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Legends
Book One: Casting the Crown
Chapter Three
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Eona blinked, unable to gather her thoughts as Lord Azir studied her. His narrowed gaze glanced her up and down, lingering for a short time on her feet and the worn leather that enveloped them. Cheeks growing red at this thoroughly detested style, a fashion clash that was frowned upon by those of nobility, Eona shuffled uneasily in her cushioned seat.
'What is the matter with me?' She wondered, green eyes locking with her father's own pair. 'Foolish girl, this manner is not like you!' She scolded herself for such unusual behavior, especially when in the presence of the powerful lord, but was hardly surprised by it.
When had her father, the mountain of a man sitting just six inches to her right whose intense gaze could strike fear within the hearts of even the most courageous of men and whose sharp tongue had both angered and comforted her over these long twenty years, become so...haggard?
Suddenly aware of a new pair of eyes—bright blue in color, and wide with curious interest—trained intently upon her, Eona lowered her gaze in hopes of hiding the pink blush that had slowly blossomed on her cheeks. As she dipped her chin, her eyes fell to the arm of her father's ornate chair, and on the hand that rested there.
Large, thick fingers wrapped themselves comfortably around the curved knob at the end of the armrest, looking very much relaxed. Rings crafted of pure gold, and bejeweled with the finest glimmering rubies, glistening emeralds and spectacular diamonds gold could buy, adorned every digit of the wealthy lord's hands. The sleeves of the simple orange robe that cloaked Lord Azir's burly frame were cuffed in fine white fur; an unlucky winter fox, if Eona ventured to guess.
She, herself, had a handful of robes with fur of some sort sewn into their hems. Even though they had belonged to her mother before the sickness took her and were subsequently a birthday gift from her father upon the turning of her ninth year, Eona refused to wear them.
A lover of animals from an early age, the young redhead opposed the unnecessary use of them for fashionable purposes and thus denied herself the same pleasures her mother had often indulged in. Her father, as Eona recalled with a slight grin, had been furious when she repeatedly declined to wear the robes, even at his request. At only nine, it had been their first true dispute; Albear, being only two at the time, had been too young to remember that one. But it had also been the root of her blossoming individuality, a trait of hers that Lord Azir was growing increasingly displeased with, and had served as her first lesson in the importance of possessing a strong mind and will, and later in the rewarding payoff of such when her father eventually gave up on his quest to make her wear the fur.
But it was neither the furred sleeves nor the elegant rings that drew her attention to those hands. As strong as they appeared to be, Eona's intense gaze noticed the faint quiver that seemed to possess them every now and then. She reprimanded herself for blatantly gaping at her father's hands in such a manner, but she just could not look away. Never in all her years had her father seemed as weary as he looked today, and this frightened her.
She was no fool; she knew that his lordship was aging, as everything in Antheria did. Her professors had educated her in her youth on the natural cycle of things, and she was all too familiar with the concepts of life and, even more so, of death. But this natural fact did little to comfort her as those brawny hands trembled again, ever so slightly.
'It has to be all this stress he endures,' Eona reasoned, eyes trailing back up to meet her father's narrowed gaze. 'Or is it something more?'
"Have the devils of Aldemier robbed you of your manners, Eona?" He spoke in a gentle tone, but Eona was not fooled. She had been on the receiving end of the lord's anger long enough to detect the hidden threat behind those words with ease. "Why do you stare at me so?"
The young redhead opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a wave of her father's hand. "I care not for your apologies, daughter," he started, holding her gaze with his own. His dull eyes were hard and accusing, but where any other person would have backed down Eona held her own, narrowing her green eyes to match the lord's penetrating stare. "A Trinity never admits they are in the wrong. That shows weakness, and we are not weak."
Eona shook her head, red curls bouncing from the motion, and her eyes flickered down to a jeweled hand. "Your hands, father," she stated, watching the meaty digits twitch before lifting her gaze once more to meet his. "Why do they shake?"
Lord Azir balled his hand into a tight fist and slammed it down on the armrest; Eona barely flinched. "If it is my health that worries you, Eona, then you need not concern yourself." He lifted his hands and rubbed them together, caressing both fingers and palm with tentative care. "I fare fine."
"Father," the redhead protested where most would have pulled away. 'Praise the Firstborn that I am a Trinity,' she thought sourly as her eyes moved between the hands that quivered every so often and the lord's stern gaze. 'For only a Trinity would be foolish enough to stand against their own.'
"I said I'm fine, Eona," came the firm response.
"You should not bear the stress of your duties alone, father."
"A Trinity does not ask for help, if that is what you are suggesting."
"But he will carry the world's problems on his shoulders until he makes himself sick with it?"
"They are my burdens to bear as a Noble of our country. You of all people should know that, daughter."
"Shaking hands are not fitting for a lord of your stature, father." Eona glanced over the balcony, watching as the wind scooped up armfuls of red sand and tossed them to the sky. "You should take on an aide to help with the concerns of Sternhelm and—"
"And a woman should know her place!"
The outburst sizzled from behind his yellowed teeth like a snake hissing at a hapless victim, and Eona's eyes snapped back to the lord's hardened gaze. She could feel the storm clouds gathering about the both of them, white-hot lightning preparing to strike as this familiar argument, an old wound that she was certain had nearly healed over, was beginning to rip back open. As they sat in silence for a few fleeting seconds, eyes locked in a silent clash of wills, Eona was almost positive that she could hear the stitching that held their anger in check begin to snap apart.
'Remember your promise to Albear!' She quickly glanced past her father's thick frame, eyes brushing over unruly brown hair and freckled cheeks before meeting the gaze of bright, pleading blue eyes. She was instantly reminded of his tearful protests from three years before, during one of the worst squabbles Eona had shared with her father, and her heart fluttered within the cage of her chest.
"Father," she began, lowering her gaze as she addressed the powerful lord. If she wanted to spare Albear from any further disputes between their father and herself, the redhead would have to tread these dangerous waters with care. 'Easier said than done, Lady Trinity,' she thought with a silent huff. "I meant no offense to your lordship. I only desire to offer a solution to help ease the burden that weighs upon your shoulders and maybe—"
"I know my place, Eona." Lord Azir regarded his daughter with a firm glare, biting off the last of her words with an abrupt flick of his jeweled hand. Then, leaning back against the wooden chair, averted his gaze back to the arena below. "As a woman of Delzengar and, more importantly, as the daughter of a respected Noble, it is time you learned yours."
Eona's eyes snapped back up to her father's aging face, but the lord refused to return her questioning stare.
'My place?'
It was fairly common that Lord Azir and his headstrong daughter quarreled over a number of things, most bearing little to no importance over the matter of opposition, and though these petty arguments would typically result in a short period of silence between the two, neither of them ever dared to cross the other by questioning their position. To make such a discreditable remark was to question the very authority of a Trinity, and as far as Eona had been taught—by her father, no less—that was the greatest insult a person could inflict on one's being.
Image constituted for everything in this life—another lesson from her dear father—and for that image to be assaulted and her place to be questioned by the very man who instilled such values within her was a hard blow for the young redhead to deal with. 'My place?!'
Not only had the lord managed to doubt her abilities as a Trinity, but he had also debased her as a woman of Delzengar. She could feel her anger boiling at his words; her temples throbbed as red-hot blood coursed through her veins like the raging torrents of a maddening storm. How dare he insult her in such a way, father or not!
"My place, father, is right here, in House Trinity, governing my people."
Lord Azir kept his head turned in the direction of the arena, but his green eyes flickered over at her for a moment as he sat in silence. Whether he had heard her remark or had simply chosen to overlook it, Eona could not tell.
Then, "Lord Dvikus arrived earlier today, accompanied by his son. You remember Paschel."
Recognizing his last few words as a statement rather than a question, Eona only nodded. It was no secret that Lord Dvikus of Dernhest, a fellow Noble of the realm and her father's most trusted friend for years, frequented their house with a visit every three months or so. And, though their regions were not very far from the other, the lord's youngest son, Paschel, rarely accompanied his father these days. In fact, the last time Eona recalled ever seeing the boy was on the eve of her sixteenth year.
"Announcing the arrival of Captain Daveth von Casvian!" Called the same young pageboy who had announced her arrival earlier, and Eona's gaze shifted to the wooden doors behind them for a brief moment, but her focus was concentrated elsewhere.
"We...played together, when we were younger," the redhead stated, slowly allowing her impending anger to dissipate. Where was her father going with this?
"They sit in the other balcony there." Lord Azir waved absently in the direction of the shaded box on the opposite side of the arena's stone walls. Eona did not bother to look; she knew its location well enough. "Paschel has grown into a fine young man over these last few years."
Though it was not directly stated, Eona's eyes grew wide at the hidden implications behind those words. "Father..."
"Lord Dvikus has requested your hand on his son's behalf."
Eona's jaw nearly dropped from the shock of such a blunt delivery, and her heart became caught in her throat. "Requested my hand?!" She sputtered, her eyes traveling across the sand-blown gap to the balcony on the other side. Managing to clear her throat but unable to still her pounding heart, Eona composed herself before continuing. "Was his...request, met with approval?" She heard the uneasy shuffling of weighted boots behind her, but Eona could not bring herself to meet Daveth's gaze.
"I have approved of such a union, yes."
"Father!" She hissed, whipping her head back in the lord's direction. His own head swiveled around to meet her gaze, the anticipation of a battle blazing in his eyes.
"He is a fine man, Eona, of fine stature and respectable status. You know him, girl."
"I knew the boy he was, father." She could feel her anger bubbling up again, heating her blood to a frothy boil. "But I hardly know the man he's become!"
Lord Azir wagged a jeweled finger at the bewildered woman, shaking his graying head in protest. "Knowing him is not of your concern, Eona. Your only concerns lie with serving him, pleasing him and bearing forth his sons."
The redhead snorted. "Those are the duties of a peasant woman."
"They are the duties of every woman, daughter."
"But I am a Trinity!" Eona spat, slamming her hands down on her own armrests with unusual force. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Albear jump at her furious burst and was reminded of what she swore to do before setting foot into the box. 'This...this matter is different,' she reasoned, clawing at the thoughts swirling around her head in desperation. 'This is my life! He, he has no right!'
"You are a woman, Eona! Trinity or no, you are a woman of Delzengar and as such you possess certain responsibilities to your country!"
"This concerns my life, father, my life! You have no right to that!" Her bewildered gaze flicked behind her to Daveth, hoping to find comfort in his eyes, but the stone mask he wore held no warmth for her, and his hard green eyes sought to burn holes in the wavering banners before them. 'Daveth...'
"I have every right to it!" Lord Azir exclaimed, drawing back Eona's attention. His eyes burned into hers like red-hot pokers; his expression was drawn tight and his nostrils were flared, giving Eona the impression of an enraged bull. "As your father I have every say in what concerns you!"
Eona tore her eyes away from her father's heated gaze; she had to, in order to hide the liquid pain that clouded her vision and threatened to fall. Her place as a Trinity had been questioned, her role as a mere woman had been thoroughly defined, and now she was to be betrothed to a man for whom she felt nothing for. 'Damn the Firstborn, that I was ever born a woman,' she thought bitterly, wiping away a stray tear with the light brush of a finger. 'Damn them, and damn the Trinity name!'
"Now," Lord Azir started, sitting back in his decorated chair and turning once more to the arena below. "I have given my word to Dvikus. You are to wed Paschel in a week's time."
Eona spared a glance up at her father before letting her eyes fall to the arena grounds. "This is not my place," she mumbled weakly, watching as the wind tossed red sand into the exposed eyes of those who were perched on the stone benches. 'This can't be my destiny.'
Her father did not seem to hear her as he cheered on the battle that was raging below; two lonely and vastly ill-equipped fighters, as far as Eona could tell. Not that she was paying any attention to the match, though.
"You will make a good wife for Paschel," her father continued, but Eona only half-listened. "Keep your insolence in check, daughter, for the future of House Trinity is riding on this alliance."
'Of course,' the redhead huffed with a roll of watery eyes. It was never about her own desires, for she was just a woman and a woman's desires mattered not. No, this was all a power trip to increase her father's influence on the Council. 'The burdens of politics,' she thought glumly, smoothing the creases of her blue dress with a trembling hand—whether it was shaking with anger at her father for arranging this sudden marriage or with a sense of understanding at her powerless position, she knew not.
Eona faintly heard the lord summon Sir Daveth to his side, no doubt to discuss matters of the state and the splendors of the match, and her heart fell to the pit of her stomach as she forced herself to watch the battle below. Five simple words began to form in her head, slow and hazy at first, until they were a solid sentence swimming around furiously within the depths of her mind:
"This is not my place..."
