7Note: If you are one of the creators of the original characters, I'm terribly sorry, but they have manifested beyond my control and are hardly the lovely people you invented.
Ecila gazed out the blurred window. She loved these rare days when she could wake up and actually enjoy the crimson sky surrounding the sun.
These days were dwindling. They had been since her father had passed on.
A shrill shout pulled her out of her memories.
"Cee, Mother is getting annoyed," a young voice said. Ecila turned slowly to look at the sweet fifteen-year-old. "She says she can't braid her hair all by herself. I suggest you got to her or…well, things won't be nice." The girl smiled and dissolved away.
"Damn royals, always showing off," she muttered to herself. She rolled up her coarse sleeping pallet and pushed it against the wall. She was lucky to have her own room; that was certainly more than the other servants had.
"Ecila!" a muffled voice shrieked.
Ecila was glad to be far away from the queen's chamber. That dreadful scream was surely enough to deafen someone.
At any rate, it was best to do as she was bid.
She bustled out into the hallway and found it hard to breathe in the sweltering air. This was certainly her least favorite part of Midsummer's Eve. The entire castle was engulfed in the body heat of hundreds of humans and animals and the heat from the ovens.
Besides that, this was her favorite day—and night—of the year.
It was Owal's Night.
Ecila looked forward to the full moon the Mother Goddess always blessed them with on this night. It rose until it matched the silver medallion on black ribbon around her neck.
The queen screamed for her again.
She sighed and pushed over a tapestry of a centaur being killed (honestly, she had no idea who decided the décor should be violent and bloody. It certainly hadn't been like that before her father died). A small brass ring stood out against the stone and she tugged on it. The passage opened, and she entered, closing the door after her.
From then on she had to trust her memory to take her to the end of the passageway.
As always, her memory succeeded, and she exited into the queen's gilded bedroom.
"Thank Chubo you're finally here," the queen cried dramatically. "What took you so long? I have to be ready in an hour and you're the only one who can braid right." The elegant woman draped her long, beautiful hair over the back of her dressing chair.
"Yes, Mother." She took up a lacquered brush and began working on her mother's honey-colored tresses.
"Ecila. I've told you time and again not to call me that. The day I married Mordecai you ceased to be my daughter. That's why you're a servant. I still can't see how you can actually like working. No daughter of mine could possibly enjoy manual labor."
Ecila suppressed a nasty phrase and continued grooming her mother in silence.
"Don't you have anything to say?"
"I suppose that explains why Lehcar likes to climb trees and swordfight. She's only your stepdaughter."
The queen turned around and searched her daughter's face. Her pale eyes glance over Ecila's strange features: her pitch black eyes that seemed to absorb light, and her ebony hair with the one white streak.
The queen turned back to face her mirror.
"She's better than you'll ever be. You know that and you can't deny it."
Ecila wrinkled her nose.
"Aye. Still, I won't be dancing with strangers tonight, and that's fine by me." She began to plait the silky hair. At the end of the braid she knotted a pink ribbon, and then placed a rose and lilac corsage at the nape of her mother's neck. The queen rose, and the plait swished between her slim shoulder blades down to her knees.
"Thank you," she said coldly. Even hatred couldn't rid her of her trained manners.
"Yep."
The queen regarded her and gestured towards the door. "Go help with the preparations."
Ecila smirked and strode out of the room.
Even if she hadn't known the way to the kitchen by heart, it would have been easy to find because of the aromatic food being prepared there. She let her feet take over and wandered back into her head.
There had always been questions as to who her father was. The former king had been as light as Ecila was dark. Her mother too was light in coloring. After several origin spells it was announced that she was indeed their child. Perhaps the only reason the queen had to hate her was because of her looks.
The kitchen door swung open and she squeaked as a pitcher of ale found its way into her arms.
"Uh," she said intelligently.
"Hello, Cee. I figured you would come down here," her friend Mitchell said. "Uh, you wanna take that to the Lord of Newshire?"
"No. You do it. I'm here to cook." She placed the pitcher back in his arms and went over to a flour-covered table. "What are we making?"
"Turnovers. What does it look like?" a woman named Babsca said. Her dark red hair was sprinkled liberally with gray, and her once smooth face was becoming wrinkled. Babsca, as well as all the other servants, knew who Ecila truly was, and thus who her father had been. Lyan Baird was best forgotten, but the queen was still very alive, and most despised her; everyone—at least every one of the servants—knew neither the queen nor her husband, Mordecai Lantega, had any right to rule. Mordecai had only the smallest trace of royal blood, but that paired with the queen had made him king.
Those who new the full story knew who should really be ruling Messana. And they knew the only reason she had been rejected was out of spite from her mother.
"Well. Third anniversary of Lyan's death," Babsca remarked. "Poor girl, you were only fifteen. That's far too young to lose a parent."
Ecila nodded but her face displayed no emotion.
"Be that as it may, none of us are close to forgetting good King Lyan. Or at least we shouldn't be," she said, directing glares at several guilty-looking bakers. "It's amusing that Lehcar still doesn't know she had no right to be princess. I'm sure someday we'll all recognize you as Queen Ecila Baird."
"I don't know if I'd rule even if they gave me back my birthright." She smiled slightly and flicked some flour at the older woman before going back to kneading the dough. The relaxed atmosphere among the servants was so much nicer than the one surrounding the royal family. She tossed the kneaded dough down and started on another ball.
For two hours she did that until her arms and back ached. From there she went to the Hall, where the dancing and feasting were to take place. She hung a few banners and then tried to hang the family crest from the wall. Suddenly her mother burst into the room with an excited squeal.
"My gods, put that down right now. Clarissa the Swordmaid, Mandaza Zodia, and Machel the Immortal are going to be here! Gods, this is so wonderful!" Then the queen scampered off in a very unqueenly manner.
Ecila blinked and turned to another servant.
"I'm sorry, but who in Messana is she talking about?"
¶
After a rather long history lesson from Babsca, Ecila finally knew who the guests would be. Clarissa the Swordmaid turned out to be a young woman who had braved many dangers to become the champion of the neighboring country, Mezzolo. It was said her legendary sword contained Dragonflame, and that she often took the form of a dragon herself. Mandaza Zodia was the ruler of Mezzolo (Babsca hit Ecila on the head with a fish for not knowing that). She was the youngest ruler to date, and was known for her amazing intellect. Machel the Immortal was, obviously, Immortal. She was also the advisor to Mandaza.
Ecila went over everything in her head as she waited on the servants' side of the Hall. The three guests were about to enter.
A fanfare sounded and the doors slowly opened inward. People skittered out of its way.
The three women walked in.
Ecila felt like laughing.
The legendary swordmaid was wearing trousers.
She could see the astounded look on her mother's face. Not only did the young woman wear pants instead of a dress, but also she had a look of smugness on her face and Ecila was fairly certain she saw a flask on her belt.
Mandaza and Machel looked far more normal than the fiery-headed swordmaid. Both wore long, flowing purple gowns—the color of Mezzolo—and had long hair. Mandaza was blonde and Machel was a brunette. Prayer beads were tied at Mandaza's waist; Ecila spied a sheathed dagger at Machel's waist.
"Welcome!" the queen cried. "Lovely to have you here."
"Lovely to be here," Mandaza said in a soft voice.
"Yeah, I've never been in Messana before," Clarissa said. "It's really nice here. A lot more peaceful than back at home. I've noticed a distinct lack of dragons though."
"Er…well, that would be because the dragons kept eating herds of animals. I had the army eliminate them," the queen replied.
Ecila sucked in her breath. That was a smart thing to say to a girl who frequently took the shape of a dragon.
"Did anyone think that maybe the dragons had to eat to survive? Because, you know, they do. If you send an animal to them about once a week, they are very content, because it takes a very long time for their food to digest, them being reptiles and all. Really." Clarissa smiled impishly and flicked her long red hair over her shoulder.
"Oh dear," Machel murmured. "I would apologize for my friend. She is very attached to dragons."
"I beg your pardon," the queen said, bowing her head.
Clarissa made a noise that translated to "I'm sure."
"Um, I don't suppose we could go to our rooms now?" Mandaza asked.
"Oh, of course. Ecila!"
"Yes, milady." She stepped out of the line of servants and bowed. "If you'll follow me."
The Mezzolians chatted among themselves as she led them through an intricate series of hallways that contained many pieces of bloody artwork.
"What's with all the blood?" she heard Clarissa ask.
"We still wonder that," Ecila answered, though the question wasn't directed to anyone. "My m—the queen put up all these after her husband died. Mordecai certainly doesn't appreciate them. I believe she did it to impress people." Ecila's face remained blank as she stopped at a door. "This will be the Swordmaid's room. The one directly opposite is the Immortal's, and the one to the left of that is Lady Zodia's. I will leave you now. Simply ring the bell when you wish to come back to the Hall." She bowed slightly and started off.
"We'll just go back now," Clarissa said. "Machel?"
"Yes."
"Alright. When's dinner?" Clarissa grinned childishly.
"I believe dinner should be served about now."
"Why would we want to skip dinner?" Mandaza asked softly. "We aren't tired at all. Really. Food would be lovely though."
"Go on ahead. We'll get back fine." Clarissa tossed her wild hair and looked extremely pleased with herself.
"I have the way memorized," Machel assured her.
Ecila nodded politely and turned to leave for a tunnel leading to the kitchens. She was thinking that her hair smelled of fish when she heard Machel say something.
"Thank you, Lady Baird."
For one second fear flitted over her face. Then she calmed herself down and almost ran to the sliding painting that covered the tunnel entrance.
There was no way Machel could have known who she was. But whom else could she be talking to? The queen was no longer a Baird. Besides, the only person who had ever been referred to as Lady Baird…
Was supposed to have died a month after her father.
A/N: Tada! This is a story I wrote in about sixth grade. I am now rewriting it and it is turning out rather nicely. I know this chapter is all BLAM YOU DIDN'T EXPECT THAT and you're probably wondering why I didn't save some of this stuff for later in the story but the honest truth is you're supposed to know that Ecila is actually a princess and she's also supposed to be dead. This isn't going to be one of those stories where all of sudden she finds out she's royal. No, she knows she is. And the whole dead thing will make sense later. Trust me. Right now I would really love feedback, because I'm kind of nervous about this story. I absolutely love it because…well I just do, and I want it to turn out perfect. That's why I need lots of constructive criticism. Ok? Thanks!