Chương 142: Chapter 4: Before the Messenger

She slept well into the afternoon, until the sunlight, already warm and golden, filtered through the heavy draperies. She was awakened by the soft rustle of footsteps and the clinking of porcelain. Two maids were entering the room, carrying a silver tray. They were Anne, the redhead with freckles and a timid smile, and Clara, pale as linen paper, with jet-black hair gathered in an immaculate bun, familiar faces, part of the human furniture of the mansion.

—My lady, have a beautiful day —Clara said, her voice a melodious whisper— We bring you breakfast. Selena nodded, sitting up with a slight groan. She ate in silence, savoring the fresh bread, the thick honey, and the aromatic tea, simple luxury she appreciated more than any court banquet. When she finished, the maids approached with elaborate garments, ready to dress her according to the protocol of a countess. Selena dismissed them with a wave of her hand. —Not today —she said, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

She dressed herself, choosing comfortable and practical clothes: loose linen trousers, a simple blouse, and an unadorned quilted vest. Upon leaving the mansion, she breathed in the fresh air of the gardens, vast and tended with obsessive care. She walked without a fixed direction, letting her feet carry her until she reached the back of the property, where the stables rose and attached to them, the titanopod paddock.

It was a wide, shaded space with high wooden ceilings and a pungent smell of dry hay, acrid insect droppings, less offensive than that of a mammal, and aromatic resins used to keep parasites at bay. There, a man in his early forties, of broad build and strong arms marked by scars from tools and bites, was distributing piles of green leaves, dry grass, and grain mixtures among the feeders.

The titanopods, imposing insects of large size with segmented carapaces in shades of brown, dark green, and metallic blue, moved with slow elegance, their six articulated legs producing a soft rustle against the straw. Selena approached in silence, observing the scene with a genuine, almost childlike smile that rarely surfaced on her face. When she was right behind the man, she spoke, her voice soft so as not to startle him. —They are beautiful, aren't they?

—she said, without ceasing to smile— Their carapaces, with those colors… make them unique. It is as if they were beetles, but mixed with something else... Long, narrow in width, with those six powerful legs and those snouts with jaws that look carved from obsidian. She fell silent, letting the observation float in the heavy air with animal scents. The man did not turn around suddenly.

He finished depositing a handful of hay into a feeder, absentmindedly stroking the cold, smooth carapace of the nearest titanopod, which emitted a low hum of satisfaction. Then, he spoke, his voice hoarse but kind. —That is right, my lady. When they hatch from the egg, they are no bigger than an anurhy. They change their armor many times, shedding like snakes, until they reach this size. That is where they stop. They become adults, and they grow no more.

He paused, and for the first time, a tinge of philosophical curiosity appeared in his practical tone. —Sometimes I wonder if these huge insects… feel the same affection I give them. If they recognize the hand that feeds them or if they just follow instinct. Then, he turned around. His eyes, the color of damp earth, met Selena's, and upon recognizing her, they widened slightly. With a fluid movement, he knelt on one knee, bowing his head. —My lady. My name is Roland.

I am the head keeper of the paddock; it has been so since you were small —a small smile appeared under his sparse mustache— you used to like these insects. I see there are things that, fortunately, never change. Selena kept smiling, a warm and relaxed gesture. —Rise, Roland. Let us chat for a while. I want to know a few things. —Her tone was light, inviting.

They sat in the shade of a nearby coral tree, whose twisted branches and deep red leaves cast a mosaic of light and shadow over one of the many stone benches scattered near the paddock. —Are things going well in Terracanto? —Selena asked, looking toward the city that stretched beyond the estate walls. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Roland settled in, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

—Since the Grand Duke Valerius, your esteemed uncle, repealed the mayor's tax at the city gate… things have improved. Fewer desperate robberies are seen. The people in the poorest neighborhoods no longer die of hunger or cold like flies in winter. He spoke with the precision of one who observes and does not judge, limiting himself to the facts. —They have opened a small weavers' workshop near the grain market. There is more employment, especially for women. It is little, but it is something.

Selena nodded slowly, a pensive gesture. She touched her chin with her fingers, adopting a reflective expression. —I see —she murmured. Then, looking directly at him. —I was thinking of a few more things that would do people good. Practical things. He paused, and a spark of playful complicity flashed in her green eyes. —By the way, the tax business… was my idea. Roland blinked, his usual countenance of calm cracking with a genuine expression of surprise. Selena laughed a little, a clear and sincere sound.

—When I was living for a time at the Sacred Rest, people mentioned it to me. It was impossible not to hear it. She stood up then, bringing the chat to an end. —Thank you, Roland. For the care of these beautiful creatures, and for conversation. She bid him goodbye with a nod of her head and set off on the way back to the mansion. But instead of going inside, she headed toward the backyard, a paved area where the mansion guards usually trained or rested between shifts. The afternoon sun was warm but not stifling.

Selena stretched, feeling her muscles still sluggish from the prolonged sleep. It was then that she saw Fjora. The Nordic warrior was already there, performing a series of fluid and precise stretches, her body, a symphony of controlled muscles under her practical clothes. Upon seeing Selena, a small but genuine smile curved her lips. Without a word, Selena stood before her. An understanding passed between both. And they began. It was an intense training session, a shadow duel under the waning sun.

The blows did not seek to wound, but to test, measure, and correct. Fjora, with her lifetime of combat experience, was a wall of technique and power. But Selena was no longer the clumsy beginner. She had assimilated Alistair's lessons, the economy of movement, the redirection of force. In eight swift and sweaty bouts, Fjora won five.

But in the three where Selena managed to prevail, it was done with elegance: using the Nord's own momentum to unbalance her, dodging a direct blow to land a clean counterattack on a vulnerable spot, or maintaining a defense so solid and fluid that it forced Fjora to step back. When they finished, both panting but with bright eyes, Fjora could not contain a wide and open smile, rare and precious gesture on her usually serious face.

—My lady is very good —she said, her sweet voice contrasting with the fierceness of the combat just ended. —You learned to redirect my strength in a way that only a monk of Aelthra or a martial master of the Sál-Ttak Khelganor would do. You have grown a lot. She paused, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her forearm. —No one who hadn't seen it would believe you only began to learn barely twelve months ago. The praise, sincere and coming from such a respected source, made a warm blush rise to Selena's cheeks.

It was the genuine pride of a student seeing her effort recognized, a flash of light amidst so much accumulated darkness. She nodded, unable to help but smile in response, moment of simple and pure human satisfaction in the heart of the Solendra mansion. A week flew by, slipping through her fingers like fine sand. Selena dedicated it to exploring Terracanto with new eyes, not those of the terrified newcomer, but of one trying to understand the gears of the city that now, in a strange and forced way, was her home.

She visited the central market, a bustling whirlwind of smells, colors, and shouts into which she had never ventured. The varieties were overwhelming: exotic meats of mollucapra, of a deep red with marbling of bright fat, came from other lands; the waxban, whose meat was said to retain a buttery softness; the whole ornitura, a medium to large bird with multi-colored feathers at the tips and a snout more similar to a dinosaur's than a bird's.

Fish with strange names: the cirrophis, silvery and elongated; the ratfish, small and with sensitive barbels; the leatherfish, with leathery skin and firm flesh. There were mountains of grains: sand-wheat, small and hard-grained; the scarlet bean, of a vibrant red; cereals of all kinds and legumes in burlap sacks.

Another day, driven by curiosity and a desire for normalcy, she ventured to the restaurant"Nimora's Warmth Inn", a luxurious and elegant establishment frequented by merchants and artisans, one she had once sought with desperation. There, she tried a stuffed ornitura egg: the egg, enormous, boiled and emptied, refilled with a mixture of its own yolk, fine herbs, pieces of the same fish meat, and a local smoked cheese.

The texture and flavor were a revelation of delicious simplicity; an earthly pleasure far removed from the artificial banquets of the court. She also returned to the church adjacent to the Shelter of Sacred Rest. She looked for Theron, the priest with a tired face and calloused hands. Without saying many words, she handed him ten silver crowns, a significant amount for the maintenance of the place. Theron looked at her with surprise and gratitude.

—It is a payment —Selena said before he could ask, her tone neutral— for the water you gave to a thirsty woman, a long time ago. She did not stay to listen to his thanks, turning on her heels and walking away with a swift stride, leaving the man with the cold coins in his palm, along with a knot of memories and questions. The routine of exploration and small repairs shattered when one day Mendr, the messenger with the livery of House Volgthar, arrived at the Solendra mansion.

Selena was in the living room, a local commerce book open on her lap without her truly reading it, when the parchment was presented to her. Destiny had caught up with her again, after the well-deserved rest she had taken. She sighed. She knew it would happen; after all, there were powers superior to her political rank awaiting her.