The Matriarch's Daughter

Chapter Five: Echoes of the Past

Deep in the Beachwick Embassy, Thepa stood at attention, much longer than she had expected. She was starting to get uncomfortable, not to mention bored. Her shoulders tense and her gaze fixed on an oil painting across the room. Still, it was preferable, given the alternative. The morning interaction with the Matriarch was troubling. It was certainly not how Thepa hoped her first meeting with a female satyr would go. Before, she had imagined camaraderie, 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, each minute passing only to stretch 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, stand, and move before returning to the couch. There, she would read her notes before repeating the process, each time with mounting frustration.

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, Sister Thepa."

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

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

The whole thing reeked of a trap. 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. Which means she'd have no choice but to walk right into it. 

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

"Every youngling must learn," Matron 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, Matron Zelphina."

"Great," the Matriarch replied, her smile tightening. She patted the seat next to her, her eyes focused like 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. 

"What do you know of the Sisterhood?"

"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. So far, it was the most honest Thepa had seen in her. "No doubt your instructors thought it not worth the attention to address your proud heritage."

"No, Matron 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 with her free hand. "However, our foremothers saw the job as too vast for one satyr alone. To help in times of need or for delegation, they created the Council of Matrons. A group of females who could curb a wayward leader if an occasion called for it. With me so far?"