The Conjured and the exiles

Cats have claws









Daen woke from a strange, perturbing dream. In it she had been a small girl again, hiding, waiting for a dawn that seemed never to come, burrowed in to straw, her infant brother in her arms. Moving the woolly animals out of the way and stepped out in to the cold winter mourning. The pale light barely broke through the dark plumes that hung over the village. Walking bare footed through the snow she made her way back to her home. The door was already open, something lay across the threshold. As she drew nearer she saw with horror that it was her mother. Brown sticky blood pooled on the flagstones beneath her. It was the same world shattering shock that she had felt the first time, the same unimaginable grief of one who has never lost anyone before, of one who knew not sadness to this day, and the fear, the fear of a young girl left alone in the world.



‘Ma’ma.’ The girl had cried, ‘Ma’ma, please get up!’But Daen knew now that it was no good, just as she did then. And with that the spell was broken, and Daen realised that this was not her village or her mother.



On waking she wondered what the dream had ment, but found no answers only a strange nagging feeling that she had forgotten something of importance, but in the bustle of the day she soon was forced to discard her preoccupations. The Marchadian nobility and their retinues arrived throughout the day, each group of them needed to be welcomed and settled in. The plaice was thrown in to a state of jovial chaos, as last minuet perpetrations were made. Daen by early afternoon found herself dragged off by a gaggle of maids headed by a formidable matron who would see her fitly attired for Lord Darcia. Daen had protested that she did not need any help with her toilette, but the women were not dissuaded, appeals to her dark lord were just as futile when she discovered that it was at his biding the women had come. Thus mortified Daen submitted to her fate and allowed her person to be born off by the handmaidens for an afternoon of washing, plucking, brushing and cosmetics. By the end of the ordeal she felt part pampered, and part harassed.



The maid’s stepped back to obtain better views of their handiwork. At some point in the proceedings Avis had come in to watch and help. ‘I cannot make up my mind,’ she said, ‘Shall I put a mother of pearl comb in your hair, or...No, I have it!.....A single rose!’



‘A rose at this time of year!’ Daen laughed.



Avis undeterred shooed the youngest of the maid’s out to get the required rose. In the mean time Daen seated before a mirror was required to turn around.



‘Pass me the haresfoot.’ A pretty maid said to another who stood by a window. Standing to the maid handed it to hr, and then stood ready with various pots.



‘Just a touch of rouge, Fella.’ Avis warned the maid. ‘The barest suspicion of a blush, Daen blushes quite prettily naturally.’



‘She does have very fair skin.’ The maid answered. ‘The Kole, Marry! .....Keep still my lady; I don’t want to smudge it. There! Powder now Marry.’ The haresfoot fluttered over Daen’s face. Avis and the maid who worked on Daen studied the effect intently.



‘It’s very well.’ Avis commented. ‘Perhaps some mascara and a little rouge for her lips?’



Those cosmetics having been applied the young maid scurried back in to the dressing room with a fresh rose. Daen looked at it with astonishment. ‘By the God’s flowers this time of year!’



‘There is a hot house, Lord Darcia’s grandmother was a very avid gardener, and how the gardens appear to this day is because of her.’ Avis replied as she fastened the pale pink rose with silver pins above Daen’s ear, so that it nestled amongst her skilfully arranged curls. The maid’s had worked wonders, arranging Daen’s silky mahogany locks in to spiralling ringlets that clustered thickly about her elegant head, with one single coil coaxed to fall to her shoulder. ‘Stand up, I wish to see the effect.’



Daen, on tall healed shoes of rose satin stood and admired her reflection in the long mirror to the left of her. The youngest maid looked at her with awe, the rest with admiration, and no little pride in their own work. The city bell sounded the half hour, and Avis began to move to the door.



‘Oh Avis, you will be so late!’ Daen cried picking up her skirts. ‘And all because you came to help me dress, should I wait for you!’



‘Oh, you don’t have to, but I would give my right hand to be there when lor...when everyone sees you! Come and sit with me while I finish. ’



But Daen was too excited to sit still for long. She kept getting up to view herself in the mirror, practicing curtsying, and fluttering her fan. The maid’s helping the captain’s wife swiftly achieved a very adequate result, they to wanted to get ready for the festivities. Avis fixed some nodding feathers in to her coiffed hair.



‘Oh you look lovely!’ Said Daen, pausing in her ambling to and fro about the room.



Avis pulled a face at her own reflection. ‘It hardly matters what I look like tonight. But do you like my dress?’ Standing up and taking off the dressing gown that protected her creation the seamstress revealed a stunning violet dress, with a full skirt and well placed ruffles. Daen looked it over with a smile. ‘Purple is the hardest colour to dye.’ Avis explained, as she twitched out her skirt. Even without the added adornments of ribbon and jewels the dress was a work of art, Daen told Avis so, much to the captain’s wife’s pleasure. As they walked down the hall way to the library where the captains were to assemble Avis had to remind Daen to walk slowly.



‘Oh, it’s just that I’m so exited I feal like I will burst my stay laces!’ Daen said breathlessly.



‘Perhaps you should eat less then.’ An acid voice commented behind her. Daen’s eyes flashed, but she bit back the retort, she would not rise to the bait. Daen turned her head to look critically over the scout Captain, who was wearing a dashing bright yellow gown, cut low, revealing her golden shoulders and a good deal of her naked back, her hair put up in a sleek twist. Heavy kohl decorating her eyes, making her look exotic in a way Daen could only envy. In comparison to the grown up elegance Vespa radiated Daen felt very girlish and indistinct.



Avis caught Daen’s elbow and lent in close to hiss in her ear. ‘Primrose, Primrose, as if she were still a maiden first brought out!’ Daen’s lip quivered as she repressed a smile. They reached the familiar door. ‘Go before me child.’ Avis encouraged her. ‘You’re going to break hearts.’ She said to herself. Vespa did not look pleased about this, but she could not push past the other woman.



Daen waited until the doors were opened for her by the powered faced footmen, dressed tonight in their finest liveries.



In the library, gathered about the fire, the gentlemen were waiting dressed in all the understated splendour that went with their ranks. Lord Darcia the most striking of them all, dressed in a deep Prussian blue, almost black frock coat decorated about the colour and sleeve with silver cord, a snowy white neck cloth at his throat, a pin in the shape of a raven with ruby eyes secured it. White breaches clung to his thighs like a second skin, and long black boots that were shiny enough to see ones reflections in enclosed his calves.



Daen unfurled her fan and fluttered it flirtatiously. ‘Well?’ she asked an arched brow rose haughtily. The captains turned at the sound of her voice, and saw her with candles on either side, a little figure, dressed in fleshy pink, all curves, slim limbs, with hair dressed in feminine curls, pale luminescent skin, luminescent as the pearls that decorated her dress. Her eyes sparkled green as emeralds, the dark lashes that framed them were impossibly long, her parted lips were like cherries, and her cheeks faintly flushed.



‘Good gods you Beauty!’ gasped Veione.



Darcia went forward to the young woman who blushed hotter. He held out one white gloved hand. ‘Come, my akemi ceri.’



Daen was not sure what he had just called her, but the tone of his voice and the appreciation in his blue eyes assured her it was a complement. Daen took his outstretched hand and curtsied as she had practiced over it. Her eyes sparkled as she straightened up and caught his glance. ‘Do you think I look nice my lord?’



‘Nice is an understatement little one!’



She smiled brightly in pleasure at this, and Avis and Vespa entered the room, resplendent in their own distinct ways. Kef’s eyes light up at the sight of his wife so splendidly arrayed. Dean mischievously peeked at Veione from under her dark lashes watching his reaction to the female Captain. She might not like Vespa much, nor see what the blond captain saw in the bitter cow but she was not blind, Captain Faeorin most defiantly held the woman in special regard. She did not miss her mark as Veione’s eyes lit up briefly as she entered, his smile winded almost imperceptibly for a moment. She wondered if Lord Darcia knew. But before she could ask Captain Timor spoke up.



‘We had best go meet the guests.’



Avis clasped her hands, ‘Oh, do you think they will waiting upon us.’



Darcia smiled and put his silver and black half mask upon. ‘They have to wait upon me.’ He held out his hand to Daen again, who taking his lead put her own half mask on, though Darcia thought it was somewhat of a pity to cover her lovely countenance. ‘Daen come here.’ The woman in pink did so, stepping over to her masked lord. ‘Turn about.’ From his pocket the lord drew out a string of pearls.



Daen looking over her shoulder at them gasped, ‘But my lord I cannot accept such a gift.’



‘You ware them for my pleasure.’ Darcia said softly close to her ear, as he undid the choker that already was present on her neck. ‘We shall be rid of this for the night.’ Carefully he placed the necklace about her throat, his fingers making her whole spine tingle as he secured the string at the back. Vespa glared daggers at the young woman, but neither Daen nor her lord noticed. Darcia wanted to plant a kiss on her conveniently bared neck, but declined to do so with an audience. Daen ran her fingers over the pearls; she smiled back at her lord. Darcia decided that he would actually much rather kiss her delectable lips, but it was time to go great his guests.



An hour later and it seemed to Daen that every public room in the whole plaice was full of gaily dressed ladies, and gentlemen. Not only half masked nobles and their entire families, but their captains, stewards, ladies in waiting, and other higher ranking retainers as well. Swelling the ranks further were the town mayors and their families, merchants, plus any other officials who could be spared. She had curtsied a hundred times, yet she still heard her Avis’s voice saying ‘I have the honour to present you to Daen of Nheim, my Lady, Lord Darcia’s sybilla.’ Desperately she tried to match faces to the names, but knew after another glass of mulled wine it would probably be a lost cause, there was just too much to remember!



By early evening Lord Darcia had come to her, taking her arm and escorting her through to dinner, he sat at the head of the table, and placed her to his left. If anyone was surprised by this they did not mention it. Sitting next to her was a distinguished old gentleman; the way he sat told her that he was once a military man. Lord Darcia presented her to Lord Alistair as was customary as they sat down to the magnificent feast.



‘Nhemmian eh? To the east isn’t it. How are you enjoying Bala my dear?’ He said his clipped voice.



‘It is my lord. I am very much in love with Bala, the Marchadian’s have the most beautiful scenery. And I am very much looking forward to the ball tonight.’



Daen continued to engage the old lord in conversation, who was greatly charmed by her, accustomed to debutantes who were ‘properly’ bored, and enjoyed answering her questions on the country he knew and loves so well. By the end of the meal he was quite ready to invite her to his own seat to see for herself the lands he had been describing. He decided it would do well to introduce her to his own daughter as a good influence.



After the feast there were speeches, Daen sat quietly throughout. And then the assembled company moved back through to the grate hall where the first dances were to be held, as the musicians warmed up the crowed chatted and mingled. Lord Darcia never lost sight of his small partner, who with the lubrication of a few glasses of wine was conversing easily and enthusiastically with members of his court, many of the young men seeking her company out in particular he noted. At last the strands of the first song began to rise up around them and he had the opportunity to sweep her away from the young bucks and out on to the dance floor for the first dance.



‘My dear, it seems that you will have a hand for every dance.’ He smiled as he swirled her across the floor. Daen smiled up at him, clutching his shoulder more firmly; fearful she might stumble in her tall shoes.



‘I think I will have sore feet by midnight.’



‘And you will deserve every blister you imp!’



‘Demons take you for saying such a thing!’



They were not the only couple upon the dance floor, and yet no one upon it mattered while they trod their measure. Darcia confidently guided her through the steps she only knew in a cursory way easily, and her natural grace aided Daen in appearing competent. Anyone watching would remark that they were an elegant pair, all but one person who watched with green eyes full of envy. The dance was a swirling one, one that spun and spun, on and on, but Daen didn’t get dizzy, she was not looking at the flurry of faces as they passed, her eyes were to intent on Darcia’s which were the same dark blue as his coat, the passing light of candles flashed across then, like fireflies in the night sky.





Lord Alistair had served Lord Darcia’s honourable father staunchly, he had stood beside him on many a battle, a friend and an advisor. Now he was an old man, he could no longer ride at the front of a line of men, his sword at his side atop a grate battle charger, but still a supporter of the Darcia family he served the son of the Darcia house with the same loyalty as he did his father, if not lamentably with as much physical vigour. Lord Alistair stood pondering; there was something different about the young duke that he could not put his finger on. His wife a steady woman of middle years watched the dance floor with an indulgent smile. Related to the Darcia house she to had known their overlord since birth. With a twinkle in her blue eyes she turned to her husband reflecting ‘I have never seen my unapproachable cousin so human, as with that little sprite of a girl.’



‘What do you mean my dear?’



‘Look I believe that he is smiling.’ She laughed behind her fan.



Lord Alistair was a little short sighted, though he would not own to it, with some fumbling he managed to find his quisling glasses to take a better look at the dancing couples. ‘By the Gods he is! I cannot remember that boy smile since his father’s passing. Well I must admit she is a beautiful creature, it suppose it’s not that surprising that a young man would be smiling in a girls company.’



‘You old fool.’ Lady Alistair laughed. ‘He is long past being a boy now.’



Her dignified husband smiled. ‘And where do your suspicions head my dear?’



She winked, and noticing her husband’s slight shifting, knowing that standing to long was not good for his rheumatisms she moved towards the seats close to the fire where they could talk in more privacy. ‘There is a look in Lord Darcia’s eyes when he looks upon the girl...’



‘She is very young.’



The lady laughed, ‘Do you think it signifies? I would not give Andras a bride his own age. I’d give him a babe who must be cherished and guarded. And I swear that he will guard her well!’



‘My dear, I think that now that Rosea has been settled you will not be satisfied until all of our family and friends are as happily settled. ‘



‘Nonsense, I just think that he was heading the same way as his father, and without ever knowing love to. She may be his salvation.’





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Vespa knew that she was looking at her best, her hair was as glossy as polished wood, and her gown was revelling in a way that bordered on impropriety, daring and attractive. Her hand had been sought by many of the most hansom men in the room, but she had bigger pray on her mind. She spotted her objective in the process of excusing himself from what she expected was a boring discussion about economics with a handful of merchants.



Like a stalking cat she padded up to her Lord, fixing her widest smile she greeted him. ‘My lord, how droll all this must be for you, I have not seen you on the dance floor since the first song.’ She looked about innocently, ‘Where is Daen, isn’t she your partner tonight?’



Lord Darcia looked over to the floor where Daen was treading another dance with one of the young men. ‘She’s dancing.’ He replied blandly, ‘I told her to go enjoy herself.’



‘And so she is. Oh, I see now with Gethin Rhyl, he has taken quite a few of her dances. He’s a very attractive young man. ’ Vespa said, feigning indifference to the situation, but her eyes were keen on the duke’s countenance, noticing the way his jaw tightened and eyes darkened.



‘He is, and his fathers a good man.’ Darcia replied stiffly.



Vespa continued to smile up at him, until he finally tore his troubled gaze from the dance floor where upon she asked. ‘I was thinking of taking the air outside, would you care to join me?’



The duke looked as if he would refuse for a moment, but with a sigh he nodded his head. ‘I think I will take you up on that.’









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Daen had not had one dance that her hand had not been sought. She saved a dance for Veione and Timor, but other then that she had been inundated by new faces. After a while she noticed the absence of a certain face, and she wondered where her lord had gone. Flagging a little by midnight she excused herself from the group of young bucks who courted her when she saw Avis waving her fan at her. Extricating herself as politely as she could manage, and promising to return she moved over to stand by her friend.



‘So how is it going?’



‘Well I think. Young Lord Rhyl, says I have eyes the colour of emeralds, and another man has said that I must be a huntress for I have slain him. It’s all very strange, they hardly know me! Some of them are completely outrageous, I just hope Lord Darcia...’



‘Dear me, I wouldn’t worry he knows what young men are like!’ Avis smiled and fanned herself winking up at her dark eyed husband. Daen found herself coerced in to joining in a few more dances before she sought to escape, running straight in to the young lord Rhyl, who reminded her to call him Gethin.



‘The little butterfly! I have been searching all over for you.’ He admonished her.



‘Perhaps you might have more luck if you use a net.’



He laughed. He was a nice young man Daen thought, but he was a boy, no older then nineteen summers. ‘Have you seen my Lord?’



‘There are lots of Lord’s here tonight, little butterfly! Which one do you want?’



‘My own lord.’ Said Daen, ‘Lord Darcia of course.’



‘Oh, I saw his outside in the gardens with his captain not long ago, but shall I not do as well?’



Daen shook her head. ‘No sir. I want him.’



Gethin took her hand and the slim youth smiled down at her. ‘You are unkind fairy! I thought you liked me just a little?’



‘I do like you.’ Daen assured him. ‘But now I want my Lord.’



‘Then I will fetch him for you at once!’ Gethin declared gallantly.



‘Oh no, he would not like that at all. I had best go to him.’ Daen petted his hand and then wagged a finger sternly at him. ‘Now you will go and dance with...with....Oh I don’t know names....with somebody, somebody pretty, and you shall not miss me one little bit!’



He bowed and with a dramatic sigh declared that she was wrong and that no gaiety would be found without her. Daen rolled her eyes when she had turned her back, men honestly! She slipped out of the crowed dancing hall as swiftly as she could manage, and out in to the cool night air. Torches were lit about the gardens, which were substantial; but closest to the doors, beyond the patio was the maze, tall private hedges designed as an amusement, and also a place for clandestine meetings. On her exploration of the maze she discovered a few such young couples taking advantage of this fact, hiding their stolen kisses from medalling parents. Finally Daen heard the voice she was seeking out, it was coming from the alcove close to the ornamental pond, and it was not alone, a female voice accompanied it. She felt a pin prick of jealousy. Daen realised that she would have to find her way back out of the maze before she could get to it; which she discovered was much harder then finding her way in when she faced yet another dead end.



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Vespa kept up a steady stream of chatter, fending off those who sought his attention, and he was somewhat grateful for that. She also picked up a stout glass of port for Lord Darcia, and some mulled wine for herself before they headed out on to the patio. Vespa was an interesting woman; he had procured her on a whim, much as he had Dean. He had of course known at once that she was not a boy as she pretended to be. He was amused by that ruse, and fooling Veione. Of course he kept her when Veione grew attached to the girl, raising her like a father in his own unique way. But as she grew older the small woman had proved herself worthy of an officers seat, cunning, loyal, hard working and though as nails.



They headed for the quiet alcove near the fountains. It was cold outside but after the press of people within the hall it was pleasant to cool down for a moment. The alcove was shaped like a shell, set deep in to one of the walls, a stone bench set in it. Lord Darcia sat down, getting off his feet for the first time this day is you discounted his two meals. It was as good a time as any to discuss some business; he had wanted to know what had happened to two reports from the south of his lands which appeared to have gone missing. Lord Sindri had turned up late, and the challenging glint in his eye had annoyed Darcia no end. On top of that Veione having spoken with the belligerent man had reported back that there was something going on with Sindri, something that boded ill. Veione from his many years of gambling was an expert at calling a bluff, and he felt that the puffed up noble was not. The fact that there was a surveillance black spot there concerned Darcia, especially with Veione’s added Intel on the man himself.



But it seemed that his scout captain had assumed that the scrolls had reached him already, she had given them to his cavalry captain to deliver to him. Darcia regarding his scout captain decided not to scold her, he would take the mater up with Veione later, more likely then not his blond captain had forgotten about them. ‘Make sure next time you deliver them personally, I don’t care what time it is.’ He informed her.



Vespa smiled brightly, ‘Of course my lord.’



Why couldn’t Daen be as obedient as Vespa he wondered? But then again it would mean Daen wouldn’t be Daen, truth be told he liked every reluctant and rebellious fibre of the girl which is why though he could have, he never sought to brake her.



‘My lord look, the dancing has spilt out on to the patio, shall we take a turn?’



Darcia had learnt it was rude to turn down a lady. And he could see no harm in taking some light entertainment with his Captain. There was a time when he had longed to dance with sophisticated and beautiful women like Vespa. But by the time he had grown to the age where young men flirt outrageously and dance until morning with as many pretty young girls as they can he had larger problems on his plate, for two years there had been no ball in the plaice. But he was not old yet, and while he could he supposed he should enjoy the diversion where he could. Perhaps he might be able to pry Daen away from her gallant suitors for a dance afterwards.



On the patio, a few young couples danced, despite the burning torches it was still mostly in shadow, the perfect place for young couples to court away from prying eyes Darcia noted, looking over a few well known continence’s and wondering how many weddings would he be expected to attend this year? Without thinking about it he began to dance with the yellow clad woman, his mind elsewhere, so he did not notice the woman’s sudden closeness. It was probably the port, or perhaps just tiredness, but he felt a little fuddled, his mind distracted, for a while he lost himself in the music, the movements, and the closeness of a female who could he fantasised be Daen. It was not a hard thing to imagine the resemblance between the two women was uncanny he thought looking down at the upturned face of the woman in his arms, she was small to, and she moved just as Daen did. He realised that she had been talking, but he had not been paying attention.



Her lips were close to his now, ‘You know you want to. I love you like she never will.’



He looked down at her, with her elfin features, that brown hair; he could almost imagine it was Daen, candles burning with the scent of lavender spilt out in to the night from the heaving room behind them so he could even imagine her sent masking Vespa’s.



‘No, I can’t do this.’



‘My lord.....’



‘No, it’s not fair on either of us. I don’t love you, if we did this it would just be sex for me and you want more than that, if we did this it would just be because you remind me of her. I won’t cheapen you that way or myself.’



‘Andras.’



‘Don’t call me that.’ He said firmly, holding her body away from his. ‘I respect you as a captain; I admire you, but nothing more.’ He did not say he was sorry; it would have been a lie. Instead he left her at the end of the song to seek out Daen.









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Daen had just managed to find her way out of the maze, she headed to the alcove to find only two abandoned wine glasses. Vexed that her search was so thwarted she decided by now ravenously hungry to go find some refreshment and then try again in her search for Lord Darcia. Off from the hall where the dancing was been held there were a few parlours, and then beyond those gaming rooms, and if you knew where to look beyond those there were rooms where food was laid out. Most of the nobles did not know this, instead they would get servants to bring plates to them, but Daen didn’t want to wait, nor bother the already put upon plaice staff.



When she got to the room she faced an unpleasant surprise, captain Vespa in all her yellow glory was already there before her, helping herself to a large tumbler of whiskey. She was tempted to turn on her heal and head back later, but she would not be intimidated by a mere woman. The captain glared at her, then downed the glass of neat alcohol with one toss. Daen wrinkled her nose in disgust, she didn’t understand why anyone would want to drink that stuff the smell alone stung her nose.



As Daen helped herself to some bread and cheese she did her best to ignore the other woman. Still she could feel the hatred practically radiating off the older woman in waves directed at her. Daen thought that if Vespa knew how to curse someone then she would have been dead ten times over if Vespa had her way. Fortunately for Daen, she didn’t. Daen also knew that Vespa like Darcia’s other captains had a Demon blade, a short sword, but she also knew that it was only recently awakened, and Vespa had left it somewhere in town. Hard life lessons had taught Daen that it paid to know your enemies. Right now the woman apart from perhaps throwing up on her judging by the way she knocked back the alcohol was no danger.



Daen pored herself a glass of wine, but it ment getting close to the captain. Vespa took a swig of the brown liquid straight out of the bottle, wiping her wet mouth afterwards on the back of her hand. Daen herd the words ‘Don’t see why he likes you....useless....bitch....slut, and everyone knows you are...’



With an ill-used sigh, Dean let her plate clatter to the table and turned angrily to the woman. ‘What is your problem with, what have I done to you that merits you been such an unequivocal bitch?!’



Vespa seemed shocked for a moment, but then her familiar scowl was back. ‘You really want to know why?’



Daen threw her arms out in a gesture of annoyance, ‘Yes, please tell me I’m just dyeing to know!’



Vespa rounded on her, standing close enough for Daen to smell the alcohol on her breath. ‘Firstly you Nheimmen, and that’s bad enough.’



‘I can hardly help where I was born!’ Daen retorted her lip curling in a snarl.



‘That was just the first reason. On top of that you are useless, you don’t even do a maids job around here. Sybilla my ass, you’re just a whore, that’s just Darcia’s excuse for keeping you around!’ Each word was laced with venom.



‘I am not a whore.’



‘No, whores get paid.’



‘Well you would know all about that wouldn’t you!’ Daen replied, it was childish she knew to rise to the bait, and she was not proud of what she said in retrospect, but her passionate Nheimmen blood was up, and the wine she had drunk earlier loosened her tongue. ‘Or maybe not, no man will have you, not with your reputation, I expect they must think you have everything going!’ Apparently she had hit a nerve with the last comment, as Vespa snatched up Daen’s glass of wine and chucked it over her. Daen supposed she must have been aiming for her face, but Daen stepping back ment that insted it went straight down her pale rose dress.



Vespa, panting hard and her eyes hard as flint, full of scorn said slowly. ‘What I hate most about you is your supposed innocence, when what you really are is a soft idiot of a girl who thinks Lord Darcia loves her, you think this is a bloody fairy tale don’t you, he was the noble lord who rode up and recued you from whatever shit stained hovel you came from. Wake up as if he could ever love a pathetic creature like you!’ He’s just going to throw you away like his father did his mother, you’ll see!’



‘You don’t know anything!’ Daen answered as calmly as she could.



Vespa smiled widely, with her lipstick smeared slightly the effect was terrible, there was something almost snake like about her now that he had seen the smallest hint of doubt flit across the younger woman’s sickly sweet face. I bet she wouldn’t look so sweet with a broken nose Vespa thought. ‘You think that you’re the first woman he has kept this don’t you?’



Daen didn’t deign to answer. She could stand to here herself insulted, but not Darcia, it was both unfair and untrue. But hadn’t she overheard Timor when he talked to Veione, saying that she was just another plaything for their lord? She couldn’t remember what they had said, and Vespa smiled triumphantly. ‘You poor dear you didn’t know did you?’



Daen shook her head, she couldn’t entirely cast of the doubt, but in her mind she screamed like a mantra, ‘It’s not true, it’s not true, he dose care for me, he dose! He loves me! He loves me!’ With more composure then she felt she stared at Vespa with contempt. ‘You know you’re a very sad woman. You’re jealous because he loves me and not you!’



Looking at Vespa in that moment was like looking at her own reflection gone wild and crazy, as all of a sudden the older woman had launched herself at Daen, knocking her to the floor.



It was at this moment that Veione who wanted to get himself a refill entered the room. He stood back; well aware through hard lessons learnt that it was best not to interfere with women’s troubles. There was a reason it was called a cat fight. When men fought there had a tendency to be limits, you used a sword, or your fists, there were a sort of unofficial rules, but when women fought anything went. Hair pulling, nails gouging, biting, kicking, growling, spiting, screeching, and all sorts went on in a woman’s fight. Perhaps it was because women didn’t fight often, something really had to wind them up first and then they snapped, and it was all animal instinct and pure hate.



As Vespa a seasoned fighter threw her weight on top of the younger woman, Veione could hear the breath whoosh out of Daen, even from the door way. Yet despite being winded the Nheimmen woman managed with surprising flexibility to bring her knees up to her chest and kick Vespa hard in the midsection sending her opponent flung backwards in to the table. But then Vespa was back on her again, trying to pin the girl’s arms. The women in size and weight were evenly matched, but in experience Veione would have thought that Vespa had the edge. However Daen seemed to be holding her own. Once again Daen managed to kick Vespa off her with her strong legs, this time Vespa banged her head and was stunned momentarily. Carless of her dressed hair and fine gown Daen lept atop of the prone woman and pined her effectively to the ground, sitting high on her chest, knees on her arms where she could not be got rid of, her hand grabbing a good handful of the other woman’s hair.



With a hawk like shriek Vespa tore her head to the side, ripping out a hank of her own hair in the process she managed to head butt Daen. Daen received a bloody lip, but her teeth managed to catch Vesta’s brow, cutting a deep score there. Daen changed tactic here she slapped the other woman hard; then snatching a fruit knife which had fallen to the floor from the table during the struggle she threatened the other woman with it. She spoke in Nheimmen, so Veione couldn’t understand what she said, but Vesta being of the Isra knew exactly what she had said and the meaning behind it. Daen was appealing to the old laws she had been raised with.



‘S’o neman leda erexes, S’a sahs avirva anha enitan mex bahudas lin ritha l soner S’o lind anyara beni liornm.’

‘I a woman call upon the old laws, my knife will answer any who dares touch the man I clame for myself.’



Vespa by now was sobbing in frustration and humiliation s Daen lent in closer and growled. ‘Kavis?’



‘Da, da, Kavis, kavis! Yes, yes, I understand!’ Vespa cried out as Daen scowled down at her.





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Lord Andras Darcia was rarely surprised, and never shocked, and so he never lost his composure in any situation, however the sight that greeted him when he found his sybilla made his cool blood boil.



Daen had pinned captain Vespa to the floor, clutching her hair in one hand and holding a fruit knife in the other, threatening the captain’s jewel adorned throat, her teeth bore in a snarl like a swamp tiger in the final moments of a kill. Someone had poured wine down Daen’s pale rose gown so that it clung to her in places like a second skin. Veione, the person he had been seeking out stood in the door way his glance appealing to his lord for help.



‘Daen stop this at once!’ he growled. Daen’s narrowed eyes widened, and she sprung up from the terrified Vespa to watch her master from across the room. But her eyes filled with murderous intent kept flickering to the prone captain.



‘Come here.’ Darcia ordered when Daen made no move of her own to come to him. Reluctantly she placed the knife on a nearby table and timidly approached her master. She noted his hard eyes, and the tense muscles of his neck and jaw. She had really angered him this time.



Captain Vespa was to shaken to get up at first, but deciding that her lord had Daen firmly under his control she got up carefully, making a grate show of her fairly mild aches and pains. Hopefully Darcia would come to her aid. However he did not move. She opened her full lips to speak, but on looking up she realised that the lord had not taken his eyes off the other woman, and he now had a possessive hold around her waist.



Vespa angry at been ignored snorted with indignity. ‘That hell cat almost killed me! Lord Darcia I demand she be punished at once!’



Darcia simply turned. ‘Come with me.’ Captain Vespa realised that command did not included her, and was left watching the retreating backs of Darcia in his dark blue clothing and the young woman he escorted holding her close to his body.



Daen walked miserably her head down beside her dark lord as he steered her back towards the milling crowd. The masked noble looked at her downturned countenance; under his breath he growled. ‘Don’t scowl, and put your mask back on.’ They paused for a moment to allow her to do so, before he lead her back to the festivities. Lord Darcia conversed with people as he passed them, Daen stood by her lord’s side fighting with her sheathing anger and her burning shame, but her heightened colour could be excused as a glow from drinking wine. Darcia kept a firm hand on the centre of her back. When a masked lady asked the young woman what had happened to Daen’s dress, Daen managed a brittle laugh and shrugged it off as carelessness though the lie stung like bile in her mouth.



In silky tones, Darcia managed to excuse himself and the girl from the event, explaining that his sybilla had a headache from the wine and needed to lie down for a while, he would escort her to her quarters and would then return presently. Daen knew not to debate this at a warning glance from her lord. Meekly she accepted the condolences from masked nobles, hating how they accepted the excuse on the ground of feminine weakness. She was relived in part to be leaving the press of people when she could barely keep up the charade of civility, but she felt unquiet about what Darcia had in mind once they were in private. Having spent enough time to read accurately in to his body language, she knew by the firm set of his shoulders and jaw that she was in for it.



Darcia spoke not a word to Daen as he marched her through the gaiety of the hallways and up to his private chambers. The young woman had once more removed her mask as they walked, glancing down at her face he saw that she had schooled it to be as devoid of emotion as his mask. Finally safe from been observed in his private chambers he rounded on her.



‘What was that disgraceful display about?’