masks
I. THE PRINCESS HOSTS A GRAND MASQUERADE
I was asked by the Princess herself to recount the events of the masquerade for you. She wants them remembered. Personally, I'd just as soon they were forgotten, but her word is law, even in this fallen age, and even if she is a fool. (Perhaps I am being harsh.)
Allow me to set the stage for you, then. Late winter, when the frost begins to give way and the wind whispers "spring" if you listen closely enough and the earliest of the spring flowers are finally in full bloom. Can you see it? Bright flowers on the snow? Can you smell that floral bouquet? It is especially striking at the palace, those white marble walls seeming to come alive with the reds and pinks of the coming of spring. This is beauty. This is luxury.
And this year, as every year, the palace played host to a grand masquerade ball, to show off all the splendor the Commonwealth has to offer. (Our story takes place in the capital, in the heart of the heartland. To call it the Empire here would be very vulgar indeed.) And it is truly the splendor of all the Commonwealth, for though the plants outside were still subject to the whims of the seasons, the Commonwealth boasted many greenhouses dedicated to no lesser cause than seeing that the palace is bedecked with roses of all colors in time for this annual celebration. It is a festival of beauty that at times threatens to overwhelm the senses, but everything is so tastefully arranged, so exquisitely curated, that it stops just short of doing so.
And yearly the festival is attended by the most elite of the elite lords of the Commonwealth, those whose words and opinions can shape the course of history, who sit on the inner council of the Commonwealth. And playing hostess, as ever, is the reigning Princess of Eloun. This year it was young Princess Nevena IV of Elouan--not a princess as in the child of a monarch, a vulgar title from a vulgar time when we were still ruled by kings and queens, but a princess as in a woman who sits on the throne of a principality. She is the first among equals, the most important woman in all the world.
(I hope you will forgive me this indulgence. It is hard for me to imagine someone who is not familiar with our dear princess, but perhaps in the future her name has lost some of its luster. Perhaps even the Commonwealth is no more. If I am to ensure that the night of this masquerade is remembered, I must account for these possibilities.)
This year was all the more important as it was the first such event that our dear Nevena had hosted since her father's tragic passing not quite a year hence. It was not yet known what sort of ruler she might be--some of those who sat on the throne of Elouan were weak, dominated by the whims of the council; some are strong enough to bend the council to their will. So all eyes were on the princess that night, and anything shy of perfection would not do.
The princess was not the only thing on the lips of the elite that night, however. Not three nights prior, there had been a break-in at the legendary vaults where the Order of the Keepers secured their most precious artifacts. This had never happened since the founding of the Commonwealth, so tonight everyone would be wondering: how would this new Princess deal with the Order? Would she finally put an end to their independence and bring them back under the thumb of the Commonwealth, since they had demonstrated at long last their inability to protect their own?
And of course, there was the tradition of the masquerade, a tradition that demanded that the guests pretend that within this palace, at this time, everyone was equal. A useful pretense, but a pretense nonetheless. So rather than receiving her guests in the audience chamber, seated on the dais and flanked by her retinue, our dear princess was given the opportunity to make an entrance.
The gesture that was widely expected was a grand, over-the-top spectacle--the Order's alchemists could be relied upon to make a sufficiently memorable pyrotechnics display--but she was more interested in subtlety. She timed her entrance to the moment the orchestra began to play the symphonic movement that had been commissioned generations ago in celebration of the city her family had presided over since the establishment of the Commonwealth. And just as the guests began to recognize the melody, there she stood, dressed in splendor, flanked on either side by the twin knights who had already created quite a stir in the courts of the Commonwealth.
(If it matters to you, I'm the one wearing her sword on her left hip.)
Nevena felt that it was incumbent upon her to wear a dress that was timeless--aware of trends but not ruled by them, traditional but not outdated. I don't like to imagine how many hours must have gone into the making of that dress--hundreds, perhaps, if not more--but it was a sight to behold. A deep, rich blue silk, accented with paler colors, decorated with blue roses at her chest and in her hair that flawlessly matched the hue of the fabrics, and a mask of the same shade. (My sister and I were dressed in blue and white, the colors of her city. And if you are wondering if it is a mistake that the colors and the music she wore evoked not the Commonwealth with its green and gold, but the city, allow me to assure you that it is not.)
She slipped into the crowd then, while her twin protectors followed at a distance. Do you see how important this annual masquerade is? Anyone in attendance would have the opportunity to brush elbows with the princess, to win her favor, to dance with her. And do you see now how easy it was for something to go wrong?
The princess navigated the crowd easily. Even her detractors--and she had many, of course, and many more who hid their enmity behind that most sinister of masks, the smile--could not help but respect her eloquence, her charisma, her perfect poise. But the greatest power that Nevena possessed was that she listened. No matter who you were, or what you were saying, she would listen. She was hypnotic, and if you were unwary you would find yourself saying things that you would have preferred she did not hear.
This was her strategy for navigating the world of politics, and had been since we were children, navigating the petty cliques and factions of our school days: just listen. Say only what you must to guide them to where they need to go. If only she had not applied that strategy to her allies, as well, I like to imagine we could have prevented disaster.
II. THE FESTIVITIES BEGIN
If I were flattering myself, I would tell you that my sister and I were chosen to accompany the princess here, on this night where, protected by our masks, we all pretend that we are equals, because we are her most trusted knights, and there is an argument to be made that this would not be a lie. The truth, however, is that we were selected because we showcase the empire's might and benevolence. By our dark complexions we showed that the empire is mighty enough to count even the famously wild highlanders among its subjects, and benevolent enough to grant even highlanders positions of honor in its highest courts. (It did not matter to them that we never even visited the highlands until our teens, that the Imperial heartland is the only home we have ever known.)
It is also true that my sister was the champion at the summer's fencing tournament, and one of the many traditions of the masquerade is that the reigning champion will accept challengers for an informal exhibition of fencing artistry. Perhaps that influenced the Princess's decision as well--even more prestige to have a virtuoso of swordsmanship here to escort her, after all.
(It is also, if I am to be wholly honest with you--and I have nothing to gain from lying to you anymore, I must remind myself--very possibly the only reason either of us agreed to it. We both took great delight in humiliating those who thought to challenge us, and traditionally everyone who challenged the champion would offer a forfeit when they inevitably were defeated. At the previous masquerade, the champion walked away with more bottles of wine than he could carry, several pieces of jewelry of varying quality, an exquisitely crafted set of dueling swords, and three herbal tinctures which promised to speed the healing of any wounds or sickness.)
Ah, if only you had been there to see my sister as she faced off with her opponents to open the evening's festivities. Such grace, such skill, such economy of movement--it is a beautiful thing to watch someone as skilled as she defeat her opponents, to make it all look effortless. Even you, I think, would have been so distracted, so caught up in the display, that the princess managed to slip away from you.
I forgot about her entirely until my sister, as I was shaking her hand to congratulate her on a stellar performance, looked behind me and asked, "Where's Nevena?"
And as much as I would like to tell you how I fought to keep from panicking, how we began our search, accosted as we both were by onlookers offering congratulations on a stellar performance, trying our very best not to let anyone so much as suspect that something was the matter, this story, for good or ill, focuses on our beloved princess.
The truth is, as political as the decision was to appoint us as her protectors on this night, she would have much preferred to attend unaccompanied. So, in our distraction, she quietly slipped into the crowd in search of her prey.
Her prey, His Grace the Duke of Idreinen, was . . . shall I describe him, first? He was a tall man, powerfully built, fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a pale Heartlander complexion that had tanned and reddened in the sun. He smiled easily and laughed loudly--and imposing but jovial figure. Tonight he wore a suit in a militaristic cut in red, black, and white, and tonight Nevena asked him if he would do her the honor of sharing the first dance with her.
Idreinen, you must understand, had been the unofficial leader of the largest faction on Elouan's council--which made him the greatest political rival of Nevena's father, the late Prince Taran VII. Taran had been an ineffectual ruler, allowing Idreinen and his faction to gain a great deal of power. Idreinen's faction stood for a stronger heartland, a stronger council, stronger nobility; Taran stood for . . . very little. He was a weak ruler who fancied himself a strong one, ceding ground he did not care about because he did not understand it. Their primary point of friction, however, was over the disposition of the Order of the Keepers. His Grace wanted them under the direct control of the Council, and the Prince cherished their independence above all else.
This was the first meeting between the Princess and the Duke since the state funeral of the late prince. You could almost feel the energy in the air as this veteran of Council politics took Nevena's gloved hand and, with a flourish and a bow, kissed it. "Your Serene Highness, the honor is all mine."
What a pair they made! What a contrast! (It is here that my sister found them, while I sat on the balcony and watched the snow fall and tried to collect myself.) Her gloomy blue against his vibrant red; her gentle curves against his sharp angles; her pale complexion against his ruddy; her dark hair against his fair. "I imagine," he said to her, once they had taken to the dance floor and there was little risk of eavesdropping, "you must be wary of me, since your father and I had so many disagreements."
"I wish to make my own judgments," she told him. "I am not my father."
"Very wise," he said. "That quality will serve you well."
I piece this conversation together from what my sister was able to glean as she read their lips. It was a talent we had both cultivated--many a secret conversation took place at gathering such as these, where the conspirators felt safe in the knowledge that the din of the crowd would drown out their voices. Nevena, for her part, has declined to relay her memories of this evening.
Here Nevena's back was turned, so her reply will be forever lost to history, but His Grace laughed. It was a hearty, jovial laugh, which many often confused for sincerity; in truth, he had cultivated his laugh as carefully as I had cultivated my smile, as a weapon to disarm. But that he was using it all revealed that he was already falling under her spell.
It was neither exaggeration nor figure of speech when I said that Nevena's presence was hypnotic. And it was no mere spell of her beauty (though of course you will agree she was beautiful), nor even the force of her personality, that gave her this power. No, she was spirit-touched. She would deny this, of course, but those of us who were close to her suspected, and her enemies had their suspicions, too. It was as if the sky in storm had taken human form and politely but intently listened to you. How could you help but like her? And when she smiled, and brushed your hand, and asked a question that showed that she really understood not just what you were saying, but what you were trying to say, how could you help but assume that she was everything you wanted her to be? A friend? A confidant? Someone pliable to your cause?
"You know, I always did regret how poorly your father and I got on," the Duke said. "We both wanted the best for this Commonwealth, and all that factionalism only hurt."
"Absolutely," said Nevena.
"We could do great things together, I think." He leaned in conspiratorially, another gesture he had meticulously calculated over the years. It conveyed trust, and an invitation into his most private secrets. "Between you and me, I did most of the real work of governing during your father's reign."
"Oh?" She kept her face so carefully neutral, not revealing the excitement she must have felt. "I knew he was not particularly effective, but . . ."
"It was lamentable. So many meetings behind closed doors. So many favors called in." He shook his head sadly. "But who else was going to help the Provinces? They were struggling. They still struggle, and there's only so much I can do. I need your help, Your Serene Highness. Help me make the Commonwealth strong."
It was far from an admission of guilt, but it was a thing said in confidence. It hardly mattered that Nevena must have already suspected as much. She had access to the reports, after all: requests for monetary assistance that appeared to have been resolved, money missing from the treasury, corrupt officials reported dead or missing. All without the apparent involvement of the Council. That he thought of himself as the shadow ruler of the Commonwealth was hardly a secret, but it was an admission he would never have made without the hypnotic presence of Nevena, her silence begging him to fill it with secrets.
Nor was the Duke a fool. When the spell wore off--as soon as the gravity of her presence no longer drew all his thoughts to her and shaped her in his mind as an ideal and willing puppet--he would realize that someone with that power, to make him speak those private thoughts aloud, would one day destroy him, if he let her.
Then the song ended, and the two dancers approached my sister--perhaps by accident, perhaps by design. It hardly matters. She did her best to school her features into a neutral, polite smile. "Your Serene Highness, Your Grace. You both dance exquisitely."
"Not as exquisitely as you fence, madame," said the Duke. "Is Alana not with you?" He was speaking of me. So few people use our names.
"I believe she went to get some fresh air."
"A pity. She is always such a delight." The Duke turned his warm smile on Nevena. "Alana and Elara are both charming company and skilled fencers. You're lucky to have such protectors." By some turn of fate, we both knew the Duke better than Nevena did; though his duties seldom permitted him to attend, he was a student of the palace's school of fencing, and had even been a champion in his day. He had always been kind to us. "I'd hate to monopolize you, Princess, so I'll take my leave for now. It's been a pleasure dancing with you."
"Chastise your sister for me when you see her, will you?" said Nevena, once he was gone. "She really shouldn't have let me out of her sight. Especially not if she was going to give up on searching for me."
"Of course, Princess."
"I'm teasing. Come, let's find her. If I'm hungry I imagine you must be starving." She did care for us, our beloved princess, and I think she may even have thought that we were friends. Perhaps we thought that, too.
They found me just as I was beginning to get cold. The snow had started to pick up, and I was beginning to realize that this was wrong. Perhaps snow at this transitional time, when determining whether it is late winter or early spring depends largely on your mood, is not so unusual for you? But in those days, the Spire was meant to control the weather, to ensure that the seasons were predictable and temperate. I say "meant", because lately the weather had been tempestuous (by our standards), and this was a source of contention between the Spire's Keepers and the lords of the Commonwealth.
But Nevena brightened when she saw it. "One last snow before spring," she said. "Tonight, I think, will be a good night." I am being unfair to her, here, framing it as if everything that followed was the result of her innocence, her naivete. At the time I was convinced she did not understand the risks she was taking, that she thought all of this was a game. The truth, I think, is worse: it was simply a risk she was prepared to take.
III. AN UNEXPECTED WINTER STORM
Our attempts to convince the princess to be careful were derailed by what I can only assume was a deliberate attempt on her part to distract us by setting us about the task of notifying the guests of the oncoming storm and providing whatever assistance or reassurance they needed. And of course it worked--such was her power. But she could not stop us from gathering information as we worked. And it could not stop me, as I was walking the garden to look for any stragglers who may have missed the announcement, from finding the Duke in the hedge maze, looking distressed. He had appropriated a bottle of wine and a set of glasses from somewhere.
"Your Grace? Did you hear--"
"The snow?" He brushed some accumulated snow from his coat. "I guessed." He shook his head. "Join me for a tipple, Alana? I could use the company."
I told you that I knew him well, didn't I? And while my sister--Elara, we have both earned the right to a name in this story--had conveyed the conversation she had witnessed, it was still a shock to see him so unnerved. The Idreinen I knew was careful never to show weakness, had meticulouly cultivated every gesture and expression to always project an image of easy confidence. In that sense, at least, he was a kindred spirit of mine.
"Of course, your Grace." I sat down next to him, and he poured me a glass. Had he been expecting me? Or would anyone have done? There was an unsteadiness to his pour that told me this was far from his first drink of the evening. I raised my glass and adopted a relaxed posture and a wry smile. "What are we drinking to?"
He held his glass in front of him and watched snowflakes settle into the wine and disappear. "To the Spire, I think." He took a long draught, and I followed suit. "The heart of our Commonwealth. The city, the entire Heartland, would be nothing without the Spire, and its Order. Tempering the weather, making the crops bountiful, calming the earth. And now look. Snow at the spring masquerade. And not just a few flakes--an actual storm."
"I have a friend who laughs at us every time we worry about the weather like that," I said. "Is it so bad?"
"That's just it. People are laughing at us. Did you know that even in the Provinces, people are calling us an empire now? As if all of this was built on conquest." He finished off his glass; I followed suit.
Are you worried that I was getting myself drunk with a man who is clearly the antagonist of this tale? You needn't be. One of the privileges of being a valued servant of the Princess of Elouan is access to the Order's alchemists' finest creations; my sister and I both had a small ring of amethyst set in our tongues as proof against poison. As a side effect, it neutralized alcohol entirely.
"Are you worried about the break-in at the Spire?" I asked him, as he poured us each another glass. "Is that what brought this on?"
He actually started when I said this, turning to look at me with his eyes wide with fear. He quickly mastered himself and schooled his expression into something more neutral. "Not quite," he said.
"Then what has you out here in the cold drinking alone? What's on your mind?"
He frowned into his glass, as if contemplating whether to let me in on some secret. However much he liked me, I was still Nevena's servant. "You, of all people, understand how important it is to keep your guard up," he said. "But somehow I . . . let myself slip. Let someone I shouldn't have see beneath the mask. And the worst part is, I couldn't even begin to tell you why."
I put a hand on his shoulder, and smiled reassuringly. Another calculated gesture, but he seemed to relax. "I know no one has worked more tirelessly for the Commonwealth than you have, Your Grace," I said. "I think everyone knows that."
He nodded, and seemed to rally somewhat.
And then I decided to take a gamble. "Is it the Princess you're worried about? She's not a creature of impulse like her father. And I know she would like very much to count you as an ally."
He offered a weak smile. "You're right, of course. But enough about that. The wine and the weather have me melancholy. Tell me something cheerful--some court gossip, perhaps? A story from the Academy? You were always good at telling stories."
His recovery, of course, was a charade--the first time Nevena's power takes hold on you is something that can shake you to your core. The revelation that for some portion of the evening your mind was not your own, and that you only know that from looking at the shadows of things that happened--odd things you said or did or thought that no longer make sense no matter how much you think about them--is deeply unsettling. But I had hoped that I had managed to convince him that at least he was not in danger.
So I drank with him and told him stories, hoping to distract him from Nevena altogether, even as I noticed that he had stopped drinking himself and was quick to refill my own glass. So I feigned drunkenness as well as I could. After a few stories--long enough that a few inches of snow had accumulated on the bench around us as we were talking--he excused himself with the promise that he would return shortly. I waited until he had returned inside to follow after him.
It must have been an hour at least that I had been talking to the Duke, and I had expected most of the partygoers to have departed by now, hurrying off home ahead of the storm. But they were all still here, as if nothing had happened. All of these people had decided it better to remain at the palace overnight than to risk the roads in the storm.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a red suit and a blue dress disappearing into the corridors, but Elara waylaid me before I could pursue. "I got one of the Keepers to tell me what was stolen a few days ago. A necklace, meant for controlling the spirit-touched."
"Idreinen," I said. His reaction when I mentioned the break-in suddenly made sense. I ran, Elara close behind me.
IV. NEVENA RECEIVES A PRICELESS GIFT
I've left Nevena alone for too long in my telling of this story. It's true that we had no eyes on her for this time, and it's true that she has refused to recall even the most mundane aspects of her evening, but we are not completely without knowledge. We know that she set herself to speaking with the more influential guests present, offering them more prestgious lodgings than those the servants were even now preparing--suites in the royal wing rather than the humbler accomodations the servants were already preparing.
It's easy to imagine, then, how this exchange happened. His Grace, tired and distraught and drunk enough that he didn't entirely need to feign exhaustion, approached Her Serene Highness. "Princess," he said. "I'm afraid I'm quite exhausted and in this blizzard I'm in no state to make the journey home. Where are your guests sleeping tonight?"
"Your Grace," she said, all smiles, "I would not dream of offering you anything less than one of the royal suites."
"Very generous of you," he said. "Would it be too much trouble to ask you to escort me there? I would feel terrible accepting such generosity without offering my hostess a gift."
And Nevena, perhaps sensing an opportunity to extract further secrets from the Duke, of course accepted gladly. And so they quietly left the party to stride through the empty corridors of the palace, as far from the noise--and the guards--as possible.
When they were well and truly alone, the Duke produced, with a flourish, a necklace, exquisitely grafted with a gold chain, and a gold pendant set with a large sapphire. "A thanks for your courtesy this evening," he said. "And, I hope, a token of alliances to come."
Was this too grand a gift? Nevena was used to such treatment; even if she was not conscious of the fact, extravagant gifts were commonplace for her. So it is hard to imagine that she would demur rather than simply hold it aloft and admire how the light catches its gem. "Simply marvelous."
"May I?" The Duke offered, and she unclasped it and handed it to him. And he stepped behind her and gently fastened its clasp behind her neck, and allowed her a moment to admire herself in the mirror before he finally removed the command stone from his pocket, and showed his hand.
"Get on your knees," he said.
And she complied. The terror on her face at that moment--Nevena, who was always in control, utterly powerless and alone--I cannot begin to imagine. "What is this?"
"Keep your hands on top of your head." She did. "And close your eyes." She did. I imagine the Duke pacing here. "I want you to know, I wanted us to work together. I had such high hopes."
Would she have pleaded here? Would she have stood strong? I think she would have pleaded. "There's no reason we can't!"
"Isn't there? I know you have the power to affect my mind, merely by--is it by touch? Is that why you danced with me? Or is your mere proximity enough? If you had known I could exert this power over you, would you let me live, or would you have me eliminated? Be honest."
"I . . . would have you eliminated." Even her words were not hers to command, here. She could not so much as lie to save her life.
"Do you have any weapons on you?" She tried to remain silent, but her head nodded of its own volition. "Pick one. Take it out. Do not attempt to strike me with it." Slowly, reluctantly, she drew a knife from some hidden pocket within her dress. "Now, put the blade against your throat." And, very gently, she did. And she knelt on the floor before him, trembling, and he waited.
Is it cruelty that he made her linger so? I don't believe so. I believe he thought he was being kind. He stood over her, fidgeting with the command stone in his hands. "I really don't want to kill you, but I don't see any other options." I think he would have spared her eventually, locked her away in a tower somewhere, or, more likely, become the power behind the throne, whispering commands into the ear of a puppet with no power to resist them. Perhaps this was always the plan. And perhaps he would have convinced himself that this, too, was kindness.
Nevena's eyes gave us away, I think, more than our footsteps. My lunge was hasty, and I overcommitted; this bought him time, after he'd wheeled and pushed my saber aside with his hands, to step in and disarm me. Not enough to stop Elara's blade from finding the hand that held the command stone and piercing it. Elara stepped in to protect me as I dropped to the floor to claim the stone for myself.
I had no doubt that Elara could defeat Idreinen, especially now--he was drunk, he was using a saber sized for someone much shorter than him, and though he had been a champion once, a man as deeply entwined in politics as he surely did not have the time to keep his knowledge of the science of swordplay at its peak. But he was desperate, now; could she defeat him before he decided to end Nevena's life? If he abandoned his defense, as desperate men do, could she defeat him without taking a potentially mortal injury herself?
The two of them faced off, just out of distance from one another. For the moment, neither I nor Nevena registered as threats. As Elara pressed the attack, keeping him in motion, I held the stone as tightly as I could in my hand and said, "Nevena, help her!"
His attention faltered, but he had no time to face this new threat; Elara's attack was relentless. Nevena did not hesitate before leaping into action, turning the knife into an overhand grip and driving it into his neck. And then his back. And his back again. He slumped to the ground, lifeless, as she stood over him, knife in hand, her expression oddly blank.
"You can take the necklace off," I told her. She let the knife clatter to the ground, and slowly, with blood-stained hands, removed the necklace. She shuddered slightly--relief, perhaps? Revulsion over handling such an artifact? Such thoughts she kept for herself alone. But it took her a long moment to compose herself. "Thank you," she said, looking directly at me as though I had not commanded her to kill, as though that was not our duty as her protectors. "And you, Elara," she said, nodding at my sister in turn. "We should make an announcement to the guests. They'll suspect conspiracy if we wait."
"They'll suspect it anyway," I said. "If we wait, we at least have time to come up with a narrative."
"We'll tell the truth," she said. "Most of it, anyway. The Duke attempted to assassinate me, and I was able to kill him while he was distracted fighting you two." Her voice caught as she said that. "I do not intend to be weak and obstinate like my father. If this is what it takes for the Council to respect me, then so be it."
"They'll destroy you," I said. "Blame us. Exile us when they call for our heads. Any other course and you will make the Duke a martyr."
"I also do not intend to cast the blame on my subordinates for an action that is my own." Even now, she tried to convince herself I had not ordered her to kill, that it was somehow her responsibility. "I could have tried to disarm him," she said. She knew me so well, she knew what I would be thinking. "Or tossed you the knife, or a thousand other things. I chose to kill him. It was my hand, my knife. If I cannot accept that I am responsible for what I have done, that I am in control of my actions, any strength I am perceived to have is built on a lie."
Any argument I had died on my lips as her face softened, and she smiled. "And whatever comes, I would rather face it with you two at my side."
In that moment, I believed her--Elara and I both did--that she needed us, and she was doing this for us. And I still believe that she meant it, that she understood that this mistake could spell her ruin, but she was doing it because she felt it was the right thing to do.
We were all fools, then.
V. THE FESTIVITIES COME TO A CLOSE
The dress Nevena wore to address those guests, trapped here by the storm, was starker than the rich colors and fine silks of her masquerade gown. And she had abandoned the mask, and along with it the pretense of equality. She relayed as much of the attack as she could without mentioning that fatal detail about the necklace. "I want to make it clear," she said, "it was my hand and my choice that ended his life. An attack on my person is an attack on the Commonwealth. A threat to me is a threat to everything we have built." There was defiance in her voice, and a hint of a threat--if there are more of you who wish me harm, she seemed to say, I will crush you myself.
A low murmur filled the banquet hall. The rest of her announcement, the administrative minutia about increasing security and providing a caravan for those who wished to return home rather than remain in the palace, could not pierce the veil of portent that settled over the room, the sense that what had happened here could not be undone.
The sun rose on a bright clear morning, dazzling the eyes as it glistened on the snow. Already there were those who felt that the Duke had been the victim here--he had no weapons on his person, after all, even if he had wrestled my sword from me. And even more wondered why he had not been taken alive, put on trial, so that when inevitably he was executed it would be seen as justice rather than vengeance.
This was the spark. Enemies sprouted like weeds through the Commonwealth, and the more the Princess banished, the more powerful they seemed to become; old supporters of the Duke rallied to this new cause. Even if it was years before war broke out, this was the moment when war became inevitable, the moment after which the Princess was perpetually under siege.
I was surprised by how little it seemed to matter when supporters of Idreinen's old faction finally raised their flags in rebellion against the hated tyrant Princess Nevena. At least now our enemies would be marching under recognizable banners, rather than hiding behind masks and smiles. Everything that happened since the masquerade felt so inevitable. But that first day of open war, when Elara and I prepared ourselves for battle, I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps, if that night had never happened, if we had done things differently, that we could have lived our own lives. It doesn’t matter now, I suppose. That choice, like so many others, was made so long ago it no longer feels like there ever was one.