Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 7: Of Knives and Ceremonial Tunics

A/N: Media - 'Champion'.

*******

"Great Pietists of Gaiatea!" I cry. "Are you sure, Mother?"

Her eyes spark dangerously. I back up automatically, bumping into the solid brick wall behind me. Somehow, Mother looks like a witch from ancient times, when magic was still practised regularly in Perinus. Her skin is an unnaturally pale colour; her lips are too full and red.

"Would I ever lie to you, Constantine?" she asks softly.

A flash of memories bombards my mind. For a moment, I'm a little girl once more, listening to Mother say that being treated for a toothache would hurt badly. It did. The next moment, I'm a thirteen year old within the castle gates, with her warning me that my road ahead would be turbulent and difficult. It was.

Mother is never one to mince her words. She always says the truth, no matter how much it would sting or hurt the listener.

I toy with the dagger in my hand, inspecting every angle of it. True, Mother never tells a lie...but the person who sold her this must have. That is the only plausible conclusion; the idea of this knife being the legendary Miraterciel is simply ridiculous.

"Where did you get this from?" A frown forms on my face.

"It's a family heirloom. One that is passed down from generation to generation among the females in the Lorelay bloodline." Lorelay, my mother's maiden name. Generally, I avoid that side of the family tree; they're are all too superstitious and in tune to psychic happenings for my taste.

"I see," I answer in monotone. The very first woman who had passed this knife down along the family line must had been the mother of all charlatans.

Mother takes a step towards me, closing the distance I had placed between us. She closes my fingers around the hilt of the dagger, warming my frigid hand with both of hers. "I know that you don't believe me now, but at least let me explain my reasons for giving this to you."

I give her a dubious stare.

"This dagger is passed on to the eldest daughter in our line," she begins. "Usually, they'll only receive it when they are eighteen, or if they are wedded at an age before that.

"You are neither married nor eighteen. However, I have a very good reason for giving this to you. Grand-Seer Fabienne had told me that a great doom will soon befall the land, and that you will be the only one able to stop it. To do so, you must have Miraterciel by your side. I do not know what this 'great doom' is, but still, you can take no chances."

I give an unladylike snort. Grand-Seer Fabienne—or Grand-Mad-Witch as how common folk dub her—is the leader of the Lorelay clan, a rag-tag bunch of crooks and so-called sorcerers. The king only tolerates them because they're practically harmless.

Mother shoots me a reproachful look, disappointed that I should dismiss her tale as a nonsensical conception. "Laugh all you want, Constantine. But destiny will come knocking on your door soon."

I wrench my hand away from my mother's ironhanded grip and slide the knife into my boot. "Er...I'm sure I will, Mother."

She rolls her eyes. "Pst. Zorah help me deal with this impertinent daughter." I resist a snarl as she mentions my true gender so casually. "Bah, go on with your training." She flaps a well-manicured hand at me.

I give a cordial bow. "Thank you, Mother."

Pivoting on my heel almost too abruptly, I make my way out. Just as I close the door behind me, I strain my ears to catch my mother's words, which are spoken nearly as though she is talking to herself. "Mark my words, Constantine, all your training will be for naught if you do not embrace your birthright."