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Story Notes:

Many of the characters in this story speak French and if their French is inaccurate the blame can be attributed wholly to the author.

 

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners or in the public domain. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

ACT I: Emissaire de loin

I first met the goddess at nineteen years of age.

She did not appear to us then as she presents herself now: monumental, invincible, inscrutable. At that time she wore the body of a mortal woman and I found her quite amiable and friendly in the days before her relations with our kingdom changed. Our first meeting remains clear in the mind as though it had occurred yesterday: I had just bathed and dressed myself after a rigorous morning lesson in dance and deportment when my royal mother requested my presence avec toute la hâte that she might acquaint me with a new ambassador. A pair of liveried servants escorted me not to the grand audience chamber of the throne room but rather to a small, secluded study on the third floor of the palace. I distinctly remember that I arrived short of breath, the corset of my bodice constricting uncomfortably on my chest. Mere moments to compose myself vanished in an instant as a servant opened the door. Queen Heloise, my handsome mother still regal in her middle age, beckoned me in with a wave of her handheld fan and I set my eyes upon the ambassador.

How shall I describe the messenger of the goddess? She stood as tall as I and I am considered above the average height for a woman; in heeled shoes she would have the advantage of many a man. Her complexion immediately struck me by its clarity; I remember that I could not guess at her age, for though she boasted the smooth skin, fulsome lips, and unblemished features of the youthful, yet her manner and poise spoke of ageless experience. Her delicate features and soft hands testified of a life that wanted nothing for comfort nor luxury. Most arresting of all were her eyes, large and liquid orbs of sable to match her raven locks and possessed of a warm depth that expressed the intensity of her lofty thoughts, and I am aware that I am hardly the only person, man or woman, to have lost myself in the sheer expanse of her gaze. When she walked her stride conveyed her in graceful elegance without hurry, gentle as a gliding swan in its lake, and the poet's words "vera incessu patuit Dea" fit her well. She wore an elegant scarlet bustle of a foreign style with long skirts which draped down to her ankles, in luxury quite unbefitting the servants of the gods, liberally scotched with satin and lace. Her presence carried an air at once august and yet warmly familiar as though one's childhood friend had become a finished lady after years of separation.

To my mother I drew a graceful curtsy and she welcomed me with a warm kiss on the cheek. Then she drew me by the hand to introduce this striking woman of genial air to me, or so I fancied at first. "Madame ambassador, may I present my daughter Summerlyn Katalina, Princess of Theraveria, Archiduchesse of Ile de Thierry, Marquise of Wurttem-Heimbourg, Comtesse of ..." and so on through my various titles of precedence as I struggled to restrain my expression from betraying my surprise. For those of you my readers unaccustomed to the diplomatic protocol, decorum demanded that an ambassador should be presented to me and not I to her; furthermore it is proper for a herald to give my titles to the emissary, and that she should give me hers on her card. For my own mother the queen to handle introductions could be interpreted as none other than an immense honor for this dignitary of the goddess. As princess and hostess I inclined my head in acknowledgement of the introduction. Then it became her turn and mother turned to me. "Summerlyn, this is Lady Renia Sundalicia, plenipotentiary to the goddess Merphomenee." The lady curtsied elegantly with perfect aplomb; Miss Manners herself could do no finer.

As I could not tarry for long, mother kept me just enough to fulfill the obligations of courtesy before I asked to be excused that I might resume my lessons. Lady Renia did not mingle with the wives of the other ambassadors to the court of Theraveria. Instead she preferred to dine in the solitude of her own room in the Foreign Gallery within the city, often with a guest present. Our paths occasionally crossed within the palace grounds during which she exchanged pleasantries with surprising warmth. She evinced great interest in the royal library, devouring books and reports alike with voracious abandon. Sir Merrimont Lachaveur, a cavalryman who figures prominently in this account, mentioned to me that she spoke at length with the various royal ministers regarding their departments, especially concerning matters of population, trade, and agriculture where she asked questions both broad and incisive. All, that is, except for matters pertaining to the army and the practice of religion, to which she displayed no interest.

I learned from the palace courtiers that the ambassador had arrived to pave the way for her goddess' entrance into Theraveria. To this end she planned the construction of a great portal named the Goddess' Gate outside of the city, the costs and labor to be supplied by our people. When I asked mother how she had come to us, mother told me that she and the king had both seen the goddess beckoning to them in dreams.

A fortnight after our initial introduction, on mother's suggestion I extended an invitation for Lady Renia to dine informally with me for Monday luncheon. As hostess I wore a conservatively-cut light blue blouse with long sleeves and elbow gloves, a matching calf-length white skirt, modestly dark gray stockings and low black pumps. Our luncheon being an informal affair, I wore no tiara or jewelry save for a simple signet ring. When the butler announced Lady Renia, I stood to receive my guest and invited her to share a table with me in the seclusion of the royal gardens, where tea and pastries could be served before the orderlies retreated to a discreet distance.

Lady Renia immediately favored me with a familiar smile as she curtsied. "Your Serene Highness honors me with this invitation." Two of my guards, uniformed hussars from the King's Own Cavalry, escorted us to our seats and pulled the chairs.

Genially I returned the compliment. "On the contrary, Madame ambassador honors us by adopting our fashions," I replied, and was gratified to see her smile widen. Lady Renia had donned a day dress embroidered in Theraverian fashion with artistic silver filigree worked along the hems and sleeves set against a highly contrasting dark cerulean dyed wool. Even her fingernails had been painted with expertly-applied turquoise polish and her cheeks reddened with a hint of blush. She had experimented with Theraverian dyes in her eyeshadow as well, although Renia applied a faint violet contour above her eyelids in cleverly subdued fashion rather than the bolder makeup favored by the ladies of the court. I felt inspired to lift a cup of tea for a toast. "To your health, Ambassador Sundalicia."

She accepted the toast and offered one in return. "To lovely Theraveria and its equally beautiful Princess Katalina."

I will not bore you, reader of mine, with the pleasant gossip that Lady Renia and I shared over tea and biscuits as regarding women's fashions in Theraveria and the surrounding principalities, save to mention that she showed great interest in contemporary formal shoes. We shared our opinions freely as topics turned to family and drifted to country, for conversation will meander like a slow river flowing unhurriedly to the sea. She gave her thoughts frankly to me. "A lady," so she remarked, "ought to wear her slippers as a statement. Subtly, of course; discerningly, yes; but conveying a message all the same to those with the wisdom to perceive it." I inquired of her home; she informed me that a queen reigned in her demesne, but of course the goddess ruled over all. We spoke of my father King Marchand, of mother, and of my younger brother Crown Prince Charlemont Hafarlin. "And do you not think it strange that a boy should inherit this kingdom over his elder sister merely by being born a man, as if it made him wiser?" Lady Renia asked with an innocent smile.

"I've no desire to reign in my own right," I replied, which was undoubtedly the truth when I spoke it. "A crown is a heavy burden."

"And yet your breeding and your education - to say nothing of native wit and intelligence - have well-prepared you to do so," Lady Renia rejoined. The former I could not deny, for it was true that my royal father insisted that I should be learned in the arts of statecraft and diplomacy. But a military and magical education was still held unseemly for a lady, whereas my brother had been commissioned as an honorary officer in the 4th Dragoons when he was twelve. "I am told that several princes have offered suit for your hand in marriage?"

The question caught me off guard momentarily. "Indeed, and my father must arrange a match to the advantage of Theraveria," I replied, keenly aware that the topic had strayed into territory teetering on the brink of impropriety for an informal luncheon.

"Ever the lament of a princess," Renia murmured in sympathy. "In the lands under the goddess' sway, women are free to wed for love, even she who inherits royal blood. Whom does your heart fancy? Your Serene Highness may entrust me with your confidentiality which I shall never betray."

I knew the answer to that question and her smile appeared so warm and genuine that I did not doubt her for a moment. "My childhood friend Sir Merrimont, but affection must needs yield to duty." Three years my senior and third scion of a minor landed esquire, Merrimont Lachaveur had matured into a dashing captain of the Imperial Guard. Renowned for bravery in the field and chivalry in the hearth to the point every maiden of eligibility seemed to have designs on him. Handsome gentlemen Theraveria possessed in abundance; Merrimont instead looked as beautiful as any girl, prettier perhaps than even me. And yet to be his wife would bestow no political advantage upon Theraveria, indeed would operate greatly to the detriment of a king no longer able to dangle the prospect of a political marriage to his rivals. Doubtlessly the diplomat seated across from me understood that.

Lady Renia stirred her tea with a spoon, bringing the utensil to her lips to sample the taste. "Does he return your affection? Would you consider the other suitors?"

I paused with a slice of brioche in hand. "Classe sociale est un mur entre nous. I am ... very fond of him, for he has been like a brother to me ever since we were young. But I am a princess and he a soldier in the Imperial Army, hence whatsoever affection he may feel for myself he is far too honorable to voice, nor would I wish to compromise him with longing for a woman whose station renders her unattainable. Is not the bond of propriety so very cruel, Mademoiselle Sundalicia?" Then I methodically named off my other suitors: kings, princes, dukes. Men of many years, men already married and known for infidelity, enemies of Theraveria ambitious to possibly place their own sons on the throne ... Lady Renia slipped my hand into hers across the table and murmured sympathetically as I unburdened myself to her. "Three successive wars in the past fifteen years have greatly weakened Theraveria. Our soldiers have fought five great battles in that time," I informed Lady Renia, "and emerged worsted in three, the latest a scant year ago which left six thousand dead, another thirty thousand hors de combat, and the dignity of the nation tarnished by defeat. The crown has emptied the treasury of nearly twenty million thalers in these conflicts and the people are wearied of war."

"And by the terms of a leonine peace, Theraveria ceded a populous province rich in mineral wealth and strategically situated for trade, was made to bear a further indemnity of eight million thalers, and must provide forage and provender for Brabant's further wars of conquest. All while diseases winnowed the army and opportunistic neighbors greedily eyed her remaining lands. A heavy price indeed to pay that she might conclude a war she neither desired nor provoked," Lady Renia said as though continuing my own thoughts. "How odiously wasteful such conflicts prove! In the lands where the worship of the goddess holds sway, warfare is forbidden and she directly adjudicates feuds between nations herself, giving wisdom to the monarchs and prosperity to the people." She then discoursed at length upon the many advantages enjoyed by the principalities and domains ruled by the goddess Merphomenee. As she described it, want and privation were unknown in those lands; the citizens feared no conflict; the blessings of the goddess staved off sickness; and she kept the climate mild. Each year the harvest was always plentiful and certain, devoured by neither hail nor locust, and a grateful populace sent its envoys to bring tribute to their benevolent deity. So gracious was Merphomenee that she would even decline the offerings she judged insufficient and return them. The ambassador of the goddess painted a picture of a golden age in which her people lived. What a fool I was, to believe the truth in her words without sifting them more carefully for the heinous lies that they concealed!

So fascinating did I find my companion's conversation, so charming her intellect and so all-embracing her knowledge of worldly affairs that we spoke nigh on two hours and still parted with the greatest reluctance when propriety demanded that our respective duties could be deferred no longer. Despite our differences in age, with Lady Renia near ten years my senior, we quickly became companions and confidants. Within a month she brought books for me to peruse at leisure. She paid assiduous attention to high fashion in Louelle, carefully observing how the great ladies of the court dressed, and became the progenitor of a trend of her own when the weaving guilds of Louelle hastened to imitate her Illyrican style. By this time we addressed each other on first-name basis when alone, maintaining a facade of decorum in the public eye.

One evening she entered my bedroom, escorted to the door by my maidservants. "I brought more reading for Your Serene Highness," she confided to me, whereupon my maids placed a number of tomes upon my desk stand. After they had withdrawn with genuflections and closed the door, Renia seated herself behind my cushion and began to brush my hair. At the time I wore my blonde tresses down to my waist when my hair was not tied. Renia fingered a few strands as she brushed slowly and carefully. "What lovely hair you have! How I wish to see myself wearing it," she sighed wistfully as she worked.

"Thank you, Renia. I wash it every other day with aloes and crushed alum mixed in a little honey. The court alchemist rendered his most solemn assurances to me that it is guaranteed to produce a shade of hair en vrai or. What books have you brought today?"

"A primer on transformational magics, a popular novel written by a fin de siècle author on the Allemagnian nobility, the Comte de Vaubrois' treatise on mercantile policy for nations without a navy, divers collected letters written by King Laudamais - I am told he was the greatest ruler and lawgiver of Brabant - and Monsieur Jelloit's first play, The Gilded Birds of Wind-Upon-Avenlee. And a few more essays and books of interest. A princess must be clever, witty and sophisticated, Summerlyn my dear, and I hope my selection will help expand your mind. I know you are well-occupied by your lessons in riding and dance and singing, but please have some of these works read to you as you are able."

I tilted my head to let Renia untangle a skein of hair which had knotted up. "Could I prevail upon you to accompany me on my rides and read to me?"

"It would give me great pleasure to do so, Summerlyn, but diplomatic functions and the necessity of constructing the magical gate demand my attention. Perhaps after the goddess has crossed the threshold of this world we may have more leisure to spend on such diversions. The goddess will have no further use for me once she steps through."

That last sentence gave me pause. I turned to look up at the emissary's face. "Why do you say that, Renia? Surely she would require ambassadors to all the nations surrounding Theraveria?"

"I would not reuse this vessel when the goddess has many eligible bodies to choose," Renia mentioned cryptically. After a few more moments spent in small talk she departed my boudoir, leaving me with the books and her puzzling words weighing on my thoughts. That night I felt too weary to read through the books brought to me, so five days passed before I found a note concealed between the pages of a codex as I leafed through the tomes. Written in Renia's elegant hand, it requested me to clandestinely invite her after hours for training in the magical arts. Reader of mine, can you imagine how my stomach churned and my head fluttered upon receiving this note? She ought to have petitioned the king to permit her to teach me such arts; in my hand I held unmistakable proof of sedition, enough to warrant expelling her outright from Theraveria. Sensible to the possibility of its discovery, I immediately burned the card after committing its content to memory.

A few days after the summer solstice, we both attended the same ball to take place on the hors de la ville estate of the Duc d'Estang. For many a young lady of high social standing in Louelle this ball ranked as one of the most anticipated invitations of the year, for the Duc belonged to an exclusive social assembly whose membership was restricted to those who could afford the high fees, maintain the stringent wardrobe requirements, and possessed the necessary leisure time to devote to the highly technical dances. Being commonly considered a momentous opportunity to meet suitors equally young and very rich by beauteous young maidens of impeccable pedigree, competition for one of the limited invitation slots oft waxed fierce. After all, in the words of the novelist: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must in want of a wife." - this thought being fixed so firmly in the minds of the daughters of the aristocracy as to be considered common property, or indeed common propriety. To debut in an event of such exclusivity instantly elevated any girl nearly to the head of the social season. Having become an eligible lady myself at the acceptable age of sixteen I had been invited every annum since my debutante ball, often half a year in advance of the actual event. Lady Renia's invitation by contrast must necessarily have been a recent one.

Rigid etiquette governed every behavior at the ball from choice of escort to who could partake of which refreshments, extending naturally of course to a princess' wardrobe. Girls being introduced to formal society were required to wear long white gowns with floor-length hems and white satin elbow gloves; in contrast, dress decorum for a non-debutante such as myself demanded dark colors, although white or gold would be accepted as an accent in my dresses. The royal treasury had spent nearly four hundred thalers for the five dresses and five pairs of shoes I would need tonight, commissioned months in advance from some of Louelle's most prestigious dressmaker's shops. In Theraverian tradition a girl is permitted as a concession to practicality to re-use her dresses provided they were previously worn to a more prestigious dance - as such I expected to see a few of my coterie in the dresses they had worn to my debutante fete. My escort, M. Fonteaubleau the brother of the king, arrived at evening in a drawn carriage to take me to the event.

As one of the wealthiest aristocrats of Theraveria, the Duc d'Estang's estate sprawled over much of the countryside north of the city. The front gardens spanned several furlongs of impeccably maintained topiary bushes and flowers, easily dwarfing the royal gardens in the city for sheer breadth. Broad lanes of paved cobblestones allowed our coaches to be drawn through the wide gates and right up to the grand entrance of the mansion, a sprawling manor some three stories in total with a classical-style face and ornate double doors atop a dais of twelve marble steps. The Duc and Duchesse d'Estang stood at the top to welcome each invitee upon arrival, the Duc greeting me as "Princess Katalina" with a bow and his wife embracing me. The roses and dahlias outside had bloomed to full, filling the air with a pleasant fragrance from the gardens.

Escorted by Uncle Fonteaubleau, I encountered Lady Renia inside the manor where she had arrived earlier on the arm of her companion. She wore a tight, dark red Theraverian evening gown with a low cut neckline and a silver sash draped over one shoulder to her hip, a necklace of garnets prominent on her bosom, matching earrings, and I surmised a high pair of slippers from the way her feet clicked on the floors. I admired her effortless elegance for a moment and waited until she had finished her current conversation before I stepped up to her. Renia immediately dipped a polite curtsy. "What a lovely lily Your Serene Highness wears tonight," she smiled, seeing the flower braided into my hair, which she had asked me to wear as a signal that I accepted her invitation to learn magic from her.

The interior of the mansion contained every luxury known to Theraverian high society, filled with expensive wooden furniture carved from all kinds of timber. From the spacious main foyer a grand staircase with ivory balustrades led above to the upper floors. I paused to admire the duke's collection of Classical-era art, expressed in marble sculptures and oil paintings which lined the walls. Candlelight glittered off a thousand tapers set into the ornate glass chandeliers above, and some of the cerulean carpet beneath my feet clustered so thickly that I had trouble keeping balance in my heeled slippers. I knew my way around this manor from previous visits, noting however that the upholstery had been replaced since last year's dance with even more lavish decor. Walls of oak separated each room from the next, most of the walls being unpainted so that the natural grains of the wood enriched the interior with earthen brown. The wide ballroom on the first floor contained enough space to comfortably fit all of the dancers and boasted a floor of spruce hardwood. This early, even before all of the invitees had arrived, the orchestra had already set up in one corner and begun playing music. Liveried servants carried refreshments around on pewter plates and silver trays, politely offering fruit punch or bite-sized chocolates for consumption. The ceiling on the dance floor rose nearly twenty feet high and the great glass windows had been opened to permit a fresh, soft breeze to blow through, spurred by the efforts of a dozen conjurers whom the duke must have hired for the evening. The scent of perfume mingled with the scents of pine and maple as well as the aroma of roasting meat and baked fruit pies; I found the entire place most agreeable, and I saw Lady Renia drink in the details as well. "What a lovely, lovely house," she murmured in an almost melancholy fashion. "I must remember to visit this place again." The entirety of the interior design flaunted luxurious elegance in both quantity and style. Stepping out to the back porch, one observed a small stone-tiled pool, a large fruit orchard, and of course the stables and vast grazing fields where the duke kept his prize horses.

Lady Renia watched the procession of the event with great interest, this evidently being her first invitation to a debutante ball of such high status. At the commencement of the party, the host and hostess initiated the festivities by dancing the minuet alone on the floor in the presence of the entire assembly. Together the Duc and Duchesse d'Estang breezed through the difficult, technically-demanding dance, as I knew they would. I wondered if Renia knew the intricate steps involved in the minuet, challenging enough even without the high-heeled burgundy satin slippers she wore. Once the duke and the duchess parted, the debutantes filed together for their formal introductions to high society.

Each girl held a bouquet of white roses in one hand and walked to the center of the dance floor on the arm of her escort as a herald announced her name, the names of her parents, any titles she might possess, and any accomplishments which she wished to have represented before the assembly. Fourteen debutantes had been invited this year and I knew all of them by connections in noble society except for a beautiful young girl with lovely chestnut locks who turned out to be sponsored by the Salon de Rue d'Hiver, an influential house where the leading intellectuals of the day often gathered. Upon being presented the girl curtsied formally in three directions to the assembled visitors, accepted their applause, received a silver tiara from the host, and withdrew with her escort.

Once formal introduction had concluded, the men of the escort stepped onto the floor led by the Duc d'Estang and invited the young ladies to dance. This number belonged exclusively to the debutantes and their escorts alongside the host and the hostess. "It is a chance for the girls to display the dancing skills they should have acquired in preparation for their introduction to high society," I whispered to Renia. "See how gracefully they pirouette!" We adjourned for refreshments afterwards and received our dance cards: a booklet containing the names, times, and music for all of the planned dances for the evening, bound with a convenient cord that I could loop to attach to my ball gown. Per ball etiquette my first dance would be with my escort, M. the brother of the king. Afterwards I would be invited to dance by other gentlemen and a host of rules governed who could invite whom - for example, being the daughter of the sovereign, it was expected that no men of lesser rank would presume to proposition me, unless if a male relative of mine specifically introduced him and requested that I dance with him, hence why I had reserved the presence of M. Fonteaubleau. A lady would never ask to dance with a man, only receive invitations, though of course any sensible girl knew how to convey her interest in a discreet fashion. A lady who did not wish to dance with a particular man did not say no; rather she explained that she had penciled in another man for that dance, or that she intended to sit that dance out - and if she did not have another man written on her card, she had best find one! Conversely, a gentleman did not press a lady if she declined and simply accepted her decision with good grace. Nor did gentlemen or ladies sit out often, the purpose of the ball being to mingle in chaste fashion.

I danced from resumption of festivities, having to change through several ballroom gowns during the evening but carefully keeping the lily in my hair unspoiled. Renia danced too and in my opinion she danced passably well for someone who had so recently arrived in Theraveria. The formal dances concluded three hours after midnight and a princess could not be expected to participate in the less dignified country dances; still, I lingered another hour to enjoy the duke's generous refreshments and to hold pleasant conversation with many a handsome gentleman. You may infer correctly, reader of mine, that I felt acute reluctance to depart from that convivial atmosphere with its excellent company. Now that the memory of past Louelle fades, I am yet more reluctant still.

The next night I crawled out of bed and opened the doors to the outer balcony after my maidservants had extinguished the candles and taken their leaves. The balustrade rose up to my waist, separating me from a dizzying fall to the cliffside below. The royal bedchambers were located in the most secure part of the castle by design, the sheer verticality of the walls and the jagged cliff faces ensuring that no assassin in his right mind would dare scale the exterior. From my vantage point I had a clear view in daytime to the city of Louelle below and the surrounding countryside beyond, criss-crossed by cultivated fields of grain and orchards full of fruit in the summertime. The cool breeze of the night meandered through and kissed me in passing. Far below, the broad expanse of the Carbannes River glittered under the silvery moonlight as it placidly flowed past Louelle. At this hour the streets had been deserted by all but coaches and footmen. Beggars rarely appeared in the city.

Louelle, Louelle, lovely capital of Theraveria, how might I describe your lost wonders for those who shall never behold them? Founded more than a thousand six hundred years ago as a mere collection of villages, you rose from your humble beginnings to become the center of the Kingdom of Theraveria when the Luvian Empire fractured into ten squabbling principalities. The Age of Steel transformed your humble thatched cottages and provincial farmers into a city of brick and soldiers. Fourteen kings ruled your walls and lands, each leaving the city grander and more splendid than the last. From the Classical Revolution you were reborn anew as a city of stone and marble, your dusty paths giving way to the wonderfully wide streets lined by beautiful trees that were the marvel of Europan engineering just as your edifices excited the envy of Europa's architects. The great mind of Lucien Anne-Thierry seized upon the theories of modern alchemy in the halls of l'Université Venteuse, from the tranquility of Carbannes' gladed shores Ricard Leclerc composed his magnificent symphonies, and the marble sculptures of Placide Aguierre and his disciple Montevenue may still be found sprinkled throughout your roads. In my own lifetime you opened no less than two museums, a city garden, two military academies, a university, schools innumerable, odeums, theaters, markets, banks, salons of debate, and circuses; I was a girl of ten when I accompanied the king to the dedication of L'auditorium Populaire, grandest of all opera houses ever to open on our continent. Within your limits no fewer than four hundred thousand named you home. To your markets the world brought its commerce. And though our beloved nation suffered greatly in the Brabantine Wars during my lifetime, they never sullied the luster of your splendor - more than a mere city, you dignified Theraveria with a cultured soul.

This beautiful metropolis with its gleaming white edifices shone during the day and slumbered peacefully at night. Louelle did not boast the lively nighttime marketplaces of other cities; its distinctive nocturnal activity is the evening ball, often lasting until the rosy hours of the morning, and even citizens of the middle classes could expect to attend many in their lifetimes. The legacy of the Brabantine Wars had brought a militaristic bent to the city; it was no longer uncommon to see soldiers bivouacked within its walls or marching through the streets, though officers of different nations often dined in the many shops and cordially saluted each other upon entry or egress as though the Classical Revolution had not passed. Influential women still played hostess to intellectual salons and I shall later relate events concerning one. From this city came all the luxury that a princess could ever hope to covet: fine silk dresses skillfully woven by the seamstress shops, carved wooden furniture from the woodworking guilds, jewelry of all precious stones in the distinct Theraverian style, leathers and caparisons and velvets and satins and lace and gold and dolls all found skilled artisans in Louelle. I tell you this, reader of mine, that you may understand that some works of beauty are destined only to appear but once in the history of the world, and that when they are obliterated there may yet remain a memory of them that lingers. Simulacra which hearken to their legacy shall in due course arise to supplant them, but an intangible essence of their identity has departed forever and their artistry shall exist no more. Le corps reste, l'esprit s'en va.

I did not expect Ambassador Renia to suddenly materialize at my side as I gazed down at the city. "What a lovely sight," she sighed as she joined me.

I nearly screamed from the surprise. "Whence came you?!"

"Why, I employed magic, my dear Summerlyn," Renia smiled. The moonlight sufficed for me to clearly distinguish her facial features but I had to look up for I had walked outside in only fur-lined slippers while she still wore an elegant evening dress, a pearl-encrusted stole, and high pumps. I knew she had been invited to a celebration hosted that very night by a distinguished ducal house. How had she excused herself to appear here? A few diamonds glimmered faintly on her earrings. "My dance card is empty at this time," she informed me as though she had guessed my thoughts. "Nonetheless I must return in time to entertain a marquis at the midnight dance, a most authoritative gourmand but wanting in conversational sophistication. For that I much prefer Your Serene Highness." She pointed out the rooftop of the elaborate manor in the nobles' quarter, awash in torchlight though too far for the strains of music to reach our ears. "I have not enjoyed a view from such a vantage since I first arrived in Louelle," she murmured wistfully.

"Does it please you, Renia?" I asked diplomatically.

"It pleases me more to see the city up close, to ride through the streets in a carriage and enter its cafes with my own two feet. Lest I sound too sentimental, know that I rarely have the opportunity to indulge in such simple pleasures." Renia turned to look at me. "But you did not summon me for idle gossip. Magic. I am given to understand that you have an education in this matter, Summerlyn?"

"A rudimentary one. The arts of the mystical and the occult are deemed improper for a lady of rank, especially a princess - although such considerations did not give pause to the Comtesse de Rouillart," I mentioned, naming the famous hostess of the Salon de Rue d'Hiver.

"... I see. It is with the greatest diffidence that I venture to contradict the opinion of courtly propriety," Renia remarked dryly, her voice that of a woman expressing a polite thought she clearly did not harbor, "yet I insist otherwise. This deep and ancient art, so breviloquently condensed to the indecorous word 'magic', is nothing less than the primeval language by which creation is shaped. It is true that a mortal cannot match a goddess in potency or understanding, but why should she not dip her toes in the fountain in which a divinity bathes? Come Summerlyn, I shall teach you what I know and you shall be educated no less than the finest mages of the court." Renia slipped her fingers into her bosom and lifted an object which she held out for me to inspect.

Unaccustomed to its size, I did not recognize the animal at first, but when I did I gasped aloud. "Is that ... an elephant? How minuscule! Did you do this, Renia?" One might well have forgiven me for thinking it a mouse at its stature.

Perhaps my unabashed glee at seeing the works of her hands caused her to drop the last mask that she wore. "Summerlyn, may I entrust you with a secret? Promise me you will breathe no word of this to aught else?"

"But of course! As if a clandestine meeting to study magic was not precarious enough." The adorability of the shrunken elephant could not be resisted and I stroked its back with a single finger, giggling when it trumpeted gamely in a diminutive voice.

She leaned over and whispered into my ear. "My name -

- is Merphomenee."

 

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