Mariana sauntered amidst a sea of ivory bones, each one a testament to her power and grace. The undead before her stood motionless, awaiting her inspection. She moved graciously among them, her fingers tracing the curves and contours of their skeletal forms, probing for any imperfections.
As she examined them, a wicked smile crept across her face. Once the men and women of the great empire of Etine, now reborn and bound to her will. Every bone was in place, every joint flawlessly aligned. They were the embodiment of her mastery of the dark arts and stood ready to serve her every command.
"Excellence, my dear Gaius," she murmured, marveling at her own creation.
A figure shrouded in an ashen robe emerged from the shadows with an uncanny silence, his presence betraying the traces of magic that surrounded him. As he drew near, he bowed his head in deference.
"A simple task for the Wicker Queen," he observed.
She shot him a withering glance, but the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Gaius," she replied, her voice laced with a hint of levity.
She paused before a misshapen figure, her fingers gliding over the unusual contours of its skeletal structure. Scrutinizing the undead, she took note of its armor-like appearance, and the way its bones twisted and bent to fit together with seamless precision. But it was the piercing blue eyes that held her, their hypnotic gaze drawing her in and leaving her feeling as though she were drowning in their depths.
Her eyes darted over the deformities of the undead, taking in each flaw with a critical eye. A reminder that even the most skilled necromancers had their limitations, and not all her undead could be perfect.
"How unfortunate," she remarked, her eyes lingering on the undead's sapphire-like eyes. "Its beauty is wasted on such imperfections."
The undead remained unmoving from her touch, its empty gaze fixed ahead, betraying no hint of awareness or emotion. Yet, in some way to her, it seemed to possess a sense of knowing, a perception that extended beyond the realm of the physical.
Mariana had crafted it with her own hands, imbuing it with her own magic to obey her every command. But as she stood there, musing over the fate of this particular creation, she found herself uncertain of what to do with it. The possibilities were endless, but so were the demands of those who relied on her army of the undead. Cedrick, the old man who oversaw the mines, was always pestering her for more bodies to put to work. On the other hand, the fields could benefit from more workers to tend to the grain, lady Calla would certainly welcome the help. Her mind was torn between the practical demands of her province and the desire to keep this work off her own hands.
An idea sprouted in Mariana's mind, and a sly grin spread across her face. She pivoted on her heels, the hem of her raven-black robes rustling against the stone floor, and snapped her finger with a flick of her wrist. The door opposite from her creaked open, and a flustered young man with tousled brown hair and smoldering ember eyes scurried into the main hall. He stumbled over his own feet in his haste, his eyes darted nervously around the room, his heart racing as he awaited her command. He was the spitting image of her master, his father. She wondered if he would possess the same cunning and intelligence.
She closed the gap between them, her face mere inches from his, her sable-black hair cascading over her shoulders as she spoke. "Carver," she murmured, savoring the way his name felt on her tongue, "tell me, is the master still complaining about needing an assistant?" Her eyes held a mischievous glint, and she tilted her head slightly, studying his reaction.
Carver's cheeks flushed, and he fidgeted under her intense gaze. He cleared his throat and managed a small nod. "Y-yes, my lady," he stammered.
"Wonderful!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together in excitement. "Do me a favor, Carver, and fetch the master for me. I believe I have found the perfect assistant for him," she said, her voice laced with honeyed sweetness. Carver nodded and hurried off, his steps quickening with each passing moment. "Oh, and do make haste, Carver," she called after him, her tone firm but still kind. "I have little time to spare, and the master is known for his impatience." Her eyes followed him until he disappeared from view.
Gaius scoffed, his lips curling in disdain. "It is fortunate the master chose you to be his successor. That boy," he spat out the word as if it were a curse. "I shudder to imagine what would become of us if he were ever entrusted with such a responsibility. He lacks the cunning and ambition necessary to lead us to victory."
Mariana remained indifferent as Gaius made his comment, keeping her eyes fixed on the empty doorway where Carver had disappeared. Her expression was cool, but her jaw was set in a firm line. "That boy, as you so rudely call him, is the son of Master Sabin," she said, her voice measured and even. "And he happens to be my betrothed." She finally turned to meet Gaius' stare, her eyes locking onto his with a steely glare. "I suggest you watch your tongue when speaking of him," she cautioned, her voice now imbued with a touch of danger. "Otherwise, you may find yourself in a very unpleasant situation." A small, sly smile crept onto her lips as she added, "And I'm quite certain you wouldn't want that." The threat hung heavily in the air, and Mariana savored the power she held over Gaius, even if it was just for a moment.
Gaius lowered his head, his voice quivering with remorse. "Forgive an old man's insolence, my lady. I meant no disrespect to you, or your betrothed." He kept his eyes downcast, not daring to meet Mariana's gaze.
Her laughter rang through the main hall, a sound that was both melodic and infectious. She threw her head back, her dark curls bouncing with each chuckle. After a moment, she composed herself, still smiling. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed Gaius. "Don't worry about it," she said, her tone warm and reassuring. "It's of no consequence."
But Gaius was well aware of how narrowly he had escaped the Wicker Queen's ire. Her fury was well known, and her patience was often as thin as a spider's silk. He knew that if he crossed her again, his life would be in grave danger. The memory of her cold, unyielding stare and the sharp edge of her tongue was etched deeply in his mind. So he bowed and retreated back into the shadows.
***
After a few minutes of waiting, Carver returned with the master in tow. Despite the deep wrinkles etched into his weathered face and the slight hints of gray in his hair and beard, there was a certain vitality to him that drew people's attention. His tattered cloak was threadbare in places and frayed at the edges, a testament to the many journeys it had seen over the years. The once vibrant colors of the garment had faded, leaving behind a dull, discolored hue that matched the weariness in the master's eyes.
Mariana lowered her head as a courtesy as Master Sabin entered the main hall, but he seemed oblivious to her presence. "It's a rare treat to have you among us, master," she said with a touch of playfulness in her voice, "Would you like some wine or honeyed milk to accompany your visit?" She arched her eyebrows, waiting for a response. The master's eyes flickered to her briefly before turning away.
Standing tall, the master towered over her with an imposing presence that commanded attention. His shred stare bore into hers, unwavering and intense. ""I have more pressing matters to attend to rather than indulge in your idle chatter," he continued, his tone curt and clipped, "speak your piece, and quickly, or I shall take my leave and leave you to your own devices."
Letting out an exasperated sigh, she felt a twinge of annoyance at the master's impatience. He never seemed to appreciate her playful banter or indulge in her teasing. It was like trying to get a reaction out of a stone wall. Mariana couldn't help but compare him to her own father, who was equally uninteresting and lacked any sense of humor or lightheartedness. She longed for some excitement in her life, something to break the monotony of her routine.
"Very well, master. I wouldn't want to keep you from your oh-so-important studies," she said with a smirk. She walked over to her undead servants, the sound of her heels clicking against the stone floor and gestured to the one with striking blue eyes. "Your new assistant. I trust it will be up to your standards. You can thank me later."
The anticipation was palpable in the air as Mariana braced herself for the master's response. However, nothing could have prepared her for the outburst of fury that followed. The master's face contorted in a deep shade of crimson as he bellowed out his rage, his eyes blazing with an intensity that sent shivers down Mariana's spine. She could feel the force of his anger as though it were a physical presence in the room.
"You insult me, girl," he bellowed, pointing a finger at her. "I want nothing to do with your monstrosities!" The force of his words made the air around them vibrate and Mariana took a step back, lowering her head.
Stammering under the master's harsh glare, she fidgeted with the hem of her cloak, desperately searching for a way to break the uncomfortable silence between them. She could feel his eyes boring into her, willing her to meet his gaze. Swallowing hard, a lump forming in her throat, she finally forced herself to look up.
As she braced herself for the worst, Mariana was surprised to see a different expression on the master's face. It wasn't anger or disappointment that she saw in his eyes, but rather a deep sense of shame and sorrow. She noticed Carver's hand on the master's shoulder, offering support. The master approached her, his hand gently patted the top of her head, causing her to look up and meet his gaze. His voice was soft and filled with regret as he spoke, "Forgive me, child." Mariana felt a pang of sympathy for him, as she realized that her actions had hurt him in some way.
Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close in a tight embrace. The master responded by holding her just as tight, his arms encircling her small frame. The warmth of his body against her own made her feel safe and protected. Tears welled in her eyes, and she fought to keep them from spilling over. She didn't want Carver to see her cry, not now, not ever. In that moment, she longed for her father to be here with her, to provide the comfort and reassurance that only a parent could give.
As Mariana and the master embraced, with Carver standing silently behind them, none of them were aware that the blue-eyed undead had taken a single step forward.