VI—GABRIELA FARRELI OF FLORENCIA

“Yes, we were raiding in the north country on the river Stromvini,” Gabriela said.

“And you actually left him a letter? Truly?”

Gabriela laughed. “Yes, yes I did!”

Tori Glass laughed.

They were in the main drawing room on the Florencian side of the House of Gates. The chamber was massive, with furniture spread throughout. Noble ladies and lords mingled in groups, speaking as bands of musicians played stringed instruments, providing the huge space with a soft background distraction from the ongoing party.

Many of the men wore fine clothes, jackets and sword belts, while the women too dressed in similar fashion, albeit, more femininely in their dresses and skits, though some did wear trousers. Gabriela, who wore a pleated skirt with an open jacket, her rapier at her side. If she had to fight a Lucian and her short skirt happened to reveal her underclothes—all the better. The distraction might put her opponent out of sorts for that split second she could use to gain an advantage.

Well… if her opponent was a man, that was.

Nobles of Florencia, and Lucia even, were not the soft pampered folk of other aristocracies. Perhaps many of them were, but most of them were leaders, knights, and mages.

Gabriela herself had grown up in a martial household, and even though she enjoyed fine things, that martial nature was a part of her.

Always.

“Serves those Lucian dogs right,” Tori said. “I’ve lost three brothers to those barbarians.”

“Indeed?” Gabriela asked. “The last time we spoke you said it had been two.”

“Yes, well. Georgia was the latest casualty of the fighting.”

“I am so sorry,” Gabriela said, glancing about so that she could put her drink down. It seemed so profane to drink and laugh and talk about personal loss.

Unfortunately she found nowhere to place the drink.

“That was nearly a year ago,” Tori said. “Do not feel sorry for me. As we Florencians are—we’re ever ready for the inevitable losses of loved ones.”

“Indeed,” Gabriela said. “Just so. A part of me feels grateful to be an only child, and I am not dead yet.” She smiled.

Tori laughed, then sipped her own drink. “I doubt your parents feel the same, though.”

“Oh yes,” Garbiela said. “They wanted a male heir, but… they got me.”

“Why did they not have more children?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

That was a good question, one she was aware of. “My mother is barren. Gods, preserve her, after giving birth to me, something went wrong. The physicians know not what, though.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, no!” Gabriela said as she put up a hand. “Do not feel sorry for her. She hates that.”

“Oh, my apologies then.”

She smiled. “And you are still apologizing, I see. None of that, Lady Glass.”

Tori nodded, then glanced about the drawing room. Finally, she came back to meet Gabriela’s eyes. “Do you really think there can be peace between Florencia and Lucia? I don’t see it.”

What ever would we do with ourselves if there were peace?

“I do not know,” she said. “What I do know, is that many of us here, and many of the nobles of Lucia I am certain, have experienced loss. No, you are right. I don’t’ see it.”

“Can you believe Lady Laccia actually believes it’s possible?”

Gabriela looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “That Laccia has experienced a lot of loss. More than I can imagine is bearable. Perhaps she has gone mad?”

“Perhaps,” Tori said distractedly as the herald called out some name Gabriela didn’t hear over the ballroom music and excited conversation.

But when dozens of Florencians turned their heads toward the doors, she had to look. In strode Zaan Blackwater, bedecked in gold and strange clothes, a staff with a crook, and followed by a small procession of hangers-on.

“Gods,” Gabriela muttered. “In comes the madman.”

Tori looked at her with large eyes. “Be careful what you say.”

“Mmm.”

Spreading his arms, Zaan said, “So how are my fellow Florencians?” When he saw that a knight was standing beside him, he stepped away, making a face of disgust.

Gabriela rolled her eyes.

Gods, did she hate Zaan Blackwater. The insufferable arrogance he brought into any room with him made her want to stab him with her rapier.

He was greeted by several nobles.

“Where have you been?” a new voice, lazy and amused asked.

Gabriela, along with dozens of other heads, turned. It was Nero Angelo, standing in the doorway with his greasy entourage.

“Nero!” Zaan called. “It is good to see you, my friend and ally.”

The two powerhouse lords strode into the room like they were the only ones in attendance—the rest of them might as well have been flies on the wall.

Nero Angelo was a tall, lithe lord with a sadistic smile. He wore robes and sandals and held an outrageously long smoking pipe.

Zaan was bedecked even more strangely, with gold hanging about his neck and waist, his flowing trousers and calf-high leather sandals giving them both a similar air of having been on a beach somewhere. Zaan’s chest was completely exposed, the only piece of clothing above his voluminous trousers was a tattered shawl wrapped about his shoulders. In his procession were strange foreigners from a land she had never seen before, their bodies dark of skin and mostly bare.

From their demure nature and unwillingness to meet anyone’s eyes, she suspected they were his new slaves.

Nero laughed. “I thought you were off conquering new lands?”

“I was—nay, I am,” Zaan said with a malicious smile. “I’ve been conquering lands across the see. An empire called Abassir, ruled by a sultan.”

“Oh?” Nero asked as he puffed on his pipe. “A ‘sultan’? Whatever is that?”

Laughing, Zaan said, “A sort of emperor, I believe. We’ve been leaving many of his subjects, and even his armies, lying in tatters.”

“Will these fools you fight soon capitulate?”

“They’re a stubborn lot,” Zaan said. “I do not think they will surrender until I kill their leader personally.”

“Sounds like fun. Maybe I should join you.”

“We can speak on it later.”

“Yes,” Lord Angelo said. “This”—he waved about with his pipe—“event is getting in my way as well.”

“Oh?”

“Ugh!” Gabriela noised under her breath.

I can’t stand that lizard, Lord Nero Angelo. And Zaan. He’s not much better.

She walked away from the two lords. Their extreme wealth and military influence made them popular, but just being in the same room with them made her want to vomit.

Leaving Tori Glass behind, Gabriela found another area to comingle with her fellow nobles.