Lena of Medora

            When Lena walked into the temple after Classes, she knew something was different. She knew from the tension in the air that something big happened today. There was an eerie quiet that made her uncomfortable. The temple was usually full of activity. Slaves were generally in most rooms, and the smell of food usually wafted from the kitchens. Generally, her sister Sirena was at the piano composing melodies she would torture them with for weeks while she perfected them.

She hurried up the stairs, calling ahead of her for her mother, “Medora! Medora!”

“Lena!” Medora called from somewhere upstairs. The oddness to her tone hurried Lena’s feet. She found the entire household assembled in her mother’s private rooms. Sirena was seated cross-legged on the bed, and the six temple slaves surrounded her—on the bed, on the floor, on the chairs and the chaise—and the three garden slaves squatted on the tiles near the washroom. Her mother’s two exclusive House Slaves stood behind her in the center of the room, flanking her like sentinels in Mainland stories of Kings. Her mother’s own mother—Irynia—was in the room sitting on the straight-backed chair at the desk. Irynia’s two other grown daughters were in the room. One seated on the edge of the desk beside Irynia, and the other standing near the washroom, leaning against the wall.

Lena’s heart stopped for a moment while she tried to understand what might have caused tears to form in Irynia’s eyes, and somberness in the usually light-hearted slaves.

“Come here, baby,” Medora called, beckoning to her with one raised hand. Lena’s heart began thumping painfully in her chest, and her stomach made flips, but she obeyed her mother. Dropping her lunch basket onto the carpets beneath her feet, she hurried into her mother’s embrace.

“What’s wrong?” she pleaded, sliding her hands up onto her mother’s face, demanding her sole attention though she was in a room with an entire audience. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are you sick?”

Medora smiled, kissing her daughter on the forehead. “No, love. I’m perfectly healthy. We are all fine.” She kissed her again, and held her there against her lips, breathing for a moment. When she pushed her back, she held her, hands on either side of her face. “We are experiencing honor, not illness.”

Irynia spoke up, her sharp voice cutting through their private moment. “Medora is being honored. We are being punished.”

Lena looked into her mother’s eyes, concerned, but Medora shook her head slightly, and shot her own mother a quick glare. “Stop it, Irynia. This is an honor for us all.” She looked down into Lena’s face, and said gently, “The Queen has selected me to represent her interests in the Mainland. I’m getting a post as an Ambassador.”

Lena blinked in shock, then stepped back and sat hard on the bed beside Sirena. One of the slaves made room for her, scooting to the floor to give her adequate space to fit beside her sister. She shook her head to dispel her disbelief.  

“What does … What?”

Medora folded her arms loosely, gathering her sheer jacket against her in draped folds. She looked like a queen, standing there amid her family and servants. Her dark brown hair in wild curls around her head was slightly tamed by a silk cord tied across her forehead, like a crown. Regal.

“We are moving to the Mainland,” she stated simply. Lena widened her eyes at her mother, then turned to look at her sister. Sirena nodded, at once agreeing with her shock and confirming her mother’s assertion.

“We … I mean … Mainland is so … I can’t believe this!” Lena finally expelled, and her mother and aunts laughed at her. She pressed her palms to her cheeks, which were beginning to burn with embarrassment and shock.

“When?” Sirena asked then, cutting through the amusement. Silence fell in the room, as Medora’s sisters and her mother turned to look at her questioningly. Lena grasped for Sirena’s hand, and the two girls clung to one another as they studied their mother’s face intently.

Medora nodded at them slowly, as if answering their inner concerns. “Really, really soon.” Irynia drew a sharp breath at that pronouncement but did not interrupt as Medora continued. “We are slotted to take the Dawn Riser when it leaves next month.”

Lena let out a pained breath and felt Sirena’s grip tighten painfully on her hand.

“What about the Dance of Light?” Sirena asked, concern in her face matching the grip of her hands. It made sense she was concerned. She had just attended the Second Festival of Light a couple weeks ago and took home a winner’s ribbon. She was qualified to showcase a solo at the final Festival of Light in about twelve days.

Medora gave a small laugh and dropped into a squat in front of her daughters. Grasping their joined hands with her own, she assured them, “We will not leave before your performance, my love. But please think of what this means for us. Please ponder what this means for our family, to be selected and honored by the queen in such a way … I cannot enough express my gratitude to the Goddess for being so good to us.”

Lena nodded along. Her own devotion to the Goddess was much less pronounced than her mother’s, but she allowed her mother to hold onto her own triumph for this situation, saying only, “Your own goodness and the strength of your reputation must be the reason for your selection to such a prestigious post. This is an unbelievable honor.” Face coloring slightly, Lena could not help adding, “How will I apprentice-to-trade in the Mainland, Medora? Will I stay behind with Irynia?”

Medora gave another small laugh. “No, of course not. I will take my entire household with me. And some others besides.” She stood up and looked across at her own baby sister, several years younger. “Ophira has agreed to come along as Instructress, so your education will not wan in favor of my preferment.”

Lena drew a deep breath and rose to her feet. “Then you mean for us to live in Mainland for a very long time.” It was not a question exactly, though Lena’s heart beat painfully as she awaited her mother’s answer.

“Yes.”

Lena’s stomach sank, though she tried to look more cheerful than she felt. “Congratulations, Medora!” and she hugged her mother to hide her own disappointment in the new arrangement.

----------------------------------------

Lady Brooke Storm

Brooke looked up from the needlepoint in her hands as her mother entered the room. A servant girl followed, removing her traveling cloak and listening to instructions about food and the fire in her chamber upstairs. With a proper curtsy, the girl exited. Lady Carolyn looked then at Brooke with the cool distance of distracted thoughts clouding her gray eyes.

Brooke rose smoothly to her feet and approached the fireplace where her mother stood against the hearth.

“You are home sooner than I expected,” she informed the other woman quietly.

“Yes,” Lady Carolyn answered. She reached a hand out and touched Brooke’s face gently. “I was not with the King very long, my dear.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Brooke’s heart took up a fluttering beat, but she contained her emotions as she had been taught. The summons from the King had been a shock to them all, and the speculation it caused in the manor did not cease even when Lady Carolyn started her journey to the palace. There seemed to be only one obvious idea in everyone’s mind: the widowed king was seeking a new bride.

The door opened, and Truman strode in. Lady Carolyn turned to greet her son, and Brooke stepped back to give him an opening by the fire. He took his mother’s hands as he came and leaned to kiss her affectionately on the cheek.

“The servant told me you returned. I am sure we did not expect to see you again until next week at the earliest.” His gaze flickered toward Brooke, including her in his salutation with a glance. “What did the King say, my lady? Did he…?” He trailed off, as if thinking better of his own speculative question. Indeed, Brooke’s stomach gave a flutter, and she stared interestedly up into her mother’s softly line face.

Lady Carolyn shook her head at them both once, then crossed between them in quest of her chair. Folding herself into it and clasping her hands on her lap, she glanced toward the other chairs near her. The implicit order was immediately complied with. Brooke returned to her own chair, though she did not take up her needlework again. Truman seated himself in a third chair, but he only perched on the edge, bright eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

“What news?” he begged their mother.

Lady Carolyn lifted a finger to silence him and quiet their impatience. “The king was very cordial, as I was presented to him in front of his court. He informed me that he had a duty for me to undertake.”

“Yes…?” Truman pressed when Lady Carolyn paused.

She shook her head at him. “What you suspect is totally false, my son. I told you both, it is too early for him to think of marrying again. His wife has not been dead six months.”

Brooke’s disappointment was as painful, she doubted not, as a physical blow. She and Truman had been so certain. There seemed to be no other reason the King would send an official summons, would call their mother to court. Despite the suddenness of the proposal, they were certain it was a proposal the King intended.

Truman sat back in his chair, face crumpled with disappointment. “But for what other reason could he call you to court, my lady? It was not an unreasonable expectation.”

Their mother smiled on them both, a sad smile for their disappointed hopes. “No, my dear. It was not an unreasonable surmise, despite the earliness of the application. Yet, he did not call me to court to make me a queen. He had another piece of business.”

Brooke spoke up at last, unable to contain her curiosity. “What other business could he have for a widowed Baroness?”

Lady Carolyn again held up her finger in an indication that she expected them to silence their questions and their impatience. She answered into the resultant silence.

“He commanded me to take on a position as Ambassador of a foreign nation. My household and all are called to represent his interests—the interests of his country—in diplomatic peace in e’Silea.”

They sat in dumbfounded silence. Truman moved first, sitting forward in his seat again, but no words came into his mouth. Likewise, Brooke could find nothing to say. It seemed impossible to her. Ambassadors were always men—noblemen of the court who knew the King personally and could best represent him to other countries. She was baffled by the king’s expectation that their mother take on such a responsibility.

“It is a great honor, my dears,” she informed them in the silence, in a tone of slight rebuke.

Truman cleared his throat. “Yes,” he announced, shaking himself slightly to clear the perplexity from his expression. He smiled on his mother. “Yes, it is a very great honor. I have never heard of the like, to be honest. Every ambassador I have ever known or heard of was a man of the court. That our mother could be placed on a level with these honored noblemen, and entrusted to represent the King’s name and authority in another country …  it is a very great honor indeed.” He reached forward and rested his hand on top of his mother’s. “The king’s trust must be very gratifying.”

Lady Carolyn broke out of his grip, rising smoothly to her feet and pacing away from them. She spoke back to them, though her eyes were now looking inward. “Yes, it is very gratifying. The honor is unaccountable.”

Brooke was confused. They both spoke of honor, but neither of them looked or behaved as if they felt the honor of it. Truman, indeed, looked disappointed, and Lady Carolyn looked concerned.

“If it is an honor, why do we not celebrate?” Brooke asked them, concern in her voice.

Lady Carolyn spun and smiled gently at her. “My dear child, come here.” She opened a hand toward her and obediently Brooke crossed the room to her, giving her own hand to her mother. Lady Carolyn squeezed the hand, then pulled it to her own lips to kiss it gently.

“My dear, the King’s trust is an honorable bestowal. But becoming an ambassador is a complex business. When men undertake such a responsibility, they generally can come and go. They do not need to uproot their entire family and household to do their king’s bidding. They can travel to the country for some months, then come home to report, then return as needed.” She opened her other hand, then, to Truman. He rose and crossed to her, clasping her hand in both of his own.

“Sometimes, though, a man must be gone too long to deprive himself of his family. He takes them with him, takes a house for them, and brings them into the new country with him. This is what the king has commanded me to do. He wishes my post to last no less than five years in this foreign land, and his words seemed to hint that it could be perhaps longer.”

Brooke blinked in confusion. She pulled back from her mother.

“We are moving?”

Truman had not relinquished his mother’s hands. Their gazes, likewise, were connected. He answered for his mother. “Yes, Lady Brooke. We are moving to another country. What did you say it was called, my lady? I have not heard of it.”

“e’Silea,” Lady Carolyn replied.

Brooke pushed herself forward again, clasping her own hands around her mother’s and brother’s. “But why would he send you, mother? Not that you do not deserve such an honor, but … You have no experience as an ambassador! Why should he want you to take on such a responsibility?”

Lady Carolyn gave them an ironic smile. “Why, indeed, my dear. This country—e’Silea—is a matriarchal society. That is to say, women undertake the roles of leadership and business. They have a queen, and the ruling council is all women. I am afraid the king’s usual ambassadors would not have been accepted in e’Silea. He needed a strong and loyal woman of the court to take on this particular assignment.”

Truman was gratified. He smiled again. “But this is a very great honor indeed! There must be many women in his country who could undertake this post. He must trust you very well to assign this to you.”

Lady Carolyn, though, had eyes only for Brooke now. Brooke was concerned and could not help showing that concern on her face.

“But… Mother, if they are a society of women who run businesses and lead the country …” She shook her head in concern, trying with some difficulty to articulate her worries. “What can their men be responsible for? What position could suit them better than leadership?”

Truman’s brows lifted in mild surprise, as if he had not thought of this before. His eyes turned likewise to their mother, awaiting her answer. Lady Carolyn reached out for his hand once more, but her eyes were invariably fixed on her daughter’s face.

“In e’Silea, men are considered slaves, and have the responsibility of a servant.”

Truman blinked and stepped back in surprise. But Brooke remained where she was, hands in her mother’s grip. Shock—even horror—enveloped her.

“Then your responsibility there must be an endeavor to educate these women against slavery. Is that not right?”

But Lady Carolyn said no. “The King was very stern about that point—we are not in any way to interfere with their customs and practices. My responsibility will be to represent our trade interests with e’Silea. Evidently, trade with them is very profitable, and the king would like to see it extended to our country.”

Brooke withdrew her hands in disgust. “But … we cannot trade for goods with a country whose goods are got with slavery. It would not be morally justified. God would not forgive us.” She clasped her hand around the charm at her neck—a star her father had given her before he had died, with words of caution to glorify God in all her thoughts and actions.

Truman spoke up in stern rebuke of her arguments. “Lady Brooke, I am sure you are not suggesting our mother disobey her king. Would God forgive us for defying his most honored servant’s commands? No. We must go to e’Silea as he has ordered us.”

Lady Carolyn agreed with a single nod. “We will go as I have been commanded. We will sail in one month. And I do not expect God would quarrel with us for doing our duty, my dear. But, if it concerns you, pray on it. I anticipate, though, that your goodness and loveliness will be an example to these slaveholders. They will learn more from your example than our refusal to enter into trade with them.” She grasped Brooke’s arm and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Your scruples do you the greatest credit, I am sure.”

Truman did not agree. “You ought not to be so hasty in declaring what you imagine to be God’s will, little sister. He is just as likely to be pleased that trade has been established between His God-fearing country and one of the Godless nations of sinners. His plan may surpass us all and could result in a future where many sinners come to a knowledge of their wickedness, and repent.” He grinned at his mother. “We leave in one month? You must be beside yourself attempting to organize everything in your thoughts. It is much too soon for you to not feel the anticipation of it.”

Lady Carolyn smiled at them both. “It is very soon, but I expect you will both help me to organize and prepare, and as a result, I will not feel duly rushed by it.” She kissed her daughter again, then kissed her son’s cheek. “We have been greatly honored.”