The Matriarch's Daughter

Chapter Five: Echoes of the Past

Deep in the Beachwick Embassy, Thepa stood at attention, her shoulders tense and her gaze fixed on an oil painting across the room. The morning interaction with the Matriarch was a troubling one. It was certainly not how Thepa hoped her first meeting with a female satyr would go. Before, she had imagined camaraderie and understanding, not the simmering hostility that now permeated the room.

Too afraid to speak, Thepa obeyed the sole instruction given to her: to stand by the door and wait. The hours crawled by, each one stretching her nerves taut. Across the room, the Matriarch moved restlessly among the plush couches and pillows. Thepa thought her actions were eerily younglinglike as she shifted the furniture in what seemed like a game of 'Don't touch the water.' Occasionally, the woman would look at her, scowl, and then move back to the couch. There, she would read her notes before repeating the process.

It wasn't until the third hour that the Matriarch finally spoke, much to Thepa's confusion.

"Perhaps we got off on the wrong hoof, Matron Thepa."

Thepa blinked, startled. "Matriarch?" she asked, allowing the falsetto in her voice to betray her.

"Please, call me Sister Zelphina," the Matriarch replied, oddly disarming.

If it was a trap, Thepa admitted it was a clever one. Refusing would undoubtedly provoke the Matriarch's ire and, if word got around, might even draw trouble from the Archduke. But something about the Matriarch's grin set every instinct Thepa had on edge.

"Thank you," Thepa ventured carefully, pausing before continuing, "Sister Zelphina. I am sorry about my earlier lack of manners."

"Every youngling must learn," Sister Zelphina said, her voice dripping with faux warmth. "If we are to grow as a Sisterhood, every single matron and sister must guide the next generation. Myself included."

"I'm eager to learn, Sister Zelphina."

"Great," the Matriarch replied, her smile tightening. The sharpness of her expression reminded Thepa of a wolf poised to pounce. "Have a seat."

Reluctantly, Thepa obeyed. The green and brown sofa sank beneath her weight, the cushions softer than anything she'd ever experienced. But the luxury did little to quell her apprehension. Instead, the Matriarch's eyes pierced straight through her, reading every guarded thought.

"What do you know of the Sisterhood?"

A good trap indeed, Thepa thought. She might get answers about herself, but she just wasn't sure at what cost.

"Very little, I'm afraid," Thepa answered honestly. "What I know, I learned in brief history lessons. The Beachwick is one of two city-states on the Isle of Esha. It is the birthplace of the Sisterhood and the Younglings of the Mountains. Unlike the rest of the kingdoms of Sainta, the Beachwick only allows females within their borders."

"Straight out of a book," the Matriarch said with annoyance. "No doubt your instructors thought it not worth the attention to address your proud heritage."

"No, Sister Zelphina."

Zelphina leaned closer and, with an unsettling tenderness, took Thepa's hand in hers. The gesture might have been comforting, had it not been for the clamminess of her palms, their damp chill sending an uncomfortable shiver up Thepa's arm. She resisted the urge to pull away, holding her composure as Zelphina's grip lingered.

"The Sisterhood is both an oligarchy and a monarchy. Power's focused around the Matriarch, me," Zelphina said, gesturing towards herself. "However, our foremothers saw the job as too vast for one satyr alone. To help, they created the Council of Sisters. A group of females who could curb a wayward leader in times of need. With me so far?"