Suraiya swallowed back her emotions when the cold blue eyes of her mother swept over the assembled, and over her. The lack of recognition or reaction hurt her, in that moment, more than she’d have ever expected, and her forward momentum—her feet moving without her even realising, by then—was abruptly halted by one of Lycinia’s hands upon her abdomen.
“I have brought those that seek the justice of Sanctuary, the succour of Elysea, and to know the Mantle as we have been blessed to know it.” Lycinia answered in a ritual manner. “I bring wayward children, once lost, and now returned from the clutches of Godsworn lies.”
“And who will stand for them?” Vasilia demanded in a voice that Suraiya thought was almost a little disinterested.
“I will.” Lycinia said with confidence. “For they knew not the sins they committed.”
Suraiya watched with continued surreal fascination as the pair continued their exchange. Putting aside for a moment the system-shocking revelation of her mother, it was all… vaguely familiar. She’d heard similar, if differently spoken rituals all her life.
“Then let their speaker step forth,” Vasilia continued, “and let them proclaim their merits for judgement.”
Lycinia turned at the armoured blonde’s words and faced Suraiya.
A look of encouragement mixed with warning flitted across her face, and then she gestured to Suraiya indicatively. “I present Suraiya Karelian, Princess-Royal of Stormharrow and leader of this band. She will speak to their worthiness for the succour of Elysea.”
That set the watching crowd abuzz, and their interest seemed to sharpen perceptibly.
Suraiya felt her heart thundering in her chest when she stepped forward under dozens—if not hundreds—of eyes, and her attention never left Vasilia’s as she did. Her mother’s gaze settled on her with focus, and yet still there was nothing there.
No warmth, no greeting, not even a flicker of maternal recognition.
She was cold, powerful, and—judging by her small frown—utterly unimpressed.
“I offer my greetings to the esteemed people of Sanctuary and Elysea, my respect to its exalted High Justicar,” Suraiya began with every ounce of her Strong Will ability flaring within her mind, “and my salutations to His Excellency Charlemagne, Regent of Sanctuary.”
The odd-looking fellow positively beamed at that, with a “proper respect! Finally!” that was largely ignored by those present, though some few in the watching chambers above did laugh.
“I come before you today a woman of unsure opinion,” Suraiya continued without breaking eye contact with her mother. “My people and I were given no choice in our coming to your Sanctuary, nor were we offered adequate explanation prior to our forced abduction and subsequent escort to your borders,” she felt her Persuasion and Inspiring Presence skills flaring and leaned into them while she continued.
“I say this not to cast aspersions upon Scion Tollarius, for she has been both gracious and generous in her observation of my peoples’ safety and general well-being, albeit with a firmer hand than some would perhaps have liked,” her mind went back to the knights that had been quite literally spanked and disciplined, and she suppressed a grimace. She also wanted to mention Ser Gilbert, her worryingly-absent guardian, but swallowed it back.
There was likely a very good reason her mother, his mentor, had yet to mention him.
“Since coming to this place, and during my albeit expedited travel through your city, I have seen many things, and a multitude of them stir within me the need to question all that I have ever known. My life, as you may understand—” she looked for a reaction from her mother, but to her disappointment, saw still only cold evaluation “—has been all but curated for me. I was raised to love the gods, pay homage to the church, and be ready to bear healthy and faithful children for my storied bloodline.”
A chorus of murmurs, some scandalised, echoed from above when she spoke.
Lycinia seemed faintly impressed, and let out a low “heh” of amusement.
Suraiya continued as if she hadn’t noticed.
“I have been informed, in no uncertain terms, that everything I have been taught, everything I have known, and everything I swore to defend with the truth of justice, devotion, and faith in my heart are naught but lies. I have been told, in no uncertain terms, that I am little more than a pretty bauble to be used and cast aside upon the whims of fickle, and allegedly evil deities.”
Her heart thundered in her chest and she maintained steady breathing with Breath Control while she continued. The murmur of voices had grown louder, but she leaned more heavily into her skills and did her best to focus only on the unblinking gaze of her mother. “These things and more I have been told, and though I cannot say I fully understand or even agree with every such assertion—” a few scoffs and jeers of disapproval came from above “—cast against my life’s beliefs, I can say that it is not for a lack of willingness to learn more.”
That silenced the dissenters for a moment, and Suraiya used the momentum she could feel building to press ahead, all while being vaguely aware of the small approving smile on Lycinia’s features.
“The simple truth High Justicar, your Excellency, and good people of Elysea is that I am an outsider. We are outsiders. Imagine if you would, for a moment, the experiences we have endured; an ambush by unknown forces, a violent and sudden abduction to a hitherto unknown city, and rhetoric absent clear or conclusive evidence that seeks to gainsay and deny everything we know—or perhaps think we know—to be true. Imagine, if you would, the proverbial slipper on the other foot; and how you might feel were our positions reversed.”
Suraiya’s voice remained steady and calm, and this time there were no jeers.
Only rapt and attentive silence followed her words.
“Our lives have not been blessed by the multitudinous bounty which even your humblest of citizens seem to enjoy, and so we look around, and we already question. I myself was forced to wonder, to think; ‘what if the gods truly are the enemy?’ and bear within me the weight of such a staggering consideration. Consider, if you will, that you were informed your way of life, your beliefs, and your Mantle were but lies and deception created to enslave and control you. Would you, too, not be shocked? Would you, too, not need time to consider?”
More silence greeted her words initially, though it was quickly broken by murmurs.
Thoughtful murmurs, considering murmurs, and even agreeing murmurs.
“I do not stand here to declare my allegiance or unfettered loyalty to Sanctuary, nor to Elysea,” she lifted her chin and continued before she could be interrupted by those above. “Not because I reject your words, but because I have not been given sufficient time to choose! I have been told that Elyseans, contrary to all that we are taught in the Grand Ascendancy, are people of reason and good faith. People of morality, of ethics, of a kind and sheltering nature…”
Her mother narrowed her eyes a fraction, and Suraiya noticed the frown was gone.
An unreadable expression had replaced it.
“I have seen nothing, so far, to find fault with this admittedly self-given assessment, which was issued from the lips of Scion Tollarius.” Suraiya nodded to Lycinia, who nodded back to her with a twinkle of approval in her jade eyes.
“I ask you then, High Justicar, my lord Regent,” Suraiya continued, “and people of Sanctuary; how can we truly be given fair trial or chance to prove our reticence, or a proper means by which to embrace your truths, if we are not given time to test them? We need time to learn your culture, and see their vaunted nobility and merits for ourselves, as all of you were given the chance, be it as refugees or born-and-raised residents!”
Suraiya finally broke her gaze from her mother and looked up at the watching crowd.
She met their consideration, their stares, and their condescension. She met their pity, their empathy, and their judgement; and she gave back nothing but the regal princess she had been raised to become. In duality, so too did she embrace the battle-hardened maiden she had turned into by right of blood, sweat, and steel within the Desolation itself.
“I am a Princess in name, but I am a Knight at heart. A Knight does not serve an individual, though we might swear oaths to that effect. First and foremost, a Knight serves honour, integrity,” she turned back to Vasilia, “truth, and justice.”
her arms spread, and she bowed without breaking eye contact. “So I submit myself High Justicar, Regent, and all you good people of Elysea, to your justice. I put myself, and the lives of my people, at the mercy of this most indomitable city of unwavering souls.”
She heard the rustle and shift of bodies, and turned in surprise.
Her eyes widened slightly upon seeing her entire convoy bowing with her, albeit awkwardly, or even warily in some cases, and she felt warmth for them all surging within her breast.
Suraiya suppressed a smile and turned back to her mother.
“All I ask is that we be extended the chance to see for ourselves the merits and values of your beliefs, and in so doing, be won over their nobility. After all, if yours truly is the just and enlightened path, how could we do any less than give ourselves wholly to Elysea’s purpose?”
Suraiya returned to a straight-backed position, assumed her best parade rest, and waited.
The silence was deafening following her words, right up until it was abruptly broken.
“Well! I’m certainly impressed. She looks like a Princess from my own court!” Charlemagne said cheerfully. “What say you, Vasilia? Eh?”
All eyes moved from the now-staring Regent to the armoured blonde at his side, and silence dominated while the collective waited for her verdict.
It stretched.
Suraiya refused to look away or back down, and her blue eyes met their source in her mother’s gaze without hesitation.
Vasilia watched her with quiet consideration, her features utterly impassive, and still Suraiya refused to do so much as blink. It took a considerable amount of her Strong Will to maintain the stare, but maintain it she did.
Finally, the woman spoke.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“You have grown bold, it seems.” Vasilia said in a voice that carried powerfully through the chamber’s acoustics. “Courageous, even. Though some might call that foolish, as well.”
“I am often told it is an inheritance from my mother,” Suraiya replied as levelly as she could.
“She must have been a troublesome woman,” Vasilia said with a bare hint of amusement.
“I am told she was as brave as she was hot-headed and impulsive.” Suraiya responded with a flicker of a smile, her heart thundering within her breast.
“Traits you seem to have inherited.” Vasilia observed.
“Proudly.” Suraiya confirmed.
The tension in the crowd was ratcheting up by degrees with every second of the exchange, and Suraiya could feel the understanding dawning rapidly through them with her Empathic Link, and tried to ignore the suddenly building tidal wave of emotional force.
It was distracting.
“It seems we have much to discuss, Suraiya.” Vasilia said with finality.
“I think so too,” Suraiya said in a carrying voice, “mother.”
The emotional tidal wave hit a crescendo, and shouts exploded from above in a maelstrom of chaos and thundering opinions. Shock, amusement, relish, glee, hatred, disbelief, and outright disdain mixed together in a tumult of noise and fury seemed ready to boil over… until suddenly it was smothered.
No, not smothered: Choked, strangled, and ruthlessly crushed under heel.
Vasilia stood unchanged, and yet somehow she dominated the entire room.
Her Soulforce was like a blade to the throat, radiating with a power and purity that set Suraiya’s heart to racing. There was familiarity in that presence, too, she realised; the memory of warmth, of safety, and of a loving voice lost to her earliest memories. A blade it was, and yet also a blanket—a warm, comforting security she had never realised she’d missed.
The effect on the crowd, even the most agitated of them, was immediate.
Vasilia Tollarius projected her power, and all present were struck dumb before it.
“I will now deliver my judgement,” her mother said as if nothing had happened. “The company of Princess-Royal Karelian will remain here in Sanctuary for exactly thirty days. At the end of that time, they will be granted the right to stay or depart,” her eyes lifted to the watchers with a scowl. “That is my judgement. Does anyone present wish to gainsay it?”
“I would like to be heard, High Justicar,” a new voice announced from the other side of the chamber, amid a sudden approach of power that actually seemed to batter against her mother’s own.
Suraiya, and many others she noticed distractedly, turned to watch as a procession of four Aegii escorted a man bedecked in gold-trimmed white robes into the chamber from an entrance opposite to where Vasilia had emerged.
He had sandy-blonde hair cut neatly and closed to his head, and his brown eyes were as discerning as they were intent. On his head he wore what looked like a golden laurel wreath, and his Soulforce was powerful enough that it actually managed to beat back Vasilia’s own—albeit only partially.
When he looked at Suraiya, she felt her Strong Will flare to life.
Something in his gaze discomforted her immediately.
“Consul Mournival.” Vasilia said with an edge of warning to her voice. “You have no purview here.”
“Not as Consul, no.” he agreed with a respectful nod that Suraiya narrowed her eyes at. “But as a son of Elysea, I believe I have the right to be heard.”
“Is that why you peacocked in here with your polished golden door ornaments?” Vasilia replied scathingly.
Murmurs of disapproval, mingled with ripples of laughter, radiated through the watching crowd, and Suraiya saw the Aegii subtly stiffen when they came to a halt near the Consul. The tension between her mother and Mournival was so thick, she almost felt she could have cut it with her sword.
The Consul and High Justicar, it seemed, did not like each other.
“Your disrespect for the Aegii—”
“Is my prerogative, as Sanctuary’s ultimate judicial authority, Consul.” Vasilia cut him off coldly. “I had hoped that the soldiers you forced me to take under my auspices would prove to be more than slime-spined sycophants, but I can see these four have failed to stand up to my expectations with astounding ineptitude.”
The four Aegii seemed to wither under Vasilia’s words, and Suraiya almost felt the moment that their impressive formation shifted from glorified, to the audience, and into an ostentatious and ultimately embarrassing display of self-fellating pride. The way her mother disarmed their presence was, in a word, masterful.
The Consul’s jaw locked for a moment, and then he smiled as if it were all a good joke. It was a valiant effort, but a wasted one, Suraiya thought. Nobody would buy the idea of it all being some playful misunderstanding, though she knew why he needed to play it off.
“Ah, Patrician Tollarius. Your acerbic wit never ceases to amaze.”
“Speak your piece, Consul.” Vasilia commanded flatly. “I have no time for theatrics.”
“Because you wish to reunite with your daughter, you mean?” the Consul asked with intentional emphasis. Suraiya almost grimaced at the merciless riposte. It was an easy strike, but one that she knew would immediately win him points. Given he was evidently a figure of authority in Sanctuary, Vasilia’s monopoly on that particular front had vanished the moment he appeared.
Even if her mother was more powerful, she’d need to be cautious.
Instead of attempting to deflect, however, Vasilia did the precise opposite.
“Of course I do.” Vasilia said with a snort. “What manner of worthless parent wouldn’t want to see their child safe, Consul? My daughter has finally returned to me, after being held prisoner—with or without her knowledge—by the Ascendancy’s madness. I’d ask why you would expect anything less, but as I recall, you have no children to speak of.”
“An odd fact, given your insistence on our need to procreate.” Lycinia chimed in on Vasilia’s heels. “Don’t you think, my lord Consul?”
“Well, that is easily enough rectified,” Mournival said with an immediate snap of his gaze to Lycinia, “if you but agree to—”
“I’m terribly sorry, Consul, but my answer remains unchanged.” Lycinia cut him off. “I am not yet ready to give up my duties as a Forerunner to become a wife.”
“I am growing tired of this.” Vasilia growled before Mournival could respond. “Speak your objection, Consul, and then begone. You are boring me.”
Suraiya’s mother injected force into the word, and when she said it, the air seemed to ripple dangerously.
“Very well,” the Consul said with equanimity. “I merely wished to point out, as a concerned son of our nation, that perhaps the evaluation of these new arrivals should be conducted in a broader form of arbitration. Surely it cannot be solely your judgement alone which decides their merit, when considering these people come from your former home and are led by your daughter.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and Suraiya’s Empathic Link detected rapidly growing sentiments of agreement when Mournival spoke. The words, no matter what she thought of them, did indeed make perfect sense.
We may have our differences, High Justicar,” he continued magnanimously, “but even you must see the concerns in such an eventuality.”
Vasilia’s expression turned stonier the more the Consul spoke, and Suraiya saw her mother’s right hand twitch angrily at the end of his speech. Yet, strangely, she did nothing about it. For all that Vasilia had treated the Consul like a bumbling miscreant, she did not act despite the clear provocation.
That was not in keeping with the reputation, nor general vibe surrounding Vasilia.
Something else, Suraiya realised, was happening before her eyes.
“You make a fair point, Consul.” Vasilia said in a tone that could have frozen a roaring hearth. “Of course, it only makes sense to do things that way, given the nature of Elysea’s views on nepotistic biases. Very well, I agree. Let them be evaluated by all areas of Sanctuary.”
“I am glad you are able to see reason, High Justicar.” Mournival replied with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “In that case, perhaps your daughter—”
The air cracked, and Vasilia stood before the Consul faster than Suraiya could blink.
The Aegii staggered backward, no longer quite so indomitable, and her mother stood before the Consul—a man taller than her by half a head—and seemed to loom above him.
“Do not overreach.” she warned him simply.
For his part, and perhaps most concerningly of all, Mournival simply smiled.
“Of course, High Justicar. My apologies. I suppose a mother cannot be expected to so easily let go of her child, no matter what duty or honour would expect.”
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, and then silenced when Vasilia snorted with open contempt.
“For a man that preaches the importance of bloodline loyalty, Consul Mournival, you should be thrilled by my maternal instincts.”
“Are you saying your loyalty to your family comes before your loyalty to our laws?”
“I’m saying you’re a childless, wifeless, sour grape, Mournival, and should be happy that I am bringing my daughter into the fold. My loyalty, always, is to the people of Sanctuary and Elysea—and as per the strictures, all people are people of Elysea, and all people are worthy of both redemption and Elysea’s embrace. Is that not right, Charlemagne?”
“Quite right, my girl! Quite right indeed!” the Regent agreed pompously.
Another murmur rippled through the crowd, and though Vasilia hadn’t quite struck gold, she had put enough doubt in their minds that the Consul’s offensive had fallen flat.
Charlemagne had gutted his attack, and Mournival seemed to recognise it too.
The Consul bowed his head instead of replying, and—with a final calculating glance for both Lycinia and Suraiya—stepped back with a curt nod to Charlemagne.
Only after that, and when Vasilia returned far more languidly to her position, did the Regent speak again.
“Wonderful!” Charlemagne said jubilantly. “Just delightful. Heavens, but I do love a bit of family drama, eh? Your daughter, Vasilia? Why didn’t you tell me!”
“It was nobody’s business.” Suraiya’s mother said sourly.
“I’m certain your husband and son are eager to meet her.”
Suraiya’s eyes snapped to Mournival, and she felt her world tremble around her. Selucia’s sudden grip on her wrist oriented her, and she turned her blue eyes to meet the redhead’s green, andgreen and found reassurance lurking within them.
“My family will deal with the matter ourselves,” Suraiya responded coldly. “You worry about governing, you blowhard.”
“That is hardly the way to talk to the lawful Consul, young lady!”
Vasilia snorted and, without another word, walked down to face Suraiya while Lycinia steadied her.
“That was not the way I wanted you to find out,” she admitted while Mournival turned to make his exit behind her. “Though it does give me an avenue to an awkward topic. I…” she sighed. “I have a lot to tell you, Suraiya.”
Her mother’s eyes searched hers, and Suraiya found her mouth dry in the woman’s presence. She smelled just like she remembered, with the faintest hint of jasmine and lilac, mixed with sword oil.
“I thought you were dead.” Suraiya managed to choke out.
Vasilia’s features softened, and she reached out to touch Suraiya’s cheek.
Suraiya brushed away the tears that threatened the corners of her eyes.
“We’ll talk about everything soon.” Vasilia said in a voice more gentle than anything Suraiya had thought the armoured woman capable of up until that moment. “I promise.”
Suraiya nodded.
“Come on,” Lycinia said brightly and with a glance at Mournival’s departing figure, “I’ll take you to the Tollarius wing of the palace.”
“Okay.” Suraiya said without taking her eyes off of Vasilia. “What about my peop—?”
“Leave them to me,” Vasilia said more firmly. “I already spotted some familiar faces.”
At Suraiya’s consenting nod, Selucia looped her arm around her shoulders and turned her away.
“Don’t worry too much about the Consul. What you saw just now was an on-going problem, one we’ll talk about. More importantly than that though, what you did back there was incredibly brave,” Lycinia murmured while they walked toward the entrance at the rear. “And incredibly reckless.”
Suraiya laughed and wiped her eyes again.
“I’m beginning to think we have those traits in common.”
Lycinia smiled back at her warmly.
“I’m beginning to think so too.”