DAYBREAK
Stein Willard
@ 2023
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Prologue
Barcu Castle
Brasov, Romania
1785
The procession of carriages was never-ending.
From her window, high up, Elena watched with dismay as the queue curled along the road and into the woods surrounding the imposing castle. It was the event of the century, three hundred years in the making. Everyone who was everyone would be in attendance.
She sighed as she turned away from the window only to jump a little at the sight of her cousin, Ilia, standing behind her. The other woman grinned widely at having startled her.
“You should stop doing that, you know. One day I might just have a heart attack and drop dead.”
Ilia chuckled as she walked over to the bed where an expensively embossed gown was laid out. Her mother had gone all out to ensure that Elena stood out amongst the finely dressed guests tonight.
“That’s not even a possibility, silly,” Ilia threw over her shoulder with a cheeky smile. “Especially not after tonight.” She turned back to the dress, not seeing the look that flashed across Elena’s face.
Everyone may wish to be here tonight, but not her.
If she could fly, she would’ve been many, many miles away from here. Not even the thought of never seeing her family again inhibited the overwhelming urge for her to flee. She watched her cousin as she ran her hands over the dress. Dare she confide in her? Ilia had been her best friend and confidant for very long before circumstances drew them apart for a short while. They were working towards rekindling their earlier bond and tonight was believed to be the event that would effectively bridge the lingering chasm.
“I still remember my night.” There was a slight edge to her voice as Ilia continued. “Of course, it wasn’t as big and glamorous as yours, considering who your parents are, but it was good, nonetheless.” She turned to Elena, her eyes were hooded now. Elena loved Ilia and she was sure that her cousin returned the sentiment, however, Elena wasn’t oblivious to her cousin’s envy of her as the daughter of the Overlord of Brasov. Ilia’s father, Andrescu, grew up in the shadow of his more illustrious brother, and Elena's father, Vinic. Their economic situation wasn’t the same, but Ilia and her parents weren’t paupers, either. Her uncle was the magistrate and made a substantial living from it. Aside from that, he was welcome always to the luxury of his brother’s castles and its subjects.
“Ilia,” Elena began, wanting to make her cousin and best friend understand just how unnecessary her envy of tonight was to her.
“No more yammering, Cousin,” Ilia cut her off. “Your mother sent me to make sure that you’re not late. Come on, you need to get dressed.” Ilia lifted the dress off the bed. “You’re going to look like a princess and everyone here is going to want to dance with you tonight.”
Elena walked over to Ilia and placed a hand on her arm to get her attention.
“I don’t want this, Ilia.”
Ilia’s eyes shot wide with shock and she quickly shook off Elena’s hand.
“ARE YOU MAD!”
Dismayed by her friend’s response, Elena swallowed hard to stem the tears that threatened to fall.
“No.”
Ilia dropped the dress as if it had burnt her hands and took a hasty step away from her, her eyes were overly bright now as she stared at Elena.
“I don’t want to hear this, Elena. Don’t make me listen. It’s not fair towards me.”
“Please, Ilia. If not you, then who? You’re the only person I can talk to about this.”
The room was dumped in a tense silence as the two women stared at each other, with Elena mentally willing her cousin to understand her dilemma.
“You know what?” Ilia shook her head, her dark curls bouncing with the action. “You’re nothing but a spoilt brat.”
Stunned and hurt by the vehemence in her usually jovial cousin’s voice, Elena felt the tears well up again.
“Ilia…?”
“No, you listen for a change. For too long you’ve been the one doing the talking and everyone jumping to abide by your wishes.” The air around Ilia almost pulsed with her fury. “You have no idea what this is doing to the family, do you? As the only member who hasn’t crossed over yet, you’ve turned us into the laughing stock of the country. Your father may indulge your little tantrums but I can tell you now that your mother will have none of this. She’ll force it upon you, if necessary.”
The idea of being forced scared Elena more than the act itself. Ilia was right, her father had been very indulgent with her to this point. Could she really ask this much of him again? If indeed he was being ridiculed because of her reluctance to conform, then perhaps he wouldn’t be as understanding as the previous two times.
“Now stop acting like the childish brat you are, and get dressed.”
The harsh words startled Elena from her musings to look at Ilia. What she saw in the woman’s eyes made her take a step back. The mixture of hatred and glee she read there confirmed just how wrong she’d been about her cousin. Ilia wasn’t a friend; she had never been one. The misplaced envy she had thought to have understood and even considered normal, had festered over time and turned Ilia into a cold-hearted stranger that Elena didn’t know—or trust.
“Leave,” she said quietly but firmly. “I want you to leave my room, Ilia.”
Ilia’s eyes narrowed dangerously before her lips pulled back in a sneer. It wasn’t the sneer that unsettled Elena, but the two menacing-looking fangs that were exposed. She knew that Ilia was intending their display to serve as a threat.
“I’ll leave, but know that after tonight, you are not going to be as special as you thought yourself to be. Instead of petting your precious cats, you’ll be tempted by the sound of the blood coursing through their veins.” She laughed, an ugly sound that made Elena shiver. “That is if they will even allow you near them again.” With a sarcastic bow, Ilia disappeared, leaving Elena feeling cold and more determined than ever not to be turned. As a Familiar, she had been kept alive by her father’s blood for the past three hundred years, much to the chagrin of her mother and two brothers who saw her refusal of the Dark Gift as an immense insult. Even then, Elena wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her sun-soaked morning walks in the orchards. Nor did she want to never hear the sound of her precious cats, Picu and Mali, again as they purred in her arms whilst snuggling with her under her fluffy bedding. She would miss the smell and taste of the golden peaches that grew in the orchard and the creamy taste of fresh goat’s cheese. She went to sit on the bed, her legs suddenly too weak to hold her up.
Her father had made her promise that she wouldn’t delay her conversion after the last time she had cried in his arms, asking for an extension. Elena adored her father and couldn’t break her promise to him, especially not when he had kept his.
She dropped her face in her hands and cried for the life she was expected to give up just to uphold the family’s honour.
***
Paris, France
1789
“Liberté! Liberté! Liberté!”
The cries for freedom echoed through the streets and like a wildfire, set a series of actions in motion that would see more violence and anger unleashed before the people felt that their rights as citizens had been restored. The tension had been brewing for decades now. Displeasure murmured over a lukewarm ale in a dingy tavern. A sharp curse muttered over the price of a piece of bread. A snide remark as a haughty nobleman tossed a half-eaten apple out of the window of his luxurious carriage, laughing as the fruit was set upon by a hungry mob of vagrants.
Naeria was not in the least surprised by the eruption and what she knew would follow. She had lived through the birth and fall of many civilizations and the end pains were all the same. France was on the brink of a big transformation and she anticipated a few misfires before they got their aim right.
And just as she knew the signs of the beginning of the end, she also knew that one day complacency would set in. The same power wrestled from the nobility would one day be right back in the hands of only a select few. Then the turmoil and the fight for a second gasp of freedom would begin again.
Her piercing gaze took in the raucous street scenes as she slowly made her way to where her carriage was parked, away from the commotion. Paris had been good to her while it lasted. The odd mix of civility, artistry and debauchery had been a welcome distraction to break the monotony of her existence. But she wasn’t going to stick around to see the aftermath of these freedom cries. Too many cries still echoed in her mind of past freedom hunters. Most were long dead now, but the brutal acts to secure said freedom remained with her to this day.
Her driver, having spotted her, slipped from the shadows to open the carriage door.
“Destination, milady?”
“England, Tristan. France will burn before a new spring dawns. We’ll come back then to admire the new flowers.”
She settled in her seat, watching the birth of a new era through her window. For now, England was a much safer bet.
With its wars fought away from home it offered the quiet and tedium she craved for the next century or so.
COMING SOON: