Nicolesca
Never in her twenty-eight years had Erine hated the silence as much as she did at this exact moment. It was a rare moment, what with two toddlers and a maid who wasn’t much but a child herself. No footsteps, no laughter, no toys hitting against the floor. The only sound she heard from within the house happened to be her own in- and outtakes of breath. This low volume inside made the outside world seem like such a loud place. She couldn’t recall ever cursing the wind rustling through the trees nor the birds flocking together and calling to one another across the sky.
The sounds had been too distracting. Most of all, the noise her quill had made against the parchment. Daily, letters had arrived from her sister-in-law and the High Councillor; and daily, those letters had been piling up, forming a neat stack on her table. Erine had decided yesterday that she was going to read over the letters and write a reply to each today — a decision that seemed utterly ridiculous the moment she had touched the tip of her quill to the parchment, leaving behind a nice dot of ink for her second cousin to read.
Instead of finishing with the few sentences she had written after her momentary ink-blotted pause, Erine had doodled and now– with the sound of the quill being the one thing she didn’t want to hear again for a while– she decided it was time to rest. With her arms crossed on the table, and her forehead resting on top, she closed her eyes to the world and thought about sounds.
In Euria, the sounds of her home were filled with laughter– the children’s, hers and that of her late husband’s. Music filled the air and the sounds of feet stumbling across the floor in what Aranis would call in an “almost dance-like fashion.” But, oh, the laughter. Aranis was the only one who could send her into a fit of giggles– her! the quiet and reserved Erine Nicolesca!– and even now, when the sound of his own chortle wouldn’t accompany hers, she could look back on their memories and laugh, albeit a laugh joined with sorrow.
Sorrow had been a predominant sound in their temporary home back in Saveren. The children’s cries occurred daily, while her own happened in the night. Everything had been tainted with the sound of sadness.
The sound still lurked in the corners of the otherwise quiet Aerilis. A quiet that Erine now noticed was being disturbed. Sitting up, Erine listened closely at the sound of the scuffled walk of her maid, the noise only growing louder as each step brought it closer. Already, Erine knew what Marine was bringing to her; but even with that bit of knowledge, she welcomed the change of sound and the distraction from her own train of thoughts.
As if on cue, there was a knock on her study’s girl. After allowing her entrance, Erine could hear the girl step into the room and shut the door quietly behind her. Erine already knew that– despite their different social classes– the girl was much like herself: quiet, shy and almost alone. Marine’s parents had died in the war.
“The High Councillor has sent another letter, Lady Erine,” Marine said the words with a soft underline of nervousness.
Erine looked down at the parchment on the desk, content that she didn’t do much with it besides practice art. “Does the letter feel long?” she asked, thinking back on Othinda’s last letter. While not loquacious in person, her second cousin had a knack for details and over elaborations when it came to the written word.
There was a brief pause from her maid. Erine glanced at her for only a moment, seeing the young girl clasp tightly onto the envelope. “It– it feels thicker than the last, Lady Erine.”
“You may put it with the others, Marine.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Erine listened again at her maid’s shuffled way of walking. But before Marine could leave the study, a question escaped from her without much thought, “is the noise different here, Marine?”
The steps came to a halt. “The noise?” Marine asked. Erine glanced over to her and noted the look of confusion on her face.
“Yes,” she said, turning back to the desk, “the sounds are different here. I can’t quite put my finger on it. But the birds … and the wind. It’s different.”
Silence took the room for a moment as Marine pondered over what Erine had said. Though she spoke barely above a whisper, the girl being so quiet, she nonetheless answered her lady’s question: “The birds sound wild and free, Lady Erine, and the wind is ever-changing. I believe that is what is different.”
The girl’s words had sense to them, she knew. Erine’s day felt a little bit lighter then, with the mystery of the sound of Aerilis solved. “Thank you, Marine. I do think you’re right.”
Dalca
“Are you sure it looks all right over here? I think it’d be better over there, by that window, don’t you?” it was the third time Arana had asked him about the table and vase. Neither the window she had tried before, or the space between the bed and armoire, had met her needs for a well decorated bed chamber.
“Well, where it’s at, it’s the focus of the entire wall and will forever be in the light — or dark — that’s cast in that window. But over there, by that window,” he enunciated the same words in the same way she had, to make his point as she had made hers, “it will be forever glorified by the sunrise, with the ray’s themselves touching, reflecting and enhancing the beautiful glass of the vase and further beautifying the flowers within.”
Arana stared at him for a moment.
Jordel smiled innocently.
“Where do you come up with that bull?” she asked, grinning her little girl’s grin and laughing sweetly afterward.
“It falls right off my tongue and out my lips,” he replied.
“Obviously.”
“Harmlessly.”
“Annoyingly,” she finished.
Jordel stood up from his chair and traipsed toward her, reaching her in two easy, long strides. “Do you need help moving it again?” he asked, the smile on his lips predicting her response already.
He had figured out long ago that Arana wasn’t the typical First Daughter of a noble Name. While she easily judged others (and just as easily, retracted her previous judgment and judged again) and had the taste for the finer things that life could grant her, she also knew compromise, hard work and had a certain stubbornness for doing things herself. So when Arana gave him a hard look, as if to say ‘are you kidding me?’ in response to his question, he felt nothing negative. It was only her.
Watching as she placed the vase on the floor, and again as she lifted the small table, Jordel could only feel a slight bit of amusement. Arana walked in short, almost struggling steps; with her arms straight, her torso bent slightly forward, and her eyes narrowed in focus. She made it to her destination and set the table down with a great exhalation of breath, almost a show of her satisfaction in her achievement. Jordel decided not to applaud, for fear of her cat claws digging into skin.
“It looks lovely, dear,” he said, showing a small smile. “I think that covers all the decorating for today. The rest of our things will arrive later in the week.” And early on in the week following. Arana Dalca had more items than one could ever dream of.
“Now what will we do?” Arana spoke as though she were defeated when it came to amusing herself. She walked over to the sofa and plopped down on it with a sigh. Jordel couldn’t resist joining her, though in a much less childish fashion. Arana glanced over to him, her lower lip jutting out in almost a pout. “Is Siris still asleep?”
He gave a short nod. “Exhausted still from yesterday’s ride, I assume. He’ll probably wake soon though. Knowing him, he can sense your desperate need for amusement.” A smile toyed on Jordel’s lips.
Arana dismissed his playful jab and was silent for only a moment before another question arose in her mind. “Do you think Erine’s arrived yet?”
Since their arrival, he’d been waiting for her to bring up Erine or her children — her children that happened to also be Arana’s nephew and niece. “I’m not certain. I’m sure she’ll send word once she does. Even surprise us with a visit along with her children, perhaps.”
“Doubtful. You know how she’s become.”
“Yes. Though, wouldn’t you be the same if I were to die in the war?” Despite his own ‘grand’ tales of the battles that he had fought in the war, the subject had been otherwise ignored in Arana’s presence. Many deaths had occurred in both his and Arana’s families. Arana’s twin brother had fallen in battle, the same brother that had husbanded Erine. Both were dealing differently with their grief — Erine had grown even more reserved, even solitary with it, while Arana couldn’t help but reach out to her nephew and niece and even Erine in attempts to better their life.
“I don’t know. I could go either way. Become reclusive and ignore my friendships with Othinda, Erine and Giltha or I could go the way I have already, and grow worse, with having dinners and other engagements on a daily basis.”
Jordel couldn’t help but feel that the conversation had grown melancholy. He needed to end it before the thought of his own grief and losses consumed a part of him. “Then from now on, I shall never complain of having parties and dinners every other day,” he said, a small, forced smile curving his lips ever-so-slightly. He brushed a few strands of her hair from her cheek.
“Every other day? Don’t you mean twice a week? Though, if you won’t complain, I’ll start having the engagements on that kind of level!”
“You wouldn’t! My grand stories and moments of fame will then grow old to everyone! I’d be ruined, Arana.”
“Ruined, you say?” Arana grinned, and opened her mouth to continue in jest, though she was interrupted by a distant cry in their home. Her grin transformed to a pleasant smile and she stood up from the sofa. Siris had awoken, either from their playing or by his own free will. “Well, at least there’s one person who won’t tire of your exaggerated tales.”
“Exaggerated? Everything I say is the truth. — At least when it concerns that.”
Arana scoffed. “Yes, making a three day ride in one! Such truth to that, my dear Jordel!” She rose from the bed and glanced to the door again.
“If you’re doubting me, then ask Awnis Kovac. He rode with me, as did several others, my dear wife,” he took notice of her glance and further more, how she now began to inch backward to the door. Siris no longer cried, but with him awake, he provided them each with another means of entertainment. Even still, he had to ask– “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Whoever gets to him first gets to play with him!” she announced.
“And what does the other get to do? Watch the leaves fall outside?”
“I’m not sure, love. I suppose you’ll have to find out!” With that said, she turned on heel and began to run toward the nursery, with Jordel close behind.
Kovac
There seemed to be a cold draft in her home. It made sleep for her to be impossible to achieve that night. Giltha wondered if it was only her imagination, as the fire continued to burn and her husband continued to sleep on the far side of the bed, turned away from her.
Even their temporary home in Saveren had been better than this place. Back there, she had slept snug and warm and sound in the same room as her son while Ailen slept elsewhere, in a small room on the other end of her relative’s home. And though at first she had decided that their new beginning in Aerilis could strike as a new beginning in their marriage, she now found herself regretting the idea. Ailen bored her — he even disgusted her, at some points. Had there been any better choice for her to marry, she would have taken it. Unfortunately enough, there hadn’t been anyone. Starting over would only be a reminder of what she already knew.
Sitting up, Giltha began to carefully move out of the bed. Despite not having shared a bed with her husband in quite some time, she still remembered that he slept lightly and could be awoken by a mere pin needle dropping. Even as she stood up from the bed, the weight shift caused him to stir in his sleep. She glanced back at him, watching as he slowly moved to lay on his back, his arm crossed along his abdomen with his fingers grazing the skin of his side. She had heard the disturbance of his breath — the sharp intake of air and the slow exhale as he settled into his new position on the bed.
She turned away and began to walk. Joren’s nursery was only across the hall from their bedroom, the flames on the wall’s few candles flickered, creating shadows along the bare stone.
Giltha crept toward her son’s crib, the one that he’d soon grow out of and have no use for. Peering down at her son, she lowered a hand down to the dark strands that covered his small head. She ran her fingers gently through Joren’s hair, thinking.
Thinking why she had come to this great void of a province. She could have been and done anything in Saveren with much success, as the prime First Daughter of her Name. But familial loyalties, perhaps, had been the reason to come. Her mother had been the right-hand woman to both Ara Ardelean and her daughter Fenra, all before the three of them had perished in the war. Othinda had thought it right to make Giltha hers, as she had the knowledge of such a position.
Her thoughts also wandered toward her son and if he’d be the only child she’d have. Since his birth, she and Ailen had tried for other children on a few occasions — the only times they had shared a bed since Joren’s conception. Every woman wanted a little girl to pass everything down to — Name, position and wealth. However, Giltha knew she’d be more than happy to have any child again. Her love for her son was much, though she felt as though more children were intended for it.
Giltha stroked a finger against her son’s cheek. The thoughts were pushed away, subsided for now and to be taken out another day. For now, she needed to think about tomorrow and the tomorrows that waited for her and her son.
She heard something in the hall.
Giltha remembered not closing the door to the nursery, making it easily possible for her to see what the noise had been. She needn’t look — already, she knew what it was. Who it was, rather. She could feel his eyes on her back.
“I’ll sleep elsewhere tonight,” she heard the words fall from Ailen’s lips in a hushed manner. Giltha had heard this from him before, where the word ‘tonight’ was, in fact, the phrase ‘from now on’ in disguise.
She said nothing in response to him. Ailen lingered by the doorway for a moment longer, his eyes still on her — or perhaps Joren, she couldn’t tell. Soon, she heard the sound of his feet against the stone floors, leading him ‘elsewhere’ — one of the other rooms in the house.
Self-important, Giltha thought, was another word that came to mind when she thought of her husband. It fit snugly between the aforementioned boring and disgusting. He didn’t possess the wit and care that Collen Horvath had, nor did Ailen have the war stories and energy that Jordel Almassy had. Even the young Aranis Dalca — bless his soul — could display more personality in a single smile than Ailen could muster for a conversation.
“You won’t be like that, though,” she murmured, adjusting the blanket that covered her son. “You’ll be so much more.”
She returned to her bedroom, finding it just as chill as it had been when she left it. Crawling beneath the coverlet, she rested her head against her pillow. A part of her could still feel the warmth that radiated from the side that Ailen had slept on. Giltha pushed it from her mind, closed her eyes and focused on sleep.
Ardelean
Othinda Ardelean had never thought she’d be a High Councillor to a province, much less the province that her family had been governing over for generations. She hadn’t been her mother’s First Daughter — that had been Fenra, by the difference of only a year. With the birth of Fenra’s daughter in 795, the already slim chances of Othinda becoming High Councillor became none — and she found herself all right with it.
She had married for love, rather than convenience, thanks to her sister’s agreement on the matter; after all, Fenra believed that a Name didn’t mean everything. Collen Horvath had the Name of a commoner, the education of nobility and even the blood of such — with Ardelean blood coursing through his veins, from generations ago. It wasn’t a perfect match by any of the onlookers, but it seemed so for Othinda. She adored the way he looked at her, his capability of melding his seriousness and wit together in conversations and the confidence he had in himself.
Their life during the war wasn’t easy, and it only grew worse after their marriage. Casualties were an every day occurrence, though it had never occurred to her that her own sister, brother-in-law and niece would be a part of it. Othinda, Collen and their daughter, Corissa, had escaped Euria for Saveren only a few days before her sister’s family had followed suit. The war had escaladed to bloodbath proportions and Fenra had finally decided to take her family out of the province. On their way out of Euria, Fenra’s escort had been attacked and everyone presumed dead.
Which brought Othinda to the present. While Aerilis wasn’t her home, much less the land she could have inherited, it would have to do. The legends people told about the magical, blood thirsty beasts that came down from the mountains were only stories to keep children up at night. The real magical problem was in the process of being dealt with, what with the registration and all, and she’d have no tolerance for talk of magic creatures on top of it. Though, she thought, casting a glance to Collen at her side, who was pointing out to Corissa from their carriage view the few features that Aerilis’ seemingly pristine land had to offer, prattling on about make believe details of the lakes, ponds, and mountains they passed, I may have to have some tolerance. If anything, Collen loved a good story.
Hiding her smile as she glanced away from her family, Othinda looked out of her own window. While there was too much distance between their current position and their new home, she knew that it would almost be finished and already, ready enough for her and her family to move in to. Along the way, they had passed several other homes that were in the same position; along with families or workers who were only starting the construction of their new homes.
“Lost in thought, Lady High Councillor?” she heard Collen’s voice interrupt. True enough, she had been thinking about the differences between Aerilis and Euria; and while he had put sarcastic emphasis on her new title, there seemed to be hidden concern beneath it.
“Oh, don’t. I have to hear it endlessly in public. You can at least give me that peace,” she replied, with a roll of her eyes and a smile to match.
“I suppose I shall revert back to ‘Gracious Lady of Most Amazing Beauty and Everything Else Wonderful’ then?” he asked, with a mask of seriousness.
“It rolls off the tongue easier.” They shared a smile and Collen took her hand in his.
Othinda glanced down at Corissa, who had removed herself from her fa’s lap to the floor below. She could tell that impatience grew in her daughter, but the three year old remained calm and quiet about it. Despite it, Othinda assured her anyway, “we’ll be there soon enough.”
“Yes, and then she can resume harassing the help at every given moment.”
“Oh, hush.”
Prologue
Magic had always been a part of the planet’s history. In 774, however, the Council discussed the problems that could arise with those of magic blood holding any position with power. Countless meetings were held to talk over it; and soon registration of the planet’s Cei’ours became a focal point of their discussion, as well. After a few years, the act of discussing it over turned into taking action on the problem, with the Eurian province being the first to announce it to their people.
The moment Fenra Ardelean, the High Councillor of the Eurian province, spoke the words to her people, she ignited a spark with the Cei’our in her land — a spark that soon became the wildfire of war.
Throughout the eighteen years of the war, many citizens of the Eurian territory sought refuge in the nearby Saveren province, where the ground was less blood-ridden. Close to the end of the war, the majority of Eurian’s population had escaped the raging battles, leaving only those that were fighting the battles and those unfortunate enough not to escape in time.
Euria became a great void after the final battle; inhabitable, with the land poisoned by the amount of magic that it had absorbed. The High Councillors that had governed the province throughout the war had been among its casualities — Fenra Ardelean, who passed in 785; her First Daughter Ara Ardelean, who passed in 795; and Ara’s First Daughter, Fenra, who only had the position as High Councillor for a little over a year, before her and her own daughter’s death in 796.
The citizens of Euria were without land and without a High Councillor. Scattered across the planet, though mainly focused in the Saveren province, they watched and waited as the world changed. The registration for Cei’ours became a global act, with news of hostility and violence erupting in various provinces throughout the world — though nothing ever escalating to the destruction that had just ended.
In late 797, the High Councillors of the world gathered together — including the second daughter of Ara Ardelean, Othinda Ardelean, the next in line to the Eurian High Councillor’s position with the passing of both her sister and niece. To the north of the Eurian territory, close to the mountains that inhabited fabled beasts of magic and destruction, was an ungoverned territory — Aerilis. The High Councillors granted the land to the Ardelean name, which spread a mixture of peace of mind and hesitation among the refugees of Euria.
For those that found peace of mind, they followed Othinda Ardelean, the High Councillor of Aerilis, to their new home; while those that hesitated stayed back and watched with fear.
