Plight of an Empire

Chapter Twenty: Lisbette

Mynoa, Rundil

“It feels so strange to be back here,” Laelette whispered to her sister sitting across from her in the plush carriage.

Lisbette snorted with a nod.  “I much prefer how we’re returning than how we left.”  She rubbed the smooth velvet interior.

The carriage Lucien had provided them was made of a polished light oak—strong and sturdy, yet beautiful to look upon.  The interior was comprised of silks and satins and velvets, with pillows plump with the down of a goose.  Blankets of wool and cotton were neatly stacked on the seats next to the twins, all unused, but pretty to look at.  It was finer than any carriage their family could afford.  But they were sure it was nothing to Lucien.

The wooden and iron-wrought wheels rolled across the cobblestone streets of the city.  Outside, they heard the sounds of children playing, men and women peddling their goods.  They all carried on with their lives, blissfully unaware of who was traveling in the carriage before them.  The twins doubted even their driver knew of their identities.

“Not much seems to have changed,” Laelette noted.  “Do you even think they care?”  She gestured out the window.

“What about?”

Laelette shrugged.  “That their king was murdered?”

“Oh, they care”, Lisbette said as she sank deeper into her plush seat.  “The reaction given to us at Frostfall ensured me of that.”  The stones that had been thrown at her cage had been loud.  Loud enough to give her a headache that still has yet to recede.  “But they also can’t mourn forever.  They all have their own lives to take care of.”

“How do you think they will react when the Ice Kin emerges with his army?”

The thought put a smile on her face.  “I think they will react poorly.”

“A lot of people will die.”

“Only the weak will die.”

The words of the Ice Kin swam in Laelette’s head.  “Then they shall deserve it.”

“Whoa there!” the driver yelled.  The carriage slammed to an abrupt halt, knocking Lisbette to the floor.  The door opened, illuminating the carriage and revealing Lisbette’s state.  The driver face paled when he saw her on her hands and knees, her gown hitched to her waist.  He muttered some incoherent apologies, but she only heard the pounding of blood in her ears.  She pushed herself up, ready to lunge at the man and burn his face off, but a cold grasp stopped her.  Her eyes darted to Laelette who was looking at her with hard eyes.  A quick shake of the head was enough to stop Lisbette.  Now is not the time, Laelette seemed to say.

Without acknowledging the piteous driver, Lisbette stepped out of the carriage and into the chilly afternoon air.  The sight of Lucien’s manor was impressive.  Soaring walls of mortared stone and wood created the manor.  Though smaller than the White Keep, the Vangallen manor was easily a castle itself.  It dwarfed all the lords’ houses built around it, dwarfing ever more the housing of the peasantry.  The sight was a welcome one indeed.

“Bette, Layla,” a deep and orotund voice called.  Stepping into the cold of the outside, Lucien Vangallen descended down the stairs to meet them.  “Welcome, my dears.  Welcome!  I have been long awaiting your arrival.”  Though the twins were no longer in their dirty robespuns, they still looked like the commoners as compared to Lucien.  Clad in the black and jade colors of his house, he wore a quilted doublet with a thread of gold embroidered on his chest the twisted snake and breeches of black wool.  His smooth, fair skin was complimented by his tresses, a soft ebony color, and slate grey eyes—the signature of the Vangallen blood.  Soft stubble grew on his jawline and chin.  Lisbette had a difficult time understanding why her dear cousin, High Queen Audriel, would refuse him in her bed.  She had seen few men who could match Lord Vangallens appearance, let alone surpass it.  Black leather boots crawled up his legs and stopped just below the knee.  They plopped in the watery snow, melted with excessive use.