-7-
The summer of her 18th year was when she noticed her father's ailing health.
Miriel had returned from the Capitol promptly, vexed by the ceaseless invitations to every ball or event to be held.
She went to see her father in his study and he coughed blood while they conversed.
They sought a physician but noted no particular problems, chalking it to exhaustion from overwork.
Two years after, she saw him coughing blood again. To her dismay, his health had worsened gradually after the event in the study and he had been deftly hiding it.
To lighten his workload, Miriel started assisting her father with managing the estate and the fief.
They sought physicians and herbalists wherever they could; sending runners, making inquiries and mailing invitations whenever opportune. Alas, to no avail. With each passing day, she could only witness her father's health decline.
Another two years and her father was bedridden.The brunt of the workload fell unto her and her Uncle Yorn.
Lerkester, too, faced issues they needed to cure. The harvests dwindled, they lacked manpower, they had trouble with nearby fiefs and their relatives kept haggling for funds.
Her father almost sold half their land, and would have, had Miriel not intervened.
Mercifully, Yorn had trailed the river upstream and unearthed a silver mine.
The news brought her father great relief but, to Miriel's distress, lightened her father's anchor on life. Lerkester was healing, but not her father.
Gradually, they stopped sending for healers. Miriel accepted that her father would not be cured. Her only respite was the gratified smile on his face, which evoked a bittersweet smile upon hers.
She slowly passed her duties onto her Uncle Yorn and spent more time with her father. Then came days she spent the day beside her father.
On better days the servants would escort him on a wheelchair and they would spend the day outside. On worse days he would shake and turn, cough and cry while he slept. She would be beside him, helpless.
He would recount to Miriel of his younger years, running into the woods and returning by nightfall which earned him stern lectures.
He extolled about she mother, how mesmerised he was the first time they met, how she filled his head and how hopelessly he adored her. How he would flounder beside her and how she would titter at that.
Miriel blushed when he spoke of her younger years. How overjoyed they were when they had her, how she had her mother's looks but was boisterous like her father
How she would return all dirtied from playing in town and how her mother would be furious when she knew.
Miriel would laugh, get mad at her father's past antics, whine about her troubles. At times, her tears would pour ceaselessly and her father would silently hold her hand, ever a smile on his face.
Their conversations dwindled as her father slept longer and longer.
Until he never woke up.
-
Miriel stood beside the casket, as the priest gave the eulogy. Her head, covered in a veil, hid her face from the crowd.
It was light out, but dark enough to light a few lamps. Dreary clouds blanketed the sky and cast a pall on the land below.
All the people in the town were present; children, wives, husbands, young and elderly, servants and soldiers of House Lerkester.
So were close and distant associates of Lerkester, and her father.
When the eulogy finished, the priest turned to Miriel.
She nodded.
Miriel placed a white rose atop the casket and watched them lower it into the grave, burying him beside her mother.
'Goodbye, father.'
She watched them cover the grave for a moment, then left.
She went to Louis, who stood behind her.
"Louis, send for everyone related to the inheritance to gather at the main hall."
"Shall I gather the soldiers as well, madam?" He replied.
Miriel paused, then nodded.
"Bring enough of them, but keep them from the hall. They can disperse after the crowd leaves."
She left for the mansion, weaving through the crowd.
-
"You'll know one day, you weepy wench! And you'll be begging for our help then!"
Miriel watched as Till Lerkester stormed out the hall.
When he reached the doors he turned and shouted, "Heirell, Filliore, we are leaving at once!"
He left the hall, and the two followed after. Then the other people left.
She stood on the landing and stared at the retreating crowd. They threw perplexed and glaring looks at her before leaving the hall.
Miriel alone remained in the hall.
She bent and sat on the stairs. She had her chin on her palms and her elbows to her knees as she exhaled.
She had informed them of her betrothal and had the knight hoist the parchment he held.
None mistook the princess's insignia - a quill pen intertwined with flowers - stamped on the parchment, held by a knight with the insignia emblazoned on his cape.
Some had sour faces while others were puzzled.
Miriel asked the knight to wait outside and addressed the crowd. Her father had left everything to her, she would be the next Baroness and her Uncle Yorn would be acting guardian until her succession.
The longer she spoke, the more distraught were the crowd's faces.
She informed them that her father had left them nothing, and neither would she dispense any.
After she finished, one stormed out and the rest followed.
Miriel hummed as she sat on the stairs, staring at the hall.
It was dimly lit by the oil lamps fixed to the walls, shadows flickered as they burned.
She laid her back on the landing and sprawled her hands to her sides, tapping her fingers fitfully.
Mirield huffed, rose, and descended to the floor. She bent and untied her shoes, then went to the centre of the hall barefoot.
She bowed, then danced.
She slowly waltzed about the floor, arms swaying gracefully as she twisted and twirled. Shadows mimicked her motions, cast upon the tiles and walls. The burning lamps set to the walls her sole audience.
In the hall, devoid of life, a girl danced alone, illuminated by lamplight.
Finally, she stopped, as did the shadows.
Alone in the dim hall, she bowed.