Ersia: Raven Dawn

The Hall of Crystal lay at the heart of the Thousand Mirror Palace, and no one who had only seen the building from outside would have guessed it. The exterior was a sober face of ashlar masonry and variegated marble, veined in cream, rust, and slate, which promised nothing of what waited within. Beyond the doors the stone gave way to glass. Pillars of transparent crystal rose to carry a vaulted ceiling, its ribs traced in silver filigree, and the morning sun entered through every surface at once and broke apart along the way. Gold, sapphire, and rose washed over the polished floor, and the reflections multiplied so thoroughly that the hall seemed to continue beyond its own walls into a country made entirely of light.

At the centre stood a long table of translucent crystal, worked to such a finish that it looked like water holding still beneath the sun. It had been laid for the heads of the visiting delegations, and each place was marked by a small plaque bearing the emblem of its nation, with porcelain, silver goblets, and neatly squared documents waiting before it. A few floral arrangements supplied the only colour the room had not borrowed from the sky. The Queen's chair faced the great entrance at the head of the table, distinguished from the rest by a taller back, silver tracery, and pale sapphire inlay. It was unmistakably a seat of sovereignty, though it had been designed with enough restraint to sit in harmony with the hall instead of competing with it.

Behind each principal seat, rows of smaller chairs had been set out with equal care for the advisers, ministers, and royal retainers who accompanied their masters. The distance was calculated to the pace, close enough for a whispered correction to reach a leader's ear and far enough to preserve the dignity of the proceedings. Every delegation could see the central table without a single head blocking the Queen, which is the kind of problem that only becomes visible to a chamberlain once it has already caused an incident. Royal guards stood between the glass pillars along the perimeter, their polished armour catching stray flecks of refracted light, while more guards and attendants waited in the corridors beyond the doors. Inside, the hall was reserved for those formally invited.

By the time the first delegations arrived, a hush of anticipation had already settled over the chamber. Silken banners bearing the crests of distant nations hung between the pillars, and their colours lay reflected on the floor as the dignitaries passed beneath them. Old acquaintances found one another and spoke in low voices, while others exchanged careful courtesies with men and women they had known only as signatures at the bottom of letters. The gathering was small, but a room that holds so many foreign sovereigns' representatives carries a weight out of proportion to its headcount, and the soft rustle of ceremonial robes and the measured steps of attendants making last adjustments did little to disguise it.

Gradually the delegations found their places, and the murmuring thinned until it was gone. The sunlight crept across the crystal table, laying a faint spectrum between the assembled guests before it settled on the empty chair at the head. The Queen had not yet come. For a moment the Hall of Crystal seemed to hold its breath, its countless reflections gathering the stillness of the guests and returning it from every angle beneath a ceiling that appeared to take in the whole sky. Then footsteps sounded beyond the great entrance, and everyone understood that the proceedings were about to begin.

"Thank you for coming," said Queen Catalina, almost as soon as she had taken her seat. Her head was bowed slightly, as though she were ashamed to be seen. "I must beg your pardon that I could not receive you with the celebration your journey deserves. I hope you will be generous enough to understand."

The delegates answered with small, quiet nods, and a certain reluctance to press her took hold of them all. The Queen's eyes were ringed with swollen shadows, and her voice had the frayed, scraped quality of a well running dry. Whatever sleep she had managed in recent days had clearly been too little to count, and no courtier's art could have disguised it.

"Let us begin," she said. "We shall first set out the present state of affairs concerning the events of recent weeks."

She turned her head slightly toward the middle-aged man seated at her side, her royal secretary. He rose, squared the sheaf of papers in his hands against the table, and began to read.

What he read held the delegates so completely that several of them forgot to blink. Much of it confirmed what had only been rumour, and some of it was news to everyone present. He told them of the return of Mistus, who now lived within the body of Randia. He told them that the waters of Lake Serenité had begun to run strangely, in ways no one had a precedent for. He described the anomalies and the outbreak of cladogenesis among wild animals and even livestock throughout the province of Fleurein, which had begun to raise real fears for the food supply. He recounted the aftermath of the Ludus Magnorum. Last and heaviest, and the matter every delegation had come most braced to hear, he gave his account of the colossal dragon that had appeared in the midst of the chaos.

When the Queen at last paused to open the floor, questions broke across the crystal table like a tide over a sea wall. Delegates demanded verification of this claim and resolution of that one, and the whole session was swallowed by the issues that had just been laid before them. No one felt the pressure more than the envoy of the Holy Theocracy of Helden, a sovereign enclave that stood as an independent entity and served as the spiritual keystone of the Seltis Pantheon, the faith held by the greater part of the continent of Seraina.

"Say it plainly, for all of us in this room," called a delegate from Varnaria. "Is it true, what the people whisper? Were the sacrifices, the ruin, and every one of these stories nothing more than manipulation on a vast scale? Did we truly kill without sight or discrimination? And is it true that the gods and goddesses we worship also have red eyes?"

"This is a trial, and a slander, and a fabrication of falsehoods meant to tore down our faith," the Helden delegate answered. "How many miracles have the gods and goddesses worked for us? How many sickness healed, how many seasons of plenty granted? Is a single breath of doubt enough to make us turn our faces away and disown every blessing we have been given?"

The argument ran on without finding any ground to stand on. Every accusation met a denial, every rebuttal drew a question that curled back on itself, and the contest between philosophy and moral reckoning pressed steadily harder on Helden. It had begun to feel like a siege conducted entirely in rhetoric, when a raised hand cut across it and a voice rang out.

"Your Majesty."

It was Nicholas, whose face looked every bit as worn as the Queen's. He lowered his hand and spoke carefully.

"I would gladly hear everything there is to hear, but I fear we know too little for further discussion to bear fruit. Too many questions remain unanswered for any of us to take a meaningful stance. Even so, despite those limits, I ask leave to state Aramia's position on all that has occurred."

He adjusted his monocle before continuing.

"Aramia is fully committed to assisting the revitalization and restabilization of the capital of Fleurein, and is prepared to renew our trading covenant with Rosmayne. In return, we ask for one thing only: guardianship of Viena."

The effect was immediate. The Queen was not the only one startled, for the whole chamber erupted. Whispers rose first, and then people began to contradict one another across the table.

"The child of the Hero Randia? Is that even true?"

"I heard she is not his child by blood."

"Of course not! He never married!"

The talk spread to every corner of the room, and even the elves, who had not spoken a word all morning, began to exchange glances. Rosmayne's efforts to conceal what happened at the Great Gardenia had left the delegations unevenly informed, and so the rumours, together with survivors' statements copied down by each party's attendants, now carried weight with the decision makers, however doubtful their credibility.

"The Republic demands fairness for the matter regarding this child," the Varnarian delegate objected once more.

Once Varnaria had voiced its objection, the other nations followed, and the room dissolved into noise. Each of them had begun to see the girl called Viena as a strategic asset, although none could say for certain what she was an asset for. They behaved as such gatherings always do, with each party less concerned to gain something itself than to prevent a rival from gaining something that might one day strengthen its hand.

"I think this is a very difficult matter," the Queen began. "The child is now a member of the Arbon family, and—"

She never finished. A woman among the delegates from Sindris cut in.

"Your Majesty, I am grateful for the hospitality that arranged this assembly, but I believe we must address each demand with respect equally."

A few people in the room fell silent, because the words were sharp, however necessary. She had made her point without raising her voice. Catalina might rule Rosmayne, the land they were sitting in, but every person at that table spoke for a nation, and none of them would be treated as a mere guest of the crown.

The Queen remained composed, though the remark had stung. She drew a breath and called one of her aides forward.

"Of course. But before we speak further, let us look upon the child together."

She ordered that Viena be brought to the hall. The aide set off without any ceremony, taking two guards with him, and went to the far side of the Thousand Mirror Palace, where the girl was being kept in what could be called, generously, a state of domestic quarantine. When he arrived he stated his errand at once. Lisabelle, who was with Viena, wished to go with her sister, and the aide refused her.

"You are an emotional girl, Lisabelle, and your actions are difficult to rein in. I am quite certain that if you entered that room, you would start arguing with everyone present, far beyond what you understand or are able to handle."

"As much as I despise to admit, Rosmayne does not stand in a good position in the currently ongoing talk. Help us protect the dignity of this country. If performed poorly, I fear they will press heavy demands. Therefore, if you truly love your sister, wait here."

"That's ridiculous," Lisabelle retorted. "How can you expect me to sit here and do nothing while my sister has to face them all alone?"

"Waiting is not the same as doing nothing," the aide replied. "To wait, and to hold yourself back from making mistakes, is also a form of struggle. And you are also wrong about one more thing. Your sister will not be alone. We will do everything we can to look after her."

It took several more exchanges of the same kind to persuade her, but in the end, Lisabelle yielded, and she stayed behind in her room.

And so, Viena entered the Hall of Crystal alone.