We•Will•Rise

Chapter One

Celebrations aren't my thing, especially capital wedding one's at that. Something about a woman being forced into an arranged power move just doesn't sit well with me. Not to mention when that woman is my friend.
"You will have fun," The Lord Commander said in his usual guff voice, one that I imagine would belong to a grizzly bear if they could talk. He looks much like one himself with his thick greying hair, now smoothed back and parted down the middle, and eyes that were nearly as black as they are brown, and a gut that managed to stretch every tunic I could find him. His shoulders, lucky for him, evened it out, being built wide like an oak tree. He's indeed a large man, with a fearsome glare and larger-than-life skill set that makes him one of the most powerful men in Adonia. Not that he would ever admit that. He's a modest, humble man. Possibly the only one left in the capital.
I roll my eyes at him as I adjust the collar of his fancy velvet coat. "I very much doubt that."
"Well, then you will pretend that you like it. The princess herself requested your presence, so do try to look like you are enjoying yourself at her celebration." He pats me lovingly on the top of my head like you would a child, despite my twenty-first birthday just having passed. But I know to him I will always be that young, wild little girl. His little lion as he so affectionately used to call me.
"I will, Lord Commander," I say mockingly, using the title he earned over the last year. He had been promoted from Sultan chief to Lord Commander at no surprise to us all. He deserves the title every bit, and at his age, he is no longer fit to be fighting on the field with the other Sultans. Now, he can command them all without lifting a finger. An idle position for me and for him. I no longer have to spend my days full of worry and fear that he'd be shipped back to me in pieces and he can finally find rest inside of the capital.
"How do I look?" He asks, turning to face the full length, gold trimmed mirror. I come to stand beside him, taking in my own reflection as well as his.
We both look like royalty. Him in his crimson suit coat and me in my pearl colored dress with the lace sleeves that dangled down just below my wrist. It's a great contrast to my olive skin and dark hair, which Leria had kindly braided into a bun. I look much like my father, both standing proudly with our shoulders back and heads held high. We share the same fierce, deep set eyes and skin tone. The only thing I lack is his thick beard and height, the latter of which I got from my mother. It's about the only thing I got from her besides the same high cheekbones of all Imani people and the same pointed nose.
"You look quite handsome, father," I lay my hand on his shoulder. "The ladies will be swooning over you."
"Oh, Alaya, you know better." He lets out a deep laugh, a bright blush creeping up behind his neck. "Now, let's go before they come looking for us. I'm sure Leria is dreadfully bored without your company."
At the mention of Leria, I smile. He's right of course. Not many people stay behind to speak with the maids, but Leria has always been kind to me, and I found that we've grown close over the years that we've been in the castle together. I guess you could even say we grew up together, as she's always been assigned to my headquarters since she learned the ropes of being a maid at the age of twelve.
Father and I walk down the stairs and hallways together, entering the massive ballroom just as a slow melody starts to play from the musician's corner. The ballroom is the largest room in the castle, built round with ceilings high enough that a giant could fit through. Tall, mosaic windows lined every inch of the maroon walls of the room, wide enough to fit a carriage, with golden curtains that pooled across the floor like liquid. It did its job nicely of being an entertainment room, and is undoubtedly the princess's favorite in the castle.
As my eyes sweep over the sea of people, I spot Leria almost immediately. How could I not. Her ebony skin contrasts greatly against the white of her maid gown and even against the skin of the others she stands beside. Her black, normally unruly, hair is done in the same way she did mine, the only thing she is allowed to control concerning her outfit. But if it was up to her, she would be in the most brilliant gown that she designed herself. An emerald green one, with short flounce sleeves and jewels lining the neck.
She doesn't notice as I approach from her left, squeezing past the other maids as I enter their little circle. When I grab her arm, she jumps, placing a small hand over her chest.
"Alaya, you little shit," she says, her eyelashes fluttering as she catches her breath. "You scared the daylights out of me."
"Mm, I did, I see. What were you daydreaming about? How Ellion Anderock looks perfectly delicious?"
She laughs, hiding her mouth with her hand. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to me, since all you do is talk about him."
"Well, I am a girl. Normal girls swoon over boys, Alaya, not swords and battleaxes." She says with a smile that highlights her crooked teeth. I shove her lightly with my shoulder.
"Not my fault my father raised me with pretty weapons."
"Only you would think a weapon is pretty." She rolls her eyes, but a smile teases her lips. She really is a beautiful girl, with a full mouth, willowy frame, and lashes so long and eyes wide and brown enough to look like a doe's. She could melt a man's heart if she tried, but she let her duties hold her back from happiness, as I frequently remind her. Not that she takes the lesson to heart or else she would have long ago let me sneak her out of the confines of the castle to pursue her dream of being a seamstress. And a damn good one at that.
"Have you seen Princess Amari?" I ask, standing on my toes to see over the crowd. If there is one thing I wish I could have inherited from my father, it would be his height. It would be useful in most situations.
"She's dancing with that dreadful rat Harrieth. Gods, if it wasn't wrong to hate her, I would."
I laugh at that. "I don't blame you one bit." She is an awful thing, with her nose stuck high in the air as if being born into royalty makes her a queen in its own right. Luckily, she only ever comes for events like this. She lives further to the east in Anderall with her mother, the Duchess Anna.
"Let me go find her and tell her congratulations. After all, it was her who invited me."
I tell her a quick goodbye before searching for Amari. She'd either still be with Harrieth or moved onto hanging around her new husband. Sadly for her and all others involved, I've never seen a wedding in the capital that wasn't a power move made by the parties involved. It sickens me to think Princess Amari is involved in that. She is a nice enough girl—unlike her mother—with her head on straight. She deserves far better.
I found her standing beside the food table, where lavish dishes are eloquently designed across its top. Tonight she wears a beautiful pastel yellow dress that falls off of the edge of her shoulders, a golden necklace with a shining green gemstone draping her long neck. Her black hair, much like her mother's, is done in elegant Pragos-styled braids. She stands alone, surprisingly.
"Amari," I greet her, and she looks up at me with wide blue eyes, startled.
"Oh, you scared me. How do you move so quietly, Alaya?" She offers a small smile as we exchange kisses on the cheek.
"I'm not sure," I laugh, though that's a lie. I have plenty of practice sneaking around the castle and being in places I shouldn't be. "Why are you by yourself?"
"I just needed a quick boost of energy." She says, picking up a cracker from the table and taking a small bite.
I raise an eyebrow at her obvious lie, but say nothing about it. "I just wanted to say congratulations, and thank you for inviting me."
"Of course, Alaya, you're always welcome, though I know things like this aren't your favorite." She smiles, one that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Something is bothering her, but before I can ask what, I hear a scream and shattering glass. We both turn just as the crowd parts.
My heart drops to my toes at the sight.
"Father!" I shout, running towards where he lays in the center of the ballroom, flat on his back surrounded by spilt wine and broken glass where he dropped his drink. His eyes are bloodshot, and the veins on his face bulge, reddening his skin. I drop to my knees and place my hands on his chest as a crowd forms around us, murmuring unintelligible words, or at least to me. I'm focused on feeling his chest, on feeling his heart jumping erratically against his ribs. I close my eyes, call out to that warm feeling that always lingers in my belly, the one that means death if used. But that doesn't matter, not now.
I feel his heart through my hands, healthy and warm. I move my hands up to his head, covering his ears with my palms. There. When I feel it, I have to bite back a gasp. This is the place where his pain radiates from. There's a searing hot feeling in my chest, like taking a poker to my insides. That's how I know it's serious. The worse the wound or ailment, the hotter the feeling. He may only have minutes left.
I take a deep breath, try to ignore his eyes on mine, the pleading in them to stop, even as his consciousness starts to fade. I know what I have to do, even if it kills me.
My hands start to warm at my palms and I close my eyes and focus on the heat of them, on the power that emits from my fingers. The crowd goes quiet, or I have them blocked out, I'm not sure. Time seems to slow, seconds tick by like minutes in my brain as I feel the pain start to abide, a searing hotness in his brain that could have ended his life had I not been here.
The redness in his face starts to fade as does the fire in my stomach, its only remnant of existence being my gasps for breath. His panicked eyes stay locked on mine. Panic for me, not him.
I just saved him and doomed myself.
The Healer arrives in no time, but he wasn't needed anymore. My father will live.
"Alaya," he says, but it's all wrong. My name is slurred, and one side of his mouth doesn't quite follow the other. "Run."
I look up, facing now the horrified faces of the crowd. Leria kneels beside me, though I'm not sure when she got there. She's looking at me, both in pity and fear. Fear of me or my life, I'm not sure. But I know I have to leave. I hear someone shout, "Imordal!" and I'm on my feet, sparring one last glance at my father as he tries to stand, but one side of his body won't cooperate. I hear the clanking of iron as the Sultans and Guardsmen swarm the area. I kick off my slippers so I don't slip and with one last glance at my father, I run.