Passing of the Veil and Crown: Ch. 1

Five Years Later….

The tension in the War Room was thick enough to slice through with a dagger. Mara squared her shoulders as she shifted in the wing backed chair that sat at the head of the table. Her eyes moved over the few occupants in attendance. Lavender orbs shifted from one feminine face after another, until finally her attention settled on the only male in the room. Restari, advisor to the Damina. He was the only man to serve in such a position in centuries. Mara’s mother, before she had passed on into the realm of the undead, had left Restari as head of Mara’s council.

There was a law passed centuries before, stating that no man would ever sit on the throne of Corania nor shall he obtain a position of power that places him above a woman, especially his Damina. The Damina’s husband held little to no power at all, only acting as a figurehead and perhaps occasional advisor to the Damina, if she thought it necessary.

There was a legend that surrounded the law, but not many believed the stories and counted them as nothing more then that. Coranians were extremely superstitious people, clinging to their tales of lore and ancient ways. Mara hoped to change that as Damina. Bring them full force into the future, to embrace equality between men and women. It was a radical idea to these harpies. The thought that a man could be her equal, but Mara, in the pit of her stomach felt the stirrings of change about to commence.

The men however, did not seem to mind the lack of power. At least they hadn’t until recently.

Mara shifted in her chair once more, pulling her posture as erect as possible. Her silver hair was pulled back into a mass of braids and ringlets that framed her face gently. A circlet of gold rested atop the braids, bright rubies winking out from the crown, a stark contrast against the silver strands of her tresses. A gown of dark ruby velvet fitted to her torso brilliantly, molding to her womanly form quite nicely. The room was slightly shady, the drapes having been drawn closed, cutting off the appearance of the sun. Not merely to keep out the heated rays but to keep prying ears from overhearing the heated discussion that was occurring before Mara.

“Grand Advisor, tell me the condition of my troops.” Mara’s voice was smooth like honey, a gentle rolling accent fell of each word and curled about the room in a smoky alto.

Restari snapped his attention upward from the stack of papers before him. Piles upon piles of reports regarding the condition of the troops to their north sat before him, near three inches thick. His face was pulled tight as if a great amount of pressure were behind his temples. Mara could feel the stirrings of emotion from each of her advisors moving along her spine in sharp succession. Ranging from anger to anxiety to hatred. Mara made a mental note to check into the last emotion when the business at hand was neutralized.

Restari cleared his throat, eyes lowering to the papers for a moment as if looking for an answer there, before those crystal blue eyes slid back to Mara’s.

“Damina, “ He bowed his head respectfully as he addressed her. “I am afraid I do not bring good news from the front. The troops are tiring quickly. We are short handed and recruiting is not going well. Our enrollment has decreased by seventy-five percent in the last year. The men and women are tired, and the supplies are sparse. We are having to severely ration out the crops that we can acquire. I have heard mummers in the street Damina. The people are angry that this war has last five years.

Five years ago they rallied behind your mother for better trade routes, but now they have lost to much. Sons and daughters are not returning home. They are discontent my Damina, they are threatening…,” Restari hesitated, his eyes moving to the papers before him.

Mara’s brows furrowed suddenly. He did not have to speak the word. She had heard the angry cries in the streets at night while she lay awake in her bed. She did not need to be reminded that she was losing people daily. That to much blood had been shed in this useless battle that her mother had started six months before her mother had passed on. Now, things were dire. There were not enough farmers to plow the fields. Nor were there enough men and women to keep the ranks replenished. People were starving, and they were angry with their Damina. But Mara’s hands were tied. None of the neighboring countries would help. She had sent emissaries to every boarding country, but they had either not returned or had come back with nothing more then empty hands and a tired horse.

Mara folded her hands before her and leaned forward in her chair, her eyes locking on each Matron at the table. “And what pray tell are we to do concerning this matter?” Mara’s voice was calm and even as she spoke, however inside her innards were in knots.

Mara’s gaze moved from face to face, each one sitting back in their chair, a blank stare on their face. Her eyes finally came to settle back on Restari. Anger settled over Mara like a dark cloud. She inhaled a breath and let it out slowly.

“There has been a proposal of marriage.” Mara was quiet a moment, awaiting a reaction. When none came she moved her tongue out to moisten her bottom lip. Her lips were dry, she blamed it on the heat of the room and not the nervousness that had been rattling her nerves for the past few days since she had received the proposal. Mara squared her shoulders again, placing the regal look she could upon her face before she lifted her chin a notch and dropped the bomb that was likely to set the whole room atwitter. “To a foreigner.”

The room exploded into a crescendo of noise that made Mara wince inwardly, but she kept the blank stare of before in place. Lifting one hand to ask for silence, Mara waited a moment for them to settle. When they did not, Mara came to her feet suddenly, the wing backed chair flying out from behind her and slamming against the floor as her hands smacked down hard on the surface of the wooden table. All thirteen pairs of eyes in the room slid to the Damina, whose face was flushed with anger, and whose lavender eyes were wild with anger.

“When I motion for silence I will have it.” Her voice was harsh as she spoke, the edge on it sharp enough to cut and yet so calm. Her eyes slid toward Restari. She could feel the anger rising off of him, and waves of shock from the others. The beginning of a headache pounded against the front of her skull like a hammer and she closed her eyes a moment, willing it to pass but it stood it ground. Such was the curse of an empath.

Lavender eyes opened again to take in the silent figures before her. They were solemn faced. Some lips were pulled so taunt that they resembled the smile of a jackal.

“Forgive my impertinence your Majesty, but that is against tradition.” Mara’s eyes shifted to Roxanna, one of the older matrons.

“Have you a better notion Lady Roxanna. Perhaps you wish your people to starve in the streets a bit longer? All of you live in your mansions on your hill, looking down on their misfortune. I have not seen any of you go without in these past five years. Throw tradition to the dogs, I will marry the foreigner if it will feed my people.”

“We know nothing of this man!” Lady Carina protested. “He knows nothing of our customs! What if he comes in and thinks he can take control of the thrown?”

Mara’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She leaned forward, her voice a mere whisper as she spoke. “You would do well not to question your Damina. I know what is best for this country, and no man shall ever rule over me. I am Damina Mara Kristina Draken, born to the crown and bound to the soil. I refuse to allow our people to suffer. This man brings troops and supplies, relief that we desperately need. To long have we clung to the old ways, it is time that we moved forward and not backward. I will not see this kingdom crumble over snobbery.”

“Perhaps Damina, if you were to invite this man here, we as a whole could strike a bargain with him. Perhaps he will accept something else beside your hand.”

Mara’s eyes moved back to settle upon Restari. Her gaze softened slightly. His anger no longer shifted through the air, now she could feel his sorrow, could taste it on her tongue. He loved her. Mara had known this for quite some time. She had similar feelings for him, had since she was young. He was not much older then she was, no more then four years. He was someone she could relate to. He had been her closest confidante since the age of thirteen, when she first took on the responsibility of a war torn country.

Mara felt more pressure at her temples. The swelling of emotions in the room hit her all at once and she felt drained. Taking in a deep breath to clear her head, she turned to face the thirteen people gathered. One of the matrons was about to protest Restari’s suggestion, but Mara lifted her hand for silence and this time they heeded it. The temper of a Draken was a terrible thing to face, and they all knew this well.

“We shall do as Restari suggests. In the morning I shall send a messenger to invite Nicholas de Ponte of Schema to attend a small festival that we shall throw in his honor. Perhaps it will get the people’s minds off of the war and onto something more favorable then revolting.”

“But Damina there is no food to use to prepare a feast for all the people of Cornith.” Lady Roxanna chimed.

Mara’s eyes narrowed only slightly before a devil may care smile settled over her full lips. “Then my dear Lady Roxanna, all of the nobles shall give their own so that we may celebrate.” Mara had seen how much the nobles wasted. Throwing lavish parties in which heaping amounts of food was prepared, only to be served by the same people that were starving in the streets. Instead of eating modestly and sharing with those less fortunate.
The nobles knew no shame nor mercy. They were a lazy lot, and Mara grew tired of entertaining their crazy notions of tradition and duty. It was time she started running the country as if she were Damina and not these twelve nags. Mara took in the stunned faces of the Matrons and before they could protest that it was unfair and not her right, she lifted and hand and gave a shooing motion, signaling that they were dismissed.

To Restari she motioned for him to stay. Mara turned on her heel and marched toward the other end of the war room, where a cluster of gold gilded chairs were positioned around a fire. Mara heard the door of the room slam behind the last matron, and with that she sank into her chair, the impassive façade that she held erect so easily slid away and she took in a sharp breath, fatigue showed easily across her pale features.

The sound of footsteps stopped behind her and Mara felt Restari’s hands settled on her shoulders and she relaxed even more. He had such a soothing touch. Sometimes Mara wondered if he was not some mage with the ability to heal. He always seemed to be able to pull her out of any bout of exhaustion she encountered, by just being near him.

Mara glanced up at him over her shoulder and allowed a small smile, but was greeted only by a impassive face. Mara shifted her shoulders slightly and allowed her aura to shift out toward Restari, in search of his emotions. When the tendrils of invisible power moved along his spine, she felt him suck in a breath and narrow his gaze toward her, but he said nothing. Mara was greeted by only his evident sorrow and pain. Her eyes closed a moment as she took in the feelings. They settled heavily on her shoulders before she opened her eyes and took in a sharp breath.

“Restari..I do this only to save our people. It is my duty as Damina to make sure that they are safe and cared for. It is part of the oath I took that day, nearly five years ago.”
Restari shook his head and pulled his hands away. “You do not have to marry this foreigner. There has to be another way.” Restari always had been the prideful type.

Mara shook her head. “Even if Nicholas de Ponte does accept something else as payment, I can not marry you Restari. We have danced around this issue for five years now. You are not of noble birth, and a Damina is only allowed to marry that of noble blood.”

A surge of anger snapped out against Mara’s aura, causing her to wince physically and to pull back the tendril of aura she had sent out.

“You speak of breaking ties with tradition and yet you would deny me if you are not bound in obligation to this man de Ponte? Live the words that you speak Mara, or do not speak them at all.” With that he turned roughly on his heel and marched toward the door, leaving a stunned Mara in his wake.