Dutybound

by Mark Aaron Alvarez

  For years, the mere idea of her father leaving tore at her, but not without creating something stronger in the process. For some time she could hardly bear the thought of it—her father deserting her family. Tears would form at his mention, and she would withdraw into a state of self-loathing. It was, at one point in time, the easiest way to break her down. But since she had grown, Lucia had finally become distant and numb to the memory. She often hated her mother for not truly understanding that.

  Still, the idea of not knowing her father troubled her. Yet, it was in not knowing where she found a particular sense of freedom, despite not having much of it. She could define herself within the boundaries of her own self-expectations, and imagine a life for herself outside of what her mother wanted. That was only half of who she was. The other half was left to interpretation, free for her to choose.

  But now, in her father’s long-dormant study, she questioned the freedom she had in composing her own story. Here, a part of who she was awakened as she peered into the paintings and within herself. Lucia recognized a passion for art, something she did not share with her mother who was more or less consumed by the duty and expectation of their nobility, favoring practicality over desire. Yet here, something deeper finally found its way to the surface.

  Scattered along the walls was the sensitivity her mother so boldly opposed. Lucia wondered if this was because of him, this man she did not know. Did he leave these qualities embedded inside her? Despite how her mother felt, Lucia longed to be independent of her status in Moz and truly come into her own, leading a life she wanted. Being high maiden meant she was to be bright and dignified, to portray herself with honor and nothing less. So this bothered her, the inability to make her life what she wished.

  Sometimes, she could imagine herself doing something far different, often dreaming of places she had never seen and wondering if they truly existed. Why care for thousands of people who knew nothing of what she valued? And what of their own ideals, their own dreams and agendas? How could she rule them all? There was no way for her to know all of their needs and intentions. From what she knew, she was hardly ready. Age did not change that, no matter what her mother said.

  “Your father left something for you those many years ago. And now it’s time for you to have it, to wear as you rule.” Ara held out the cloth, her pale hands inching toward Lucia’s.

  Lucia accepted it from her mother, examined it, and gingerly pulled a chain from the cloth. She gasped as she traced the silver lining with her finger, feeling the cold of its touch transfer and, oddly enough, fill her warmly. “He left this for me?” she asked in disbelief, gazing at the silver that was now shimmering into her eyes.

  Ara nodded. “It resembles your beauty.” She touched Lucia’s shoulder softly as she took the winged pendant and wrapped it around Lucia’s neck. “It’s elegant, isn’t it? As if it was made just for you.”

  “I’m honored,” Lucia said as she looked up to Ara, who was beaming more than before.

  “I suppose you’ll be wearing this to the banquet tomorrow night?” The lady stared deeply into the pendant as she asked.

  “A banquet?” Lucia turned to her mother, confused but not completely surprised. It was just like her mother to stage another celebration to get into the good graces of the people. “What for?”

  “Why, I thought we’d commemorate the twentieth anniversary of the war’s end. Moz has been through so much, and as the governors of this province we have an obligation to our people to show them that prosperity does exist.”

  Lucia nodded softly as her mother kissed her head. Gently, she receded.

  “What’s this?” Ara asked, spotting the scroll in Lucia’s hand.

  “It’s nothing,” said Lucia, casting it aside. “Another prayer I’ve been writing. A hymn for the light.”

  Lady Ara was intrigued. “Oh really? Can I hear it?”

  Lucia blushed. “I couldn’t. Not right now.” She bit her lip and then smirked. “Although, I do think it’s really good. My best yet.”

  Ara’s eyes narrowed. “I would like to ask something of you.”

  “What?”

  “That glimmer I just saw. That sparkle in your eye.” Ara placed a finger to her chin for a moment as the thought was fresh. “I want to ask you for your courage. Being the high maiden is by no means easy. Being lady can nearly break me at times. Lucia, I am aware of its burden, and I know that it just being the two of us has left you without an understanding of your true abilities. But you must be confident.”

  Lucia’s confusion magnified further as her thoughts shifted toward the unexpected. “What do you mean?”

  “Lucia, I have total faith in you as my heir, and you have portrayed yourself with elegance, beauty, and grace. I believe, now, that you are ready to show the province and the world what you really are inside. After all, it is your birthright.” Ara smiled, watching her daughter’s eyes sparkle above the diamond wings around her neck. “At the banquet tomorrow night, I would like you to share one of your hymns with the people of Moz, and let it be their anthem—a symbol of growth, prosperity, and hope. Let it be a reminder of what is good in the world. As you’re the legitimate heir to the throne of Sanoon, your song will surely move and inspire them. It will be historic. Why not let their voices join you?”

  “You want me to sing at the banquet?” Lucia asked, her voice nearly cracking. “To everyone?”

  “Yes, to your people.” Ara nodded. She raised a finger. “But I want you to be yourself. Don’t worry about what they will think of you, my dear. You are beautiful and good inside. I’m certain that you’ll gain the people’s affection, and most of all their trust.”

  Lucia’s heart fluttered. Was her mother really saying this to her? Was she really telling her that this was time to be herself, and to step up and take her true place as heir? Lucia couldn’t contain her excitement, nor could she decipher it from the nervousness that consumed her. She would sing during her first address. “You really think I can do it? Bring the nation together with my song?”

  “Of course. I can sense it within you, Lucy—an aspiration to lead. You will do great things for Terestria.”

  Lucia looked away, clenching the scroll in her hand. The moment she walked through those ruby doors, her life would change. She felt strange trying to imagine herself in front of all those people, her people—as the center of their world, her voice theirs. Trusting her mother, and even deep down wanting it herself, she accepted. “Thank you, Mother. I won’t fail you. I’ll make this something the people will remember.”

  Ara laughed and clapped her hands together. “I’m so happy that you’re excited. Praise the light.” She took a deep breath and looked back to Lucia, who was caressing the wings of the pendant with the tips of her middle and forefinger. “Don’t worry, dear. This is for the best.”

  “Yes, Mother. Thank you.”

  Lucia followed her mother out of the study and, parting, walked through the halls with the weight of her pendant accentuating her gait. The color of the maroon carpet rose up through it, making it twinkle a pale magenta in the light. It was alluring with its changing refractions. She pondered whether or not her father imagined her wearing it, as if he would have known who she’d grow to be. She tried to shift her mind, avoiding the thought as she always did. She had never known him, and to her he was just a ghost—a haunting and in many ways unwanted presence that disrupted her world. To her he was hopeless, a lost cause. He would never return. Lucia knew this—her intuition told her so.

  But now, she had this opportunity to take control and show the people of Moz that she loved the very person she constantly hid from them. It would be her time to rise and unify the people to a cause more familiar than her own. Her mother was right. There was something within her she could not understand just yet, a power she had yet to tap into. The light had chosen her for this purpose, to rule and bring balance to the
realms. The moment the pendant had wrapped around her neck, she felt the essence of her reality transform, determining her future. Lucia was unique, and now she was bestowed with this mission, to use her words and her song to move her people into a new age.

  However, something inside her still doubted. Something about this seemed too good; as if it were a dream, a fantasy. She had felt it in her father’s study and had not forgotten how it clung to her. That gripping intuition still hovered in the currents. Although this was to be a banquet to honor the values of prosperity, Lucia sensed disaster in the midst. Her thoughts whispered chaos all from within the calm of a heavy storm.

  Chapter Two:

  A Stretch of Faith

  Lucia looked beyond the altar and into the stained glass behind it. She blinked as the light seeped through and hit the pendant at the base of her neck causing it to shine. The colors were spiraling as usual, mixing into the sunlight. She felt the warmth, accepting the triumphant beauty that absorbed into her gaze, motivating her. She took her quill before unraveling her scroll, then traced the sheet with her eyes, breathing deeply, trying to recall the melody within the words . . . its rhythm.

  Lucia often found herself here. Whenever she was away from her studies and not serving beside her mother during one of her briefings or social gatherings, she often retreated to this sanctuary. Here she could be herself, away from the pressure that constantly coiled about her life—the stinging expectations of diplomacy. Usually when she was with her mother “honing her judgment,” as her mother would say, Lucia attempted to bring herself back here—her mind daydreaming, lost in thought. Her prayers and hymns eased her heart more than anything else, even more than the thoughts of her father returning.

  Lucia giggled to herself, humored by her own reluctance. Even if only for small instants at a time, she could escape the reality of her lonely life beneath the light of this window. But maybe things could be different now that this opportunity to lead had been proposed. She could start to use her place of power to make it as it should be—the way she’d always wanted.

  She looked at the small wings again, admiring the pendant thoroughly before placing it at her chest. It had four symbols carved into a small diamond that was cut to perfection as if chiseled by the elite artisans of Argania—or better even. It exhibited a strange essence, a foreign force that drew questions from within her mind along with memories, all of which linked to create a tight chain that clashed, sounding an echo of a faint whisper she could not understand. Why was even this a reminder of him? Her imagination ran rampant.

  The symbols lay at each of the diamond’s four points, and as Lucia looked up to the window, she noticed the same symbols within the glass. She exhaled, trying to release the emptiness that suddenly clenched her. She walked, entranced, to touch them and draw in their meaning with her fingertips. So many emotions stirred uncontrollably inside her, and it was as if her anxiety was slowly magnifying. She continued to study the symbols, something telling her that it would be too painful to resist. It seemed to lie in the whispers—the faint thoughts within distant memories, and some wisdom she did not know.

  She shook her head and stepped away. “What am I doing?” she asked aloud. She drew a breath and tried to calm her thoughts, feeling her blood flow into her eyes, her sweat about to break. Lucia looked at the symbols and touched them once more. Stepping back, she knelt down and prayed, subdued and almost afraid. A sudden feeling overtook her, hovering inside. She felt nothing else, sensed nothing else—a clinging intuition as if her emotions had been channeled into something inside her so tangible and so real, yet fragile enough to disappear.

  The emotions clanged together and collected around her heart, making it heavy. Why was the pendant doing this to her? It seemed to drain energy from her as the silent whispers of her prayers left her lips. “Why me? Why place me here? What purpose do I have? Guide me please. Show me what to believe. Who am I?” Her voice cracked. Not again, she thought, holding her breath. “I just want to know . . . why?”

  The light from the window dimmed as she continued alone at the altar, trying to understand, hoping that her prayers would be answered. At times, it seemed like she was only speaking to herself. But not today. This was different. As she whispered, a response came from within her. A sense of conviction rooted to her subconscious thoughts.

  “Lucia,” a voice echoed from behind her.

  Lucia’s eyes flickered open. Her gaze softened. She failed to notice that time had passed well past the evening. She rose as Ara, wearing her nightgown, walked to her side, tilted her head, and looked up into her face as Lucia tried to hide behind her own hair.

  “My dear, how long have you been here? Is something wrong?” Ara asked firmly, so as to hide the worry in her voice.

  “Mother, I’m . . . ” Her voice quivered as she spoke. “I’m so sorry. I must have drifted to sleep at the altar,” she lied, trying to hide the obvious anguish inside her, the torrents amplifying. Something was not alright. Still, her head was fuzzy; her thoughts were fiery, caught in a storm of lightning she had never experienced before. Energy collided within her.

  “You need your rest for tomorrow’s banquet. Why is it that you’re so weary?” Ara asked. “You should go to bed.”

  Lucia held the pendant with her fingers. “I am awfully tired.” She tried to get up and rush past her mother, but Ara caught her shoulder and turned her daughter to face her, penetrating with her amber eyes.

  “You’re troubled.”

  “No,” Lucia said, trying to force a smile and move on. But Ara’s grip tightened. Lucia rolled her eyes as she looked back to her mother. “Can I go?”

  Ara didn’t say a word. Instead, she looked down at Lucia’s neck and touched the pendant. “Sometimes you frighten me, Lucia.”

  “And why’s that, Mother?”

  Ara’s face was firm. Lucia could tell she was thinking of something. She feared her mother when she was like this. It made her eyes shudder, because she knew her mother was judging her. She had experienced it often.

  “I don’t know if you can handle the power bestowed on you.”

  Lucia narrowed her eyes. “Mother, what power? I’m fine. Can I go now?” She hesitated before adding, “Please?”

  Ara lowered her eyes, which brought Lucia off her toes. Maybe now she could escape her.

  “Do you believe that you are ready for this?”

  “I’m actually excited. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like. My hopes are high.” She burst easily into false enthusiasm.

  Ara closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, my dear. I mean, are you ready for the world to know what you stand for?”

  Lucia clenched her teeth. What could her mother be getting at with this? It irritated her when her mother picked at her—prying, attempting to analyze and understand every intention, every instance of weakness that Lucia showed. “The thing about that is . . . the world doesn’t know me yet. My title as high maiden is all they’ve ever known. And, even if I do this, I still have some doubt that they might never know who I truly am.”

  “Do you know who you are?”

  Lucia pulled her arm back slowly, knowing better than to provoke her mother with a sudden jerk, although she most definitely wanted to yank it away. “What kind of question is that?” Lucia asked, forcing a playful tone into her voice. “Of course I do.”

  Ara sighed and rested a hand over her heart. “It will be critical that you know yourself before you can fully understand your kingdom, or even the world. In order to protect what is close to you, you must protect yourself. Remember that, Lucia. This song should uphold your values. Keep them close. This will be your first address as high maiden, and depending on how it’s received”—Ara took a step forward, facing the sanctuary doors, leaving Lucia confused by the brief speech—“it could very well be your last. Goodnight, Lucia.”

  Lucia rushed out of the sanctuary, trying not to
think any longer. Her mother’s words only rattled her senses more, echoing beyond even where they were before. She staggered and nearly tripped on the stairs as she placed a hand to her face.

  She burst into her room and ruffled her hair, tearing the bright white band before tossing it into the chest at the end of her bed. She changed into her nightgown and slid into the golden cloth that hung over her bed eagerly as her body weakened. What is wrong with me? she thought. This pendant . . . those symbols. I must be coming down with something. She took a deep breath. “And then my mother. Why can’t I rid myself of this . . . ” She whispered as the weariness of her prayers pulled her lids down, “feeling.”

  Then, as if she was fully exhausted after all, she fell into a deep sleep, one that calmed her thoughts in an instant. Her breath softened and grew silent as she drifted deeper into her rest, and into a dream. This dream would be the deepest and most restful she would have for a long time.

  ***

  Lucia awoke to the morning glow across her face. The familiar sound of bells rang from the east facade as she sat up, her body stretching comfortably alert. She pushed back her hair as she rose from her bed, feeling her tresses drape behind her. She bent down and pulled out her band, which she had gravely missed, and put it back in its rightful place. She smiled, turning to the full-length, gold-framed mirror at the end of the room, and stared back at her reflection as if she had never seen it before.

  Lucia looked completely changed. Something about her seemed to have jumped through time, filling her to the peak of her youth. And there, still around her neck, those silver wings—so beautiful, so divine—sparkling in the sunlight as she caressed them and let out a breath. She hurriedly dragged herself over and opened the wardrobe. Her anxiety looming over the onset of the day’s festivities, she pulled out too many outfits, unable to decide what would look most elegant (as her mother would put it), or more “herself.” In the back of her mind was the thought that she couldn’t avoid this. She could not quit, no matter what. The song was to be sung. Her hymn was to be an anthem for her people to cherish. She had some idea what to say, but still, her nerves built up inside. She remembered her mother’s words from the day before and let out a faint whimper.