1. Night
The private library was comfortably dark, lit only by an oil lamp. A black velvet armchair accompanied a small table tucked in the Southeast corner. Each wall of the twenty foot by twenty foot room housed floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with dusty tomes, except the West wall, which had a window, and the North wall, upon which hung a childhood portrait of a beautiful girl with blonde ringlets dressed in a bright yellow dress. Her face smiled brightly, and her hazel grey eyes sparkled with a hint of roguish mirth. Labeled Mora, Age Nine, it took up about ten square feet of the middle of the wall.
An older version of the depicted child sprawled in the chair in the corner. No smile played across her face. The golden ringlets were now cropped short on the sides and back, with only about two inches of length left on the top. A simple black tunic and black breeches clothed her body, her boots and stockings discarded in a heap by her chair. Most noticeably thirteen deep, perfectly parallel scars marred her left eye, cheek, forehead, and nose. On the table, a discarded mask lay near her left elbow. Her left hand supported her head as she played with her hair absentmindedly. Periodically she sipped from a glass of strong-smelling clear liquid. A sorrowful expression occupied her face as she regarded her younger self.
The clock on the window sill struck three. Mora’s head snapped up at the sound. She winced as the scar tissue and her skin stretched at different times. The damaged nerves burned and sparked. The healers had done their best, but the carefully inflicted wounds had been designed to remain a source of pain for the rest of her life.
She stood and padded to the window. She jumped to the top of the shelf in front of the window, then pushed it open. The chill night air greeted her skin. Eye closed, she reveled in the cool feeling of the air on her pained face, breathed in the damp air, and let her body fall through the open window.
Her hands hit the cool metal of the reinforced banner pole five feet below the window. Swinging on the rod, Mora used her momentum to spring to a balcony another five feet over from the bar, then climbed the railing to grab on to a handhold in the wall. A ten foot climb later she was on her chamber balcony. Still she climbed higher, higher, higher, until she reached the roof. She faced east to watch the sun rise red over the city. Mora knew she would never be beautiful again. She knew she would always have pain. At least she had an eye to see the beautiful sunrise, and a body that could enjoy it from the best viewpoint on the palace.
***
The noon sun shone through the stained glass of the council room. Colors danced across Mora’s masked face as she yawned. Her lack of sleep coupled with the boring council meeting caused an internal war between her will to stay alert and do her duty and her desire for the sweet embrace of sleep. On her right, an elderly man in fine but simple black robes smiled knowingly. His frail and crooked but tall body was topped with a completely bald head, except for some light scruff that adorned his cheeks and nearly square jaw. Under the table he reached a gnarled hand out to Mora. A smile crossed her face as she took her grandfather Nevin’s hand.Though he abdicated a decade ago when he became less ambulatory, he was still a fixture in royal council meetings. For her part, Mora was glad to have him there. Nevin had a way with people. His ability to find compromise and diffuse tense situations was a boon on this council of hot heads and power-hungry politicians.
On the large round table in front of the council was a map of the continent made of engraved leather that covered the tabletop from edge to edge. Kearus and Calhein were the two largest countries, followed by Xaltia and Hume. The other ten countries were much smaller. Red figurines rested on the areas skirmishes had recently taken place.
“Sire,” Continued a man with blonde hair and an almost cartoonishly well-kept beard, “With Calhein becoming more aggressive, our southern borders are in more danger everyday. Reports of so-called bandit troupes are more and more common. This is almost certainly a ruse by Calheinish militias to weaken our hold on the border. We must do something!”
Mora’s father looked up. The dark circles around his hazel eyes in addition to his dejected posture led Mora to believe King Wallace was as tired as her. His fingers played with his dark brown hair under the golden circlet that sat just above his ears. A slight frown soured his expression and deepened the wrinkles in his forehead and mouth.
“We will Tiernan, but first, we must gather our allies. We have received messages from Xaltia, Hume, and Lefus. Zaltia and Lefus have both seen an increase in Calheinish ships in their waters, and Hume is having a similar bandit problem to us.”
“My lord, what is Calhein hiding? Choosing to take aggressive action on two countries at once seems like a huge risk on their part.” Said Tiernan.
“That we do not know yet. We have agents attempting to infiltrate their military. So far one has ended up dead. All others have not been able to get close to any pertinent information. I am afraid we will be at war by next spring.”
