"Sir, a letter has arrived for you."
"Bring it here."
"Yes."
Sitting on a comfortable chair close to the fire, Marquis Reuben warmed his sore feet by the embers. Being a man of old age already, the passing of the years hadn't gone by unnoticed, forcing him to walk with a finely carved cane which laid quietly on the armrest by his side.
His attendant carefully brought a silver tray with an envelope on it, offering it to his master. Its contents were quite simple and crudely written.
'I accept your offer. I will light a candle by the window once I am ready.'
The nobleman grunted in disgust, throwing the measly piece of paper into the flames. The thought of that savage leaving her dirty fingerprints on it disgusted him.
"Will she do it, Sir?"
"Yes. That barbarian has agreed."
"This is great news, isn't it, Sir?"
Not interested in talking anymore, the Marquis waved his hand at his attendant.
"Quit chattering and go inform Viscount Mellen about this. Don't forget to pass the message to the rest as well. We should all begin to prepare to pressure the Duke once his heir is gone."
Hearing the quick steps leaving the room, the old man stretched his toes with a satisfied sigh. He couldn't wait for all of this to be over. The last few years had been extremely taxing on his spent bones, and the wrinkles around his sharp eyes increased by the day. He was aware of his time running short, which forced him to devise this scheme to preserve the future of his family in the midst of these turbulent times.
Having no granddaughters back at the marquisate, his only option was to somehow marry his second eldest grandson, Phillipe, to the dukedom's young lady, but with the future Duke running around, the lord had set his sights on the royal palace for his daughter's hand in marriage.
'He's trying to do the same thing as I am.'
After losing his only male son, the idea of the eldest young lady becoming a princess would immediately fall as he would need someone to manage the estate after his death, namely his son in law. The Marquis sighed and closed his eyes. If everything worked out, one of his grandsons would become the heir of the dukedom, finally stabilizing his position in the court. He had even convinced several nobles to pressure to plant his own blood in power after the young lord was gone in exchange for benefits once the little brat sat on the big chair.
If he succeeded, the Duke would still be able to try to go for the throne with his younger daughter, although this would be difficult since she was no more than a toddler and there were suitable candidates in other reputable houses with a smaller age margin with the prince. At any rate, if that small child somehow managed to become the princess, his grandson would be the prince's brother-in-law.
A soft knock resounded, forcing his tired eyelids open.
"Marquis Reuben."
"Come in."
From the entrance appeared a skinny young man, not older than 14, with dirty servant's clothes. His hair was shabby, but underneath the tangled tresses, a pair of bright eyes shone with intelligence.
"I have come to report something relevant."
"Tell me."
"After digging around for some time, I came across the rumor of the disposal of that Ronna woman you asked me about."
"Who is it?"
"The Duchess."
"So, she already knows, huh? Word travels fast inside these stone walls."
"Yes, apparently so, Sir."
"Do we know what kind of poison it is?"
"Not yet. I have been looking into it, but they are truly keeping it under wraps. I only know the Viscountess received a bottle from a strange supplier and then spoke to the maids who serve the Ronna's food."
The Marquis frowned and remained silent.
"Should we warn her, Sir?"
"Who?"
"The Ronna."
"No."
The young man was a bit taken aback. He didn't know all the details, but he understood this woman was relevant for what the Marquis was planning.
"We can use this to our advantage. Let's wait until she reaches out to us for the antidote so we can pressure her with it as well. Don't speak to anyone else about this."
"Certainly, Sir."
He turned to leave, but the old man stopped him.
"Wait."
"Yes? Is there anything else you need?"
"Find out who sold us out to the Duchess. I want a name by tomorrow afternoon."
"Yes, Sir."
"Good. You may leave now."
After a swift bow, the young man left as quickly as he had come, carefully checking either side of the hallway to avoid being seen exiting the room before stepping away.
----
Late at night, the castle's librarian yawned before lifting the last lit candle inside the dukedom's library, carrying it in front of his chest to illuminate the path towards the set of great oak doors that would lead him outside. With a couple of books underneath his arm, he twisted the knob, stepped into the corridor, and locked the room behind him before finally retiring for the day.
Unbeknownst to this man, past the closed doors and tucked between the sturdy shelves, a small hidden entrance revealed a bright set of eyes that carefully examined the surroundings. Everything was completely still under the blanket of darkness, even the small silhouette that barely peeked inside the room. Eventually, its small feet met the library's carpet, and with a renewed calm it strode amidst the books.
Neera sighed in relief after seeing that the last light had died at the main desk, as this meant that she was completely by herself in this enormous vault of knowledge.
During the past few weeks she had been reading every book she could find, beginning from the shelves furthest from the entrance since they were the ones closest to the tunnels and farther from the librarian's avid eyes. At the back of the room resided the relevant and complex tomes the dukedom had to offer, pushing to the front those that were predominantly used for easier access. This meant that Neera's adventure began backwards, from the most remote subjects to the mainstream titles, strangely twisting her learning curve.
She read 'The Wonders of The Eastern Tea Ceremony and its Customs' before reading 'Basic Tea Brewing Techniques', 'Theories of Evolution: a Compilation of the Thoughts of the Brightest Minds of Our Time' before 'All the Animals Under the Sun', and 'Neurology: a Theoretical Map of the Functional Areas of the Human Brain' before 'First Aid Bandaging Techniques'.
Thanks to her excellent memory, she could maintain the information inside her head long enough to progress in her studies until she found the information that filled the gaps in her understanding. Neera didn't feel burdened by this, she had already experienced something similar when she began listening to Elron's already advanced lessons and was forced to fill in the blanks with the textbooks he lent her for the assignments. She sometimes even felt it was fun to theorize on her own about what she didn't know, stimulating cold nights while she looked at the ceiling, or the tortuous and never-ending hours she spent maintaining a pose during her training, lighting within her a thirst for knowledge and the urge to satiate it.
Today, after much effort, she had finally read all her way up to the first row of bookshelves, but this time unlike in the past, she was scared of what was to come. Neera slowly walked forward, holding a small candle she had brought with her into the tunnels, and stopped in front of the first row of books. The dreaded uppermost title welcomed her.
'The Holy Scriptures'.
For as long as she could remember, Neera had lived in the streets along with her small community of abandoned children, but she wasn't a stranger to the faith every subject of Cambria followed, the Sotiria Church. A small temple had been erected in her hometown, but she had never been allowed into any of its ceremonies. It was an unspoken rule that parentless children were to be excluded from all common activities. They were an eyesore, the shame of Raniel, and as such, they were chased out of everywhere except for the alleys, their inevitable home.
Her lack of participation wasn't what made her weary of the Church's teachings, what had ingrained that fear into her was something she had heard when she was barely more than a toddler from the lips of one of Raniel's children. The boy had been walking through the town's market with his mother, dutifully holding a basket of potatoes for her, when his curious eyes fell on Neera's hunched figure stretching her small fingers in a silent plea for sustenance to any passerby.
The child pulled on his mother's skirt, and once she bent down to listen to him, he asked:
"Mother, what is that girl doing over there?"
The woman's eyes fell on Neera's grimy appearance, immediately looking away out of pity and disgust. Neera lifted her gaze from the floor after noticing they were talking about her. Maybe, if she was lucky, they would give her a potato. The pain in her stomach grew stronger at that thought.
"She is asking for food."
"Doesn't her own mother feed her?"
Observing her son's ignorance, the mother's gaze grew warm, thinking of how blissful and innocent children were.
"That child does not have a mother."
The boy was confused, as if such a thing was not possible. His small eyebrows scrunched up in distress.
"Why?"
"She left her."
"Then, who takes care of her?"
"No one."
He pondered for some time until his eyes lit up with an idea.
"Then God will help her, won't he? That's what the priest said! He shall help all those in need."
The woman sighed with love and compassion in her eyes. As much as she found it endearing, she felt she should tell her son the truth.
"No, my boy. That child has been forsaken by God."
Neera, who had been no older than six, felt the words sting her like a slap. She had had a vague understanding that there was a god out there, but she had never seen or heard him. How was everyone else so sure he was there? Had they witnessed his appearance themselves? Had he talked to them directly? If so, had he really forgotten her?
That idea had been since deeply ingrained into her mind. It haunted her those two years inside that dark basement. A constant voice whispering into her head.
'No one cares for you. Even God has forsaken you.'
She had prayed, or at least she tried as she didn't know how, and not once had she received deliverance from all the pain. Every day inside that small cell proved what she dreaded most. She was truly alone. Eventually, her faith disappeared along with her prayers. God was dead. If not to everyone else, he was at least dead to her. Any feeling of debt for her creation vanished after the years of torture, and her last grain of remorse flew away when she learned none of the other children from Raniel survived those two years in the basement. But still, even if she was decided to not acknowledge his presence, she wanted to know whether he was really there, if there was a reason for all of this, if he truly despised her.
After becoming the last survivor from her small group, she didn't know what to expect from the scriptures. Would there truly be a passage where god condemns the orphans? What if there wasn't? She wouldn't know which would enrage her more.
Her fingertips trembled as they traced the spine of the book. Taking a deep breath, she finally opened it and read the first page. Neera's eyes roamed over the paper, timidly at first, but before long they hungrily devoured every word.
With her back leaning on the bookshelf, she sat there for hours, turning page after page. The night slowly waned, passing from the rich black to a pale blue as the sun began its birth. Neera had long since abandoned her reading, with the scriptures laying silently on her lap as her forlorn eyes were unfocused. One by one, small tears began to fall down her cheeks.
She had read every single word, eagerly searching for a sentence, a phrase, anything that would explain all the pain that surrounded her. But, alas, she had found no such thing. There was not one quote where god resented her or refused her. God was said to love everyone equally, and Neera despaired.
Her mind spun in a myriad of dark turns. If god loved her as much as he loved everybody else, why did she experience so much pain? Why didn't he make it end? She couldn't hold the sobs that shook her spine, contorting her body until her figure was reduced to a small shadow inside the library.
If god didn't hate her, then what was the reason behind the death of her friends? Why did all those scars stain her body? Why was she forced to relive the feeling of being abandoned? Why had her mother left her?
More time passed, and finally her eyes dried up. The gut wrenching feeling hadn't left, the anguish still pressed down on her chest, but she didn't have any more tears to shed.
She had reached a simple conclusion to her inquiries. If god truly existed, he had no interest in the matters of us mortals, and whatever pain she experienced could be explained by the actions of others. She lacked the love of a parent because her mother felt she was a burden, the orphans starved because others would rather keep their food to themselves, and all the scars of her body were a produce of the Duke's entitlement over her, and his twisted views of people as possessions. The woman at the market had been wrong. No godly punishment was being set upon her, nor was there any discrimination against her from the holy words. She just had been unlucky to have been born from her mother. None of this was her fault. It was theirs.
In her chest, a dark feeling began brewing.
Knowing it was time to leave, Neera slowly stood up. Her body was sore, but she pushed it to the back of the room, where the shy rays of the sun that came through the windows still hadn't stretched their warm fingers. Her blue dress fluttered, disappearing behind the now closing door to the tunnels.