Disclaimer: I do not own, nor could ever pretend to own any of Jacqueline
Carey's magnificent characters or other works. Only Nathalie is of my own
creation. The lands, the names, the languages, all are Carey's work. Also,
pardon my lack of accent marks. My computer will not allow me to add many
of them. Thank you.
Eisheth's Call
******
Prologue
I do not scare easily.
What reason would I have to do such? I am the daughter of honored lineage, able to trace the roots back to the golden days of the Tiberium Empire. I am D'Angeline, descended from the seed of Angels and Men. I dwell in Terre D'Ange, the land of Blessed Elua and his companions, renegade Angels aiding the son of Yeshua ben Yosef and Mary Magdelene's tears, born from the Earth's womb.
I am the daughter of the Duchese Roxanne de Mereliot and the Royal Admiral Quintilius Rousse. I bear the name Nathalie de Mereliot, the future Duchese and Lady of Marsilikos. All my life I have been trained as befitted a scion of Eisheth, whose lands of Eisande is where Mereliot and Marsilikos lie, to toast with peerage of Terre D'Ange. My parents are both held in high regard in the eyes of Queen Ysandre de la Courcel of Terre D'Ange. Such a list of prestige does not allow much room for fright, or nervousness.
But Elua help me, I was.
That day was my debut, as the people called it; more accurately, it was merely a fete I was to attend, in which I would be recognized for my accession to adulthood at the age of 17 years. Many young adults do such a thing at a younger age; Naamah's Servants, the courtesans of the Realm, for one. Attired in an elegant gown of crimson, I doubt I betrayed signs of nerves. My dark curls, gained from my mother's line, were artfully bound back, in an intricate cornet which accentuated my long, slender neck. Crimson cloth, almost a garnet hue, so dark it was, clothed my slight frame as closely as a second skin, flaring at the wrists and at the waist. It was simple in design, but cunningly created to emphasize my slim waist, fair complexion, and delicate features. I was particularly fond of the wide sleeves; I will never claim to not have vanity.
As for my face, there was only a touch of carmine on my lips, and a dab of kohl to accent my dark blue-gray gaze, inherited from my father. There was no mirror present, but I was quite sure that this feature alone, my eyes, belied my ease, the liquid movements taught since I was just into childhood. Perhaps they were stormy, as the seas my father transverses; or merely troubled, as the waves that lap at the city of Marsilikos. Either way, the eyes are the windows into the soul; and my soul was nervous, I daresay.
Let it be known it was not the amount of personage in the grandly decorated ballroom, with vines and floating candles, tinkling fountains and singing birds that unsettled my carefully held nerves. It was not the presence of the Queen, King, and Princesses; I had spent enough time with them to be familiar with them. It was not the arrival of the Alban assembly; I could hear the faint strains of their tongue, one I knew well. Neither was it the enormity of this action, of becoming a recognized adult in the society of Terre D'Ange.
It was, I confess, partly unknown to even I. Simple nerves, unable to track to any one beginning. My mother told me this was normal the night just past; every girl felt such the night before her debut. My father told me it was nothing of consequence; nerves sharpen your mind. This in part helped quell some of the errant feelings, out of place in my demeanor.
The other part, quite embarrassingly, was the appearance of a courtesan, a Cassiline, and a young man.
Before you write me off as a foolish girl, take this into account. This courtesan was the most famed in the land, Kushiel's Chosen, marked so by the spot of red amongst the otherwise unmarred dark pools of her eyes. This Cassiline engaged in a duel to death to defend the Queen, the beauty of the fight so encompassing it halted a riot. Also worth mentioning is that these two saved my country not once, not twice, but three times.
If this were not enough to send my mind reeling, the young man certainly completed the transition from calm to near retching with nerves. With hair the color of the midnight sky, a commanding tall, lean figure, and a complexion to send the loveliest ladies scurrying for their powder, he was without a doubt the most handsome creature I have ever seen. His eyes were what captured me; sapphire, startling blue, enough to steal whatever breath you may have left.
I know this because my own gaze caught upon his as he descended the grand staircase into the main room, and held for a heartbeat before he looked away, turning to the courtesan- his foster mother, the Comtesse de Montreve, I must add.
The mention of the Comtesse, Kushiel's Chosen, and the Cassiline, recognizable because of the steel vambraces on his forearms, should be sufficient to dub the young man in their company. His description only reinforces this name. For those of you not well acquainted with the D'Angeline peerage, I shall tell you.
I had hinged my gaze upon Imriel no Montreve de la Courcel, Prince of the Blood.
Eisheth's Call
******
Prologue
I do not scare easily.
What reason would I have to do such? I am the daughter of honored lineage, able to trace the roots back to the golden days of the Tiberium Empire. I am D'Angeline, descended from the seed of Angels and Men. I dwell in Terre D'Ange, the land of Blessed Elua and his companions, renegade Angels aiding the son of Yeshua ben Yosef and Mary Magdelene's tears, born from the Earth's womb.
I am the daughter of the Duchese Roxanne de Mereliot and the Royal Admiral Quintilius Rousse. I bear the name Nathalie de Mereliot, the future Duchese and Lady of Marsilikos. All my life I have been trained as befitted a scion of Eisheth, whose lands of Eisande is where Mereliot and Marsilikos lie, to toast with peerage of Terre D'Ange. My parents are both held in high regard in the eyes of Queen Ysandre de la Courcel of Terre D'Ange. Such a list of prestige does not allow much room for fright, or nervousness.
But Elua help me, I was.
That day was my debut, as the people called it; more accurately, it was merely a fete I was to attend, in which I would be recognized for my accession to adulthood at the age of 17 years. Many young adults do such a thing at a younger age; Naamah's Servants, the courtesans of the Realm, for one. Attired in an elegant gown of crimson, I doubt I betrayed signs of nerves. My dark curls, gained from my mother's line, were artfully bound back, in an intricate cornet which accentuated my long, slender neck. Crimson cloth, almost a garnet hue, so dark it was, clothed my slight frame as closely as a second skin, flaring at the wrists and at the waist. It was simple in design, but cunningly created to emphasize my slim waist, fair complexion, and delicate features. I was particularly fond of the wide sleeves; I will never claim to not have vanity.
As for my face, there was only a touch of carmine on my lips, and a dab of kohl to accent my dark blue-gray gaze, inherited from my father. There was no mirror present, but I was quite sure that this feature alone, my eyes, belied my ease, the liquid movements taught since I was just into childhood. Perhaps they were stormy, as the seas my father transverses; or merely troubled, as the waves that lap at the city of Marsilikos. Either way, the eyes are the windows into the soul; and my soul was nervous, I daresay.
Let it be known it was not the amount of personage in the grandly decorated ballroom, with vines and floating candles, tinkling fountains and singing birds that unsettled my carefully held nerves. It was not the presence of the Queen, King, and Princesses; I had spent enough time with them to be familiar with them. It was not the arrival of the Alban assembly; I could hear the faint strains of their tongue, one I knew well. Neither was it the enormity of this action, of becoming a recognized adult in the society of Terre D'Ange.
It was, I confess, partly unknown to even I. Simple nerves, unable to track to any one beginning. My mother told me this was normal the night just past; every girl felt such the night before her debut. My father told me it was nothing of consequence; nerves sharpen your mind. This in part helped quell some of the errant feelings, out of place in my demeanor.
The other part, quite embarrassingly, was the appearance of a courtesan, a Cassiline, and a young man.
Before you write me off as a foolish girl, take this into account. This courtesan was the most famed in the land, Kushiel's Chosen, marked so by the spot of red amongst the otherwise unmarred dark pools of her eyes. This Cassiline engaged in a duel to death to defend the Queen, the beauty of the fight so encompassing it halted a riot. Also worth mentioning is that these two saved my country not once, not twice, but three times.
If this were not enough to send my mind reeling, the young man certainly completed the transition from calm to near retching with nerves. With hair the color of the midnight sky, a commanding tall, lean figure, and a complexion to send the loveliest ladies scurrying for their powder, he was without a doubt the most handsome creature I have ever seen. His eyes were what captured me; sapphire, startling blue, enough to steal whatever breath you may have left.
I know this because my own gaze caught upon his as he descended the grand staircase into the main room, and held for a heartbeat before he looked away, turning to the courtesan- his foster mother, the Comtesse de Montreve, I must add.
The mention of the Comtesse, Kushiel's Chosen, and the Cassiline, recognizable because of the steel vambraces on his forearms, should be sufficient to dub the young man in their company. His description only reinforces this name. For those of you not well acquainted with the D'Angeline peerage, I shall tell you.
I had hinged my gaze upon Imriel no Montreve de la Courcel, Prince of the Blood.