To Marry the Duke's Daughter (After the Masquerade)
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“But this shall be no ordinary raven,” he continued, eyes unfocused. “This shall be a white raven, destined to change the order of Varlorginar. He shall come from Wizoc’s line, his blood seething with the knowledge of his forefathers, while his mind shall know nothing but lies. Varlorginar has fallen, and the truth is lost.”
A murmured cry of despair rose up from those closest to him.
“The owl shall know the truth but not understand; the dove shall know kindness but not have wings. Only by the will of the White Raven will they mend the bond between brothers, and erase the fear caused by betrayal. Varlorginar has fallen; the Knife of Light is stolen and the children of the Dragon are fled, their lineage forgotten and their future doomed to exile unless the White Raven wills it otherwise.
“Ash, blood, confusion, deceit. Thus ends Varlorginar.”
Project 31.00
The Beginning
Government Proclamation No. 1
To all Citizens
June 7, 2112
To expedite the transfer of information, the Government will issue Identification to all Citizens. All Citizens are expected to register their Identification by July 7 of this year. Upon registration, each Citizen will receive a personal prompter. This prompter will be used for further proclamations, and will replace all other sources of written and verbal communication from the Government.
Any Citizen that fails to register will stand before a Government Court and face whatever judgment said Court deems necessary.
February 1, 3089
The Capitol of the Central State, TX, UCNW, Earth
Sibeal
I clenched my shoulder bag tightly with one hand, the other relaxed beside my thigh. Grateful I decided to leave my knee-length white skirt behind in favor of the long, white pants and tall grey boots, I shivered beneath my layers of Government clothing: a close-fitting long-sleeve grey turtleneck, long-sleeve white button down shirt with the collar pressed flat over a thick grey wool sweater. My feet were encased in double white and grey socks in deliberately mismatched layers, while my hands trembled in grey leather gloves. My shoulder bag, a gift from my university sponsor, was a wonderful shade of blue that stood out amidst the white and grey of the snow-covered District Capitol building.
White marble floors were cold beneath me, and grey counters circled the perimeter of the large reception area. Only one DC employee worked the main counter, and she was an elderly plump blonde with tiny white-rimmed glasses that made her hazel eyes look twice as large as they should. The tin nameplate at the edge of the counter read Margery Burgess, DC-10.
I stood a little taller, lifting my small chest so she could read the name and status embroidered into my sweater before I handed her the slip of paper that had merited my journey to the DC.
“Sibeal Gilchrist, Student of Vision, Level One,” she read off the paper, ignoring my presence. The letter was neatly placed into a file and she typed up my information in a quick staccato, her long fingernails scratching against the surface of the counter. I noticed the illuminated keypad, integrated into the counter, and immediately missed my safe desk back at my university, the keyboard an old-fashioned thin plastic sheet I carried with my personal prompter.
Her face was illuminated as her prompter screen glowed with my records—I could see it all reflected in her glasses. She grunted, or made some similar sound of acceptance, and pushed one of many circular white buttons on the counter. A snap, and a three-foot section of the counter was pulled aside to grant me admittance to the long hallway leading to an elevator.
“Floor twelve, Miss Gilchrist.” Her voice was dismissive.
“Thank you,” I murmured, dipping my head slightly and beginning the walk up the slanted corridor, my eyes darting from one wall to the other as the pictures changed. One side showed the Government crest, while the other bore a picture of the Governor sitting at his desk with his advisors around him. When I looked again the wall revealed smiling children, all clinging to their first schoolbooks. I took a deep breath before pushing the button for the elevator, and stepped inside the gleaming metal cube when the doors slid open.
The faint whirr of the motors was vaguely comforting, distracting me for a brief time as I watched the floors ding by. When the doors re-opened it was behind me, making me jump and turn around hastily. A middle-aged man was waiting for me, a short rifle clenched in the palm of his hand and resting against one shoulder.
“This way, Miss Gilchrist.” He turned sharply on one heel and led me down a bright hallway, stopping before we reached the halfway mark. “In this door, Miss Gilchrist.” He punched a code into a keypad with one gloved finger and seams appeared in the wall, revealing a tall, narrow door. He pushed against it and it opened with a faint hiss of suction resisting, and motioned for me to enter.
I stepped inside hesitantly, pausing as the door closed firmly behind me, and lifted my eyes to take in the conference room to which I had been led. A long clear rectangular glass table was bolted to the center of the floor, small spinning chairs with tall straight backs placed systematically around it. The far wall was composed of twelve narrow windows reaching from the floor to the ceiling and placed precisely two feet apart from each other and the edges of the room. Thick violet carpet contrasted sharply with the white walls, but it was comforting to see the color.
“You must be Miss Sibeal Gilchrist?” A tall, silver headed man with thick silver spectacles stood and smiled at me. “I am Dr. Cornelius Winston. Welcome to the DC. Please, come and take a seat while we wait for the others to arrive. You are early; a trait I appreciate.” He waved me forward, walking around the head of the table to pull out a seat beside a young man who had also stood at my entrance.
I accepted the seat with a soft word of thanks and glanced quickly at the olive-skinned and golden-haired young man, casting my eyes aside when I realized his eyes were turned towards me. I busied myself with pulling off my gloves and placing them in my bag, my fingers brushing against the soft blue leather before I hung the bag over the back of my chair. My hands folded in my lap, I stared at the Government crest embossed in the glass of the table.
“Miss Gilchrist, you are very young to be such an advanced student. You are fourteen, correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“Your mentor took no time at all in determining that you would be right for this project. Did Dr. Georges say much about our work?”
“No sir, he simply told me this was an opportunity to finish my studies early and advance in my field,” I replied softly, tilting my head up slightly so I could look across at him. He smiled gently at me, his elbows resting on the glass and his chin nestled against his intertwined fingers.
“Then you are like Mr. Griffith here, and unaware of the true honor you have been awarded. You are a first level choice, Miss Gilchrist. There will be four more levels beneath you, but even should you choose to leave the project and later return you will still be a first level. When the others arrive and I discuss the particulars of this project you will begin to understand the full measure of what we are working on.”
Romances as Ashley Stormes:
What happened to Lt. White of the --- cavalry? Did he ever manage to win the hand of Lady Felicity Ryans, and free himself from his older brother’s gambling debts?
What happened to Kvas and Nadezhda? Did they ever marry? Did Alexei ever prove himself useful?
What happened to Isabel (Tygre)? Did she ever find love, or was her past too much of a burden?
If you have ever asked one or all of the above questions, you will want to read
After the Masquerade
a collection of short stories and novellas concerning the characters that never got to dance in Lady Rauley’s ballroom.
Speaking of Lady Rauley’s ballroom…make sure you read
The Masquerade Series
The Masquerade
A Mask of Black Satin
A Tartan Mask
Mask of the Tiger
The Widow’s Mas
k
After the Masquerade:
To Love A Spy (short story)
The Taste of Frozen Vodka (short story)
Keep up with the latest release dates by following me on Facebook or Blogger!
http://www.facebook.com/ashleystormesofficial
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About the Author
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Ashley Stormes is a Summa Cum Laude history graduate of The University of Texas at Tyler. She has pursued her dream of becoming a published author ever since second grade when she received a “principle’s pride” sticker for a tale about escaping zoo animals. When not writing, she can be found singing, crocheting, travelling, and drinking hot tea. Ashley lives in Texas with her family and three persnickety cats.
You can email her at:
astormes90@gmail.com
Or follow her at:
https://www.twitter.com/AshleyStormes
http://www.facebook.com/ashleystormesofficial
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
Preview
About the Author
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