The Blind Valiant

ANGEL OF THE EVENING.

PROVINCE OF MARRĄK. 1847 A.D.

When Kyrillos had a look out the window of the horse-drawn carriage after some hours stuck on the ride down the road leading up to the city, he drew out a wistful sigh at the sight of Marrąk.

 A bustling settlement that had blossomed under the Echelon’s guidance and efficient tax system. The streets of the Bazaars were crowded with high end atelier shops, salons and bakeries for every spendthrift tourists with deep generous pockets.

It was easy to set the foreigners apart even if it had nearly been a decade since he was back. The foreigners flocked to the streets like flies blown by the winds of adventure and the city’s exoticism, wearing djellabas of vibrant colors and buying souvenirs by the cartload.

 It was then Kyrillos realized he had returned on the auspicious season of the Black Suns, what the natives called the Alrudha Feast Day. His mind had not taken note of that fact, not on the coincidence it brought to the occasion of his return.

The festival was one of the few Fell customs which the Echelon had decided to preserve; others they had outlawed as the worst depravity of sins. And participation of those banned festivals were punishable by crucifixion.

 Still the entire city gave their unrelenting devotion to the Noirish government, to an extent that it looked much like blatant worship in the eyes of foreigners.

 Insulting, some might say, to those still sympathetic to the enslaved Fell civilization.

The carriage pulled down Temple District, after climbing the white cobblestoned roads of Castralla, giving Kyrillos an eyeful of the enthusiasm for the festival which stretched even to the more luxuriant parts of the city.

 Maiden girls, barely covered up by the gossamer slips they wore, gyrated supple hips in a sensuous dance, black dahlias crowned their wild hair, underneath the Old Arches. Bounties of fruits, wheat and barley sheaves of the year's best harvest, the finest of rams and swine were brought as gift offerings into the dilapidated stone garden that used to house the diluvian gods of the east.

Marrąk had been one of the least fortuned territories to have survived the Deluge, laid in a ruined state of her former flamboyance.

But entrusting this crumbling province, torn by decades of the bloody conflict between the Echelon and what remained of the Kindred, to the Demezieres family had been the wisest decision ever made by the Echelon.

 It had taken over six generations of Demezieres’ sweat and toil, maneuvering the salacious appetites of wealthy nobles and tyrannical monarchs, and of course well applied sorcery for the territory to rise back to the heights of opulence and prosperity it was known for.

Passersby cramped to the sidewalks and waved hats, half made masks and beaded fervors waving in their hands in salute, children lingered in the cool evening atop building roofs to see above adult heads.

This was the novelty of being from an influential Noirish family, these people hadn’t seen in years. Yes the Demezieres had been their overlords whose diligence had brought Marrąk out of squalor but it was Kyrillos’ family who were glorified amongst others.

“Do you think they know who’s inside the carriage? They seem too overjoyed.” Kyrillos turned away from the window and looked at the face peering out from the seat opposite him, a set of curious pearl grey eyes.

 The young woman’s looks were also accentuated by high cheekbones and demure smiling lips. Lips which Kyrillos remembered traveling down his naked body just a few nights before this journey.

Now he wondered how he had survived the long hours of carriage travel without taking those memorable pleasures again.

 Louscha Lasace might not have been born with sorcery like most royals- like him, but her beauty had to count for nothing short of otherworldly for how impossible it was for Kyrillos to resist being captivated each time he looked at her.

But resist her he must, especially now they had left Erdem and entering the real world had reminded them of the responsibilities heaped on them since the day they were born.

 He’d wanted to apologized to his paramour for any disregard that she might think of his absences in the later future. Though he wasn’t sure if he should call her something as impersonal as a paramour. Or call her anything of that kind at all.

 He had spent so many nights and some mornings of the past summer waking up with her in his arms. He had not shared so much of his life with anyone in a long time. And he doubted even his family knew him as well as she now did.

“They’ve heard a Mortimer is coming to the city. They owe us, all this and more.” It was a reply that was worthy of his father’s pride.

 The streets leading up to the Reliquary, was paved with granite and bronze, curbed with alabaster, littered with much grand houses amid gardens of bright flowers were set about the ways, and many towers of bell-shaped domes gilded by antiquity rose to the heaven.

It was a wonder that the Reliquary of Marrąk stained with so much horrific past, still posed as a symbol of splendour and hope for its people. After all it used to be a palace to Marrąkan royalty before the Deluge happened.

 All Louscha could see were towers and spires and light reflected from the glass ziggurat at the top. So much light that it blinded her for a minute before she could adjust to it. The Reliquary was raised so high like a crown over the heads of the entire city, each post held rows upon rows of stationed Echelon guards in glittering armor and stony faces, warded by generations of Madrigals who had ruled the city from its halls.

 Hexagons there were lit with fountains and the home of birds that sang amid the branches of their aged trees. Marcian Demezieres had done more renovations than any of his ancestors who had resided in that lofty palace.

He had never failed to remind anyone of how healthy his predecessors had left the family treasury.

The only redeeming quality of Marcian Demezieres had been how he had raised Kyrillos and his cousins while Lord Manfri had been overseas on yet another Echelon campaign.

 This Reliquary had been more of Kyrillos’ home than any of the Mortimer villas in Amphion. He had grown up here, trained in its courtyards with Marcian’s regiment of soldiers and his children. He had found love here.

Yet Kyrillos would have wanted to be anywhere other than this slaughterhouse that up until a month ago had belonged to people he loved like family.

As the carriage approached the gates, Kyrillos had turned and watched Louscha’s face the whole time as they were driven inside the estate. She wore the face of an awestruck peasant too well for a princess of one of the wealthiest dynasties of Evvoia.

With the deaths of the Demezieres family, the Mortimers now possessed Marrąk though Lord Manfri already had too much territorial power for one Echelon noble to hold in Evvoia.

Kyrillos wondered if the Pontiff had granted his father this of his own freewill, or if Lord Manfri had simply exerted his influence where even the supreme leader of the Echelon couldn’t contest him.

 Kyrillos had sat in enough political assemblies to know which was the right opinion. But what had surprised Kyrillos more, had been the summons that had followed his father’s new acquisition.

 The entire Mortimer family had been ordered to return from their individual pursuits across the continent and attend to the funeral of their family friends as well as aid in the investigation of their deaths.

A command that had annoyed Kyrillos greatly but which he couldn’t dare defy.

“We are Noirish first; heirs of the Lemegeton before anything else.”  Kyrillos’ father loved to remind him and his cousins.

He hadn’t been happy to halt the sensual respite he had with Louscha. Not in the weeks he had spent in her naked embrace in her family’s island palace in Erdem. Those blissful holidays had carried a cloud of suspicion when Louscha too had received a letter from King Aksel, her uncle.

It had, at first, delighted Kyrillos when she had told him she would accompany him to Marrąk, but when he discovered the reason for it he had all but felt his heart die in his chest. The three days’ journey had been arduous enough by sea and then more tense on the half hour ride into Marrąk, to even talk about the situation they were in.

Kyrillos took her hand and squeezed gently, giving some support for the growing anxiety he sensed from Louscha.

Today was also as exhausting for her, he had to remind himself. An excuse if only to get a touch before she was no longer his to touch.

She looked at him and the corners of her lips turned downward in an uneasy smile before she pulled her hand from his.

 “Your father waits for us at the Reliquary. We shouldn’t...”

Kyrillos knew this reaction would be inevitable as soon as the distance between them grew even shorter, but it still drove a spear of foreboding into him.

Yes the Madrigal Lord, Manfri Mortimer had a reputation of being the hardest man to please, and an even more difficult relative to love.

 Yet he had hoped...

Louscha threw an encouraging smile to him as if in compensation, grey eyes twinkling, at Kyrillos’ words. “I’m sure he’ll have no choice but to be charmed by you. After all what’s a princess who can’t charm a beast like that man.”

Louscha laughed and flushed as Kyrillos brought her gloved hand up to his lips for the last comforting kiss he’d ever get to give so affectionately. He was really hoping that she would earn the respect and admiration from the rest of the Mortimer family, she deserved.

 The carriage stopped in the courtyard and a young valet boy opened the door for Louscha to step out first then him. The wind carried nostalgia in its embrace as Kyrillos sighed in heavy musks of lavender and sun baked grapes from the vineyards behind the Reliquary estate.

“My lord,” Kyrillos returned his attention to the rows of servants and persons garbed in fine livery before him.

“Your Highness,” they afforded the same dazed courtesy to Louscha, knowing who she was.

Men bowed and women curtsied as she walked forward. Some of the servants Kyrillos recognized and smiled heartily at their faces after all he’d last seen them when he was all but a child.

And he began to introduce them to Louscha. Marietta who oversaw the kitchens and servants, Ruscha was his childhood friend but was now appointed commander of the Reliquary guards and city defenses.

Carlan, dark haired and gauntly handsome, was Marietta’s nephew whom Kyrillos had also been close friends with in his childhood- the valet who had opened the carriage door.

But then a voice cut through the menagerie of reunion. “Aren’t you going to introduce me too, dear nephew? Or would you insult me more by indulging the help first?”

 The woman, clearly in her mid forties, was lissome and domineering in her practical yet regal burgundy satin dress. Her auburn hair shone like copper in the sun with only a streak of grey, was brushed back from her face.

She would’ve been beautiful if the disconcerted frown didn’t seem to glue permanently on her face; a chiding look hovered in her jade green eyes even as she narrowed them at the two young arrivals.

 Kyrillos’ excitement over seeing his friends and those who had taken care of him in the absence of his father, was replaced with a tense smile for the woman.

But regardless he bowed to her as was his courtesy to his father’s elder sister.

 “Aunt Severa, may I present Princess Louscha Lasace of Halgiers. Louscha this is my father’s witch of a sister, Severa Mortimer.”

Gasps of shock at the abrupt insult echoed through the courtyard and from the servants and from Louscha’s round face as she looked from nephew to aunt.

 They all waited in bated breaths for Severa’s reaction or retaliation but the middle aged woman’s grimace turned instantly into hilarity as she laughed. Kyrillos joined her much to the surprised confusion of the servants and Louscha.

Severa threw her arms around her nephew and kissed both his cheeks.

“At last some humor in this grave moments. How is my favorite nephew, was your journey too tedious? It took me an entire week to get here and believe I still have the sour hip to show for it.”

 Kyrillos separated from her embrace and smirked. “It was as expected. Are the others here yet? I’d think they would present themselves in their happiness to see me.” He added that last part with as much cynicism as possible.

His aunt’s smile was amused. “You know how they love to draw out the suspense for everything.”

And Severa Mortimer looked past him to meet Louscha’s gaze. She walked with selective poise to the much younger woman and drew the princess into an embrace, acknowledging as she kissed her cheeks.

 “My new sister. You must forgive my absence at the wedding, dealing with the Burnish incident will take longer than expected.”

Louscha smiled charmingly. “Your acceptance alone will be much appreciated, Lady Mortimer.”

Kyrillos caught the offensive scrutinizing gleam in his aunt’s eyes as Louscha met her with her own aloof look. He had always known Severa to cherish the authority and appeal that title gave her.

“Bah, you’ll be Lady Mortimer soon enough. Call me sister or simply Severa.” The older woman dismissed with a dead smile.

 Louscha nodded though Kyrillos knew she would never call her that. It was clear now to the gathered household how easily overshadowed she was by his aunt.

“Come, I’m sure being so long without your fiancé’s company has left you feverishly bored in the heart.” Severa commented with a smirk directed at her nephew.

They started for the entrance of the Reliquary as Kyrillos spoke to the valets, instructing them to take their luggage to their respective places inside.

“He’s here?” Kyrillos asked and saw that Louscha had suddenly looked paler than she was a minute ago, her hands clasped together to stop their quivering.

 He caught the worrisome look in the princess’ eyes as Severa led them through the grand foyer. He reached out to hold her hand, give her whatever courage she needed. But she threw him a look that told him off.

“Where else would he be? He rode through the night so that he could get here at dawn after the incident. The matter with the Demezieres family was very much ill received.”

“Yes it was.” Kyrillos added, his gaze hardening at the sights of blood stains being scrubbed off walls and floors.

 Unsightly evidences of the chaos and death that had happened in the building being removed by the servants. “We apologize for the mess, Your Highness. The savages left quite a mark on this noble house but as you can see, your fiancé sees to it that you are received in clean quarters.”

He heard his aunt tell Louscha and yet another mention of Lord Manfri sent the princess paler and frightful.

There’s nothing to be scared of. He will admire your wit and adore you. And if he doesn’t, you’ll always have me. He thought the same words he had told her almost every hour from their journey here.

“I think I should meet my husband, refreshed from the journey. Forgive my vanity but I rather not look so dreary on our first meeting, I want to impress him.”

Kyrillos stopped behind the two women, glancing from his austere aunt to demure princess. So different yet alike in the sense that they both bore their own kind of intimidation.

He thought Severa would argue and continue in their initial direction. But the woman agreed and released Louscha.

“I can lead you to your rooms.” Kyrillos offered, closing the space that gaped like an icy chasm. “The Reliquary is quite the maze.”

But Louscha shook her head and like any woman bred of her status, she waved forward a maid, easily asserting herself as the lady of the house.

 “Maybe you too need to take some rest, you look exceptionally drab, my darling.” Severa commented as she watched him watch Louscha leave.

He blinked but turned to his aunt, shaking his head from both the daze of Louscha and the slight exhaustion. But he would neither divulge both to his aunt.

“I’m fine. Where’s my father? I’d like to know exactly what happened here?”

The sooner we resolve this rebellion or whatever it is, the faster I am on my way as far as possible from this place.

 Maybe across the Nine Sea, I haven’t been to Caina.

His aunt Severa walked to him and patted his shoulders, the steely consternation reputed towards the Mortimers rearing a head.

“You won’t be of much help if you collapse on your feet. Go have some rest, then you can tell me all about how you have spent the past few years.” She drew closer to dismiss him with a kiss on the cheek.

Before he could disagree, Severa had vanished in bustle of cleaning servants. He made a sigh and started up the winding stairs where he had seen the servants carry his luggage.  

                                             ~ ♤ ~

  Louscha had always been special. First she was a child of royal blood, a most ancient lineage if the portfolio on her family genealogy in the archives of Arsinor which referenced the earliest mortal settlers of Evvoia could be trusted.

 A princess to some. Pretty bloom to her father and a honey trap to her uncle. That was exactly how he had put it in the emissary letter which had ended her dalliance with Kyrillos in Erdem and brought her here to the courting hands of Manfri Mortimer.

 Louscha remembered the day her mother had been laid to rest in the family crypt after she had died of a chronic blood fever. It was only when she was older that she understood that the women in her family were borne thin blooded and childbirth easily killed them.

 Her mother had been heir presumptive before she had died on the bed she had, a few hours ago, given birth to Louscha’s younger brother.

 At the funeral ceremony, her father had carried his newborn son who wailed as if he knew he had lost a parent, and placed the other hand on Louscha’s shoulder to comfort her.

 Louscha had cried of course, she had loved her mother. But she had told her father she did not know what it would mean for them now. So her father had replied through tear stained eyes of his own.

 “It means that you, pretty bloom, have a glorious destiny before you. It means that one day you will be Queen of Halgiers.”

 But that pronouncement had turned false in many ways.

 For one, her grandfather would die before she was old enough to be conferred the title as his heir. And another when she realized she was better off away from politics and court because she never wanted to be Queen. Her reign was in dance theatre.

 It had been. Louscha thought as she waved her arms to steady her floating body in the heated baths. She curved her hand, dropping the lather beads to trace the line down an angle of her spine.

 A memory of a Grand Theatre, hundreds of seats surrendering applause to her on the stage, flashing lights and the smell of lilacs then a shattering crack that sickened everything.

 Louscha gasped as she pulled her hand away and pulled her focus hastily away from such remembrances. Instead she focused on her bath and the beauty of the frescoed walls that led up to glass ceilings.

  The rose gold sky which was shot through with glimmers of purples, deep reds and encroaching twilight blue, reflected off the porphyria tiles and onto her limbs.

 As she placed her pearl grey eyes to the horizon, she never missed the right moment when the sun disappeared and said its goodbye with a flare of green light.

 The servants and commonfolk believe it was the brief meeting of the twin Divines of day and night and that it was the one time wishes could be granted. However many green flashes had happened across Evvoia, there were that much as many made each day.

 Louscha heard footsteps coming up through the doors and she looked over her shoulders to see a man; dauntingly broad with black beard and hair with streaks of grey shooting through them.

 Louscha had heard many things about Manfri Mortimer.  That’s what happens when you are as notoriously powerful as he was; people talked, stories fly whether they were true or not.

But Manfri Mortimer, Madrigal of Amphion and now Marrąk had a gentle face for someone who was supposed to be a genocidal tyrant.

 There was someone else with him, a pale shadow dressed in the same silver and green garb except more ostentatious than the Madrigal. Louscha knew him to be Manfri’s younger half brother, Melek.

 Louscha waved the servants forward and the girls moved with hushed steps, providing a floor length green velvet robe to wrap her body as she stepped out of the bath.

But she was certain both men, now close enough, had seen their fair share of naked women for her to be shy about this.

 “My lords,” she wrung her rosy hair out and dipped her head ever so slightly, after all she was the one with royal blood here.

 Manfri smiled, an expression which Louscha noticed turned his elderly handsome face to a resemblance to his son, Kyrillos. He took her hand and dipped in a much pronounced bow.

 He certainly looks pleased with the princess my uncle had promised him.

“Your Highness, I hope your journey was not arduous enough. I’m sorry I could not receive you when you arrived, I had to bring the household and city nobles in on the new development.”

 “It was pleasing enough. Your son made as good an escort as any fine ambassador.”

“Yes, Kyrillos is fine company when he is not voicing out all the things he despises about being back here.” The pale shadow said flippantly, drawing Louscha’s gaze.

 “I’m sure you remember my brother, Melek.” Grey eyes found his much paler ones as she regarded the brother who was several decades younger that his age placed him right close to hers.

 His features despite its unnatural paleness was shaped like a hawk with moon silver hair that he let stream down to his waist; the Mortimer ruggedly square jaw, slanted eyes that held almost transparent eyes.

For a moment they just stared at each other and Melek could very well tell what was going through her head. So he took her hand which were soft and slim and planted a courteous kiss at the top of her hand.

“Your Highness. It’s a great honor and pleasure to receive you here.” Louscha had a feeling he did not mean a word of such politeness mostly because his eyes flashed at her so maliciously that it made her shiver.

 Remembering she was more or less barely clothed, she retreated her hand from Melek and looked to her fiancé. “Unless you rather we continue this conversation with me this disadvantaged, I’d like to get dressed.”

 Manfri nodded and smiled that comforting grin again. “Of course. You can join us for lunch...”

“Manfri, don’t you think it is too soon. The princess only just arrived and we would not want to be bothered with gruesome details...” Louscha interjected just as he had done to his brother.

 “I’ve heard a lot more gruesome stories as a child, Lord Melek. And don’t consider me as fragile because I am not.” She smiled at both men, gathering the folds of her robes and turning around. “I’ll see your lunch, my lords.”

 When Louscha got to the suite of rooms which had been prepared for her, she had thought she could lay there on the bare polished mosaic floors and feel the streaming warm sunlight kiss her naked skin.

 But she knew it was unwise in a lot of ways. Lord Svengal could walk into the large grandly lavish riadh and reprimand her for one thing or the other, or worse send word back to her uncle.

 A wistful smile stretched across her face as Louscha remembered the afternoons Jaskier would sneak into her room and steal her into the palace gardens so he could escape his tutors and have a good excuse for it whenever he was caught.

 Also Louscha had been assaulted, on the journey with memories of her somewhat blissful few months spent here in Erdem with Kyrillos and she had seen the look on his face once they had entered the city that he too missed those carefree days of simple and unadulterated pleasures.

It had been heartbreaking when finally her uncle had sent his orders, although she should not have been so carried away by how sensual and loving Kyrillos had been with her to think this day would not come.

 Louscha heaved in deep clear fresh air that breezed through the open windows as she stood in front of the triptych full length mirror and shrugged off the velvet robes she had worn from the baths as the servant girl provided her with undergarments.

 She glanced around the trunks bearing all her clothes even new ones gifted from her uncle that he had no doubt selected specifically for the assignment she was here for. The assignment she had surrendered her future and the company of her true family for.

 She walked towards one remarkably crafted rose wood box and unclasped its bronze locks. The necklace within made her gasp with awe as the sun rays made the kaleidoscopic colors dance.

It was made of obsidian gems and sea glass which were only found at the shores of Halgiers.

 “It was your grandmother’s; gifted to the Mortimers, I believe. The cut sea glass was a recent design by your fiancé’s addition.”

 Louscha shifted her eyes from exquisite jewelry to the man’s face as he approached.

 Lord Svengal was part of her uncle’s grand chancellery. And he seemed to have come from the court room where he’d wanted to go through the niceties of the alliance her marriage would bring.

 “It’s magnificent.” Louscha appreciated as she trailed a finger along the glimmering gems, grateful that she had thrown on the robes after dressing. Svengal was in his fifth decade and was known for his lecherous personality for younger girls.

“Yes it is as she was as well. It is a shame that it is expected of us to honor the Concordat otherwise these Madrigals would have to be reminded that there’s still something to fear from us mortals.”

Louscha sighed at the ambassador’s words and was not surprised to see the fierceness in his dull blue eyes. She noticed this was the usual look many of her countrymen looked whenever they talked her grandmother who had been one of their fiercest queens.

They’ll always be bad blood between every other civilization and the Noirish. No one wants to kowtow to sorcerers.

Yet they wish me to wed one of them... a man known to have to desecrated cities with excommunication curses just because he could. Although her marriage was just another twist in the complicated knot which her uncle had created to ensure she was well placed for her more essential role.

  But Louscha knew that though Kyrillos had Noirish blood- and his family’s despicable history- that he was different. He had expressed his hopes, dreams and insecurities to her that she knew how much conflicting his life was -almost like hers- that she had come close to opening herself bare for him too.

 But I cannot risk it. This secret is not only mine.

She knew from all those pleasurable nights and sensual afternoons by the beach that as sons as they had entered Reliquary grounds that something had shifted in Kyrillos.

“Your Highness,” Lord Svengal called to her and she blinked back from her convoluted thoughts. “Now isn’t the time to be lost in thought.”

She nodded and closed the rose wood box and walked towards the rest of the large canopied and well cushioned bed.

“You have a job here, princess. Despite the welcoming gifts Lord Manfri gives or how warm and loving they show you; your mind must remain fixed and unshaken to what your uncle demands of you.”

“To put up a ruse of an engagement, situate myself at Manfri’s side and gain his trust, uncover the truth behind the deaths of the Demezieres, sacrifice whatever is necessary to wherever the trail leads and report back.” she recanted as if she had rehearsed the instructions from that letter many times. She might have well had.

He placed comforting hands on her shoulders and added. “This might well be the most dangerous assignment ever given anyone; the Mortimers are vicious to those they think is a threat to their power. And we have worked tirelessly to place you in a position to get what we need. Do not fail; you know what is at stake.”

 Jaskier. Papa. My life.

That had always unnerved Louscha since the moment a crown had been placed on her uncle’s head and the night she had decided that the theatre was no calling respectable of a princess of Halgiers.

“And the Noirish control over much of our military system is very much annoying.” Louscha shifted in her stand as the ambassador continued to speak. “We must be the masters of our fate and future if we are to survive the coming times. They have had enough dominance over us.”

“I understand, you do not need to enumerate every reason for this deception. I am the one undertaking the danger, Lord Svengal. I know what obstacles I am to transverse for my country.” Louscha reported curtly.

“Make sure you do.” And he started to go, permitting the three servant girls who had been provided for her household, to continue their efforts to getting her ready for lunch with their masters.

“Your Highness,” Louscha looked at the three girls and saw that they were all in considerable ages older than her to be thought as girls; oil slick black hair tied to a bun and the freckled deep bronze skin that was native to the southern Expanse.

 One of them, the oldest of the three, was of much darker skin with mismatched eyes on her long face- one was umber brown while the other was much lighter almost buttery yellow and dilated like a cat’s.

Louscha was more than surprised to see that there was nothing more profoundly Fell other than the colors of her eyes.

  Unless she really is Fell, but Manfri could not have accepted a Fell to work in his home. Or is this some kind of test?

“Are you Fell or Noirish?” Louscha blurted out her question in part curiosity and part trepidation as she let the robes fall to the floor.

 The woman looked up from where she knelt to begin applying jasmine oil to Louscha’s legs and answered.

 “Neither, your Highness. Me grandfather was Fell but I afraid I nigh inherited none of such...” her accented but vernacular speech broke off. She resigned to completing her task.

 Louscha knew that even saying she had Fell ancestry was risk enough here. Especially what had happened with the last family who had lived in these halls.

 Such things occasionally brought ire and hate from ignorant people, no doubt the other servants already despised for her differences. People of her pedigree were rare oddities and quickly relegated to the slums of both rival civilizations of Evvoia.

 She’ll be a good place to start planting seeds of trust and companionship. I could use her.

 Louscha turned to the two other servants and dismissed them with a wave of her hand so that it was only just her and the kneeling woman.

 “What is your name?” Louscha asked softly.

“Ymira, m-my lady.” Her head was still downcast as her smooth hands massaged the oils into her skin. Louscha realized, from slight stutter that she was probably frightened by her line of interrogation.

It was possible someone had unnecessarily scared her into obedience before she was given into her service.

“Well Ymira you need not be unsettled, however disturbing being in the Reliquary can be.” Louscha said with kindness. “Tell me, are there any good relaxing sights in the city. I believe I saw some preparations for a festival?”

 Ymira nodded and Louscha saw a ghost of a smile on her face at the mention of the festival. “Yes, tis Alrudha when the black suns cross each other; a whole night with no day. It... supposed to be the first day of the year and a day some sorceries are weakened and others strongest.”

 Weak for the Noirish and strong for Fell. “There is a parade. Very beautiful parade; children are born twice as happy and the old die with joy and no regrets in their hearts.” She romanticized.

 Louscha shared her smile which Ymira finally raised her face to look up at her. “And the Mortimers are expected to participate? I did not think they favor much of Fell customs.”

“It not Fell custom, Your Highness. It is Marrąkan but many mistake it. And Lady Athalia was always determined that is the Noirish goodwill to honor it and Lord Manfri was very close friend of hers. Now he wishes to honor her by doing the same. His sister disagrees, she does not like it here. And she does not like you here.”

 Louscha was silent as her easy ploy had opened her up to confiding that much information to her without caution. She blinked down at Ymira who only now realizing that she had said too much was flushed to either terror or fear.

 “F-Forgive me, Highness...”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Louscha cut her off with a kind smile and gestured for her to come closer. “Tell me, Ymira how long have you been here at the Reliquary?”

“I have served Lady Athalia two years, Highness, and now I serve you at my lord’s request.” Louscha nodded, knowing that the young woman was probably either in Manfri’s employ or his sister’s and gestured to the trunks of her belongings.

 “Thank you. You can help me dress now.”