Ginevra jumped out of the way just in time to avoid a severed fish head flying through the air. The market was always bustling and chaotic. It was a place where servants, merchants, travelers, and even disguised nobles all joined in a bubbling melting pot of food, imported goods, household necessities, and coquettish trinkets. She had spent the morning walking along the river which cut through Atheon, watching the swans glide by under the bridge, their fallen feathers and brightly colored leaves swirling in the water behind them.
Ginevra hugged the package of cold meat tighter under her arm and continued to weave through the crowded market. If not for the quick purchase, she would have taken the side roads – it was a roundabout path, but she knew the city inside out and could navigate the snaking labyrinthine back roads with an expert memory. She finally reached a side opening in the market and she turned to take the stairs leading up to the second level of the city. As she ascended the stairs, a passing conversation caught her attention.
"I heard the king sent out another ship since he's waged war on the sea."
"Hey, didn't the late king have another son?"
"No, he died in the last plague."
Ginevra continued to ascend the stairs, two at a time. She couldn't afford to lounge around. She was already returning home much later than she had anticipated.
She was barely at the door of the townhouse when the door opened and Sofia pulled her in, ushering her to her bedroom to change.
"Where were you! You're late!"
"But I got dinner for tonight –" Ginevra protested.
"That's not a priority right now!" Sofia rebuked.
Suddenly, Sofia's nose crinkled. Ginevra had forgotten that she had just walked through a market reeking of fish.
"We'll start with a bath," Sofia said with admirable composure.
Half an hour later, Ginevra sat in front of the mirror as Sofia worked on her coiffure. The light blue dress she was wearing stared back at her reproachingly. Ginevra had chosen a black dress, but Sofia had instead brought out a light blue gown with a square neckline, light lace trim along the end that just covered the ankles, and sleeves that came down to her elbows.
The maids were quieter than their usual self and cast weary glances at each other. When the arrival of the carriage was announced and Sofia bid her goodbye, a look of trepidation and fear flitted past her eyes but she quickly masked it with a bright smile as she leaned and gave Ginevra a tight hug.
Her father attended her to the carriage. As Ginevra pulled away from his hug, she looked up at his worn face. His eyes were apologetic and worn. She looked away.
He had made this decision. And yet, that forlorn look in his eyes, the perpetual dark circles under them – neither of them asked for this. They had just borne the past few years the best they could.
She promised herself that she would keep what remained of the Scaraveggi safe. What was the point of directing blame at elusive targets and ghosts of the past? No, all she could do now was try to be a stronger person so when the time came when the blame had to fall on someone, she'd have to take responsibility. At least then, she would know that she had at least tried her best, that she had given everything she could, and that she wasn't just a powerless victim of random events.
Before entering the carriage, Ginevra stooped, grabbing the grass by her feet. The young blades of grass brushed through her fingers. A pair of bare feet ran past her as someone giggled.
Ginevra looked up. Just her imagination. When she looked down again she noticed a buttercup growing in the grass and plucked it before entering the carriage.
The interior of the carriage was dark mahogany and engraved with depictions of war scenes – sword plunging, javelin throwing, blood spurting. She tried to avoid looking at them, but whenever she attempted to gaze out the window or look down in her lap, she felt herself getting dizzy.
Through the window, a newspaper boy continued to holler out the day's headlines.
"Taxes on sugar rise by 10%! "
Ginevra closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat as the carriage made its way through Atheon to the other end of the city.
***
The Maldoni townhouse was situated in the most elegant part of town, where almost all other members of the peerage kept their residences, if they weren't entirely impoverished, like the Scaraveggi. Large townhouses stood behind elegant tall fences and great iron gates on both sides of the street, which was lined with tall oak trees that cast a wide pool of shade over the walkway. The Maldoni residence stood behind one of such wrought-iron gates. Its façade was surprisingly inconspicuous and blended in with the neighboring houses.
Ginevra's heart started racing again as she neared the door. She hesitated to knock, but the door opened on its own accord and the butler appeared in its great frame. He dipped into a deep bow.
"Your Grace, it gives me great pleasure to welcome you to the Maldoni residence. I am Manfredi, the family butler. Please follow me."
Ginevra silently followed Manfredi through the richly furnished hall and into a side room which appeared to be the study. Then, offering his services should they be needed, he bowed out of the room. Ginevra looked around the dark mahogany room furnished in dark red velvet. The walls were covered with paintings of the Maldoni family members, who seemed to be scrutinizing her every move. Ginevra's attention was arrested by a portrait of a man with narrow, blue eyes, looking down at her from the far-right corner of the wall. He wore a dark blue military coat and his black moustache lined a thin upper lip of a downturned mouth
The room was shadowy despite all the drapes having been pulled back. Through the window, two hawks circled and flew at each other, each successfully evading the other's attack before soaring out of view.
Perhaps…he is not how the rumors depict him. He could be gentle and kind. Her father's words came back to her.
A book lying on the table, partially hidden under some papers, caught Ginevra's eye. She pushed them aside and read the title: The Maldoni Family Lineage by Antonio Remarti
She gingerly lifted the leather cover of the book and flipped through the yellowed pages. It seemed that this was indeed a book covering the entire lineage of the Maldoni line, tracing back to the 11th Duke.
Ginevra stopped at the 14th Duke's page. On the left, there was a portrait sketch of him; on the right, a documentation of his birth place, year of birth and death, the name of his spouse and children, followed by a block of text.
Ginevra squinted and brought the page closer to her face.
Led the Zarosta Battle to victory
Claimed the lives of 300 men at the Battle of Orienz
Ginevra flipped to another page. Another duke's portrait with the same information. She flipped to the end of the book. The last page landed on Tetrem Arius di Maldoni
His death was dated to six years prior…was it just a coincidence? Afterall, she knew they were also involved in that attack. Many lives had been lost…
Like with the others, the page contained the name of his wife, followed by his children, in this case, one: Taren Steffan di Maldoni
So, this was Taren's father…
Just then, a yellowed letter slipped out from the back of the book. Ginevra unfolded it. It was dated a year prior to Tetrem's death.
Dear Terentius,
Once again, you have exceeded my expectations.. ..it cut through the flesh like butter
...the blinding rush of heat… ...my arm moved on its own accord… …It cut so cleanly, precisely, the sword was barely through ligament before it was making its way to the deathly pair of eyes of the next man…
Your craftsmanship and skill… finest sword you've made me yet…
Ginevra stared at the page. Just what – what kind of family was she becoming a part of?
"That was my great grandfather, Lucius Petronius di Maldoni."
Ginevra nearly jumped in place. She had been facing the door…missing anyone's entrance would have been impossible.
She turned around just as Taren emerged from the shadows into the patch of light two feet away from her.
Taren's eyes were a bright, icy blue, scrutinizing her. Obsidian black locks of hair fall over his forehead. His figure looked slender yet strong. His presence was formidable as it was, and both his height and mien accentuated it tenfold.
Ginevra felt the blood drain from her face as she looked up at him. He looked like an angel of death.
"I am…Ginevra, Your Grace."
The corners of Taren's mouth turned up and his eyes flickered, amused, like a predator contemplating a too-easy prey.
How many faces pleading for mercy have those eyes looked upon?
"The pleasure is all mine, Ginevra Scaraveggi. I am Taren."