Ginevra looked out at the field beyond the courtyard garden. A lonely carriage trundled along the uneven dirt path.
Her mind wandered to a memory of her grandmother and her in the drawing room. Her grandmother had found her on the floor, behind the sofa, squeezed between the furniture and the wall, a foil lying on the ground next to her.
"Ginevra? What are you doing there? What are you doing with a foil?"
Ginevra did not answer, ashamed and frustrated. "I'm practicing. So one day I can kill the people that took everything from us."
Francesca's eyes widened.
Ginevra buried her head in her chest, as hot tears streamed down her face. "But I'm weak. I'm so weak. And I don't have any of the magic and power that you have." The saliva in her mouth felt like hot lava as she swallowed and the salty tears blurred her vision.
"Ginevra, come out from there. You won't get far sitting in a hole like that."
Francesca's voice was firm, yet gentle. Ginevra slowly crept out of the narrow space, looking up at her Grandmother, while remaining on the floor. Francesca kneeled down, wrapping her hands around Ginevra's shoulders. The light streamed in through the drawing room windows behind her grandmother, lighting up her hair, turning it into a blazing red. Although her hair had all but turned a metallic purple shade now, Ginevra had heard she was a bright red-head in her youth.
Her grandmother lifted Ginevra's chin and their eyes locked. Francesca's eyes were dark, ember pools; the longer one looked into them, the deeper they would fall into their depths. They were now fixed intently at Ginevra, and when she spoke, it was not her voice, but something deeper from within her, pouring out of her eyes, that was communicating to her.
"Ginevra, the people who attacked our home. I ask that you forget them. Otherwise, there is never a stop to it. Violence spreads like concentric circles flowing outward from the focal point, each wave spurring a new one."
Ginevra's shoulder shook as she stared back at her grandmother defiantly. "But don't you want to pay them back!? For everything they did!?"
"Revenge is like a wildfire. Once you start…it will drag you into an endless nightmare. The more you seek it, the more it consumes you. I want you to promise me one thing," Francesca looked at her granddaughter pointedly. "Focus on, and only on, what is in your control. Don't waste your time on anything else. Trust yourself and the decisions you make. If things go wrong, you can only blame yourself. And more importantly, you will know how to fix it because you got yourself into that position in the first place. You are not a victim. You always have power and you always have a choice."
Ginevra nodded her head as her grandmother's words seeped into her. "Yes, grandmama."
The only thing I can do is try to be a stronger person. That is in my control.
"With that said, I won't let you stay entirely defenseless."
"You'll let me take sword lessons? You'll teach me about energy!?" Ginevra's eyes widened.
Francesca shook her head, her lips curling up into a soft smile. "No, but there is something I would like to give you. Not now, but in time."
*****
Chapter: Maldoni Shrine
INT. MALDONI SHRINE – NIGHT
A ravenous battle wolf. They said he could see in the dark as if it were daylight, hear the clang of enemy's armor from across the field, and aim with the precision of a trained killer.
There is nothing that he reveres
He only worships the sword at his hilt
Nothing is sacred to him
The Maldoni don't know how to love.
Even the mercy they show to their own kind is from contractual obligation rather than familial affection.
Taren knelt in front of the dark, shadowy altar, his head bent in reverence. Moonlight streamed in through the glass-stained windows. Brass candelabras stood along the walls of the altar, flickering and casting small pools of light in the otherwise shadowy altar.
Taren raised a hand to his lips. The candles along the altar silhouetted his face. His eyes, unwavering, were lowered and had a far off look to them which showed he was, in mind, entirely removed from his surroundings.
The flame of the candle flickering before Taren turned into blue fire in his eyes.
Armed for battle, he was standing over a man lying on the blood-soaked ground of a battlefield. His father's commanding voice reverberated in his ears.
Each man forsakes his own life, Taren.
You either kill, or are killed. Crush or are crushed. Whenever you hesitate, remember that there is always someone who will not. Someone who will take advantage. You cannot afford to lose an opportunity to take advantage. That is the price to preserve the Maldoni. Learn to be ruthless and you will find that you can sleep easily at night.
In his vision, he thrust his sword into the man. Taren squeezed his eyes shut. Then, decisively, he stood up, and strode towards the door of the altar. By the entrance, he unhooked his sword which he had left leaning against the wall in the dark.
His foot was across the threshold when a hand shot out of nowhere, holding a letter. Taren's eyes narrowed on the gold seal on the envelope, bearing the insignia of the royal family of the neighboring kingdom.
"It just arrived," Nicco said pointedly, as Taren broke the seal of the envelope.
"Did you see the courier?" Taren asked, without lifting his eyes from the letter.
"According to Manfredi, a man with dark locks and a haggard gaze on a brown stallion. Tore off immediately."
Taren flounced down the short steps, as Nicco followed close behind.
Before he could respond, Taren stopped mid-step. The gesture was slight and almost imperceptible, but Nicco had known Taren long enough to recognize when Taren was alert. He kept silent.
"Show yourself unless you have a death wish," Taren's deep voice resounded into the deep shadows. Almost immediately, a man emerged from the shadows. He was dressed in simple garb, wringing a cap between his hands. A messenger?
"Your Grace, please forgive me."
"Forgiveness is not a light word. Do not throw it around so easily," Taren responded in a cold tone. The man had initially taken a few steps forward, not daring to shorten the distance further. At his words, he seemed on the verge of crumpling to his knees.
"Y-yes, Your Grace. K-king Julio sends me. He is – he is asking after the disappearance of his men."
Taren raised a ruthless brow at the man. But the conversation was clearly taking an interesting turn, because he turned more fully towards the messenger.
"I've already caught five spies in my land this past month. If your prince were wise, he would seize to send more.
"Yes, but the alliance…"
"That alliance was broken at my father's death. Our borders are closed to you. But perhaps the prince enjoys testing my patience."
"N-no, Your Grace! He means no offense. He was simply enquiring."
"And that is why he has sent you to spy on me at my own estate?"
"N-no Your Grace –"
"Then there's nothing more to be said. Manfredi, show our guest to the gate."
No sooner had he said so, Manfredi appeared from the shadows from behind the man. He had obviously been keeping a vigilant eye on him all along.
Taren averted his attention back to the letter in his hands as he continued to stride through the dark. "Prince Giulio must have a lot of free time on his hands these days. This is his second love letter to me this month."
"He recognizes Deceris is vulnerable. It only follows that he'd want to take advantage by asking for your support," Nicco reasoned, as he once again struggled to keep up with him.
"Arion is a fool. He's incompetent to rule, seeing as he's waged an entire war against the sea." Taren's voice sliced through the dark and Nicco held his breath. Only Taren would call the reigning monarch a fool.
"Although," Taren continued, a sardonic smile spreading across his lips, "the copper trade has been good ever since this so-called war started."
They had reached the end of the shaded path which directly led into the outer garden, on the brink of which Taren had stopped, still in the shadow of the overhanging oak trees. He grabbed a branch jutting out from the side into his line of sight, while his eyes remained fixed on a point in the distance. Nicco followed his gaze to a window overlooking the garden draped in cream-colored curtains just as a shadow happened to flit behind them.
Nicco furrowed a brow. "Sooner or later, conflict will be unavoidable. The only reason it's been stalled for as long as it has is because you've been playing the duchies against each other."
"I know. It's only a matter of time. And that's why this curse needs to be broken as soon as possible."
Taren clenched his jaw. "If not for this contract, I would have obliterated all of them in one night." He snapped the branch and continued to stalk ahead, with Nicco close behind.
He sounds just like his father.
Although it's true – the Maldoni have their senses - hearing, smell, sight – developed to a god-like degree.
They wouldn't stand a chance.
No one will stand a chance.
Once Taren is rid of this curse.