The sting on Lyssara's cheek was a constant reminder of her morning combat.
She was sitting on the edge of her four-poster bed, her silk robe open just enough to expose the ribs on her left side. In front of her, a silver-framed hand mirror reflected the image of the wound, which was already beginning to fade beneath her pale skin.
Lyssara carefully applied a pungent antiseptic ointment that the physician had left her. The cold paste soothed the superficial burning, but the sensation of having something alien on her face lingered.
'It's not broken,' she thought, pressing gently with her fingertips.
She sighed and set the mirror on the table, adjusting her silk robe.
Her room was silent, a sanctuary of order and elegance that contrasted with the chaos of dirt and sweat from the training yard. The dark wood furniture was polished, the blue velvet curtains blocked out the gray afternoon light, and the fire crackled softly in the stone fireplace.
Lyssara stood up and walked toward the wardrobe. She needed to get dressed. Something comfortable, yet presentable. Dinner would be in a few hours, and although she wasn't hungry, she had to keep up appearances.
She was about to pull out a simple gray wool dress when her room door burst open. There was no prior knock, no pause for courtesy. Only the crash of wood opening and a gust of floral perfume that invaded the space.
"Lyssara, darling! You have to see this!"
Elyn Drayvar swept in like a whirlwind of silks and laces. Behind her, two maidservants carried rolls of fabric and hat boxes, their faces hidden behind mountains of material.
Lyssara turned slowly, instinctively concealing her sore side with her arm.
"Mother," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. "I was about to get dressed."
"Oh, nonsense, we're family," Elyn dismissed with a wave of her ring-laden hand. "Besides, you need to see these fabrics. They just arrived at the shop and I took the best pieces before the ladies of the lower city could get their dirty hands on them."
Elyn gestured to the maidservants.
"Put everything on the bed! Careful with the velvet, girl, don't wrinkle it!"
Lyssara watched as her bed, her sanctuary, was buried under meters of crimson silk, gold brocades, and ivory lace. Her mother moved among the fabrics with frantic energy, touching the textures, murmuring approvals and criticisms.
Elyn was a beautiful woman, with the kind of beauty that requires constant maintenance and iron discipline. Her blonde hair was styled in a complex arrangement of braids and curls, and her emerald green dress was perfectly fitted, highlighting a figure that many younger women would envy.
But Lyssara, who had learned to observe details thanks to Kael and her own instinct, noticed the small lines of tension around her mother's eyes. The fear of aging. The fear of becoming irrelevant.
"Look at this blue," she finally said, lifting a piece of shimmering silk. "It's exactly the shade of your eyes. With a proper cut, a slightly bolder neckline now that you're no longer a child... you would be memorable in Vaeloria."
Lyssara gently pushed the fabric away.
"It's pretty. But I think I have enough blue dresses."
"One never has enough dresses," Elyn corrected. She took Lyssara's face in her hands more gently this time, avoiding the wound. "You are going to the Imperial Academy, Lyssara. The Archdukes' children will be there. The heirs of the oldest families. You have to shine. Even with... this."
She touched the air near the wound, without actually making contact.
"You have to make them forget to breathe when you enter the hall."
Lyssara felt the pressure of her mother's fingers on her cheeks. She forced herself not to pull away.
"I'm going to study, Mother. Politics. History. Management."
Elyn let out a small, softer laugh than before.
"Oh, of course, you'll study. You'll read books and write essays. But the real study, my life, is people. Men. Knowing what they like, what scares them, what makes them want to put a ring on your finger and a title to your name. That is power."
Elyn turned and walked toward the full-length mirror, admiring her own reflection as she spoke.
"Do you think your father married me for my knowledge of ancient history?"
Lyssara sat down in the armchair.
"I suppose not."
"No," Elyn said, smoothing her skirt. "It was at the Duke Valmar's Winter Ball. Twenty years ago. I wore a blood-red dress. Scandalous for the time. My mother almost fainted when she saw me leave the room. But I knew what I was doing."
Elyn smiled at her reflection, lost in the memory.
"Varen was in a corner, as always. Dark. Intimidating. With that face that makes him look like he wants to kill everyone. No one approached him. They were afraid of him. But I wasn't. I walked straight up to him, in my red dress, and asked him to bring me a glass of wine because the waiters were too slow."
Lyssara raised an eyebrow. She had never heard that version of the story.
"And did he do it?"
"He stared at me like I was crazy," Elyn laughed. "Or like I was the first person who dared to give him an order. Then he laughed. One of those short, dry laughs of his. And he brought me the wine."
Elyn turned to Lyssara, her eyes shining with a mixture of pride and nostalgia.
"Six months later, we were married. And House Drayvar had a Duchess who knew how to organize a party and how to smooth over the enemies Varen wanted to behead. That's what we contribute, Lyssara. They bring the steel; we bring the silk that makes the steel tolerable."
Lyssara looked at her mother. There was a truth in her words, an ancient, pragmatic truth about the role of women in the nobility. But Lyssara didn't want to be the silk that covers the steel. She wanted to be the hand that wields the sword.
However, she said nothing. There was no point in discussing gender philosophy with Elyn Drayvar.
"It's a beautiful story, Mother," Lyssara said, diplomatically.
Elyn sighed, breaking out of her reverie, and refocused on the present. Her gaze swept the room, pausing on the books stacked on the nightstand, on the practice sword leaning in the corner that Lyssara had forgotten to hide.
Elyn's expression subtly changed. A wrinkle of confusion appeared on her perfect forehead.
"I've noticed something lately, Lyssara," Elyn said, walking toward the table and touching the spine of a book with disdain. "You're... different. Harder. And you spend a lot of time out of your chambers."
Lyssara tensed.
"I'm training, Mother. I already told you. And now you see the result."
"Yes, the training," Elyn waved a vague hand. "It's fine that you want to stay in shape, I suppose. Although look where it led you."
She pointed to the wound again.
"But it's not just the training," Elyn continued. "It's... the company."
Her mother turned and looked directly at her.
"Why are you spending so much time with Sareth?"
The question held no venom, only genuine perplexity. To Elyn, Sareth was a disappointing enigma, an object that didn't fit into the perfect decoration of her life.
"He's my brother, Mother," Lyssara replied naturally, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"I know, I know," Elyn walked around the room, touching Lyssara's things. "But... it's Sareth. He's so... gray. He doesn't have Rylan's strength. He doesn't have... well, that strange, slightly terrifying spark of Kael's. Sareth is just... there. Always with those dusty books, hunched over, scared of his own shadow."
Elyn stopped and looked at Lyssara curiously.
"Doesn't he bore you? I mean, I understand Kael isn't here and Rylan isn't either, and the house is quiet, but... Sareth? I saw you walking in the garden yesterday. You looked like you were conspiring."
Lyssara felt an alert in her mind. Her mother observed more than she seemed to.
She leaned back in the armchair, adopting a relaxed, almost indifferent posture.
"We weren't conspiring, Mother. We were just talking. Sareth reads a lot. Sometimes he knows interesting things about history or geography that can be useful for the Academy."
"Sareth knows things?" Elyn let out an incredulous laugh. "The only thing that boy knows is how to hide behind the curtains when your father walks in."
"He's not useless, Mother," Lyssara said. Her voice came out a little firmer than she intended.
Elyn looked at her, surprised by the defensive tone.
Lyssara quickly corrected herself, softening her expression.
"I mean... he's quiet. Sometimes I need peace. Rylan yells a lot and Kael... well. Sareth listens. Sometimes a woman needs someone who just listens, right?"
The explanation seemed to satisfy Elyn. It fit her worldview: men served a purpose, even if that purpose was being a passive ear.
"I suppose," Elyn conceded. "As long as he doesn't infect you with his melancholy. I don't want you arriving at the Academy with a funeral face. You have to smile, Lyssara. Your smile is your best jewel. Even with the scar."
"I'll remember that."
Elyn returned to the bed and stroked the blue velvet once more.
"Well, I'll tell the maidservants to start working on this. I want three dresses ready by next week. And perhaps something in silver for the gala dinners."
Lyssara saw her opportunity. She got up from the armchair.
"Mother, about that..."
"Yes?"
"I need to go into the city tomorrow. With Sareth."
Elyn frowned slightly at hearing the name again, but said nothing.
"I want to buy some personal things for the trip," Lyssara continued. "Accessories. Maybe some specific books I need. And I don't want to charge the house account directly, I prefer to... choose myself and pay on the spot."
Lyssara put on her best face of an obedient, slightly capricious daughter.
"Could you give me some gold? Father is busy and I don't want to bother him with girl expenses."
The mention of "girl expenses" and avoiding bothering Varen was the master key. Elyn smiled, complicitly.
"Of course, darling. Your father doesn't understand these things. He would complain that you're spending too much on ribbons or perfumes."
Elyn rummaged in a silk purse hanging from her wrist and pulled out a heavy leather bag. She tossed it to Lyssara.
Lyssara caught it in the air. The weight was satisfying. There was enough gold in there to buy silence, loyalty, and maybe a decent pair of daggers.
"Have fun," Elyn said. "But don't buy anything vulgar. And for the love of the gods, make Sareth cut his hair if he goes with you. He looks disheveled."
"I'll try," Lyssara promised.
Elyn gestured to the maidservants.
"Collect everything. Let's go to my sewing room. Lyssara needs to rest. And she needs to apply that ointment every three hours or the scar will be horrible."
"Thank you, Mother."
Elyn left the room with the same energy she had entered with, leaving behind a trail of perfume and silence.
Lyssara stood in the middle of the room, weighing the bag of gold in her hand.
Her mother lived in a world of silk and smiles, a world where power was won at balls and maintained with beauty. Lyssara did not despise that world; she understood its utility. But she knew it was fragile. A red dress could get you a husband, but it couldn't protect you from a dagger in the night or political betrayal.
For that, she needed her father's world. The world of steel.
And now she had the resources to start building her own bridge between both worlds.
She walked to the nightstand and locked the gold in a drawer.
Then she changed her clothes. She took off the robe and put on dark pants, a white shirt, and a light leather vest. She put on her boots.
She looked at herself in the mirror one last time. The wound on her cheek still hurt, the stitches pulled when she moved her face, but her expression was calm.
"Sareth," she murmured.
"Time to spend Mother's money."
She left her room and walked down the stairs. Not toward the dining room, but toward the library, where she knew she would find her brother. They had to plan tomorrow's outing. They had to talk to Carmen.