Disclaimer: The first paragraph in this story is not mine; it is Jacqueline Carey's from "Kushiel's Dart". Most of the settings are not mine either, I'm just borrowing them for now. ;) The characters themselves, however, are of my own imagining, even though I used names from Jacqueline Carey's novels.
Chapter 1
It is hard for me to resent my parents, although I envy them their naiveté. No one even told them, when I was born that they gifted me with an ill-luck name. Phedre, they called me, neither one knowing that it is a Hellene name, and cursed.
I suppose, then, that it was at the very moment of my birth that my path was decided. And what a twisted path it has been. Mathematicians argue that superstitions are held up only by fools, that the real world lies in statistics and probability. But I know different. There is a reason why superstitions linger so long. Why did they not listen to the Dowayne? Why set themselves upon such a disastrous course?
My childhood was spent in Montreve, a rustic green community at the sprawling base of the mountains. Lilliane, my mother, bore the marque of Jasmine House and she met their canon of sensuality with no mistaking. I saw how the men's eyes followed her lean brown body as she walked through the green meadows. And how my father, ever possessive, watched over her with his keen blue eyes and a sharp silver blade. This was common for a member of the House of Jasmine. Everyone from the King of Terre D'Ange himself to the lowliest of the peasant stock, knew that of all the Thirteen Houses, Jasmine's adepts were the most exotic. There were also several popular jests about how exotic they could be in the bedchamber.
And my mother, Lilliane nó Jasmine, had fostered there all of her life, the proof etched inch by torturous inch into her delicate back by the smart tappings of the marquist's needle. The red rose at the finial, signature of Jasmine House, was barely visible above the neckline of her gown when she wore her dark, curling hair up. But it blazed like a beacon, and some men were drawn so strongly that even my father failed to kept hem away.
It happened one day in the autumn while my father was busy preparing our stores for the fast approaching winter. He worked hard, my father, always trying to provide for his exotic treasure. There was no mistaking that he loved her greatly. And she loved him in return. She went against the sanction of her House to wed him. He was blonde haired, blue eyed, with creamy light skin; almost fitting of the canon of Cereus House, but his skin was slightly too tanned. They preferred their adepts to be pale as moonlight. Obviously the Dowayne of Jasmine House could not allow their union.
"I can not permit this Lillian. There is no way of knowing what such a union will produce. We cannot guarantee a place for your children in Jasmine, nor in Eglantine or any of the Houses at all for that matter. Do you not want security for your family? Marry a man of Jasmine, where the Bhodistani blood runs hot, then there will be no mistaking where your children belong."
But my mother knew what she felt in her heart, and she eloped with him. Her place was lost in Jasmine House, as the Dowayne had warned. And, the union of a dark, lustrous woman and a light, common man produced me… a child with an ill-luck name. Worse than the Dowayne feared.
But even still, Lilliane bore the marque of Jasmine on her skin as she sat reading in the garden on that autumn day while my father worked so hard. It was something she often did as the days turned cooler. She loved sitting among what was left of the summer flowers. I guess she wanted to enjoy them before winter came in full force. But on this day, winter came early. Three men saw her from the fields. Saw her back facing them and knew without seeing it that her marque blazed beneath the delicate fabric of her gown. I was with my tutor that day. My mother made sure I still received a proper education, in case I too, would choose to enter the service of Naamah. By the time I returned home, the house was burning.