Hector’s meeting with the group drew to a close amidst the chattering of the market crowd. They had come up with a concrete plan for the festival. Even Lincoln had contributed in the end, choosing to take a more active role.
It had been decided that all six of them would split up into pairs and take a direction—moving around as one large group would draw too much attention. Emela and Nyx would take the east, Hector and Lincoln would take the west, and Marcus and Jodie would take the south.
The pairs would allow each person to cover the other’s back. The guards could be anywhere, and having someone nearby to keep a lookout could prove invaluable. Furthermore, with each taking a specific direction, it would be easier to locate each other if something went wrong.
Hector slumped down onto the edge of the fountain and let out a sigh. Mirae smiled at him with a bright beaming smile, and around him, each of his friends stood in silence amidst the winding down of the plaza market.
“Well then,” he said, his eyes drifting past his friends and to the streets leading away from the square. “I guess we have it all figured out. If anything does happen, we will have to adapt on the fly.”
“I know we’ve already been over this, but are we sure that we want to do this?” Lincoln said, looking between each member of the group.
“Lincoln, I swear I’m going to hit you,” Jodie said, cracking her knuckles.
Hector sighed and shook his head. “We’ve got this people.”
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Emela stood with her back straight before the great oak doors of the Grand Hall. The door was intricately carved with various runes which hummed with power, symbols of the protection array that covered most of the building.
Okay, this shouldn’t be hard. I just have to explain to Father that I can do more for the family unmarried than I can if I’m married.
She glanced at her side. Nyx stood ever vigilant, eager to put down any threat that may occur—though the only threat here was Emela’s own family. But she would be of no use in the upcoming battle of words against Emela’s father and the rest. She was but a maid, after all.
Nyx patted down her frock—a piece of clothing she seldom wore—and smiled. “Are you nervous, mistress?”
“Shouldn’t I be? After all, the rest of my life is about to be decided for me.”
Nyx tilted her head as she bunched her lips. “I suppose so, but whatever happens, mistress, I will be by your side through all of it.”
“I sure hope that is the case.”
The soft crackle of the surrounding lamps filled the silence that followed.
Emela had been waiting for some time now. Not one person had come to inform her as to why she was waiting so long, though that spoke of how much the family valued her. She opened her mouth to comment, but froze.
In the corner, by the door, a burst of icy wind and mist flooded out of nowhere, breezing in like a torrent of ice. And from this mist stepped her mother, Catherine. “I’m glad to see you’re on time, my love. I had feared that you would be late, but I’m glad to see that the other night was nothing but an accident.”
“As am I mother,” Emela said, flexing her fingers as her mother’s cold aura washed over her. A layer of frost formed on the carpeted floor, and she took a step back, not wanting to be within her orbit again.
A coy smile came to her mother’s lips as she crossed her arms and locked eyes with her. “I’ve come up with a suitable punishment for you. As I said last night, it will be administered after your father’s announcement.”
Dread crawled up Emela’s throat, threatening to choke the words as they came out of her mouth. “And what will my punishment be, if I may ask,” she said, throwing a quick glance at Nyx, who had taken a step closer to her with a look of concern. It was appreciated, though ironic that it was levied against her mother—the person meant to protect her.
“No, my dear. I think I will keep that piece of information to myself. Besides, it’s time to go in,” she said, turning.
The heavy oak doors creaked and let out a low rumble as they began to open. Waves of mana flooded through the hallway as the array circuit was broken. Emela’s fringe whipped about as Nyx held down her frock. All the while, her mother stood calm, like a sturdy rock in a wild lake.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Moments later, the wind settled, and a deep voice boomed out of the meeting hall. “You may enter.”
Her mother turned to her, nodded, smiled and walked in, a light shroud of mist in her wake.
“Come along Nyx, let’s get this over with,” Emela said, following behind her mother.
As Emela entered the great hall, a crowd of eyes fell on her. Elders, enforcers and various members of her family that held more power than they deserved. But even the weight of this crowd was nothing compared to the man who sat at the end of the hall on his elevated seat with blue crystal-like stairs leading up to it.
She could feel the pressure he was giving off even upon entering the room. She had long entered his orbit. Her skin prickled as the mana in the air seemed to fall still. Waiting. Her father’s power was unquestionable.
In his orbit, he was law. Even her mother’s mist had retracted to a thin layer that hovered just above her clothing. His orbit covered the entire hall, and probably a bit more. This was the power of a Mana Ignition cultivator.
As she walked down the hall, her heart racing more than she’d hoped, she glanced at the stands running along either side of the hall. Murmurs, at first a little, then they picked up as more and more of her so-called family recognized her.
“And here I thought she had been shipped off to Escal. Time as a serving woman would have done the girl well,” said a voice. Her gaze flickered to it. An Elder—one that caused her gut to twist with disgust as she locked eyes with him.
Grandfather to her perfect first brother, Drion. Elder Garen held no love for her. He would often comment that she was nothing more than a waste of resources, which would have been better spent strengthening his genius of a grandson. The man was a pathetic old fool.
She swallowed and continued forward, resisting the urge to look back to Nyx for support. Instead, she let her mind wander. Thinking of the Middlec slums and the freedom she had there. Thinking of Hector and her other friends. The plans they’d made, and the relief she would have when she could go back there.
After a few moments of walking amidst the murmur of the crowd, she came to a stop a few paces away from the crystal-like stairs. She looked up at her father, sitting high above, and waited for him to speak.
But instead of speaking, the air began to tingle as she felt a pressure on her chest. It was light, intended to make her pay attention. The hall immediately fell silent, and the pressure receded. “Emela Frostkeep. I have brought you here to recognise officially your engagement to the Muddust household. Do you have any objections?”
A wave of murmurs once again washed through the hall. Her chest tightened, eyes narrowing as her lips contorted with disgust. The Muddust house. A low to medium-ranked family in the city that specialized in refining average standard pills in bulk. Their pills weren’t widely used in the central parts of Middlec, but it was not hard to find a cultivator in the outer parts of the city that didn’t use them.
No. Not only am I to be married, but to such a lesser house. Why would Father do this?
Her gaze flickered to her mother. She frowned, and Emela noticed a look of confusion crossing her features. “Lord Patriarch, surely you do not mean the lower house headed by Blaine Muddust. They are a middling family at best. Would it be wise to—”
“Your thoughts are appreciated, Catherine,” said a voice. It came from one of the balconies within the stands that stood out with its ornate blue crystal dragon, running along its edges acting as railings. And sitting in the balcony was first elder Rodrick, second only to the Lord Patriarch himself. “But this has been decided by the inner family. Your words and opinions are not needed.” Rodrick combed his bony fingers through his short, slicked-back white hair and regarded her for a moment. “I believe the patriarch is still questioning Emela.”
The man may have worn beautiful blue and white robes trimmed with gold, but there was nothing beautiful about him. Whether it was his scrawny nose or callous appearance, he was a man who had little love for things he could not use.
Emela gulped and focused on her father’s cold blue eyes, his features like a block of ice, cold and sharp. “I—I do not wish to marry the Muddusts,” she said, forcing the words out of her mouth.
“If you are not to marry, we have no use for you, girl,” said another voice from the opposing stand. They sat in a similarly ornamented balcony to the first elder. Elder Margaret. She was the mother of Drion and the Lord patriarch’s first wife. “You have failed to make progress, and if we continue to waste resources on you, it would be an embarrassment. So marriage seems to be your only option.”
“Indeed, Emela. In marrying the Muddust, you would also be serving your family,” the first elder said, narrowing his eyes at her. He reached to his side and brought up a cup, taking a sip, never moving his eyes from her. “If you do not wish to serve the family, then you are not part of the family.”
Her mother went to speak, but a look from the first elder evaporated any words she may have had. She looked back at her daughter, frowned, and lowered her head. It had become clear she could do nothing to help.
“So, Emela, do you wish to be a part of this family?” The first elder said.
I wouldn’t even keep my name. Would I even be part of this family? I just want to go back to the slums.
She grit her teeth and shifted her weight on the carpet beneath her.
“Oh come now, dear sister,” a voice said from behind her. She turned. The doors to the great hall were still open, and through them she could see two men walking towards her. The one who had spoken was perhaps the person she wanted to see the least. Drion.
With a cocky smile on his face, he strode into the great hall, his long white hair trailing behind him. He wore his usual blue and white battle robes, clean and trim, displaying the house insignia. A few paces behind him was a boy she had never seen before—he had brown ruddy hair and wore battle robes that were a mix of brown and black, though she did recognize the house insignia. He was a Muddust.
“I have just been speaking to Ulrich here,” Drion said, gesturing to the boy behind him. “And he seems quite excited to be your betrothed.” Drion had a look on his face that said he was enjoying every bit of her suffering. She supposed that with Talent such as his, and the pressure that came with it, she was a good outlet.
“It is good that you are here, Drion,” her father said. For the first time since she’d entered, some interest seemed to have been sparked in him. He then glanced back at her. “Your betrothed is here. Do you accept marriage? Give me an answer?”