Daughter of War

by Brendan Wright

  "Thank you, Overseer Hayne, you are far too kind," she managed, "the honour is all mine."

  His smile spread into a grin, and she found herself grinning too. They stood like that, grinning at each other, until her father moved uncomfortably and cleared his throat again. Riffolk glanced at him, straightened, and actually blushed a little.

  "I apologise again, Mr Watson, I simply was not prepared for your daughter's stunning beauty."

  Every word he says makes me love him more, Mara thought. Her father again seemed at a loss for words, and Riffolk clapped him on the shoulder and turned to the other corner of the room, gesturing to the quiet man who stood there waiting. Mara gasped again, almost screamed. She'd had no idea there was someone else in the room.

  "Hannibal, I believe you know my father?" Her father nodded and gave a short wave.

  "Mara, let me introduce my father, Sir Isaac Hayne. Father, this is Mara Watson."

  "A pleasure, Mara," Sir Isaac said. His tone suggested otherwise.

  The rest of the day passed in a mostly pleasant blur for Mara. She didn't understand the contracts, and their words washed over her in meaningless waves, but Riffolk glanced at her every few moments and smiled, and that was all she cared about. Once the business was out of the way, a servant appeared with tea and bread on a gleaming silver platter, and the four of them sat in a pair of comfortable lounges. Riffolk sat next to her, and their fathers sat next to each other. The three men spoke for a while, and after the tea was gone the servant brought a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. Riffolk shuffled closer to her after reaching for his glass, and their legs touched. He glanced at her again, smiling, and he was the only person in the world.

  Riffolk

  Watson and his offspring snuck timidly into the room. They might as well have been shouting "we are poor and uncultured!" as they took step after ginger step. The Watson family was well respected, of course; otherwise Riffolk would never have consented to this match. The Haynes gained nothing from the union, other than a slight increase in social standing by joining with one of the oldest families in Ermoor. He didn't care about social standing in the slightest. He didn't care about the Watson family, or the girl, or any of this pointless nonsense. Still, images had to be maintained, if his goal was to be achieved.

  When the two finally reached him, he introduced himself. He charmed them immediately, of course, and the girl looked absolutely smitten. They signed the contracts, talked over whiskey, and a few lingering glances and some brief physical contact was all it took; the girl was his. He saw it in her eyes. She was beyond smitten, she was in love. Most people were born to be controlled. It was pathetic how easy they were to manipulate. Even Riffolk's father could be moved if he was careful. Of course, he was always careful.

  Arthor

  Lord Commander Arthor Symond stood tall, his hands clasped imperiously behind his back as he stared at the blueprints on his desk. Overseer Hayne stood nearby, smug and self-assured as ever. His underlings, a handful of engineering graduates, stood nervously behind him. Arthor's right hand, Commander Mathys Corby, sat casually on a comfortable chair against the wall. He didn't look it, but Mathys was the most dangerous man in the room. He had a talent for being utterly inconspicuous, so much so that most people other than Arthor himself routinely forgot his name, and often overlooked his presence. Despite this, Arthor would not have picked anyone else to be his Commander. Mathys was honourable, talented, intelligent, and discreet.

  Overseer Hayne watched Arthor patiently, a smirk tugging the corner of his thin lips. Arthor let him wait. The blueprints were undeniably impressive. They shared the same goal. The Twelve Crowns deferred to Arthor on military matters, so he had no betters to convince; it was entirely his project, his responsibility. If only it was entirely his choice.

  But still, there was something about Hayne that made his skin crawl. The man was incredibly intelligent, and had contributed more to Ermoor's society than any other living person; but there was an endless well of cold, pure cruelty sitting underneath the surface. What the Overseer had designed and built pushed well beyond the limits of ethical science. If their goal wasn't so important, Arthor would have scoffed and told Hayne to burn the blueprints and never speak of them again. But he couldn't. Not any more.

  An unnatural form sat in the centre of one of the blueprints, stark against the otherwise straight lines and plotted curves of the other plans. It tugged his eyes toward itself, forcing him to think about what they had done. What Riffolk has done, he tried to convince himself. But it was no use; he couldn't sidestep responsibility for this monstrous design just because he didn't draw the plans himself. He sighed heavily, and looked at Hayne's cold eyes for as long as he could bear.

  "It worked, then?"

  Hayne's smug smile broadened, turning into an almost childlike grin.

  "Oh, yes," he said quietly, "it works."

  "What is it?"

  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

  Arthor was not easily troubled, but Riffolk Hayne was an exceptionally troubling man. His eyes seemed to say I know what you are thinking... I have seen your very soul. Still, he maintained eye contact and pushed the conversation along.

  "And with this... thing, you can manufacture enough units for a full-scale invasion?"

  "Of course."

  "Time frame?"

  "Two years."

  Arthor couldn't stop his eyes from going wide. Hayne had to be bluffing. It was a full eight years ahead of his original estimates, which already halved the time frame that would have been in place without Riffolk's technology.

  "That's impossible," Arthor stated flatly, "we're talking about a full-scale project here, Overseer Hayne, not just Shanaken; we need enough units for a full battalion on each continent. The original time frame was twenty years; there's simply no way two years is enough-"

  "I can guarantee it, Lord Commander. Look through the blueprints again. You will see I have put measures in place to expedite the manufacturing process significantly. Power will no longer be an issue, money is no longer an issue, and personnel levels are insignificant once the process starts."

  Hayne stared at Arthor. He had never looked so smug.

  "You ordered this project, Lord Commander. I have delivered, and far above expectations. Unless you have any additional requests, I will take it you have approved the blueprints and begin within two weeks."

  Arthor could think of nothing to say. The project was going ahead. It was what he wanted, what the Twelve Crowns wanted, and yet... He knew the implications. They were crossing not just one line, but many. This moment was pivotal; there was no turning back once the project began. Besides; it wasn't entirely up to him. Not any more. Stop thinking like that, he told himself, of course it's up to you; nobody is controlling you. And it was true. Nobody was controlling him. But something... something was. Unless he was simply insane. Stop! Stop thinking like that. Get Hayne and his lackeys out of here, then you can deal with this properly.

  "Fine, Hayne, of course. It's approved. Begin as soon as you can. I want regular updates and access to all information regarding the project."

  Hayne gave him a knowing look – an eerily certain smirk – and strode from the room, leaving the blueprints for one of the assistants to scoop up. Once the room was empty but for himself and Mathys, Arthor sat heavily in his chair. Mathys watched him, expressionless.

  "What do you think, Mathys?"

  "You know what I think."

  Arthor sighed, nodding his head slowly.

  "This is wrong," he whispered.

  Mathys left his office shortly after. Arthor wanted to delay his leaving, and tried a handful of empty conversational topics; he couldn't stand to be alone any more. But it was no good. Mathys had never been one for small talk, and his disgust at the project was only just held in check by his respect and loyalty for Arthor. Once he was alone, the voices started again.

  Mara

  They were to be married next year, on the tenth anni
versary of Riffolk being named Overseer of Scientific Advancement. Mara couldn't believe she would be part of such a monumentally historic event. Her father's mood had lifted ever since the day they'd met Hayne. She thought it had something to do with the contracts, but it wasn't her place to know. Her own mood had improved drastically too, and that was what she cared about.

  The church service went back to lifting her spirits instead of feeling oppressive as it had just before she'd met Riffolk. She joined in the songs, responded with "for the good of all" whenever prompted, and prayed with everyone else that God would cleanse the world of the faithless and deliver them all to a perfect world.

  Her friends were jealous, none more than Millicent, and Mara laughed and teased her after she'd told them the news. Abigale and Audrey squealed and hugged her, giggling and remarking on how handsome Riffolk was. Millicent had stared at her as though she'd thrown a bucket of ice cold water at her face.

  "Congratulations," she'd said coldly. Mara felt an incredibly satisfying swell of pride and victory. You might be a Duchess, she thought while staring into Millicent's eyes, but I'm going to be the wife of the most intelligent and powerful man in the world.

  "Thank you," she responded.

  Mara saw Riffolk once a month after their first meeting. Her father would drop her off to the Hayne mansion after lunch, and they spent the afternoon together until just before sundown when her father would collect her and bring her home. The time she spent with her future husband was incredible. He knew so much about so many things, and dazzled her with facts about his inventions and the world around her.

  He kissed her hand every time she arrived at the mansion, his hand lingering in hers for far longer than would normally be appropriate. She didn't mind at all, in fact she found herself thinking about the way his hands felt after sundown, when she lay in bed with the lights off. She wondered how they would feel running down her shoulder, her neck... up her thighs. Every time her thoughts went to that thrilling, terrifying place, she had to shake her head and think of something else. She couldn't bring herself to think about what her body wanted. Not until she was married. Simply knowing that it would happen, that Riffolk wanted it as badly as she did, would have to do.

  His eyes assured her that he wanted her. They seemed to push images into her head that made her blush. But despite the intense suggestions in his eyes, he never said anything inappropriate, nor even acted inappropriately beyond holding her hand a little too long. He was the perfect gentleman, and she couldn't wait to be his. Each month dragged on until the day she got to see him again, and after a few months she could think of nothing but him.

  The wedding was absolutely breathtaking. Every noble family was present; from Lords to Governors, all the way up to the Lord Commander himself. Representatives from each of the Twelve Crowns showed up as well, which was almost unheard of. The representatives wore rich black jackets with gold trim, luxurious silk blouses and fitted black trousers. They stood as still and composed as the most intricate statues, and they spoke to no one.

  Mara wore a pure white dress, as was the custom, and it had been made by the most sought after dressmaker in Ermoor, Cordelia Parkes. Cordelia was almost seventy years old, never married, and though lovely to talk to, was wildly inappropriate. Very unladylike; it must have been all that time spent without a husband. Mara had spent all of her time with the old woman covering her mouth with a hand, either to stifle a laugh or to cover her shock.

  When she had first walked into Cordelia's dress shop, with her father of course, the old woman had grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her into a separate fitting room, muttering "a father shouldn't see his daughter fitted, you'll be naked as the day you were born for God's sake." Mara managed a shocked and terrified glance at her father, who returned her look with bafflement of his own.

  Once in the fitting room, Cordelia had been true to her word; she had all but ripped Mara's clothing off, no niceties, no 'please' or 'thank you'. No modesty. Mara had been terrified, standing naked on top of a short stool, while the strange old woman pottered around her with a measuring tape, grabbing and moving her body without the least bit of concern for Mara's shame.

  As soon as the measurements were taken, Cordelia had disappeared from the room without a word. Mara stood on the stool, naked and scared but unsure if she was allowed to put her clothes back on. She had never felt so vulnerable in her life; the fitting room was only separated from the main room by a thick red curtain, and anyone could have yanked it aside at any time. As if to illustrate her fears, the curtain was suddenly swept open, and Mara screamed. Cordelia had stopped, stared, then rolled her eyes, leaving the curtain open. Luckily there had been no one in the main room but her father, who had dutifully averted his eyes and cleared his throat.

  "Why aren't you dressed, silly girl?" Cordelia had said, with a touch too much humour in her voice.

  "I – I didn't – CLOSE THE CURTAIN!" Mara had screamed in response. To her credit, Cordelia did as she was bid and left her to get dressed. It had taken two months to make her dress. When she first tried it on, she could see why. It fit her like a second skin, flowing over her body in flattering curves, layers of beautiful fabric that made her look like one of God's angels. The design looked simple at a glance, but the fabric was pleated and folded beautifully in certain places, with different layers of different textured fabrics merging into one gorgeous garment. Luckily the first time she'd tried it on was in one of the fitting rooms, with only Cordelia for company; she'd wept when she saw her reflection, her hands over her mouth and her tears sliding down her fingers.

  "Careful, silly girl!" Cordelia had grumbled, rushing off to get tissues for her, "the fabric will be ruined by tears!"

  Now, standing on the stage in Rookfell Square, where Riffolk had been named Overseer, Mara saw the looks of awe, desire and jealousy painted on the faces of everyone in the massive crowd. She felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. She felt like an angel. When she walked up the aisle with her father beside her, she had to focus to avoid weeping again. Gasps and appreciative murmuring followed her all the way up the aisle.

  When she glanced up and saw Riffolk staring at her with unmasked love and lust, she couldn't stop the tears. They flowed down her cheeks, and to her utter shock, her father had pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed her tears dry while they walked. She stared at him and he smiled back, caring and loving and totally unlike him. A feeling of unreality swept over her then, as she walked towards her soon-to-be husband in front of almost all of Ermoor. Her father had never looked at her that way before. Ever.

  The ceremony itself was a blur for Mara. She remembered saying "I do" in a small voice and hearing Riffolk say it too. She remembered his face, and especially his bright blue eyes as they stared at her, making the crowd disappear and the priest's words meaningless noise in the background. After the ceremony, the crowd dispersed and those rich or highborn enough were invited to the reception where giant trays of absurdly expensive food were walked between the guests as they stood with glasses of equally expensive alcohol.

  The reception was held in Atkins Hall, a massive banquet hall in Emberwatch, the richest part of Ermoor. Lavish banquets and parties were held in Emberwatch every night, and the Hayne's marriage to the Watsons was one of the most lavish and extravagant the country had ever seen.

  Just like the ceremony, the reception ended up being a blur to Mara. Music, food and alcohol were abundant all through the night, and the laughter of the guests mingled with the music and constant chatter to create an almost physical cloud of noise. An unending stream of richly dressed men and women congratulated Mara, most of them so drunk they slurred their words while swaying on their feet, and stumbled away giggling.

  She was the centre of attention for the entire night. She felt like royalty. She even indulged in a few glasses of sparkling white wine, which she'd never been allowed before. When a servant first offered her one of the gleaming crystal glasses, she had raised her hand
to take it entirely out of impulse, then stopped and glanced guiltily in her father's direction. Their eyes caught, and he had raised his own mostly empty glass, smiling and nodding. Shocked, she took a glass and stared at the golden liquid in wonder. This was what it felt like to be an adult. I'm married now, she thought with utter joy, I'm a woman! An adult! Her father had never been so accepting, so supportive.

  The first sip was like something out of a dream. It tasted like fruit, but with an odd sour bite that seemed to burn her throat all the way down to her stomach. And the bubbles tickled her mouth and nose. It was a sensation she had been wholly unprepared for, and she coughed and spluttered just as Riffolk walked up beside her.

  "Woah," he laughed, "slow down Mara! Maybe take a rest from the drinks?"

  She had tried to tell him that it was her first sip but ended up spluttering again before the words could come out. He'd laughed again, took the glass from her hand and placed it on a nearby table. The burning in her throat got much worse with her coughing, and she had to hold onto Riffolk's arm as she tried to get herself under control. She was mortified, but Riffolk stayed with her, steady and patient. His hand patted her back gently, and when her coughing died down it went from patting to rubbing. When the coughing finally subsided completely she stood upright again, and his hand slid gently down her spine, brushing over her backside so briefly and gently that she couldn't tell if it had been done on purpose.

  She blushed fiercely, staring at Riffolk with a hand over her mouth. An electric tingling spread from the place where he'd touched her throughout her whole body, and her skin erupted with goosebumps. He stared back, and just when she started to convince herself it had been accidental, he'd winked at her and a sly grin had broken through his composure. She couldn't believe it; he had done it on purpose! And right in front of everyone!