Legend of Ransera

Glade 83th, 121

Kalzasi was much quieter than Jane had expected. The rumbling clockwork and hissing steam that she had been so accustomed to in Zaichaer were now conspicuously absent, replaced with an uneasy stillness. The entire city was like stepping back in time. Industry had yet to touch this place, but it surged with activity nonetheless. She couldn’t tell if this was from the shuffling crowds and shouting vendors or from the faint hint of magic that was so subtly prevalent throughout. How casually they handled a practice that twisted the natural order. For all its use it clearly had its limitations, she thought, noticing how many people still relied on mundane and antiquated tools. Even the carriage she and her mother rode in, though beautifully crafted, was of an older design and lacked the advanced suspension found in Zaichaeri made models. She resented this as they were jostled along the cobblestone street on the way to her aunt’s estate.

Carmen had been fairly silent ever since they touched ground, still exhausted from the harrowing experience that was their airship journey. A long, thin cigarette filled with laced tobacco was held delicately in her hand, filling the cabin with a heady, blue smoke. The sight of it worried Jane, but to her mother’s credit it appeared to be only the second she had smoked since refilling her case at the beginning of the season. She stared out the carriage window from between the curtains, inhaling the smoke in slow, contemplative intervals.

“Do you think she knew?”, Carmen finally spoke. Her voice was strangely small, coiled up like a wounded animal.

“Who? Aunt Rosanna?”, Jane asked

“Yes”, she said, pausing for a moment as she inspected the ember of her cigarette. “If she knew that some rogue god was wearing their prince.”

Jane paused, unsure of how to answer. The nature of demigods had always been a point of contention within New Atheism. The mortal children of gods, if such a thing was even possible, were thought by some to not be their own entities but rather vessels for their divine parent to control. How much agency the god or host had was unknown but it was agreed that the more powerful they became the less of the original self remained. Whether this was fallacy or heresy depended on who was asked, but regardless of the truth it was all another insidious and subversive example of how the gods attempted to impose themselves upon mortals. Many, like those of Kalzasi, embraced their influence and it was entirely possible that her aunt was of this school of thought.

“I cannot see how—everyone seemed surprised”

Carmen closed her eyes and exhaled the last of her cigarette through her nose. She tapped out the rest in a small steel ash tray and quickly closed it.

“I don’t know what to think”, she muttered, pressing her clenched hand to her mouth. She again fell silent and continued to look out the window.

Jane tried to do the same but her mother seething across from her was too uncomfortable to bear. It wouldn’t be too long before they arrived.

“Are you sure you can do this?”, Jane managed to ask.

Her mother glared at her for a moment before composing herself. She smoothed her dress and sat up straight in her seat.

“After all this trouble, I have no choice. What kind of woman would I be if I turned back now? Really, Camilla, what a question to ask.”

The young woman laughed nervously, “I suppose it was foolish”

“Well let’s hope the foolishness ends here. We wouldn’t want you embarrassing yourself in front of your aunt. First impressions mean everything, dear, so please try to give the impression that you were raised with any degree of class.”

With that, Carmen pulled out a small mirror and began to fuss over stray hairs. Jane smiled, somewhat chagrined, and watched Kalzasi as they passed by.

Glade 83rd, 121. Adira's Promenade, Kalzasi

She knew her aunt was wealthy, having married a successful Kalzasern merchant from a noble family, but her home was far grander than she had expected. Expertly trimmed topiary shaped into twisting spirals lined the entrance way, accented by rows of bright violet flowers. A bubbling fountain surrounded by decorative foliage lay in the center of the courtyard. A male peacock had been sitting on the edge, but now it fled with the arrival of their carriage. Neatly dressed servants filed out from the wide, ornate door of the estate, waiting to receive them. Jane glanced worriedly at Carmen. Her face was stony, her eyes narrow with sheer, all-consuming envy. She swallowed, anticipating the worst.

A footman opened the carriage door and helped them out, the fresh Kalzasi air an instant relief from the smoke filled cabin. The retinue of servants gave deep bows as they approached the steps of the estate and Jane felt compulsed to curtsy out of habit, but stopped herself. A finely dressed, middle aged woman appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a young man who looked to be of Hytori descent. She had long, auburn hair, similar to her mother's, held up in an elaborate style. It was clear she wanted to make an impression. The young man was more casually dressed, but his striking features put him on par with the woman beside him. Jane was dazzled by their presence, though she could tell that this entrance only deepening Carmen's resentment despite the mask of a smile she wore.

“Carmen...”, the woman said breathlessly, “It's been far too long.”

Jane's mother softened at the sound of her sister's voice, bitterness replaced with tears, “It has, hasn't it?”

Hesitating for a moment, the two women pulled each other into a hug. They stayed that way for a long time, expressing regret for the past years and exchanging apologies. This overt display of affection was unlike her mother, and by the look on the Hytori man's face it was the same for her aunt. They pulled away, their eyes glistening.

“You must be Camilla, “her aunt said, touching her arm lightly, “I'm your Aunt Rosanna. My, how much you look like my mother when she was young. Oh, if only I could have been there for you growing up!”

Aunt Rosanna tightly hugged Jane, her sweet perfume nearly overwhelming her. Jane patted her on the back, somewhat at a loss, “Lovely to meet you as well, Aunt Rosana.”

As she and her aunt greeted each other, Carmen gestured to the footman carrying their traveling chests, who placed them at her feet. She snapped at the Hytori man that had been standing off to the side.

“Boy, our luggage, if you would...”

He lurched in confusion and turned to Aunt Rosanna, who pulled away from Jane at the sound of Carmen's demand.

“Sissy, dear, this is my son—your nephew, Syryn.”, A flush of indignation crept along her cheeks.

“Oh!”, Carmen recoiled, “My deepest apologies. I did not know.”

“I did you send a picture, Sissy. Several, actually. Did you not see them—in my letters? And besides, wouldn't he be with the others?”, Rosanna laughed, gesturing to the servants whose nervous eyes betrayed them.

Carmen voice tightened, “Those pictures did not do him justice. And you remember how mother and father always had servants accompany them when receiving guests? I would have thought the same of nobles in Kalzasi.”

There was an implication in that statement that made Rosanna's eyebrow twitch. Her son smiled and beckoned one of the servants, who quickly picked up the chests and ran them inside.

“No need to apologize, Aunt Carmen”, Syryn said quickly, gripping his lapels, “I suppose I am rather underdressed. I realize now it's not too far off from what the help is wearing!”

This seemed to break the tension and Rosanna looked slyly at her sister. She waved towards the doors of the estate.

“Please—do come in. We have more than enough room for both you and Jane. I'll see to give you both a tour once you're settled, though it may take the better part of the afternoon.”

Carmen smirked and strolled up to her sister's side. They walked several paces ahead, leaving their children behind with the servants who soon followed after. They began to talk softly amongst themselves, though the echo carried their voices further than they might have intended.

“What a handsome boy you have. He looks so much like his father. And the name—Vallenor, is it? Was it his insistence?”

“Oh, no, I chose it. Your daughter is lovely as well—so healthy! And here I was, worried how you were faring alone in Zaichaer.”

Syryn and Jane shifted awkwardly as they listened to their mothers talk. Her cousin rubbed the back of his neck.

“They really are related, aren't they?”, he chuckled. He offered her his hand, “Camilla, was it?”

She gave a short laugh and shook his hand, “It's Jane, actually. Nice to meet you, Syryn.”