Liaria looked at her image in the window of the barracks corridor. The bruise on her left cheek was still visible, even though two days had passed since Oros had punched her. The boy had not taken his sister's story well, especially how Liaria had convinced her to purge the damned. Even though she understood their state of mind, even though it was outrageous to attack one's superior, Liaria was not an officer, not yet, so it would have been of no use reporting them to the Marshall. Rather, dragging them before the disciplinary tribunal would have brought to an internal investigation, which would have delved deeply into her testimony, on that of the twins, and of all the people from Finia who were involved. She was certain that little Lucrezia's relatives would have defamed her, so, as much as she wanted to make Oros and Gemma pay, she had decided to give priority to her success: that day, both she and Gemma had been summoned to the Marshall to receive a commendation. She had shown up as early as possible to avoid running into Gemma. Gemma had suffered serious consequences after their mission. She had heard that she had spent her nights screaming and crying, cared for by the barracks' nursing staff.
Liaria pitied her since she also had often thought back to that day, to what they had done. It was her who had given orders, who had instructed Gemma. She was firmly convinced that she had done the right thing… Yet the memory of Lucrezia's screams, of her desperate look, the image of her small, fragile, lifeless body, tormented her on every occasion. She became lost in her own thoughts much more frequently and got sentimental very easily, but she wasn’t letting her mood get in the way.
She checked her uniform. Siardo had gotten her some soap to be presentable in front of the Beakshall. She was in a sorry state, having been attacked several times by the twins and the little girl's grandfather, but things were about to change. Maybe not right away, but one day she would have been an officer. Everyone would have then understood that she was right, and no one would have ever dared raise a finger against her again. She could protect herself, she didn't need Elora.
The office door opened, startling her. She had been told to wait outside until she was summoned, but what came out looked nothing like an ordinary secretary. A middle-aged man, with straight, greying black hair and a thick, well-groomed dark beard, stood in front of her. He was very tall and robust, and had a relaxed expression. His hazel eyes exuded confidence, but above all, she recognized his armour, a ceremonial breastplate, designed more than anything else to show off the wearer's title. What she had in front of her was none other than the armour decorated with the four golden lilies that symbolised the Archangel: a General.
She bowed deeply and gulped.
, she replied, without looking up.
A heavy hand gripped her shoulder firmly and gently. The General invited her to raise her head. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him smiling at her.
<... It mustn't have been easy. Good job. The Marshall awaits you. Forgive me if I made you wait, but I had to discuss some things with Filliamo. This is your big day>
She bit her tongue. Something inside her made her feel uncomfortable. Receiving praise from none other than a General should have been the culmination of her dream, yet she felt uncertain, perhaps… guilty? For a moment she had feared she was about to be lectured, but why? She hadn't done anything wrong, after all.
What tormented her was the thought of what would happen next: Finia's priest, Lucrezia's family, everyone was guilty of negligence. They were somewhat safe from the accusation of protecting a damned, since it was they themselves, albeit involuntarily, who had brought the matter to light, proclaiming that the little girl was a Saint, but there was still the possibility that the entire village would be investigated and perhaps punished for it.
The man gave her a powerful pat on the shoulder once again, regardless of her obviously poor state. Liaria held back a grimace of pain.
The General smiled at her again. He walked down the corridor and gave her a final handwave.
Liaria, confused, agitated, stared at him as he left. Had he called her “Captain”? She found it hard to believe it, it must certainly have been an oversight on the part of the General.
The office door was left wide open. No doubt the Marshall was getting impatient. She entered the office.
The egg-shaped head towering above her from the altar-like desk reminded her of her first day at the barracks. She hated the man, but she had to deal with him, for the moment. She made an effort to hold back any taunts or remarks she wanted to make, instead she bowed.
She obeyed and approached Beakshall’s desk. The old man put on a pair of glasses. He stared at her for a moment and a miracle happened: Olive Head smiled.
The Marshall dismounted from his chair. He was rather short and hunchbacked. His uncertain step worried Liaria, who thought about helping him off the stage, but didn’t, fearing offending his pride.
With no small effort, Filliamo was finally in front of her. He took her hand. His wrinkled grip disgusted her, the sudden change in his manner alerted her, as much as it pleased her to be at the centre of her superiors' praise.
Liaria smiled. She finally felt understood. All her life she had had the impression of having been held back and devalued by fools and idealists, such as Mother Superior or Nene, but she had discovered with pleasure that the General and, surprisingly, the Marshall too, were somehow kindred spirits to her. She sighed, letting go of all the built-up tension.
<... You did an excellent job. I’m proud of you>
Filliamo returned to his desk, after a slow and difficult climb. He scrolled through a few pages of a large book, then picked up a stack of papers that Liaria recognized: her report, written by her own hand the same day she had returned to the barracks.
Liaria smiled. The Marshall didn't tolerate Gemma either, which gave her hope. Her biggest fear was that their two sides of the story would cause an investigation, but given Beakshall’s attitude, she had probably worried for nothing. She was aware that most people in the Order did not care about the truth, but rather about getting results and comforting lies.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Liaria gulped. Beakshall’s real personality was even worse than his usual irritating one. She had before her eyes a monster driven by personal interest and a profound contempt for the Inquisition. Thanks to his revised version of events, which was slightly different from reality, if something had gone wrong, they could have blamed Gemma and come out clean.
She smiled at the idea of seeing Gemma convicted of heresy. A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine.
, she lied.
The Marshall got off his seat again, but not off the stage. He picked something up from a drawer, hid it behind his back and motioned for her to come closer.
Liaria, confused, obeyed. She climbed to the stage, finding herself face to face with Beakshall again, who was smiling, satisfied and proud.
She did as she was ordered. She bent down carefully, still in pain. The Marshall pointed to the floor, so she directed her gaze to the ground.
A metallic clink filled her with anticipation and left her in disbelief. The Marshall lowered a pendant onto the back of her neck and moved her hair out of the way. The cold metal chain brushed against her neck, making her shiver. The locket dangled before her eyes, filling her with joy, so much so that she had to hold back to maintain decorum.
<... I hereby name you Captain. Congratulations, Captain Liaria>
She could have spent all day listening to him repeat that word: Captain. Captain Liaria.
She stood up. She got a round golden medallion, in the centre of which were depicted a crossed sword and spear, the most common weapons among Knights. Below it, a single lily signified her new status as an officer, the first rank of a superior who had set themself apart from other lowly Knights.
Realising that she was being loud, to the point of almost losing her decorum, she took a deep breath and bowed her head again.
<... I will do my best for the Order, as I always have>
Liaria couldn't believe her ears: she was a Captain! Siardo would have died with envy and would have showered her with praise, knowing that she had been promoted so quickly! Above all, she would have a decent room, warm clothes, regular meals, and the authority to command respect from others.
She tried not to daydream too much. She bowed to the marshal and left the office, as she had been ordered.
The corridors of the barracks were dimly lit by the autumn sun, but Liaria felt she was shining with her own light. She walked with her head held high, and felt her chest explode when she passed a pair of recruits, busy chatting with each other, who immediately fell silent as soon as they were close enough to recognize her medallion. She gave them a smile, to which the two responded by bowing as if in awe, and then left at a brisk pace.
Her ecstasy was uncontrollable. With her first pay as Captain she would have bought drinks at the tavern for Siardo and all his friends. She began to imagine herself at the head of a unit, sitting on horseback, giving directions to her subordinates. She would have conquered the world for the Prince if he had asked her to. She would have walked alongside the General with her head held high, participating in campaigns and expeditions, defeating the enemies of the Archangel and the Principality.
But more than anything, she was finally safe. She ran a hand over her cheek, still sore. All her life she had been targeted by stronger people, thanks to her small build, and she had tried so hard to fight back. To counteract violence, she had put her cunning into practice. She had endured abuse and humiliation to the point of almost getting used to it, and had finally been rewarded for her efforts, dedication and patience. She finally had the power to put others in their place, she would never again have to fear being punched by Nene, nor Oros. She would have punished her enemies and protected those who had shown her kindness, such as Siardo and Elora.
Her enthusiasm and dreams of glory and revenge faded when she recognized the figure coming towards her along the corridors. An unpleasant and difficult-to-understand feeling got to her, tightening the pit of her stomach and telling her not to meet her eyes.
Gemma was walking with a grim look towards her. She was wearing her armour, polished as always, and her head was completely shaved. It was a popular custom, from ancient tradition rather than from the teachings of the Archangel, a gesture to show off penance. Her icy eyes were fixed on her, their behaviour the exact opposite. They were like night and day, and they were about to collide.
Liaria almost panicked. She repeated to herself that she had done nothing wrong, and that if Gemma had cooperated, it would have ended well for everyone. The Marshall certainly had no intention of sacrificing one of his own if it wasn't necessary. She took a breath and tried not to show her emotions on the outside, to sound relaxed.
Gemma stopped in front of her, blocking her path. Instinctively she did the same. They stared at each other for long moments, but finally Liaria looked away.
Gemma pointed a finger at her, or rather, at her locket, her face full of disdain.
, Gemma added, cold as ever.
Gemma snorted and started walking again. She walked past her defiantly, her posture extremely rigid, never breaking eye contact.
She couldn’t react fast enough.
Gemma jumped at her in an instant. She grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and pushed her violently against the wall. Liaria hit her head and back against the cold stone. Pain and fear paralyzed her, Gemma's furious face suggested that she couldn’t get away with words. She should have reacted, she should have enforced her authority, but silence reigned in the corridor. There were just the two of them, two people face to face, one deeply angrier, stronger and far more desperate than the other.
The girl ignored her and slammed her against the wall again. Liaria's head fizzled from the impact. She began to feel dizzy and trembled in fear. Gemma pulled a knife from the forearm of her armour. The curved blade looked deadly. She rested it on Liaria's shoulder, a breath away from her throat.
Liaria's lower lip trembled, her eyes clouded with tears. Why did God keep punishing her? After she had acted in Its name, and served Its Church, why did she keep stumbling into horrible, violent people who did nothing but hit and mistreat her?
Gemma threw her to the ground. Liaria fell to her knees and collapsed on the cold floor, shaking with sobs.
With those last words, Gemma raised her heels and walked towards the Marshall's office.
Liaria lay with her face on the cold stone, waiting for Gemma to be far away. She only got up when she was sure she was safe. The sobs shook her to the point that her nose ran. She felt like the usual defenceless child, always unable to come to blows when necessary, so alone and vulnerable.
Elora was not there to protect or comfort her, her title would not keep her safe from those who did not respect its authority. She needed more power, more strength.
Her anger became unspeakable. She slammed a fist on the ground, ignored the pain, and cried loudly. She would show it to her, to Gemma and to everyone! She gritted her teeth and pounded her fists on the ground again. She would have had her thrown in a cell, or maybe something worse. She would have ruined her, sent her to the leper shelter, then ruined her again, forced to live on the streets, to beg or to sell her body. She would have killed her, but only after having reduced her to such a miserable state that Gemma herself would have begged her to end her life.
Her angry growl turned into a sneer. The image in her mind of Gemma dressed in rags, battered and desperate, begging her caused her deep pleasure.
She felt something growing inside her, a second consciousness that didn't seem to belong to her. It was warm and pleasant, as intoxicating as alcohol, but a thousand times more intense.
It suggested that she could have everything she wanted. Power, strength, justice, all in the palm of her hand. Her ideal world was achievable in an instant, she just had to ask.
Training and instinct allowed her to maintain some lucidity. She got down on her knees and shouted into the void.
, she yelled.
The stranger whispered again, showing her fantasies in which she was the protagonist, scenarios of glory where she reigned as a vassal of the Prince. Gemma, chained at her feet, was being kicked by faithful servants, while she was forced to sing her praises and thank her for the treatment she was receiving. All around Liaria, an entire regiment of Knights stood at attention, awaiting her orders. To her left, General Icato rested a hand on her shoulder, while to her right sat Siardo, who covered her with passionate caresses and kisses.
She shuddered at the vividness of that fantasy. The ecstasy it caused was such that she didn't even feel violated, while the Evil One delved deep into her soul, into areas that even she didn't fully know existed, turning her mind inside out as if it was child's play. In the distance, beyond the ranks of her subordinates, a light almost dazzled her. At first, she thought it was the Archangel, but it turned out to be Elora, her beloved Elora, who was greeting her from afar. She was free, no longer imprisoned in the monastery, thanks to her. She had saved her, they would finally be together forever.
A glimmer of reason lit up in her: Elora wasn't by her side. The tempting lies of the Evil One could not convince her otherwise. She had lost her precisely because of it. The Evil One had taken her away from her, and it certainly would not give her back. She screamed at the ceiling.
The Evil One showed her the vision again. Elora was crying, begging her to come to her, to save her.
Like a gust of wind on fine sand, her voice swept away the vision. She fell to all fours, breathing heavily. Her mind soon recovered its faculties and terror took possession of her: the Evil One had come to look for her. She had shown It her side, and humanity's worst enemy had knocked at the gates of her soul. She had barely rejected It, thanks to Elora.
She struggled to her feet. She looked around, noticing that fortunately there was no one there. She wasn't even sure what had happened, or whether she had screamed with her own voice or that too had been an illusion. She touched the back of her head and the pain confirmed that she had returned to reality. Her close encounter with the Evil One had scared her to death, but it had also given her a deeper perspective on her own desires.
She wiped the tears and cleaned her face from snot. She took several breaths and started walking again with an uncertain pace. The euphoria of promotion completely disappeared. She was tormented by fears and uncertainties, fear of the Evil One, but above all a deep anger. Gemma wasn't the first asshole she had met, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. That wretched woman had sworn to torment her for the rest of her life, but she would repay her in kind. Liaria had spent her whole short life fighting people like her, and she had finally taken a major step on the path to victory.
She admired the Captain's medallion as she made her way to the refectory, eager first and foremost to get something decent to eat before moving on to the officers' quarters. The image of Gemma chained and begging ran through her mind, together with a shiver of terror and pleasure.
Gemma had to pay for beating and humiliating her like that, somehow. Perhaps the image painted by the Evil One was way too much…
Perhaps