Carissa Tandiono

Here’s an excerpt of my latest Romantic Fantasy full length manuscript: Ignite the Firelight.
See this page for more information on the novel.

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Part I: The Protector

Chapter 1

Alethea

I was wrong about why the old kings built the drawing room so high over Dawnspire–

It was never meant to impress the foreign guests or high-ranking officials, but rather to soothe an Endoran ruler’s thundering heart in their presence.

Across the distance, the sprawling blue mountains stood still, unaware of the tiny droplets that had gathered underneath my palms. My velvet robes dampened that even the gilding smile of Queen Ishyana Orbiana failed to comfort a fellow queen seated across her far younger host. The forests and the River Morval–spectacular threads of blue dotted with silver specks splitting through the Endoran capital–calmed my nerves.

The marble glinted like crystal beneath my guest’s feet. The monarch of the neighboring kingdom of Meloris kept her features tight and guarded enough not to give anything away save for the radiant look that threatened to whisk the sun back into hiding ever since she stepped inside and smothered the drawing room with her regal charm.

After two hours, the older queen leaned forward and reached for my hand, already clammy and shuddering under an immeasurable weight beyond the crown sitting on my head–that of an entire kingdom and its future.

“We understand you’ve been trying.” Ishyana spoke, her tone dripping with grace, 

I held my breath, bracing for a rejection clinging to her voice. The discussions would have given a solid reason to reject my proposal. But instead, Ishyana’s features softened when she finally agreed on the terms of our trades–that Endora would contribute however amount of rocks we could scour in our mountains, textiles sewn from our finest seamstresses and that in turn, Meloris would ferry in their prized, freshly harvested pomegranates  through Morval River, one of our prominent trade passages flowing right through the heart of Meloris and effectively connecting both kingdoms.

Regardless the amount, as dwindling Endora’s contribution this season, a trade was still a trade. A symbol of alliance between two kingdoms. Many would beg to differ how the deal became sealed, not through the usual witty, amicable utterances, compliments, persuasions but instead pity disguising as generosity.

Only when the Queen of Meloris rose on her feet and swept from the chamber where her carriage awaited–gleaming of green and gold on the finest wood, a resplendent showcase of Meloris’ most-valued principle on coexisting with nature–did the coil in my chest loosen.

“Breakfast is ready, My lady.” Lucina, my youngest handmaiden announced as soon as Ishyana’s carriage left the grounds.

I ordered the Queen’s guards to return to their posts, leaving only two to trail behind me. Lucina and Amari, my other handmaiden, followed me as I was making my way to the dining room, where three other male faces greeted me behind the door. 

They stood to bow at my direction. I scanned the room, muttering good morning before pacing towards my seat at the end of the dining table. The moment I seated myself, everyone in the room, save for the handmaidens, squires, and guards stationed in their positions, plopped to their seats. The servants brought out the plates filled with food like pastries, egg, and sliced meat and placed it in the middle of the long table.

“Such a talker, that Orbiana.” I had barely begun digging into my egg when an elderly voice huffing his breath. Lord Silas Mordaine, my royal advisor, was cutting through his egg as he spoke. His short, silver curly hair was a contrast against his magenta robe. “She took some of your precious time away from something of much more important, all this for…pomegranates trades.”

“One pomegranate would still nourish one Endoran than nothing, my Lord. Every fed mouth is a step closer to sparing our people from hunger, to last us all until winter and after. We do want to keep our rations in check like last years, do we not?” I countered lightly, taking a piece of egg. “Now, what is this something of much more important?”

Monarchs had been trained to capture details slipped in even the lightest conversations, to sense and identify its urgency whether it could be raised right away or it could wait until after any casual agenda such as meal was over.

“Another robbery reported in the market.” The advisor broke the news. Another wrinkle was visible on his side cheek this morning. “Arkanos’ Herbs and Goods.”

“That’s a Quseran store.” I put down my fork and knife. Dread crept in at the sound of a store originating from the desert Kingdom at the furthest end of Verenthia. Our ally attacked at their foreign soil.

“Just another homeless, starving man, Your Majesty. Nothing to worry.” Lord Colyn Wynne–Keeper of the Coffers–added. His presence almost went unnoticed. “Threatened the poor man by lifting him a good couple inches of the ground barehanded, before he and his men came ransacking the store. One phased, another one moved like a flick of wind. Pilgrims, these damned Facades were all barely twenty.”

“This is the fifth time this week.” I concluded.

I didn’t need to tell that if the culprits fled again this time from the bored looks of the Lords. A shift of expression might occur should the different scenario unraveled. Our incapability couldn’t blamed because after all, these types of people worked in groups. They worked fast and more professionally trained than mere thieves and pickpockets. 

After all, they possessed what normal humans didn’t, or at least tried to convince them so.

Their crimes had been perpetrated by people exhibiting inhumanely qualities to subdue their victims, namely Facades. These unique qualities were never theirs but were rather loaned through catalysts veiling into accessories–sewn in, strapped in, worn. A blink and anyone could have mistaken them as fineries or parts of garments.

Practice of trading and selling these catalysts carrying these artificial powers, had been banned ever since its discovery. But apparently, distribution in black markets still ran strong.

“Maybe we should assess the Royal Coffer again and ensure the needs of…marginalized groups are catered.” Lord Mordaine remarked.

“These groups aren’t deprived of their needs. It’s rather a statement. An attempt of provocation.” I replied.

But the real questions were, who actually perpetrated this, and why?

“It’s the Zyvens.” Amari spoke up from where she stood, more to herself, but the tall marble, pristine walls of the dining room carried her voice across. “They’re coming back.” 

“Ah, the handmaiden is probably right. Some telltale creatures are surely behind this. I suppose Captain Rynmar should launch an operation to suppress them then, what do you say, my lady?” Lord Wynne scoffed while stuffing some meat to his mouth in hideous glee. At the corner, the bulky, silver-haired man in a black armor barely budged but merely shifted on his other leg. He really wanted to be relieved of this room from the roll of his eyes.

My lips tightened, as Lord Wynne asked for my validation of his unfunny joke. “Zyvens, my Lords, as we all know, are not real. Perhaps the Facades wanted to convince you otherwise, but let’s not fall for it.”

I wiped my mouth and threw Amari a soft gaze. Some tints of the rose-gold smeared on it but the solid matte embedded to my lip paint barely peeled off.

“Summon my council after breakfast. See that we reach conclusions to these rising attacks before lunch. Hungry council members would be the last thing I’d like to deal with.”

The breakfast continued solemnly with only clinking of silverwares. But I only stared at the plate, watching the breakfast turn cold.

* * *

Years ago, I would distract myself with the sight of the flecks of light dancing across the pristine marble oval surface, watching the sheerness of it claiming the entire, large tabletop short before midday.

The dance of light across the table was way more entertaining than the overlapping tones exchanged in the room. Father’s voice was one of them, gentle yet firm and authoritative. When he spoke, everyone turned towards the longer end of the table. His back faced the large window where the glorious light poured. But I could care less of what these gentlemen could possibly talk about. Ignoring the heated arguments, I turned my attention back to the light. The urge to put my hands under it, casting stark shadows, creating puppets, would sweep me over.

Learning to be queen, now little star?

I blinked and the pressure so heavy dropped upon my shoulders, snapping the taut thread of memories and cutting it loose. I no longer sat at the side of the table next to the Council members. I was now at the longer end of the oval table, where my Father once sat.

“Your Majesty, have you been listening?” The voice of Lord Halvar filled my ears. My attention darted towards the Steward of Dawnspire. His tanned, wrinkled hand softly tapped on the cool marble. “Hunting those Aegys dealers would be most effective. We can’t risk another attack happening on the Endoran soil and tainted the peace our Kingdom has painstakingly restored.”

The voices that followed after were those of approval. The Steward had earned the majority of the favors in the room, it seemed.

“Who could be behind all of this?” Lady Elusia, Duchess of Windemere who also served as the Advisor of Agriculture and Public Welfare murmured, almost to herself. “What if–oh Pilgrims, are we ready to face the worst, should–should the perpetrator turn out to be our closest allies?”

“The Melorisian visit was a distraction.”

“Nixengrad has experienced the worst cold in years that deprived them of their resources up in the mountains. They could–might envy us.”

“–slipped through those crevices in the Northern Border. Our border’s security at stake.” 

“Endora has enemies?”

“This could mean war. The Facades are only baits.”

War. To think of such unimaginable scenario being mentioned in this meeting made my skin crawl. The only war we had heard of was even questionable of its truth–the cause of some mythical beings’ extinction, The Books told. Verenthia had not recognized any real wars for the longest time. 

Voices in the room multiplied and overlapped. The tone significantly rose as one attempted to drown the other. Accusations after accusations, conspiracies after another. I flicked a gaze at Lord Mordaine, who–like me–sat tight-lipped witnessing the bickering unfold among the high officials of this Kingdom as everyone tried to assert dominance.

“My Lords, please…” I cleared my throat.

“It’s a Divine Retribution.” A frosty, trembling female voice cut through the room. “The Pilgrims. Our Pilgrim, Miros, has unleashed a curse upon us, through those Facades, demanding us to repent.”

The heads in the room were whipped at the High Priestess Cartenia. As the leader of Miros priestesses granted a seat in the Council to represent the collective faith our people had embraced, her every word was highly regarded as a sign from the skies–from the Pilgrims themselves, especially Miros, Pilgrim Patron of the Arts. The bringer of life and light–to whom us Endorans prayed to. Every movement of hers was almost considered sacred, instantaneously hushing the room to listen the words of the holy.

“Nonsense.” Lord Mordaine scoffed. No surprise coming from a well-known skeptic such as him. 

“For the crimes of we once committed and concealed–” High Priestess Cartenia continued. “–so terrible our people suffered that they angered our Pilgrim. Miros has sent the Zyvens back to us as retributions. We must pay for what we have done, for what Thorndallhad done–” 

“That is enough!”

The slip of my own voice thundering across the room caught me off guard that the room stilled into an utter silence, quieter than when Cartenia was preaching. The Council members’ heads were fixed at my direction. Confusion and indifference etched across their faces. “I mean, I–”

These people are all at your disposal. My confidence was hanging by a thread, threatening to cut loose and leave me bare and just…Alethea the helpless girl. “My dear, honorable lords and ladies.” I found my voice again. The calm and composed voice of a Monarch. One they should have heard. My nails dug within my fist nearly teared the flesh of my palm. I must remind the handmaidens not to wear them on me next time. “There will be no war. I will see to that. Until we have gathered evidence on those orchestrating these crimes and attacks, I will not condone any sorts of mindless accusations thrown at our brothers and sisters across Verenthia. Any misleading thoughts, conspiracies, assumptions not backed by any concrete evidence could stir a misunderstanding, and I certainly do not wish to think where that could lead us to.”

You can do this. Convince them. I eyed at Lord Mordaine, masking my panic, and then shifted to Captain Rynmar. My personal security detail and the head of Royal Endoran Guards stood against my the wall on my side of the room. His face stern but a glint in the Captain’s weary gray eyes across the room ignited something dormant in my head. If anyone in this room couldn’t think of a wise way, the things shall occur at my discretion.

My eyes searched for Lord Mordaine again, begging for his validation. The distance closed the gap in our communication, and a flick in his gaze was enough to confirm it. As a prime councilor, Lord Mordaine’s role wasn’t as much to give out direct orders to the Council, but rather, as guided the Monarch to make decisions in line with all of our visions. In the first year of my tenure, Lord Mordaine would sit closer with me for consul. Now he did no more than just nodding in approval, raising eyebrows for questionable moves, or pouting for any disagreements.

“I will have Captain Rynmar assess this case closely.” I straightened up, feeling the back of my head meeting the hard cushion of the high chair–my chair being the tallest out of all in the room, a symbol of authority. The corner of my eyes caught Lord Mordaine’s faint smile and nod of approval. Our thoughts synchronizing. “Lord Malric, see that the trade routes of all borders and directions remain open as is, especially when the imported goods from Meloris are inbound in the coming week. See that the traders are involved and stay watchful. Captain Rynmar will relay further information on enhancing security measures along the passage.”

I held a firm, reassuring gaze at the Advisor of Trading and Economy, who had been informed of the pomegranates arriving through the Morval passage right from Sakhiris, the Capital of Meloris.

“What of your security, My lady?” Lord Kaelor Brawyn, Count of Brawyn who served as the Advisor of Arts and Culture, asked.

“What about it?” I faltered. A shudder crawled on my skin, knowing very well where this would lead.

“With all due respect, My lady, I’m certain you’ve also heard rumours about…you.” Lord Halvar tilted his head, studying me. The grips on his armrests tightened. Silence once again fell upon the room. “It may not be wise to turn a blind eye at those Facades, considering they may be tied to those oppositions.”

Murmurs broke across the tables. The Council members whipped their heads to each other and later at me, throwing me nods of approval in sync. Some even slammed their fists on the tables. Of course, the oppositions had formed the moment Endora realized it was about to have its first future queen. I was still in my mother’s womb then.

“Well, they are right, My lady.” Lord Mordaine muttered under his breath, twisting the signet on his finger. Lights danced erratically on the marble surface as he moved.

“Are you suggesting that my life is in danger, Lord Mordaine?” For being a female ruler. The noise of chatters drowned my voice. The problems with the Facades were yet to be done and the possibility of an imminent coup would only worsen them.

My lead advisor tightened his lip. There was truth to my words after all. “I’m suggesting that Endora isn’t ready to lose another Monarch in less than two years.” He spoke, this time tapping the finger on which the signet sat to remind me of his role on this very table. While he wasn’t the one with authority, he had the power to guide those with one. I thought those opposing my reign wished me to die.

I wanted to beg to differ but the weight of his words pressing down on me as they always did, sank me further in my seat.

“My honorable Lords.” My voice echoed in the room. The chatters stopped. “I appreciate your concerns over my safety. While I have never felt safer with Captain Rynmar at my side, I understand the pressing matters on the Facades will take some time away of his guarding duty. The Captain, Lord advisor, and I shall discuss this.”

My eyes swept the room like vultures, watching if a single mouth would twitch in another disagreement, bracing for another dispute. I eyed the advisor again at my side. The tapping signet finger had poised against the velvet fabric of his thick robe. A smirk curved on his face. The lights on the marble surface of the table slowly faded, replaced by the dull color of the smoothness, solid material.

“If there’s no further question, then this Council is dismissed.” I announced.