A Daughter of Silvaris

I’d never been to the Southlands before. In all honesty, my mind had never wandered much farther than my own Pack, never mind another territory. A week ago, Papa told my brothers and me that we would be travelling there for a visit. It had us all excited, except Mama, who looked less than pleased. I knew three things about the Southlands: they were one of the four territories Lupaelia was divided into; it’s generally warmer than here in the Northlands; and as Lupaelian territory, they have their own High Alpha. The day had come around quickly, and we would be leaving soon. Perhaps I’d learn something new about the Southlands tonight. As I slipped my feet into my new, sparkly, lilac pumps, my mother’s faint whispers to my father leaked through my bedroom door from the hallway beyond. I had always been nosy as a child, and the only change when I reached my teens—I got better at it. The numerous clips around the ear I received over the years did nothing to teach me the importance of a privacy, but everything to teach me the art of stealth, so I couldn’t help myself when I crouched low and crept towards my bedroom door with absolute silence. Even with my ear pressed to the sliver of space between the rich wood floorboards and my door, their voices were quiet—they clearly didn’t mean to be overheard. Odd then, that they’d be foolish enough to discuss their private matter outside their meddlesome wolf-shifter daughter’s room. “I just don’t trust them, Octavier,” Mama’s voice cut with an edge that made my brow furrow. “Neither do I, darling, but you know I can’t refuse a meeting. It would be seen as a great disrespect.” Papa sighed. “We don’t have to agree to any business with them, and I don’t plan to, but we must go,” he said with a calmer tone, soothing, but with all the affirmation of his position as High Alpha of The Northlands. “Well, is it necessary to take the children, then? If this is a business meeting…” She sounded worried—I didn’t like it when she worried. She’s really the best sort of mother anyone could wish for: kind, caring, selfless; but she did worry. Often. She hid it well from others, but I could always sense the moment a concern crossed her mind. The sticky coldness of it, a sort of clinging discomfort. She’s my mother, but she is also the beloved Luna of our pack of wolf-shifters, Iron Ridge Pack, and mate to my father, the High Alpha of The Northlands. “Marisol, darling, please, don’t worry yourself. We will all be perfectly safe.” Papa did his best to pacify her. “The invitation extended to all of us, and as we are both imperial families, we should show respect of their request.” “Alright, if we must. I’ll make sure the children are ready and meet you downstairs.” “Okay darling. Oh, and Mari?” A pause. “You look beautiful,” Papa said, the depthless love he held for my mother thick in his voice. They shared a chaste kiss, signalling it was time I scrambled away from the door. I just managed to get to my feet and put on my most innocent face, sweetness and roses, before Mama opened the door. She entered with a warm smile on her face, her eyes crinkled—much opposed to the concern she’d held in her voice just moments ago. “Olena, sweetie, are you ready?” Mama really did look beautiful. Her shoulder length brown hair was pinned up at the back with just a few wisps framing her slim face. She wore a cobalt-blue dress of silk and gossamer that highlighted her eyes perfectly. We didn’t look much alike, but if you knew my mother you could see the similarities. We shared the less obvious features: a slim build, small nose and full, rosy lips. But there was no mistaking my father—I was born with all of his imperial features. I plastered a wide grin across my face, keeping my mask perfectly placed. “Yes Mama, I’m ready!” I said cheerfully. It was well practiced. Her brow narrowed as she took me in, and I worried for a moment she’d sussed me out, but I kept my expression unimpeachable. “Oh dear, what are you like,” Mama finally said, smiling softly as she motioned for me to turn around. I did as I was told, and she began fiddling with my shimmering silver hair. I’d tried to braid into a crown around my head like she often did for me, but apparently, I’d had little success. Her deft fingers worked quickly to correct it whilst she spoke. “Those shoes are pretty, sweetheart, but I don’t remember buying them.” She had noticed. A warm blush crept across my cheeks. “Rhett got them for me, he said they matched my eyes,” I admitted sheepishly, doing my best not to meet her all-knowing gaze. Her head come over my shoulder, brows raised, giving my new shoes a better look. “Oh, did he now? Well, he’s quite right, they match perfectly.” “Will he be coming tonight?” I tried not to sound too keen, but how well I managed it was difficult to gauge. Rhett Thornton, Beta Robart Thornton’s son and my brother Oberon’s best friend, had sort of become my favourite person over the last few months. My friend Mayli said I have a crush… maybe, maybe not. She says he’s cute, and I guess I’d have to agree, but most of all I enjoy his company. He’s never made me feel like a baby like my brother so often does. “No darling, the Beta’s aren’t coming tonight. But you can tell him all about it tomorrow,” she said with a wink that made me blush again. Braid perfectly woven; she straightened out my dress. It was the mirror of hers save for the colour—mine in a deep violet to match my own eyes. “Okay, you look perfect, darling.” She beamed and patted my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go and get your brothers. Hopefully Oberon has managed to tame Orion’s hair.” Mama’s lips formed a thin line and her brow narrowed—the doubt written all over her face. Understandable—my little brother’s default setting was overactive, but he could be as rambunctious as a wild beast on occasion. Sniggering together, we set off down the hallway, arm in arm, to find out if she would indeed be fixing another of her children’s hair tonight. My eyes went wide as we approached two enormous wrought iron gates and drank in the grand house— no, mansion, before us. It was bone white, at least five stories high with dozens of evenly spaced windows and verandas. The hooves of my slender black mare, Gilain, crunched the laid gravel as she treaded through the gates. They were far more ornate than prison cell bars, but they triggered a feeling of entrapment all the same. The garden’s hedges and topiary that lined the long driveway were immaculately pruned—not a single lush leaf looked out of place. Papa’s giant, thick set stallion shone blue-black in the last of the day’s sunlight; Oberon’s mare was a beautiful dapple grey, colouring like smoke fading into ink; and Mama held Orion on her lap atop her white mare, which looked every bit as regal as she did. A man in fancy black dinner attire stood at attention at the foot of the ivory marble steps, so well-polished I could have used it as a mirror, seemingly waiting for us to arrive. The frilled lace on his chest and at his sleeves looked rather pompous and made the occasion feel all the more formal, as if the grandiosity of everything else hadn’t been enough. “Are we there yet?” Nine-year-old Orion whined for what was surely the one hundredth time. “Blood Moon curse me, yes! Finally!” Oberon groaned, dragging a hand down his handsome face. I didn’t try to hold in my laugh. Oberon was not a patient male, and I knew my brother well enough to be sure he’d had enough of this evening before it had even truly begun. Orion double fist punched the air. “Wooohooo!” Mama’s mare snickered at the volume. I had to agree with her as my hand flew to my ear, protecting its drum from my kid brother’s daily onslaught of general noisy, boyish behaviour. He jumped from Mama’s steed without hesitation and broke into a bizarre dance he’s recently invented: arms and hips flinging back and forth, in opposite directions. It was enough to set my teeth on edge. Papa handed his reins to the young man in the fancy outfit and gave him a courteous nod. I nearly dropped Gilain’s rein in a poor handover, my focus instead on the gargantuan manor before us. It dwarfed our townhouse, but did not spur in me any pang of jealousy at the appearance of superiority. No, I didn’t think I would like to live in such a hollow space. The front doors were held open for us by a female equivalent of her colleague—though her skirt was shorter than Mama would ever let me wear—and her frills were even more ostentatious. Papa led the way, followed by Mama who held Orion’s small hand, Oberon and I followed closely behind. Oberon’s hand came from behind to grasp my shoulder gently. “Stay close Olena— no wandering, okay?” He said, barely more than a whisper into my ear. I lifted my chin. “Hmph, you’re not the boss of me,” I sneered playfully, shifting my shoulder out of his hand. “Olena,” he said more sternly this time, tightening his grip. I turned and found his eyes serious and swirling like a maelstrom. Perhaps now might not be the time to argue with my brother, so I simply nodded, silently agreeing to his earlier command. We continued towards the mansion, flutters of anxiety now building in my belly. Mama and Papa had sounded worried earlier too. I hoped— “Octavier, moi amicho! It has been such a long time!” The booming tone echoed throughout the house, startling me from my thoughts. The heavily accented, deep voice calling Papa’s name came from an older man emerging from a room to our right. He walked towards us with arms open wide and a grin spread right across his round face. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was certainly wide; he had amber skin, a balding head with few remnants of coarse black hair. His suit was free of lace and frills, but the shimmering material looked equally as fancy and thrice as expensive, even if the buttons looked a little strained around his middle. A plume of smoke trailed from his cigar as he removed it from his mouth with his heavily bejewelled fingers. Papa extended his left arm. “Diablo Rubris,” Papa replied courteously. The man accepted my father’s arm, each clasping the others forearm, and an assertive shake was exchanged between the High Alpha of The Northlands and the High Alpha of The Southlands. The man’s warm gaze quickly moved passed my father. “Luna Marisol, beautiful as ever,” Diablo practically purred as he dipped his head and kissed the back of Mama’s hand. She angled her head and gave him a respectful nod in return. “Diablo, a pleasure as always.” He sketched a final respectful nod at Mama’s greeting. Diablo’s affable gaze tracked across my brothers and I next. Something wicked flashed across his face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. He opened his arms again and I marvelled at the tensile strength of the thread that held the buttons to his suit. Surely at least should have popped off by now, but somehow, they remained in place. “And these must be your children. Ah, isn’t the Silvaris gene strong?! They have many of your imperial features, Octavier!” he thundered. Diablo’s dark, shadowed eyes roamed over us all, inspecting us one by one. He referred to our collective appearance. My siblings and I were tall for our ages and naturally athletic, and me, Papa, and Oberon all had gleaming silver hair. My eyes were shades of violet and lilac, like my Papa’s, but Oberon’s were cerulean blue like Mama’s. Orion was a halfway mix of both—his eyes were steely grey and his hair brown like Mama’s, save for a whisp of silver at the front. “We are truly blessed,” Papa agreed courteously, but with a stiffness that did not quite echo Diablo’s overly companionable tone. “Little Orion, is it?” He asked next, resting his hands on his bent knees to meet Orion’s sight. Orion leapt forward out of Mama’s reach. “I am Orion! Orion is me! One two three! Can’t you see?!” my kid brother rapped, excitable as ever, throwing his hands back and forth and finishing with his arms crossed and a pouty face. Diablo stilled for a moment before throwing his head back and releasing a deep belly laugh. His eyes had a wicked shine once he’d finished, and he ruffled Orion’s mostly brown hair, undoing all the work Oberon had done in taming it earlier that afternoon. Diablo stood once again and moved laterally to face me and my big brother next. “Oberon, what a fine young man you have become,” Diablo asserted, an arm extended. “Thank you, sir,” Oberon responded from behind me as he received Diablo’s left arm with his own. A quick shake and he returned it protectively to my shoulder. Then, Diablo’s eyes fell on me. “And my, my, my…” he purred as he took my reluctant hand between his sausage-like fingers. “Vael baellesa eti Olena…” he said, his voice was smooth as velvet. His eyes wandered over my face, my hair, my clothes. Up and down, then, finally, back to my eyes. My knowledge of the Southern tongue was poor at best, so his words were lost on me, but Oberon’s grip tightened on my shoulder again—so tight that I fought back a wince—and the stench the cigar on Diablo’s breath as he exhaled my name made my stomach turn. Despite my repulsion, I curtsied like Mama taught me and bowed my head in respect, but I gave him no words. As I regressed, I found him still eying me like a horse at auction. My breath snagged and I quickly averted my eyes to the ground, unable to stand the discomfort Diablo forced upon me any longer. As always, Papa saved the day. He was good at that. “Diablo, might we go inside? I fear that Orion may chew off his own arm if we make him wait for dinner any longer,” he said with a lazy half-smile. Weight, like shedding a leaden jacket, lifted from me when Diablo’s gaze left my body. “Why of course, Octavier! Where are my manners? Please, do follow me.” My skin tingled as the blood rushed back to my shoulder when Oberon released his tight grip. My focus elsewhere, I hadn’t realised how firm he had held me. Why was everyone so nervous? Orion seemed to be the only one completely at ease. Oblivious and at ease. Our host led us into a grand dining hall where a long, solid wooden table sat adorned with gleaming glassware, perfectly polished silverware and fine bone china. Candle sticks decorated with intricate filigree were positioned evenly along its centre. My eyes followed them to the far end and found four adults and four children sat casually, chatting between themselves. Silence fell over them all when Diablo raised his hands in welcome to his dining hall, this room just as grand as the rest. The Rubris family introduced themselves, shaking each of our hands and giving a respectful bow of their heads. There was Salvador, Diablo’s brother, who could have been his double, ten years and many, many fatty meals ago; Eron and Luis, Diablo’s sons, who both appeared to be in their mid to late twenties, although Luis looked like the younger of the two; and there was Josen, Salvador’s son, younger again than each of his cousins. He didn’t look all that much older than Oberon. Each of the men had a similar appearance of luscious dark brown or black hair, olive-tan skin, deep brown eyes and a shorter but bulky stature. The Rubris imperial gene was also strong it seemed, and plain to see in every one of them. Diablo introduced his grandchildren: thirteen-year-old Nilo who puffed out his chest, and dainty nine-year-old Marcella—Luis’s son and daughter. Salvador also introduced his grandchildren: tall and shy eight-year-old Penelope, and six-year-old Henrique, who’s cheeky smile made him look like he could be a real rascal, much like Orion. Papa introduced us the same way: himself, and Mama, then Oberon, seventeen, me, fourteen, and Orion, nine-years-old. “Wonderful, just wonderful. They are close in age to my own grandchildren, you may notice,” Diablo commented as his eyes raked over me once more, that wicked smile on his face. The same uncomfortable feeling slithered back into my empty belly. It made me nauseous. “I certainly did,” said Papa curtly, with a tight-lipped smile that did not reach his eyes. Diablo’s eyes caught Papa’s. “Hmm, yes. Well! I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. Please, take your seats,” he offered, kindness returning to his face as he gestured to the chairs at the opposing end of the table. A kindness that I now suspected to be utterly false.