1

Flavia waved goodbye to her friends. She confidently navigated the glorious streets of the Elven Empire’s capital—Aurianores—which was quite impressive for an eight-year-old elven girl. She eventually reached her family’s estate and used the vines to climb to the open window of her room on the second floor. She looked in the mirror and saw that her dress was dirty after playing with the kids. A gentle tap at the door startled her.

“Yes?” she asked, tiptoeing to her bed to conceal a wood carving knife and a barely started wooden dagger under her pillow.

“Miss Flavia,” came a kind voice from the other side, “it’s time to join your sister on the balcony for painting practice.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, “But Mrs. Whispersong, that’s boring! Oh, I know! Since you are our maid, can’t you go to the practice instead of me?”

“Ah, I wish I could, but I have other duties to attend to. Besides, even if painting is boring, it will teach you patience and appreciation of art—skills necessary for a full-fledged noble lady that you will become in about a decade,” the elf maid explained, fumbling with the lock. “Would you kindly open the door?”

“No,” Flavia replied stubbornly.

“Please, Miss, I—”

“I’ll handle this, Werna,” a commanding female voice cut through the daily negotiations. “Flavia!”

The door endured three firm raps. Flavia had just finished rummaging through her wardrobe, which consisted entirely of clothes that were handed down from her two older sisters. She put on a robe to hide the evidence on her dress that she had once again left the estate without permission. As her hand neared the lock, an exaggerated whisper reached her ears:

“This house has been in disarray since that rotten day.”

“What do you mean, Mistress Bemere?” the maid was puzzled.

“When we lost mother and got,” she kicked the door, “this instead!”

Flavia’s face became darker than a moonless night.

“It’s... not my fault…” she muttered.

“What was that?” Bemere demanded, “Speak up!”

“It’s not my fault that mom died in labor, sister Bemere!” the elf girl’s voice cracked as she held back tears.

“The audacity of this child! To oppose me, the Matriarch of House Everwind! Emerge this instant, or I will—”

“My oh my, what is all this ruckus?” a friendly male voice emerged from the hallway.

“There you are,” Bemere addressed him, “perhaps you’d make yourself useful and help us extract your favorite daughter from her grotto?”

“Sigh. You are all my cherished daughters,” he spoke with measured calm, “and Alyndra too held each of you dear to her heart. And if she heard what you said about your youngest sibling, she would’ve been utterly disappointed in you, Bemere.”

“Hmph,” she huffed. “And if she saw that you managed to turn her into a sorry excuse for a son, instead of a gentle girl, she would be unhappy too!”

“Is that so? Maybe my memory is failing me, but isn’t it the Matriarch’s duty to raise noble ladies? And I haven’t seen you do anything to instill in Flavia any of the lessons that our female ancestors left us,” he rebuked. “I always wanted a son, true. But even with how you transformed in the last few years, I wouldn’t change a thing about you or any of my dear children.”

“You—” the older sister was vexed. “Werna, we mustn’t make the teacher wait any longer.” Bemere departed, footsteps echoing her irritation.

“My sincere apologies for the disturbance, Mrs. Whispersong. While we’re here, on the matter of this month’s payment—”

“Master Meilus, please,” the maid interrupted him, firmly shaking her head. “My own great-grandchildren take good care of me and provide me with all the necessities. So let me take good care of the House that helped me get back on my feet when I was at my lowest. May I return to my duties?”

“…Yes, of course. And thank you.”

Once the maid departed, the man got on one knee, and pressed his long elf ear against the door, listening to his daughter’s soft sobs.

“There-there, little fireblossom. I’m sure big sister Bemere didn’t really mean what she said. She’s just… sad that you’re leaving for the Eldarion Academy next week.”

The whimpering stopped, and the click of the door unlocking resonated down the corridor. He queried softly:

“May I enter?”

“Uh-huh,” the girl was happy to see her father. “Dad, why is Bemere still the Matriarch of our Noble House?”

“Well,” Meilus eased the door open, greeting Flavia with a tender smile, “the situation hasn’t changed since you asked last time. So is the tradition of elven nobility. Mom was the former Matriarch—a fantastic one, I must say—and now it’s her oldest daughter’s turn.”

“Traditions are stupid!” Flavia pouted.

“Ah, I used to say that too. But as I grew older, I understood that tradition is frankly the only thing we nobles have left,” he explained to her, settling beside her on the bed.

“I heard some people call us parasites; what does that mean?” she climbed onto his lap.

“Oh, that’s a very strong word. You see, my little fireblossom, our race was blessed with longer lifespans, but for that, our women had to endure low fertility—that means they had few children. In the old times, it was very common for the Empress to not be able to give birth to a direct heir, so our ancestors found a solution—have a dedicated group of people, from whom the new Empress could be selected.”

“And that’s us—the nobles?”

“Yes, you are right! Your mind is as bright as your eyes.”

Flavia grinned as her big orange eyes sparkled with gratification.

“But dad, I have friends who have a lot of brothers and sisters. Do some elf women have high fer-li-ti-ty?”

“Fertility,” her father corrected her with a smile. “True, our country’s medicine progressed greatly in the last hundred or so years. There weren’t any non-direct heirs lately, if you don’t count several tragic accidents.”

“Then what’s the point of keeping us around?”

“That is a… very good question.”

He noticed the wood carving knife peeking from under the pillow.

“Ah, I see our secret project is coming along nicely!”

“Yes! I’ll bring it to the Academy with me! It will be my special gift to you!”

“Splendid, I can’t wait to see how beautiful this gift will be!”

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After a pause, she asked:

“Will I meet sister Sabia there?”

“You should, but only for a brief month—it’s her twelfth year there, so she’s coming back home soon.”

“Will you come visit me at the Eldarion Academy?”

“I would love to, but I cannot do that. It’s not allowed.”

“Because of those stupid traditions?”

He smiled sadly and nodded.

“Then maybe I can visit you? I’m good at sneaking out! And I can easily find my way home!”

He shook his head.

“Don’t worry, my little fireblossom,” he tenderly stroked her hair, “those twelve years will fly by in the blink of an eye.”

2

The gentle spring breeze danced through Flavia’s long hair as she strolled along the white-bricked road. Having graduated from the Eldarion Academy with honors, she was finally returning to Aureanore. Her friends, who also graduated, offered a carriage to drive her directly to her estate, but she declined the offer, wanting to spend some alone time with the city that she missed.

Unlike the recent graduate, the capital seemed unchanged, as if the twelve years had slipped by in a mere moment. The largest city in the Three Countries, it was truly a sight to behold. Even though the elves had abandoned the forests and plains a long time ago, there were trees and flowers everywhere. The combination of white masonry and green vegetation evoked a very serene feeling in one’s soul.

Wandering through the leisurely market, a familiar face caught Flavia’s eye—an older elf woman was selecting apples.

“Mrs. Whispersong!” she called out.

The elf woman turned, her eyes sparkling with joy.

“Ah! Miss…” the woman squinted, “No, Mistress Flavia!”

Approaching her former maid, Flavia noted the toll time had taken on Werna—wrinkles etched her face, and years of labor had curved her back. With a respectful bow, Flavia greeted her:

“It is truly a pleasure seeing you in good health, Mrs. Whispersong. How have you been? Are you still working at our estate?”

“Oh, I’m well, my dear,” Werna warmly replied. “Thank you for asking. Though I’m 141, I’m still perfectly spry! And no, I retired just last year.”

“It’s wonderful to see you so vibrant,” Flavia said with an affectionate smile. “I want to express my gratitude for the many years you dedicated to us. Your service is deeply appreciated.”

“My, my,” the former maid teased, eyeing the young graduate, “the Academy has indeed shaped you into a true noble lady!”

Flavia giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Recalling what I put you through, Mrs. Whispersong, those words mean a lot.”

“Oh, stop that, you were a wonderful child! How was your time there?”

“It was… only fine.”

“The Elven Empire’s most prestigious school, where only nobles and aristocrats are accepted, is ‘only fine’? Ah, wait, I understand. You always preferred a more hands-on approach, but the Academy didn’t allow you to lift anything heavier than a quill, yes?”

“On the contrary! It used to be that the servants employed by the school were the ones doing all the manual labor, but budgets were cut and most of them were let go. So now you either have to pay for your education or bring your own assistant. I did neither, so I had to do all the chores myself. For example, since I wanted to learn how to ride on horseback, I was put in charge of maintaining the horses.”

“But that sounds right up your alley! What was ‘only fine’ then?”

“I was forbidden from learning swordplay. They told me: ‘What if you get a scar? That would look inappropriate when you attend the Empress’s ball, bla-bla-bla’,” Flavia mocked one of the teachers.

“And you listened to their reasoning and followed their advice?” conspiringly inquired.

“My lovely former maid, who do you think I am? I climbed over the fence to the men’s side and participated in training sessions with the boys!”

They both laughed wholeheartedly.

“I have to go now, Mistress Flavia. You have made my day. Please come visit me, but only if you have spare time.”

“Of course. I will never be too busy for you, Mrs. Whispersong.”

“Thank you, darling. Oh, and my heartfelt condolences for Master Meilus,” Werna added somberly. “The circumstances of his… Wait. You… don’t know?”

Flavia’s smile slowly vanished.

***

Flavia rapped sharply on the door of her family’s estate. Moments later, a teenage human male clad in a maid’s attire answered.

“I need to speak to Bemere,” she asserted.

“Good day, miss. Are you—”

“I’m her youngest sister,” Flavia interjected, brushing past the maid. “Where is she?”

“The Matriarch is in her study—”

“Her study? You mean our father’s?”

Dismissing the conversation, she rushed upstairs. There were a lot of cobwebs in the corners and a thick layer of dust on the less accessible surfaces. Cracks started showing on some walls. Flavia knocked insistently on the study’s locked door.

“Leave me, I’m occupied,” came her eldest sister’s muffled retort.

Flavia took a step back and forcefully kicked the door open. She found Bemere lounging in a chair, a wine glass in hand, flanked by two empty bottles on the floor. Her flushed cheeks and unfazed reaction to her sibling’s entrance suggested inebriation.

“Ah,” Flavia grinned sarcastically, “two decades of managing our Noble House have indeed honed your skills—I’m sure you are now recognized as a master of day drinking.”

“Oh, it’s you, Flavia,” Bemere remained seated. “You’re late.”

“…And I’m so happy to see you too!” the younger sister said with the most deliberately polite tone she could muster. “A mere twelve years have passed, and such a heartfelt welcome—it’s overwhelming, truly!”

“Yes, yes; now go to your quarters and prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

“Hasn’t the… oh, what’s his name… the lad in service, hasn’t he told you? I swear, those human servants are useless. There’s an esteemed merchant arriving later tonight. With any luck, you’ll be his bride. Maybe I can use his pockets to finally afford an elven maid!”

Flavia blinked blankly. She commented:

“It’s hard to believe, but you are worse than I remembered. Not a single word from you all these years and—”

“Oh, please! Don’t be vexed; the Academy forbids relatives from—”

“The Eldarion Academy expressly allows ‘brief leaves for familial bereavement’,” the recent graduate gave the Matriarch a steely look.

“What?” Bemere appeared genuinely confused.

“Our father’s demise.”

“Ah, right. His execution.”

“His moronic execution, dear sister. At the hands of the petty despot who goes by the name of Thereya Faramora.”

“Indeed, I must agree on the latter part,” Bemere was casually looking at her nails, “the Empress does have a rather bland method for deterring adversaries. Attending all of those routine executions is such a chore.”

Flavia’s orange eyes widened, her hands trembling.

“He perished because he… sneezed. On the Empress’s new cat. Mrs. Whispersong told me everything,” a solitary tear rolled down her cheek. “A mere allergic reaction, which the Empress knew full well that he had since birth.”

Bemere shrugged. Flavia shielded her face with her arm, asking:

“Where is our sister?”

“No idea,” the Matriarch put her nose inside the wine glass, smelling the aroma. “Haven’t spoken to Sabia since I married her to a rich boy from an old banking family. I mean, why would I? It’s not like gifts from them have ceased to arrive at our doorstep every first day of the month.”

The youngest sister’s lips tensed up.

“Did you or her at least try to intervene with the senseless execution?” she asked.

“Huh? Intervene? Preposterous! Can you even imagine how my delicate neck would look inside the guillotine?”

“And where is he buried? Was there at least a proper funeral?” Flavia’s shoulders went up and down as she started quietly sobbing.

“Have you truly lost your damn mind?!” Bemere’s tone sharpened. “That would be as good as spitting in Thereya’s face or,” she giggled, “sneezing at her cat!”

Flavia froze.

“Werna interred him by the port,” Bemere drained her glass. “Can you begin to imagine the nerve of that woman! What if the Empress found out? Good thing I immediately fired her!”

“Near the port… where the servants are buried… Not even near mom.”

Flavia inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, regaining her composure. Without saying a word, she left the study.

“Hey!” Bemere called out, “Tell the boy to bring more wine!”

3

By twilight, Flavia reached the port. The dockworkers pointed her to the next destination. Unlike the presumptuous cemeteries of Aurianores, this graveyard was unassuming, yet tended to with sincere care. The sight of a young elven lady in Eldarion Academy’s uniform took the gravediggers—two aged elves in plain clothes—by surprise. She requested directions to a particular resting place. They gestured the way with reverence.

Finally, Flavia stood at her father’s grave, identified by a modest marker inscribed only with his initials.

“Hi dad,” she whispered. It was hard to decide where to start. “Sorry that I—”

The speech abruptly gave way to weeping. The sheer disbelief of the circumstances, coupled with feelings of resentment, righteous wrath, and loneliness, weighed heavily on her spirit. The full moon cast a serene glow, spotlighting each tear that escaped her eyes. After letting herself cry her heart out, she took out an exquisitely carved wooden dagger and placed it atop the grave.