“The people will love me,” Lucia assured herself even as she tried to stop the tiny chatter in her mouth. “They will believe in me as long as I believe in myself.” She looked back at her reflection, releasing her anxiety as the pendant glimmered beneath her neck. She saw a hint of a sparkle and then a strand of light. “They will adore me,” Lucia said suddenly, grasping that positivity as if she had to persuade even herself. “I can do this.” She looked back at the wardrobe, examining it before moving her eyes back to the mirror, releasing the pressures within her mind. “I just need to—” Lucia could not finish her sentence. What if she was only lying to herself? What if she really knew nothing? But . . . of course she did—she had to. It was just like her to let pessimism overtake her. Her mother believed in her, so why shouldn’t she? “I will do this. I must do this,” she concluded. She smiled at her pendant. It seemed to go beautifully with every gown she held up to her chest.
Lucia moved over to her desk and withdrew a blank piece of parchment. Her mind clouded over with a shower of thoughts as she tried to evoke the right words to portray herself with. Virtues that would represent her people.
It was like she had forgotten the previous night and the weariness that had consumed her after speaking to her mother in the study. The lingering intuition—the cold grip—had left her now, and she was excited. Perhaps a party was exactly what she needed—meeting people, socializing amongst the nobles, and hearing all the latest news. There would be a feast and music to captivate the masses. Her mother had the most delectable and rich taste in sweets, and the baker in Moz, fortunately for her, made the finest pastries, soft and creamy. Lucia loved thinking about them.
Though the food was delicious, Lucia’s favorite part of any party was the music, and she looked forward to it. The sounds of the orchestra would make her body react on its own. Her heart would flare to the rhythms, and she usually felt impassioned and inspired as the music moved through her, turning her body into a doll, a vessel for its own design. Her dance was so light, like a feather—too graceful, some would say, but Lucia knew no judgment.
“Good morning, High Maiden,” Amelia said from behind.
Lucia looked up from her desk, her bright eyes shining as sunlight seeped in from the window. Surprised and quite possibly a tad bit confused, Lucia managed to uttered the words, “How do you do?” Lucia looked back to the mirror and then down to the blank piece of parchment. She bit her lip, worrisome.
“Your mother informed me of your presentation this evening. She is adamant that you be prepared.” Amelia paced behind Lucia.
Lucia lowered her eyes further. “Adamant, you say? I still haven’t found the words to sing.”
“What of the many hymns you’ve already written?” Amelia rested her hand on top of Lucia’s head. “Your prayers have always been so pure. I’m sure any would do.”
“But this one is supposed to be different,” Lucia said. She struggled to find the words, as if she was unable to grasp why she had lost her voice now. “This song is for my people.”
Amelia traced her fingers through the honey waves of Lucia’s hair. “I’m sure it’ll come to you, dear. You must remember that this is for more than just your people. This is for you.” She glanced toward the door. “Why don’t you write somewhere you are more comfortable?” She smiled. “Where you’ll find some musings.” Her right palm found its way to the redwood surface of Lucia’s desk and dropped a bronze key.
Lucia gazed in awe, reaching for it. She hesitated as it called out to her, whispering an echo of something cold. “This opens Father’s study.”
Amelia nodded. “It is yours now, a reward for your devotion to Moz and faith in the light. Your mother believes that it would be what your father would have wanted. It is now your rightful place.”
Lucia’s eyes were drawn to the mirror. She looked into her own eyes as they emptied and became hollow. She lost herself, as the light of the pendant enticed her, tugging at her curiosity. It was returning—that dreadful feeling. The sunlight faded, dimming her window. It was suddenly as if time froze. There it was, heavy on her desk, this omen, and all she could do was lose herself to her own thoughts. A warning stood stagnant in the air. She would have to choose her words wisely. Her call to power was not what it seemed; she sensed something darker beneath the surface.
She grasped the key, looking back at Amelia. “I’ll bring honor to his name,” Lucia said, forcing a smile. She resented the thought, Oh sweet father, Master Stello Sanoon.
***
Night came quickly, ushering in a starless night. The clouds reflected only the light of the great torch that radiated upward like a beacon from the central grounds of Manor Sanoon. A young knight stood in the garden, watching as carriages came from far and wide. His armor was shiny and new, and his chest was curtained with the protection of the Sanoon family crest—the seraph, elaborately detailed on plates of untarnished metal. He held a great sword at his side, its hilt firmly within his grasp. His grip loosened as his attention turned to the lady approaching him.
“Lady Ara.” The knight removed his helmet from his head and bowed, letting his thick red hair fall to the sides of his face.
Humbled, Ara slowed her step. “Lieutenant Angelo Sarf. Please, there is no need for formalities.” She tilted her head before curtseying. “Welcome to Manor Sanoon.”
“I am honored to be here, milady.” His eyes were earthy, as green as emeralds, filled with enthusiasm, calm and collected. He had been summoned here by the lady herself, chosen for a task he would hold alone. The reason he had been chosen was unclear, but his focus and alertness showed in the way he stood.
“General Arthur Plight has spoken very highly of you,” said the lady. “You should thank him for his recommendation. He claims you were the swiftest of his young recruits,” she teased.
“Thank you, milady. I am grateful to hear such praise.” He smiled graciously, honored by her words. Moved, he asserted himself straighter than before, with a newfound confidence. “So, what service is due for my lady on such an occasion?”
Ara nodded. “Well, of course. What I ask of you is not much, but it is very important.” She looked out onto the horizon as more and more people made their way to the manor grounds, crowding about its gates so as to catch a glimpse of the event inside. “Tonight is a special evening for my dear Lucia. The high maiden is to make her first address to the province, singing a hymn she wrote in honor of the war’s end. I would like for it to go accordingly, without the slightest error. I’m sure it will be splendid; but just in case, I would like for you to watch over her and act as her bodyguard and protector. This feast is to commemorate peace, but there might still be those who wish to harm her.”
“Harm the high maiden?” Angelo asked, his eyes growing stern. “Who would dare?”
“The war’s end was not brought about by negotiations. It was brought about by force. There are still some who might not think it ended the way it should have. Not many sympathize with Pinea, as our family has. We show mercy, as any honorable leader would, but I can’t help but wonder how many were angered when we called a truce after so much was lost.”
“The war was an atrocity. It brought destruction to both provinces. When you decided to end the bloodshed, you saved so many lives. The people know that. I remember.”
“But some may not agree. Everyone is different, Lieutenant.” Ara tilted her head. “Tell me, where are you from?”
“My family came way of Gracile, but I was raised in South Moz, milady.”
“Do you love this country?” she asked firmly.
“I pledged my life to serve it. Of course, I do.”
“Then you must understand: it is dire that we eliminate the ties that bind us to our sins. Grief festers the darkest parts of hearts. Loss brings about hate, anger, and all that comes with it. The truce has brought on a peace to quell this darkness; but never doubt, the darkness d
oes still live. It lives within each of us. And though the war is over, those who have lost and not forgiven are among us. We must stay safe, by acknowledging that not everyone is good.” Ara dropped her gaze as her thoughts turned distant. It was as if Stello had spoken through her. These words did not feel like her own. Her own heart became heavy as it was enveloped by a sensation of great discomfort with the sudden resurgence of the memory of her lost husband. “Do you understand?” she stammered.
Angelo was not sure, but he could not refuse her. “You have my word. No harm will come to the high maiden. She has my protection.”
A grin surfaced as Ara came back to herself, abandoning her thoughts of distant fears. “Thank you, Lieutenant Sarf. Now, if you could please find Lucia and escort her to the grand ballroom. I will be announcing the commencement of the feast shortly.”
“Yes, Lady Ara. Right away.” Angelo bowed his head one final time before rushing past Ara and toward the manor, his green eyes fixed on the light of the torch.
***
Lucia was nervous, her hands shaking. She had rehearsed it over and over in her mind, hoping it would be enough. What if I forget? she thought. Don’t be so stupid.
Pacing within the sanctuary, she clasped her hands together. “Please, light, don’t fail me. I need you. Grant me the strength to do what I must do. My duty is your command.” Her gown was flowing, shimmering a pale yellow beneath the lantern light.
“High Maiden,” she heard from behind her. Angelo stood in the doorway.
Lucia turned to him.
“Good evening,” he said.
“Likewise. Can I help you?”
Angelo came closer, passing through the pews and facing Lucia at the altar, his armor rattling. “Your mother asked that I escort you to the grand ballroom. The feast’s about to begin.” His eyes read through the expression on her face. “Nervous, are you?”
“Quite,” Lucia said with a slight laugh. “I’ve not experienced anything like this before. I don’t think I’ve ever been this petrified.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so afraid of a good time.” Angelo provoked her playfully.
Lucia withdrew herself into a jovial facade, appearing cheerful. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to brace myself.”
“For dire consequences . . . ” His eyes sparkled. “Don’t worry, Maiden. Just have fun.”
Lucia held out her hand to the knight. “Pleased to meet you—” She was about to ask for his name when he interrupted.
“Lieutenant Angelo Sarf. The honor is mine.” He grasped her fingers as he tilted his head toward the door. “Shall we?”
Chapter Three:
Duty’s Bane
The gates of the manor were flooded with lights as multitudes of people traveled the roads. It took about a sixteenth of the Mozian military to securely lay passage for the relatively minuscule number of nobles invited to the party, as waves of commoners gathered there, ever hopeful. To witness a moment of luxury beyond this threshold gave their lives purpose—to celebrate the lives they did not live.
“You don’t suppose we can get in without an invitation do you, Leo?” asked a young man standing at the gate. He was rebellious in nature, a fact made clear by the way his blond hair stood on end, untamed. Beside him was his best friend.
A man of twenty, Sir Leocadio Feral of Pinea—the province north of Moz—stared upward into the torchlight atop the hill, his lapis eyes fixed beyond the saturating crowds and on a mission concrete within his mind. His purpose far outweighed that of those who surrounded him. Destiny called his name. He pulled a small scroll from his vest pocket. Staring at the seal, he recognized the crest, the winged woman peering back at him. His blue eyes turned cold.
“This will get us in,” he said, moving his dark brown hair from his face.
“Don’t you think they’d notice a Feral at a Sanoon party? Your families have been at war for generations.” Leo’s friend was Sebastien Bono, whom he had known since they were very young. Though they had different upbringings, they shared a common connection that made them more like brothers.
Leo stepped past Bono and toward the manor. “It doesn’t matter. This is business.”
Bono’s gaze tightened. “When you asked me to come along on this trip, I thought we were going to cause some trouble.” He crossed his arms, smirking. “If I had known this was going to be about business, I probably would have stayed home.”
“Oh, you’ll have your fun.” Leo smirked back. “There are lots of lovely ladies waiting inside.”
“I sure hope so,” Bono scoffed. “What’s that scroll about anyways?”
Leo lowered his eyes, hesitating. He relaxed, dropping his guard. His wall melted down. “It’s a message.”
“Oh really?” Bono shrugged. “Sounds boring. For who? The lady herself?”
Leo shook his head. “The high maiden.”
“Ah. I didn’t know Moz had one of those. Who’s the message from?”
That’s when Leo’s eyes hit absolute zero. His stare was blank. The words seeped from his lips as a faint echo, almost as if it were to fade away hopelessly without ever being heard. “Stello Sanoon.”
***
Lucia’s heart was fluttering within the silence of the west wing of the manor. Though she was excited, she could not keep her mind from making its own assumptions. It was in her nature to be so critical, wary of every move. She often wondered if this was her mother’s way of thinking cultivated deep inside her, combatting the openness she often felt while praying.
Angelo led the way with short strides ahead of her. Casually, he glanced back to her, slowing to give the high maiden time to gather her thoughts. He smiled, noticing her eyes widen as they approached the threshold arch of the grand ballroom. The dark parts of her eyes tightened as they were enveloped in brightness.
The grand ballroom was flooded with the light of sparkling, multicolored lanterns rising upward among many marble pillars. At the center of the concentric structure, of stone and stunning clear stained glass, were rising steps where a large orchestra played. At its base a choir sang harmoniously, in sync with the dancers circling about under the twinkling lights. The walls were decorated with banners, two more prominent than the rest. On the left, embroidered in white and gold stitching, was the holy seraph with its sword and scales held high. And on the right, stitched in silver on a blue background, was the winged lion roaring as it broke free from the chains binding its feet. Traditionally, these symbols carried with them the legacy of the names associated with them, but today they represented something more than that. They signified the two nations to which these families had brought peace: Moz and Pinea.
“It’s absolutely stunning,” Lucia whispered in awe.
“A bit much?” asked the knight.
“You don’t know my mother,” Lucia said with a sly smile. “She’s always had a tendency to overdo things.” The pendant glistened beneath her neck, sparkling under the torches, its light dancing as they made their way across the ballroom and to the edge, beside one of the great marble pillars that surrounded the center stage.
The knight bowed his head, extending a hand outward. “Go on, milady. Enjoy yourself. I’ll stand guard here until your mother makes the announcement. If there is any need for my service, I will be quick to come to your aid.”
“Thank you,” Lucia said before looking reluctantly back toward the crowd. “I suppose I’ll take a look around until then.”
“These are your guests. I’m sure they will adore your company.”
Lucia nodded, the pendant drawing the gaze of the knight as it shone. “Of course.” She noticed how his eyes were locked, entranced by the diamond, as if he were oblivious to her words. She turned her body, blocking his sight until he could shake his head.
“I apologize. That pendant is quite remarkable. I’ve never seen anything like it. The c
raftsmanship looks foreign. I wonder where it’s from.”
“Oh, it was a gift from my mother—or my father really. I don’t know where it’s from.” She touched the center of the diamond with the tip of her finger, gently pressing against its hard surface. “But it is beautiful.”
Lucia waved softly to the knight and made her way across the ballroom, her mind weary from rehearsing her song. She sighed, thinking of its words, trying hard not to forget. She had spent the past few hours isolated in her father’s study. Though she made sure to spend the time she needed preparing for, quite possibly, one the most important moments of her life as high maiden, her thoughts had wandered in the solace of Stello’s study. She was taken with his artwork, by the passion within the strokes of paint, drawing from them the inspiration she needed to find the words to sing. Staring upward across the ballroom, Lucia watched as the luminous glass windows opened to expose the clouded night sky, the moon filtering through and reflecting its light onto the garden below. Her eyes hovered for a moment as someone took notice from a distance.
“Excuse me,” came from behind her.
She turned to face a young man, not much older than she was. She blinked wildly, taken with his charm as his blue eyes met hers for just a moment before he directed them toward the window. He was handsome, his posture straight like a proud lion. His chest was broad. He crossed his arms and eventually smiled at her as if he at first had trouble finding his words. His gaze fell back to hers as she bit her bottom lip, unsure of what the stranger wanted.
“I noticed you from across the ballroom. I was hoping a lovely lady like yourself could be of some help and provide me with a bit of direction.”
Lucia grinned politely. “My pleasure. How can I help?”
Dutybound Page 3