your family like?"

"My mother was the only one I had. She was a wonderful mother. Patient with me, much like yours. My favorite thing to do with her was to sail. She took me often and taught me all I know of sailing. How to navigate by the tides and the stars, and how to tell by the taste and feel of the air when a storm was coming through. You see, Mysseans were sea people. Every Myssean was required to know to navigate the seas. My mother, even though she was the queen, took to my sailing lessons personally."

Mirela's eyes went wide. Her mouth gaped. At first, Scarlet was unsure what provoked such a reaction, but then she realized that her nostalgic journey into the dusty volumes of her memory had just caused a momentary lapse in judgment.

"Oh no," Scarlet said, putting her face into her palms.

"Queen!?" Mirela coughed. "Did you say your mother was queen?"

"I said nothing of the sort," Scarlet tried.

Mirela gave a baffled laugh. "Don't lie to me, Scarlet. It's true, isn't it? Your mother was the queen of Myssea. Then that means you are a princess!"

"No, I'm not," Scarlet replied adamantly. She stood abruptly. Mirela stood up, too, a glowing excitement on her face.

"Please. I beg of you, do not tell another soul," Scarlet said.

"Why not? This is too important! How can you keep such a thing a secret?"

"Do you think if I went around telling everyone that I am a princess of an extinct realm, they would rather believe me or think me insane? It is useless. I am as much a princess as Myssea is a country. Which is to say, in case you needed clarification, not at all! Please, your Highness, promise me you won't tell anyone! I'm happy now with my lot. Should people discover my secret, all I have now may be at risk of disappearing."

Mirela crossed her arms with an exasperated huff and scowled at Scarlet, but her face eventually softened, and she said, "Ok. Fine. I understand. I won't tell anyone," adding with amusement, "Hyla of the Wind and Stars."

***

The last day of summer was a busy day for the castle. The house servants were busy tidying up the castle and festooning the halls with colorful ornaments in preparation for a magnificent banquet. The duke had arranged the banquet to celebrate his nephew's coronation, although Scarlet was sure there were ulterior motives for two reasons: first, King Albrecht's coronation had already occurred in the spring, and second, the duke despised his nephew. But a coronation celebration was a good enough reason to gather all the great houses under one roof. For what? Scarlet could not fathom, but surely a conspiracy was on the agenda. Whatever the purpose of the banquet was none of Scarlet's concern. Her only concern was to protect Lady Mirela, and with so many strange faces coming from all parts of Varna, the risk of a possible assassination attempt was high, so she had to give all her effort and focus on her duty.

The banquet hall was the largest in the Turracher estate, indicating the importance of the many banquets that are hosted there. It's high vaulted ceiling reminiscent of cathedrals, its stone columns like rows of ancient trees in a grand forest. In the daytime, the tall stained glass windows let in light to give the hall an airy feel, but in the evening, the colors reflecting the lights from many braziers made the place seem like the womb of a massive dragon.

Carriages bearing members of the three Great Houses steadily arrived at the estate, each carrying a throng of nobility. Scarlet positioned herself just a step behind Mirela and the Duke as they received each guest. She focused intently, attempting to commit the names and faces of the arriving nobles to memory. Mirela's ability to recall not only their names but the intricate details of their lives--marriages, births, ailments, and deaths--astonished Scarlet.

Scarlet was not one for such tiresome politic, most of all, the dizzying array of treaties between the Great Houses, which High Councilor Maurin attempted to teach her about, but which she is sure was simply a culmination of a long, drawn-out petty squabble from when Varna was nothing more than a collection of river tribes. Besides the four Great Houses, there are the minor houses, of which there are hundreds, and each significant in the politics of Varna in their own rights, each with their interests and resentments. Then there are the other kingdoms with which Varna does business, most importantly, the elves of Melima and the great merchants and bankers of Galtin's Port to the east and Portoa to the south. How incredibly tiresome it must be to keep track of it all, yet that is what the High Nobles must concern themselves with. The patriarch of the Turracher House must maintain the harmony between the houses of Varna and all the foreign interests. A responsibility Scarlet was very glad she did not possess.

For the banquet, Scarlet wore her sword and dressed simply. A plain golden-white gown that was pretty but unassuming. Her goal was to draw no attention to herself. She sat beside the duchess, who wore a beautifully brocaded silver gown, at the head table. The three handmaidens, Yvonne, Isolde, and Zephyrina, normally would have joined at the head table, but they were instead sitting with the members of their families on the wings of the head table. Scarlet felt like a fish out of water, and, being the only dark-skinned human at the table, she drew curious stares. She would have much preferred to stand in the shadows. She should have insisted. It would have made her job easier. Yet there she was, at the head table, where everyone could see her.

Mirela pushed her seat closer to Scarlet's as the servants came by to serve them wine. Mirela picked up her cup and drank half of it as soon as it was filled. Scarlet palmed her hand over the top of her cup to stop the servant from pouring wine into hers.

"A little bit of wine won't hurt you, Scarlet. Try some. It's exquisite."

"I have a job to do, your highness," Scarlet said.

The duke, who heard the exchange, gave Scarlet a nod of approval.

Mirela scoffed and drank the rest of her wine cup. A servant came by to immediately fill it. She immediately drank half of the refilled cup and then played with her food with her fork.

"Look at them all," Mirela said, sweeping her fork with a piece of pheasant breast stuck to it. "Greedy, conniving, and entirely dull, the lot of them."

"And powerful allies," her father responded. "You would do well to remember that."

"Why? Why should we even care? You know their only concern is to squeeze our family out of every copper piece we're worth. That's the only reason they fawn over us. They hide their conspiracy behind false smiles."

"They are loyal to us as we are to them, Mirela. The bonds between our families are immutable."

"They might have been once. But bonds corrode."

The duke pretended not to hear her. A man walking by the table gave the duke a respectful bow, and the duke offered a smile and a nod to acknowledge him.

Scarlet thinned her lips. As much as she felt the duchess was out of place for speaking to her father with such cheek, she realized also that the duchess was likely in the best position to know all the familial gossips of the great houses having for handmaidens, the daughters of the more important members of the houses.

But the politics of the houses was outside her scope. Instead, she focused on the sights and sounds of the banquet hall, sweeping her eyes across the tables and in the alcoves, remembering Marcus's lesson about awareness of one's surroundings. One should not simply take in the scenery but make a concerted effort to understand why everything that seems out of place is as they are.

"What are you looking for?" Mirela asked.

"Just wanted to get a sense of the faces."

"Looking for an assassin among the Houses, are we? Don't waste your time. They are all out to get me. They look like a pleasant lot, but really, they are circling sharks."

"Indeed..."

"Do you have any names to put to their faces?" Mirela asked.

Scarlet shook her head.

"It might help if you knew their names, Scarlet."

"It might help if you helped me know their names, your highness," Scarlet countered.

Mirela smiled, leaned in, and said, "Ok, pay close attention. That lady in blue, the one that looks like an ornament. That's Lady Genevieve, the matriarch of the Rowenhall family. The man-child at her right side, the one yawning right now, that is her darling heir and Zephyrina's brother David. He thinks himself charming. I think him a dolt. Now, look to the next table. That testudine man there is Lord Roderick Estridsen. He is as ancient as the dragons, but in his prime, he was a fierce fighter and served as prime councilor of Varna for many decades, right up until Albrech sacked him. He is quite sore about that. You'll find a rotund man on the far table with a bushy beard and rosy cheeks. That is Lord Maximilian of Salmburg. He is mostly an amicable man, but he is always scheming. He is utterly tiresome. I would mind his house more than the others if I were you."

After dessert, a bard sang while a band played cheerful-sounding instruments. The tables were moved to the side of the hall to allow for dancing. Many danced, and the rest cheered them on, clapping in rhythm to the melody. Amid the celebration and without announcement, the duke, and the three heads of the Great Houses, along with their councilors, quietly filed out of the banquet hall. Most of the rest in the banquet hall were too drunk or too entranced by merrymaking to notice. Scarlet noticed and was curious as to what they might be up to.

Eventually, the bored-looking Rowenhall heir made his way to the head table.