Chapter 2 Rivalries
The solid oak doors of the Great Hall shut with a resounding boom!
Celise likened it to the closing of a coffin lid.
She pressed a hand over the hard knot in her stomach. Standing in the empty corridor beyond the Great Hall, she gazed sightlessly at the floral wallpaper. She felt utterly blindsided.
Attend a gala? she thought. Has my lord father lost his mind?
Celise didn’t consider herself truly part of the Dhastel family. She didn’t often think about her noble blood. She lived in a room meant for a farmhand above the stables, and indeed, she felt more like a hired hand than a nobleman’s daughter.
The Blackwoods, on the other hand, were the elite. She was unfit to stand in the presence of such a high-status family. She had no interest in dancing with the young duke or finding a husband of any kind. She was happily committed to her life as a spinster, and she expected to die an old maid.
This is a mistake, she thought again.
“Hello Sluggy,” a voice interrupted her thoughts.
Celise whirled around. Katrina emerged from the shadows next to the staircase.
She carried her fencing foil in one hand and her leather gloves tucked under one arm.
The buttons of her white jacket were popped open around her neck, revealing a cotton undershirt and a glimpse of her graceful collarbone.
Katrina had obviously been waiting to catch Celise in the hallway before she could escape the house. A gleeful, malicious look sparkled in Katrina’s eyes. Naturally a dark violet color, they glowed with a luminous light. Mana.
Celise shuddered—she felt a terrible sense of foreboding.
“It’s a shame you were accidentally named on the invitation. You’re going to cause Mother so much needless worry,” Katrina sneered. “If you must attend, I promise I’ll select my very best dresses for you. Only my favorites.”
Celise felt a burning sensation deep in her gut—a distant flare of anger. As a young girl, she had once sported a fiery temper, but years of Marcella’s beatings and Katrina’s bullying had taught her to hold her tongue at all costs.
Still, that fire simmered deep down like hot coals in a forgotten hearth.
She quickly pulled the wool over her feelings, tightening down on that burning core.
“That’s very considerate of you, my lady,” Celise murmured, carefully pronouncing her words. The best way to put off Katrina’s games was not to play at all.
“Don’t you care about what you wear to the ball?” Katrina mocked her.
“I have no desire to attend the ball, my lady,” Celise whispered. “I shall only go if our father insists.”
Katrina’s face contorted at those words. “Our father? You don’t resemble our family in the slightest. That bitch who birthed you was a whore and your real father was a farmer. That’s what Mother believes. You’re just a lousy, dimlit commoner.”
The burning coals in Celise’s gut grew a few degrees hotter. Katrina noticed. Her smile curled a bit wider. “Don’t think the duke’s invitation makes you one of us. You should make yourself scarce before the ball. Perhaps you should fall off a horse so you can stay behind.”
Celise’s shoulders went stiff, but she didn’t dare reply.
Katrina sneered. “I can help you. I’ll make it look like an accident. There are many ways to fall down.” Katrina’s left hand was glowing with mana. She gripped her foil by the hilt. A silver-white sparkle trickled down the length of the thin blade.
Quick as a whip, Katrina flicked up the foil and touched it against Celise’s shoulder.
Snap!
A sharp zap of mana struck Celise through the blade. The impact threw her backward. Celise was not very tall or heavy, and she slammed against the wood-paneled wall with a soft, “Ah!”
“Point!” Katrina cawed.
Celise bit her lip, already feeling the bruise spreading across her shoulder through her tunic shirt.
“A few more of those, and you’ll be in no shape to attend the ball,” Katrina pouted with fake sympathy. “Consider this a warning. If you attend this ball, I’m going to torture you every step of the way.”
Celise felt her control slip. “Perhaps I’ll attend just to spite you,” she said, her words pathetically soft, her throat stiff with fear and anger.
“What did you say?” Katrina snapped.
Damnable dust, now she’d done it.
Flushing bright red, Celise straightened up and ran down the hallway. She moved at a fast trot like an anxious horse. She didn't want to trigger Katrina’s predatory instincts by acting like prey—but it was probably too late for that.
Why did I do that? Why did I talk back?
She didn’t like turning her back on Katrina, not when her bullish stepsister was in a bad mood. The muscles along her back remained tense, expecting one last blow.
Celise didn’t have long to wait.
A gust of wind brushed her shoulder, spinning her around. Mana. The force of the push almost made her trip. She stumbled a few steps before catching her balance on a low wooden table at the side of the hallway. It was startling, but Katrina could do a lot worse.
On top of the wooden table, a vase began to glow with a faint bluish light. The vase seemed to move by itself. Before Celise’s eyes, the priceless object wobbled, unbalanced itself and fell to the ground.
No!
With a quick dive, Celise caught the priceless heirloom before it shattered on the floor. Oof! She fell, landing clumsily on her bruised shoulder, her arms wrapped around the heavy vase. She winced in pain, but the vase was saved.
Celise remained on the ground for a moment, her heart racing. If the vase had shattered, Katrina would have told Marcella, and Celise would have been whipped.
Cunning Katrina almost pulled it off.
At that moment, light footsteps echoed from the top of the stairs, and Heather’s voice called down to them, “Katrina? Do you have Mother’s copy of The Modern Lady’s Wishlist? I can’t seem to find it.”
Katrina glared at Celise, a look that promised more pain to come, then she stepped back. She tucked her foil under her arm and straightened her crooked collar. Then Katrina ran lightly up the stairs. “I’m coming, Heather! Just a moment! I was just dealing with the staff.”
Celise climbed to her feet and carefully set the vase back on the small table. By the time she looked back at the staircase, Katrina was gone.
She glared at the empty landing at the top of the stairs.
The Dhastel family was Luminous, boasting several generations of mana channelers. Unfortunately, Celise was a dunslug. She didn’t have any evidence of the Dhastel gift, which made her common—unfit for the ruling Luminous class—and less useful than half of the kingdom’s skilled workers.
Without fail, all of the Forsynthian aristocracy were Luminous, born with the ability to channel mana, a mysterious power stored within their physical bodies.
It seemed that humans were either born with mana or not; it didn't develop later in life, but appeared at birth.
The trait was passed down through bloodlines, but it sometimes spontaneously emerged among the working class.
Some commoners were born Skytouched, and it was considered an immense blessing from the celestial goddess, Valestra.
Either they enrolled in the military academy as soon as they turned sixteen, or they attended special schools to apply their mana to a trade.
Some became exceptional musicians, seamstresses, bricklayers or other artisans.
But not Celise. Hers was a normal, ungifted life.
Her mother died in childbirth, and a midwife identified Celise as a dunslug shortly after she was born.
Many times, Celise had tried to prove the midwife wrong.
Young children often got flickers of mana in their hands before they learned how to regulate it.
On rare occasions when her temper flared, she imagined a sense of power gathering in her palms.
Just like she felt now.
With a bit of force, Celise thrust out her left hand as though shooting a blast of energy out of her palm, straight at the top of the stairs where Katrina had disappeared. She clenched her jaw and held her arm stiffly before her.
Nothing happened.
Nothing ever happened.
A few seconds passed. Then, with a sigh, Celise abandoned her ridiculous pose.
She continued on her way to the kitchen at the back of the house.
As Celise approached the door to the kitchen, a maid with a tray full of biscuits rushed past her.
“Out of the way!” the maid barked, almost slamming into Celise, who shrank back, pressing her slight form against the wallpaper.
Just inside the kitchen, a bell rang incessantly. There, a wood panel displayed almost thirty different bells. Each one was numbered. Each one was shined.
This bell belonged to Marcella’s room.
The mistress of the house had some meager channeling ability, though not as powerful as her daughter, Katrina.
Marcella couldn’t do anything truly impressive, but her powers were strong enough to frighten the staff.
A plate exploding in the middle of a tantrum wasn’t unheard of.
Once, the butler had fallen down the stairs under suspicious circumstances and fractured his wrist. Lord Dhastel had given his wife a firm lecture behind closed doors.
Laws protected commoners against that kind of thing—if Marcella were caught.
She was never caught.
Celise watched the panicked maid flee down the hallway with her tray. She imagined Marcella seated in her private rooms with her two daughters, the latest edition of The Modern Lady’s Wishlist in her lap, picking the most popular designs for their new dresses.
They’ll cost a galleon apiece, no doubt.
Celise detached herself from the wall and slipped through the kitchen doors.
Hot steam filled the air. By the mouthwatering scent, Chef Beechwin was making onion soup and pork roast for dinner.
The Dhastel manor’s kitchen sported no less than four clay ovens.
A butcher block countertop with eight cooking stations spanned the length of the room.
The magnificent, country-style kitchen suited the grand old house.
Generations of Dhastel servants had used it to prepare the family’s meals.
“What is it, child?” the chef roared when he saw her. He took a second look, then yelled to his wife, “Lilibeth, see to the girl’s needs. She looks ready to fall into a pot.”
Lilibeth was up to her elbows in a sink full of dirty dishes with a scullery maid on either side.
As the chef’s wife, she oversaw the desserts and breakfast menu for the household.
She wore a dress of light blue livery and a long apron.
She looked up, a lock of frazzled gray hair falling across her round face.
“My goodness, girl, you look like you’ve eaten a spoiled pepper.
Come, sit down out of the way. Chef’s busy. You know how he gets ‘round a roast.”
In the heat of the kitchens, Celise was beginning to feel more and more lightheaded.
“There is a . . .” she mumbled. “There’s a ball at Gravenmere Castle. It’s a birthday party for the . . . the Mad Dog?”
“Oops, easy does it! Don’t lose your feet!” Lilibeth took her by the elbow and guided her to the corner of the kitchen. Celise found herself sitting on a wooden stool with a biscuit in hand. Lilibeth patted Celise’s sweaty face with the corner of her apron.
“Now what’s this about a birthday party for a dog?” she asked.
“She means the Mad Dog duke!” one of the scullery maids laughed. “Don’t you read The Lady’s Letter?”
“I didn’t know you could read, Ivy.”
“I can’t, but Dasha can! She keeps us all updated on the latest news. Everyone is calling Lord Elias Blackwood the ‘Mad Dog’ duke!”
“Blackwood? You mean the Hero of the Realm? The man who defeated the Daemon King?”
“The very same!”
“I went to a parade in his honor after he returned from the war.” Lilibeth shook her head. “Oh, well, I can’t be bothered with that now. Celise is in a state!”
Celise spoke up, still lightheaded, “Marcella told me to bathe . . . to get the horse smell off . . . before the dress fitting . . . for the gala . . . .”
Ivy laughed. “Lady Marcella said that? She would rather lick a toad than let you attend a ball!”
“Shut your trap, Miss Ivy!” Lilibeth snapped, glaring at the outspoken maid.
“Don’t forget Celise isn’t like us. She’s Lord Dhastel’s eldest. If Marcella requires her to bathe, then we shall see to it!
Now start heating water for the soaking tub in the cellar and bring the Castile soap. We must assist the child.”
“Right away, ma’am!” Ivy called. She pulled her hands out of a dirty sink, dried them off on her apron, and started hauling a big pot toward the ovens.