Shortly after her birthday
***
The belated rays of spring Aconia lazily ran across the sleeping crowns of mighty oaks. The heavy giants stood as a single guard around the house that seemed long abandoned. The Vecchi estate knew no sleep, but to an unfamiliar eye it could appear equally deserted by day and by night. Only in a few front windows did dances of artificial light tear through the evening darkness.
Old Shekhsha, by her very appearance, seemed to have outlived Margel itself from its bloom to its coming twilight. Unfailingly following the d'Arcrede line, she had long ago buried her own children and grandchildren, and all the last heirs of the ancient dynasty. Alsira remained the last person in this world who had replaced, in the old woman's mind, both family and duty. Shuffling across the hastily cleaned floor, she rasped out final orders to the servants for their mistress's return.
— The bath is prepared, my lady.
— Excellent. I wish to wash off the stench of the capital at once.
— Did you enjoy the visit?
— My expectations found their match in the novels of the books.
— And this..
— This is Luciferia, my new maidservant. I want her tidied up, given clothes and quarters. Unseal the western room next to mine.
— Mother Aconia... — Pulling huge spectacles onto her nose with trembling hands, the old woman looked the Sithian over in surprise. — When will the lady finally bring a suitor home...
— Shekhsha.
— As you wish, madam. — The elderly woman bowed in her hunch, hobbling off to carry out the orders, continuing to mutter quietly. — .. At this rate, we're close to forty cats.
***
Idena, as usual, did not stop cheerfully chattering while lathering her mistress's hair. Alsira did not enjoy water rituals, preferring not to spend more time on them than was needed for perfect bodily cleansing, since no spiritual satisfaction was to be gained from the process. But this time the maidservant had insistently volunteered to take care of the newly arrived mistress.
— Don't worry about the dress! Blood, tears, burns — we'll wash it all and sew it up, it'll be good as new!
— Glad to hear it, Idena.
— Tell me, madam, is it true, really true that um, uh..
— ?
— That the Knight of Dawnsteel sends innocent maidens into a faint with his mere appearance?
— Such a reaction is quite likely to be expected.
— Eeh, if only I could run into him by chance!! And is it true that the Knight of Dragonheart has a pair of wings and breathes flame?
— Such a description would be expected from Lady Ruinous Might.
— And is the Knight of Loyalty the most ideal, most wonderful man of them all?
— Then he would be called the Knight of the Ideal, I suppose.
— And I also heard that... ... ...
— ... Thank you, Idena. And summon your brother to my study.
***
Kramran, two summers older than his sister, was slightly nervous. Their family was one of the few Tezoth ones that kept the estate and its surrounding Vecchi holdings in order. Most of the former servant staff were Aconians who had arrived with their masters during the well-known cultural expansion. But over the years, their numbers had steadily dwindled, forming new alliances and mingling with the earthly folk of the south.
More than anything, the young man wanted to see a real Sithian with his own eyes, while also fearing that his head would burst like an overripe watermelon from just one sidelong glance. Today, however, he had been summoned for quite a different matter.
— I have heard pleasant things of your success in negotiations with the land community, Kramran. Your diplomacy saved us thirty gold per season, correct?
— Thirty-seven, my lady. — the servant replied with embarrassed pride.
— Good. I bequeath the saved funds to your sole use.
— What? B-but, madam..
— And in return, I will need your help, Kramran.
— Uh-, yes, of course. How can I be of service?
— The capital has tasked me with gathering all information about the Knights of Tezoth. The value of this work would be hard to overestimate, but I cannot manage it alone.
The young man paused for a moment in confusion. — My lady, how can I possibly help you?
— I want you to set out on a journey across the kingdom. A wanderer, a odd-job man — your mind far surpasses mine in imagination. Attach yourself to noble houses and pick up rumors from the local servants. All our secrecy, invisible guards, and such nonsense exists only to protect the high society from one another. While political talks and secret councils are held, the nobility takes no notice of the workers bustling underfoot. From a cleaner or a gardener of another house, you can learn more than from the crown's spy network. We must make use of this.
— I.. will try to find out everything I can.
— Be careful and do not attract undue attention. With our combined efforts, this task can be accomplished.
— Of course! B-but.. this is.. — the young man hesitated. — Let me not even take the gold, I'll manage on my own coin. Only, if it were possible..
— M? And what is it you wish instead?
— I.. I w-want to go on a d-date with your new servant, my lady! — Kramran blurted out, blushing deeply.
A stifling silence fell over the hall for a time.
— ... When you return, if such an opportunity presents itself mutually. — came the cold reply at last.
— Hurray! One foot there, the other already here! — the lad beamed, nearly jumping with joy.
— Kramran. — he was called out as he reached the doors. — It may happen that upon your return you will not find this house or its mistress alive.
— What do you mean, madam?
— In that case, you will have to finish the work alone. I only wish for my initials to head the authorship. Surely some memory of my dynasty must remain in this world after its twilight, must it not?..
***
Finally alone with herself, Alsira stood before the tall bedroom mirror, wrapped in a light robe.
A split brow, a singed lock of hair. A bruise under the eye, a split lip. Nostrils stuck together with dried blood, a settled bruise on the cheek. Her neck splits with icy pain when she turns her head, the hastily bandaged shoulder stings, the crooked stitch on her side bleeds anew. Nails broken here and there, one finger swollen and blue, her foot limps at the knee.
No, knightly pastimes are certainly not a woman's business. She now looked more like a victim of domestic violence than a worthy warrior of her land.
Lifting a small, neatly crafted glass vessel from the shelf, the girl poured its contents into a crystal goblet, thoughtfully swirled the red liquid, and took a modest sip.
With a slight tingling, the burns and scrapes hissed, closing up literally before one's eyes. The bandages revealed clean pale skin, the battered face straightened and once again shone with lunar coolness. The consequences of olives and desserts burned away without harm to her waist. Hereditary ailments and other afflictions she could not even guess at once again retreated beyond the edge of existence.
Following the physical relief, as expected, no spiritual delight followed.
Небо
Happy Life