It was moments like these where Matilda could truly understand her mother’s words. She had often said that a lady of noble birth should only care about her appearance and standing when she was either safely alone with trusted allies, or among people whose opinion would matter two years after meeting them. At first, Matilda just thought her mother was spouting out more elven proverbs to shut her up and make her stop spending money on jewelry and clothes. However, now at the wiser age of 42 she could understand.
Because right now, she wished she spent her last five years training her swordsmanship instead of shopping for dresses with her cousins.
The halls of the Nyblom summer manor echoed with clanging metal as Matilda’s shortened rapier desperately parried the longsword of her opponent, a tall, tanned elven man with tight dark brown braids and toned muscles around his arms. Matilda’s older cousin, Altti Nyblom.
His blows were absolutely devastating in terms of power. They weren’t mad swings, but aimed and controlled strikes and slashes aimed at the vitals of her smaller body, each one Matilda could only deflect to avoid her arm getting severed. Wind magic accompanied each of his slashes, cutting into Matilda’s expensive bright green blouse and completely ruining her carefully styled braids and hairpins. All that money and effort to look nice felt like such a waste in this moment. And it was almost comical that the only thing keeping her alive in this little dance of death were those dance lessons she had taken, forced to take thanks to her mother’s urging, giving her just enough coordination and stamina to keep Altti’s blade from cutting her in half with a single swing. This back-and-forth of a mouse trying to escape a lion’s claw had gone on for what felt like hours.
But then, Matilda found an opening.
Altti was getting impatient, readying to give a massive overhead strike to try and finish Matilda off. She could feel the large amount of wind gathering around his blade, she could even see the air start to twist and warp around it. She wouldn’t be able to dodge that strike. It’d kill her in an instant, perhaps Altti’s last bit of mercy of making it painless. But it was in Altti’s need to finish things did Matilda finally move in for offense.
She dipped into his space, holding his wrist up with her free hand before he could bring his blade down and stunning him for just a few precious seconds. The two locked eyes, Altti’s eyes widening with both shock and recognition while Matilda’s flared with a deadly determination. It was just enough time for Matilda to take her short rapier, really a dagger in all but name, and stab it right into his left side into his chest and heart. There was a surprisingly muted noise as metal dug into flesh. Matilda expected something more… final-sounding. But it wasn’t over yet. “Goodnight… Dear Cousin.” It was all she wheezed out before forcing all the mana she had left into her rapier’s tip, setting off a small jolt of lightning and shocking his heart to burst from within.
… … …
Then, there was silence, only the sound of the coming rain from outside the manor accompanying the scene.
Matilda pulled her blade out and heard a small gasp from Altti before his heavy body started to slump forward. Instincts and training made Matilda dart back, letting her cousin fall onto the floor, blood still oozing from his side and marking the dark blue wooden floor red. There, Altti gave his final words, a last muttering before his light truly went out. “Goodnight… Til… da…”
Then, there was silence, the sound of light rain turning heavier and heavier as if nature itself understood the gravity of what happened in his manor. As if nature grieved the actions done in this bloody home.
“Haha…” And Matilda shattered that grief with a small chuckle. “Ahahahahaha!” A chuckle that rose into mad laughter. The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins, the high of victory and survival filling her with energy. “I told you!” She shouted at the lifeless manor. “I told all of you! Brother, Sister, Dear Cousins! I’m the only one fit to rule the duchy, and I’ve proven it with blood, steel, and wit! Ahahaha!” She laughed until her throat ran dry, the adrenaline finally dying out as she fell to her knees onto the bloody floor. Her vision was blurry with the last of her energy released and her body relaxing from the hours of tension she endured. Her blouse and skirt were a torn mess, her face covered in cuts, and the tattoos along her legs and arms were ruined thanks to the scars she’d be getting. Her eyes stared upward at the ceiling as she caught her breath. The excitement, the rage, and desperation for survival all died down.
All that was left was a silent manor painted in blood, and the bodies of her family.
“Ha… haha…”
Why did she feel so… empty now? Twenty years. Twenty years of spying, sneaking, politicking, and false alliances came to an end. Matilda was finally free of pretending to be friendly with her rivals. She didn’t have to fight for her place in the line of succession anymore. This should be a moment of triumph. Of victory. Of celebration. The servants should be coming at any moment to clean everything up and send word to Mother of her victory.
“Oh… right… we killed them all in the melee…”
The servants were the first to be purged once the truce ended and the battle for supremacy began. Those damned humans playing every side and smiling equally at every member of the family while they lived their short lives in this glorious mansion, having their every need taken care of and sleeping with a warm bed and roof. They thought remembering Matilda’s favorite dishes and sneaking in her favorite berries would stay her blade. That she’d not think them traitors for offering their little ‘human advice’ and teaching her and the family simple human games to play. Those games that only lasted an hour instead of a day… those small moments of comfort learning how fun chess and poker were…
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
She looked over to the corpses around her. There was just enough light in the clouded, rainy sky to make out everyone’s faces. She looked to a young man with dark brown, braided hair and dark blue eyeshadow. The man she just killed.
“Altti…” She muttered, giving a sneer at his corpse. “You shouldn’t have taught me that parry technique, Dear Cousin. It was your downfall.” All those foolish training sessions he used to humiliate her in martial training. He always had the stupidest grin on his face when he knocked her down, gave the rudest of quips. ‘There goes Mousey Matilda, still scurrying around like a hyperactive rabbit right before striking. That’s an obvious tell, y’know.’ He’d say, the dastard. ‘You need to hide your tells, or at least make less obvious ones. Try feinting a leg strike, feints always trip up an opponent, even if they figure out the trick it might make them pause enough for you to rethink your next strike. Actually, I’ll teach you a grapple trick for locking your opponent.’ The utter fool. She used that very same trick to stab his side and left him a bloody mess before singeing him with lightning. What fool would actually teach their rival something before trying to kill them.
Matilda’s eyes drifted to a young woman with dark red hair in a high ponytail. “Taika…” She whispered. “You were a fool for taunting me with your magical gifts, Sister. They meant nothing in the face of my blade.” Yes, the high-and-mighty Taika, who’s mastery over wind and water were only second to her gifts in herbalism and botany. She would drag Matilda through the garden every week and show off her rare plants, forcing her to endure the torturous hours of her flaunting her knowledge. ‘See, Tilda? The scent of these flowers can help ease your blood circulation to help cultivate your mana channels easier. They also help with sleep issues.’ She would say in that chiding, know-it-all tone of hers. ‘I know you lightning casters always have trouble sleeping due to the turbulent mana flow in your bodies, so I’ll make you a bouquet for your room.’ Having relief from those annoying bouts of sleeplessness truly helped her keep her health together. And it proved vital in taking Taika down. “It’s just like you to make sure I’m at my highest level so you couldn’t call foul if you bested me. Foolish older sister, you should have poisoned my bouquet to give me night terrors. I know you knew how…”
She looked at two other bodies, both of similar height, build, and face.
“Josef… Josefina…” She frowned for a second, tears starting to well before she forced out a haughty huff. “You thought getting some bodyguards to fight for you would save your lives? How cowardly, how pathetic. In this world of might and magic only your personal strength matters!” Those foolish twins with faces youthful and innocent even by elven standards, whose kindness and piousness only rivaled the local nuns and priests. They too were overbearing in their constant preaching of the gospel. ‘Tilda, you should come to church some more!’ They’d plead in those annoyingly cheerful voices of theirs. ‘Tithing is all well and good, but fellowship with your fellow elves is what makes us whole. It’s not just religious, it’s important for us as nobility.’ Those little brats thought a few holy knights in their retinue would stay her blade. She killed them all the same, even as they preached the scriptures against fratricide. How foolish of them to think religion superseded family tradition. They were the first to fall.
And Matilda went down the halls and rooms, naming and remembering each and every member of her family that fell in the battle for the duchy.
“Heikki… Nola… Oda… Lukas…” Every name brought forth a memory. And every time Matilda remembered her pace slowed.
“All of you… All of you…” She stopped, dropping to her knees, hands clawing at the carpet in rage and hatred.
“YOU DAMN FOOLS!” She screamed. “Every last one of you! You all agreed to wait to the last minute of the deadline like fools! You all thought if we were fair and equal about this then we’d all feel better about the bloodshed! You all laughed! You laughed, like fools that thought I wasn’t serious about killing you all!” She laughed a mad laughter. “And I was right! You all were so scared after I killed the twins! You all thought I didn’t want the power, that I would be a little Mousey Matilda forever! Well, I’m not! I’m… I’m…” She couldn’t hold it in anymore. Not the emotions, not the hurt, and not the contents of her stomach that she threw up onto the floor as she sobbed in ugly, loud bouts.
“I hate you…” She hissed, lowering her face into the bile she made, wanting to feel any other sensation than this sadness. “I hate you all… so much… Good riddance…” Tears fell to the carpet. “I heard you all, you know. I heard Altti say I was the best to rule the duchy because I was ambitious. That I would stop wars and be unafraid to make hard decisions.” She let out a low, humorless laugh. “You were right, Altti. I’d kill for this position. I’d do anything to protect my homeland. I’d fight on the frontline in wars. I’d poison kings. I’d assassinate lords. I’d… I’d…” She wiped the flowing tears with her sleeve. “I’d kill all of you to show my determination to Mother.” Lightning sparked around her fingers, scorching the carpet underneath. Why?
Why did she feel empty?
She won. She won the bloodbath. She survived. She proved her strength. She overcame the odds. One of the youngest members of the Nybom family, just 42-years-old and she had defeated people twice her age. She was a prodigy among prodigies. She was a gifted elf that would be praised for centuries.
She shouldn’t feel this hollow inside.
“Mother…” She remembered her mother’s words.
‘Matilda. Nobility is important, but friendship is truly eternal for us elves.’ She had said. ‘When you come to find yourself with power, you’ll understand how lonely it is to hold. A good counter to that loneliness is a friend. I’d recommend finding a commoner for that. A noble will befriend you for a year, but a commoner will befriend you for a century. You may not understand these words now, but when you’re older you’ll know what I mean.’
A friend. That… sounded nice. Someone she could trust, truly trust. Someone that could share secrets with her, gossip with her, vent about the day with her, play pranks on the poor servants with her. Yes… that sounded like a lovely dream.
“A friend… a real friend…” Matilda smiled at the thought. It made all the blood and gore around her feel a little lighter.
“I… I should go to Mother. Tell her of my victory. And… and ask for… a friend…”
Matilda Nyblom, the new heir of House Nyblom, one of the youngest elves in history to survive and win the Nobility Selection, forced herself onto her feet, and made her way to the writing chambers. She had a letter to pen, and a request to make.